Fall Field Notes: A Change of Seasons No.11

November and still no first frost here in central Virginia. We had breakfast at Early Bird Biscuits in Richmond and took a walk around the neighborhood. It’s amazing how many small gardens there are in the city. They make use of every inch of space. Flowers and vegetables intermingle. The homes are like well-developed characters in a really good novel. Around every corner the story takes an unforeseen turn. I want to turn the page to see what happens next.

No. 11 | Urban Garden

Fall Field Notes: A Change of Seasons No. 10

No. 10 | strawflowers in flower frog

 

Sharing an excerpt from my very favorite substack author, Colin King, who explains—Not Everything Needs a Before and After.

But I’m learning that doing everything I can doesn’t mean I get to decide when something feels finished. Sometimes I need to walk away and come back later. And sometimes I have to let things be exactly as they are, even when I’d prefer a different arrangement.

Not everything needs to feel resolved to be worth living with.

And not everything needs a before and after.

Fall Field Notes: A Change of Seasons No.9

 

Things feel very complicated. And then I remember I do not have to buy into every trend or influence or promise. Some really wonderful things are simple. Cherry tomatoes on the vine. A handmade pottery mug. Rearranging the pictures I already own to make my home feel updated. Fresh flowers.

Same old camera. 
Same old husband. 
Same old car. Same house.
Chili from the freezer for lunch. 
Do I sound old? 
What does old even sound like? 
Maybe everything old is new again. 

No.9 | sugar bomb cherry tomato vine

Fall Field Notes: A Change of Seasons No.8

No. 8 | planting bulbs for next spring

 

In Fall Field Notes, I want to show you my little corner of the world. I take pictures of the environment I live in and the things I actually do. Familiarity has a way of making things invisible, and this can make us lose sight of the good life we already have. The only way I know to counter this natural tendency is to take notice, creating a kind of visual gratitude journal.

Even as we head into winter, I take delight in planning for the next good things. Lately, I’ve been getting some lovely inspiration from Lindsey Zovko and her substack, Garden and Gather. This week she demonstrated how to plant a bulb lasagna. Essentially, you plant layers of spring bulbs in pot of soil mixed with poultry grit. You sit the pot outdoors where it will experience the weather conditions needed for the bulbs to bloom next spring, where you will have weeks of blooms from one spot.

These are the everyday things I hold onto.