My garden isn’t lovely
in the conventional sense.
It is home to vegetables, not flowers.

Shades of green
With an occasional spot of color:
Golden squash blossom, yellow bean, orange and red tomatoes

But the real beauty
Among the deep green of the spinach or the deep rich brown of the composted soil
Is hearing my kids call out, with complete honesty,

“Mom’s playing in the dirt again!”

(inspired by a post at The Little Egg Farm)

I’m from city sidewalks, the kind that need shoveling in winter and grow hot enough to blister bare feet in summer.

I’m from four distinct seasons. I’m from vehicles with heat and air-conditioning, in a climate where both need to be in working order.

I’m from trees of all sizes, giving shade in summer, giving leaves in autumn and if we’re lucky, maple sap for sugar and syrup in spring. I’m from climbing thick branches, seeing old behemoths fall in storms to become fuel for the fireplace around which we gather.

I’m from snowmen, snow angels, and dangling icicles, spreading rock salt and litter and sand when walking becomes precarious. I’m from mittens and boots, gloves and scarves, lined jackets thick enough to withstand any wind.

I’m from earth such rich, dark brown it’s almost black, grass so very green when it rains, and flowers of every hue; fresh vegetables in August, rhubarb from the freezer in January, and homegrown basil and thyme in pots on the piano all year round.

I’m from chalkboards, pencils, and multi-colored pens. I’m from reusing papers and copying half sheets on the back of old pages. I’m from books to read, stories to write, experiments to explore.

I’m from the arts, music, drama, storytelling, and the multitudes of venues for self-expression.

I’m from song and dance, stage and scenery, prose and poetry. I’m from rhythm and rhyme, andante to allegro, opera to jazz, vocal to orchestral to symphonic brass.

I’m from the land of Green and Gold, a home with at least one headpiece made of “cheese,” and Sunday afternoons spent with the big screen TV tuned to Lambeau Leaps at the not-so Frozen Tundra.

I’m from a homeland where hearing, seeing, and neurotypical development are never taken for granted.

I’m from a land where all the women are strong, the men are good-looking, and the children are above average. Wait – strike that, it’s one state to the west of mine.

But I am from a changing and evolving local culture, a place where family counts, a neighborhood where neighbors share their cookies and coffee. It’s a great place to visit, and I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else.