When you take a walk down the same road every day, you're bound to notice things that are always the same, and those things that beautifully change, kind of right before your eyes.
The last couple of weeks as the weather's gotten warmer I've been taking afternoon walks down our half-mile-long gravel driveway and even beyond that onto the farm land. And I've just been watching spring come forth right before my very eyes. It's prayerful, being able to crunch on the gravel and walk out my (sometimes) anger or impatience or worry, or at other times, when my heart is right, I'm able to just bask in the springtime sun and pray and smile and listen to God's voice in the beauty around me.
I watch the brown and dead slowly dissipate and make room for the green pushing through the earth. And I see the little tiny purple and pink buds on our neighbor's driveway and I see our bright daffodils that keep getting fuller and filling out the lines along the fences and the back of the house.
I'm excited to plant the garden with my mother-in-law, as I try making my own patchwork of arugula and oregano and garlic and basil and cilantro and mint, and I dream of her summer tomatoes and green beans and lettuce. And I can't wait to work with my hands and pull out the weeds and watch growth happen so that we can live off of this land. I'm excited to walk back and forth past the garden and say, we did this.
My baby is strapped to my back, and he sleeps, and he feels kind of weightless, as I've made this walk so many times before. And what used to feel heavy no longer does as I think back to a year ago. I walked these roads last spring, arriving scared and pregnant and unsure of what we were doing, waiting for our little boy and in the middle of mountains, so foreign to me. I crunched along this gravel in the hot of June, swelling and full and hoping to bring on Emmett's arrival and furrowing my brow and asking God, 'When?' In fall, I started to look around a little more, and venture past the gate onto the land down below and started to settle into being 'mama.' I even began to miss these hills and these trees, this familiar walk and the fresh air through winter, as I sat waiting for this, waiting for now. And finally, with the last of the snow melted, we walk again, Emmett and I, in time to see springtime arrive, and hope again even, towards another summer walking on this farm.