Peace In The Margins

There is something about this season that feels like an exhale.

My days lately have been filled with slow crochet projects for the newest little life joining us in just two short months. Soft yarn slipping through my fingers. Rows building quietly. A reminder that anticipation doesn’t have to be rushed, it can be stitched, loop by loop.

In between those stitches, I’ve been sketching garden plans on scrap paper and in the margins of notebooks. Dreaming of warm afternoons spent reading outside. Bare feet in the grass. Sun on my shoulders. The kind of days that unfold instead of demand.

This will be the first year I’ve truly planned and planted a garden with intention.

I know for certain there will be rosemary, basil, thyme, and lemon balm. Herbs that feel both practical and a little magical. Tomatoes and potatoes will go in for the family. I’m considering okra and chives too, still turning the possibilities over like seeds in my palm.

There’s something sacred about choosing what to grow.

Over the past few years, I’ve tried my hand at tropical houseplants with surprising success. I’ve propagated cuttings and watched new roots form in quiet jars of water on the windowsill. Those plants will remain part of my little indoor ecosystem. But this garden feels different.

The goal isn’t perfection. It’s a small, quiet space.

A simple fire pit surrounded by green life. A place where nourishment grows not only from the soil but within me. A place where I can dig my hands into the earth and remember that I am part of something steady and ancient.

I imagine early mornings there with coffee in hand, birds carrying on about their business, yoga mat rolled out. Evenings with a notebook resting on my knee. Words coming easier because the air feels softer.

A place to write.

To stretch.

To sit.

To breathe.

I’m not just planting herbs and vegetables this year. I’m creating a space where I can find rhythm and presence. A space that invites me to slow down and stay awhile.

And maybe that’s what this season is really about, not necessarily productivity or even a harvest, but tending to something gentle and letting it tend to me in return.