Our yard has so much potential. And yet, over our years here, it has struggled.

At first, we didn’t know what we were doing. There was too much shade, too much dog pee. We were too lazy to set up sprinklers, and the mosquitoes discouraged us from even venturing out. We shrugged and gave up. We would deal with it later, or maybe never.

Then, our kids were born. Then, the pandemic happened. Suddenly the yard was a vital refuge. We needed it to thrive.

We uprooted the thorny rose bushes, cut down diseased trees. Aerated and seeded. Committed to providing extra water when nature withheld it. We put in the work. And we watched, delighted, as our efforts were rewarded. The yard became beautiful.

Then, winter. Much of the new grass shriveled, leaving us with stringy brown thatch and mud.

But we no longer lose our resolve. With every passing season, we learn more about what needs to be done. This yard is not a task to be completed one time and then forgotten, but rather, an ongoing project, an annual nurturing. We must follow the sun, harness the rains, and remain hardy through whatever comes. (Or doesn’t come.)

And now, once again, spring is upon us.

I thought these seeds, thrown down in haste and tended haphazardly, were a lost cause. But here they are, sprouting.

This is all too many words to say: This yard is like me, the past few years. I have flourished, and I have withered. I sense a new season coming for me soon, and I have sprinkled my seeds. I am ready to sprout.