I am very grateful for winter weeds, which is simply my way of saying: I love the rest from weeding that winter brings!
I love to talk about how much I love my house. It is my adult playhouse, so much to do and try. I have fun here. Until the war with the weeds begins and I am defeated once again!
Since leaving home at 18, I’ve rarely lived in the same place more than five years. My grandfather instilled this wanderlust in me; he moved something like 38 times in the same city. He loved each house, added his signature and then moved to the next one. My poor Grandmother! She would tell people that she hated finishing her unpacking because it only meant it was time to repack.
This year begins be my sixth year in our home, it feels permanent. This causes both anxiety and hope to wind together in my heart like weeds. My husband’s father and brother still live in the home that was originally their grandparent’s house, so homes are more rooted in his heart.