Category: Lawn & Garden

From Curation To Refinement: Mapping the Word of the Year

Looking back, I can see the physical trail each word left behind—not just a label, but a job that required my hands.

Each one marked a kind of work season. Not abstract self-improvement, but real, physical, and emotional labor that left evidence behind.

The Foundation: Curate (2023–2024)

It started with the idea of my home as the museum of my life. These years were spent selecting and organizing—physically clearing out the accumulation of things that no longer spoke to who I am.

Curate was heavy lifting. It required decisions: what deserved to stay in the collection, and what was simply taking up space. Letting go wasn’t always easy, but it was necessary. Space had to be made before anything else could happen.

The Fuel: Nourish (2025)

Once the space was cleared, it needed to be filled with the right things.

Nourish became about the tactile work of tending—to body, mind, and spirit. This was the year of actual, countable words on the page. The year of sweating through physical health, rebuilding stamina, and allowing quiet back into my days.

Nourishment wasn’t indulgent. It was foundational. You can’t refine what hasn’t been fed.

An open notebook on a rustic wooden desk showing the word 'Refine' in elegant script, surrounded by a lit candle, a cup of tea, a magnifying glass, and a fountain pen.
“Moving past the gathering phase and into the deliberate work of the polish.”

The Polish: Refine (2026)

Now I’m stepping into the year of Refine.

If Curate was about gathering the right materials, and Nourish was about helping them grow, Refinement is the friction of the grain against the wood; it’s the fine dust that settles on the desk after a long day of sanding down a rough draft.

This year, I’m looking closely at my habits, my writing, and my daily rhythms and asking: How do I make this sharper? What needs to be smoothed? What obstacles need to be removed—not dramatically, but deliberately?

Refine isn’t about doing more. It’s about doing better with what’s already here.

The Future: Sustain & Flourish (2027–2028)

Growth isn’t a sprint; it’s a long-term project.

2027: Sustain.
This will be the year of the steady rhythm. It’s the work of oiling the tools so they don’t rust and checking the fence lines before the storm hits. I’ll be building the systems—the daily habits—that keep the work standing on its own, so I’m no longer reinventing the wheel every morning.

2028: Flourish.
This is the projected destination. After years of clearing, nourishing, and refining, I want to stop endlessly preparing and start seeing results—income, sustainability, and the quiet satisfaction of work that finally pays back some of what it has taken.

Not unchecked growth. Not burnout disguised as success.
Flourish is the heavy weight of a harvest basket—the literal fruit of four years of curating, nourishing, and refining.

“A season of flourishing, earned one day of work at a time.”

So this year, I’m not asking myself who I want to become.

I’m asking what work is ready for my hands.

What is your work this year?
What word are you putting your hands to in 2026?

Embracing Change: A Gardener’s Reflection on Another Growing Season

The sun is setting on another growing season.

I laid the garden to rest today. Pulling up plants while still producing is sad, but they have blessed me with an abundant crop this season.

Not a weed to be seen. This photo was taken after I pulled up the vegetable plants.

I considered leaving it like this for the winter, but I decided I had better rototill because I don’t know what kind of spring we’ll get next year. Not tilling last fall was a mistake. This year, we had a wet spring, and I planted a month late.

The garden before I pulled the plants.

Five years of gardening in this spot, and each year brings a different garden. If you garden, you understand.

Mid-August Musings: Holding onto the Summer Sun

It’s mid-August. The day is done. I’m taking a moment to admire the sun setting behind the cornfield. I wonder, “Where has the summer gone?”

School will start soon. The leaves will change colors, and they will fall. The holidays will come, and so will the snow.

I sat here on this mid-August evening and realized, “I’m not ready for summer to go.”

My Dead Lawn; The Mower Mishap

Dead lawn.

He had just started to mow the ditch.

From inside the house, I could see plumes of dust rise. I walked outside to see that he was cutting the grass off at ground level. “I’ve got to put a stop to this,” I thought to myself.

I stood there a moment at the edge of the driveway. He noticed me and drove his zero turn up beside me. “If you could just do the ditches, I’ll pay you your full amount because you showed up. The rest of the lawn is fine.” He went back to mowing. I went back into the house.

A few moments later, I heard him mowing in the side yard and then in the front yard. I went back outside. His wife was sitting on the fender of their trailer. I asked her, “Please tell him not to do the backyard. It’s already short enough.” I backed away. She flagged him down, and she relayed the message.

The backyard.

When he finished the front yard, I asked him, “If you ever mow the back, please blow the grass clippings away from the garden. It helps to keep the weed seeds out and cuts down on having to pull weeds.”

He rolled his eyes and laughed at me.

I don’t mind doing the backyard if it means not having to pull weeds in the garden, I thought to myself.

The garden.

I am worried about my dead front lawn. The 127-yard sale is this weekend. In years past, I have always left my lawn tall for the sale. It helps the grass come back from the extra foot traffic. This year, there’s a chance for rain. If we get rain, my front yard will be a sloppy, muddy mess. I don’t even know if my lawn will be able to come back enough to survive the winter.

It looks like I will probably need to reseed it in the spring.