I don't want to be the girl who complains about the weather . . . in Utah . . . in January.
So I won't.
Instead of telling you how it's been 3 solid weeks since I've seen that HUGE MOUNTAIN right in front of my house, I'm going to reminisce about summer and my pots.
I have a sea green flower pot that sits low on one of the landings of my front walk. I fill it with white petunias, some pink begonias, and a sea green vine.
I love this pot.
Last summer, I had the horror of finding several large, juicy snails eating their way through the petunias and begonias. Enraged, I threw the snails to the ground as hard as I could, breaking their shells.
Eden is my witness and accuser. Her high-pitched voice screamed in distress: "MOM! You broke his house! WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT!"
In the echo of her accusation, my answer sounded thin. "They were eating my flowers."
"SO! YOU BROKE HIS HOUSE?! How would you like it if somebody broke your house."
This struck a memory.
Just a few weeks before, I had heard something similar as I swatted flies in my kitchen: "MOM, THINK OF HOW THE FLY FEELS! THINK. HOW WOULD YOU LIKE IT IF SOMEONE SWATTED YOU?"
Honestly, I'm not much of a bug killer. When I find them outside, I feel like I am in their space and give them a shoo. But my kitchen is my space, and I can't cook with flies around. So, in the summer, when my children leave the doors open day and night, I have an evening ritual of purging the flies before I cook.
I'm thinking that whatever connection Eve had with the garden and the animals, survives still in my Eden.
Isn't she sweet?