And finally, it’s spring: where our words have been

“You must be coming to visit me!”

We were halfway around our block when were stopped by a wave from our octogenarian neighbor who lives behind us. We weren’t technically coming to visit, but our walk turned into a tour of her ever-changing garden. look upHer garden is her thing: I notice her from the kitchen window almost every afternoon. She’s out there with a yard waste bag, her gardening gloves, and a wagon of tools.

She’s got tulips that bloom larger than my fist, hostas that could eat my dog. Later will come roses and irises and a whole slew of blooms (which I won’t be able to name thirty seconds after she tells me). She schools the girls: look at this Jacob’s ladder, see primrose, can you spot the faces on the pansies here.

(Meanwhile, I’m just happy the kids haven’t crushed my peony to death with their bodies. Pretty sure someone watered it from a container of bubble mix, too.)

This is our spring: full of neighbors and walks and finally, flowers.

It’s been a busy spring of writing, too, so I’m here to share what we’ve been sharing.

More substance soon. But for now: besides preaching, freelancing for the newspaper, and mowing the neighbors’ yard for petty cash, you can find us — 

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