Growing Where Planted

I have a very wise friend that shared some exceptional advice with me about fifteen years ago. After another move (for there had been many moves during my childhood), I wrote this friend in deep distress after finding out I had moved to hell. She lovingly sympathized and encouraged me and said that if I was going to be happy I needed to learn to grow where I was planted. I have thought about that letter often in my turbulent life and did not fully ingrain that lesson till now. Slow learning curve, I know.

My life, I think, will always be a series of shifts and instability. But the one thing I do know that will be ever present, ever following, will be my attitude to look forward to the good things offered and fill my life with sunshine bursts and giggles galore, especially on those dark and stormy days.

Once again the kids and I have moved, this time to a quaint town brimming with farm life, some of the friendliest people alive, and a "yard" that I will lovingly refer to as my mini-farm. The thing is huge, full of gardening and maybe chicken potential. Think riding lawn mower. If my oldest had her pick, it would also harbor a chance for a horse.

I feel like Laura Ingalls defending her house against mice (which will be another horrifying post in it's self), raising and schooling four children, and keeping my sanity with little to no phone signal, intermitent internet usage, and no scheduled programming of the television kind. The simple life has hit me full in the face and I relish in the challange of growing where planted.