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I can think of no better place to spend Holy Week than down on my knees, out in the garden.

I’ve devoted the better part of the last three days to my garden; I’ve trimmed, cleaned up leaf debris and planted a few bulbs.  Except for planting annuals, which will need to wait for a few more days, my garden is reading for its Spring growing fling.

Caring for my small Mesta Park garden is no full-time job.  After caring for lawn and gardens at our Texas home — which covered almost half an acre, I’m almost embarrassed to call what I do here in Mesta Park ‘gardening.’

Today, with all my ‘gardening’ chores done, but with leftover desire to keep gardening, I rang up the owner of the duplex next door today to see if I could come over and play in his dirt.  He’s so pleased with what we did together last fall — with his money and my time — that I learned I’m to come over any time I want.

So now, in addition to my own property, I have two duplexes whose front yards I care for on the block, counting the ‘Cinderella’ duplex across the street.  These three are still only half of what I cared for in Texas.  It’s my own little ministry, where I share my know-how and love of gardening with some good neighbors.  It’s just me and God creating a little beauty together.

It feels good to work with my hands, to think creatively off of the written page.  The down-side, for my husband anyways, is that I’ve been so tired, we’ve gone out to eat the last three evenings.

Tonight, after dinner, my husband suggested an evening walk with the dogs.  It was so pretty, I had to run back in to grab my camera.  It was quiet — we walked in silence — covered by the light from old streetlamps.  The sky was rosy pink when we began and soft cornflower blue by the time we got home.

On days like these, I can think of no better place to live than in this old neighborhood.

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