By the end of the day, I’d stacked fiber pots filled with dying plants into a mound that looked big enough to climb.
I was so proud of myself.
In years past, the end of our greenhouse season left me so worn out and depleted that I would jump immediately into something new and exciting, leaving the garden mess intact for next year. But not this year.
This year, I had both the desire and the capacity to stay. To finish. To close.
And then I looked at that mountain of pots, and I wondered if my husband, Luke, would get me a dumpster.
I’d thought using fiber pots this year would mean I could compost everything together. Apparently not. Luke informed me that the pots take about two years to biodegrade, while the plants begin almost immediately.
The pots and plants would have to be separated.
Arghh.
So I spent another day singing my heart out to a playlist while separating plants from pots and storing the loose dirt to use when planting my tulips.
And even after all of that, I still needed to dig up my dahlia tubers for storage and plant my tulip bulbs.
I can assure you, none of that thrilled me.
And then, I swear, that evening, magic happened. Luke, in one of the most romantic offers I’ve ever received, asked if I wanted help. You better believe it.
Luke has this amazing, operationally inclined brain. He can look at something that feels enormous to me, figure out how to simplify it, and get it done. He called over two of our crew, and the three of them got to work while I cleaned dahlia tubers.
And in maybe, maybe two hours, the entire thing was done.
I mean, stunningly clean. Organized. Ready for next year. Those boys left with ample change in their pockets, and I walked inside with gratitude beaming from inside.
It was done. The garden was closed. My load was lighter. And I was free to turn toward what was calling me next. I could have done it all myself.
But I didn’t have to.
This Stopped Me
This Stirred Me
This Was my Favorite Image
Have a wonderful Week!!!