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“We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.”
~ T. S. Eliot
When I was growing up my mother used to say, “You can help clean the inside of the house or pull weeds in the backyard.” I always pulled the weeds. I tended a small area of dirt by a chain link fence, clearing it of rocks and weeds. The definition of a weed is: any wild plant growing where it is not wanted. In those days I left the weeds that had lavender flowers. This was my first introduction to gardening.
When we pulled up in front of the house that was for sale, it was just what I wanted. “Old houses have a history,” I told my husband. We trudged through deep snow on the property before going inside. A White Oak tree still clinging to rust colored leaves, stood in the middle of the backyard with massive branches that extended far out. I knew I had found the house of my dreams when I saw the potting shed; a converted old chicken coop. The yard extended way back to an old stone wall. Dried Annabelle hydrangeas bent with snow-capped flowers. There was a stillness in the air. I felt calm and at peace. I felt like I belonged there; a place where I could pull weeds.