Dirt Under My Nails

As much as I enjoyed living in Paris, I really did miss having a private outdoor space.  I don't need a big lawn or an elaborate garden, just a little patch of green where I can have my coffee, read a book, or just be.  And while I liked the charm and ease of window box gardening, I missed the progression of daffodils to peonies to roses, picking fresh basil for pesto, and the satisfaction you get from putting your hands in the dirt.

Between having some very responsible tenants and a good property management firm, we've returned to a house that's in great shape.  The yard?  Not so much.  Despite semi annual cleanups by pros, our little lawn has gone from 90 percent grass to 90 percent weeds, and the ivy and bindweed are threatening to take over everything, that is, if the mini volunteer maple trees don't do it first.  And though the task of weeding and trimming and keeping nature at bay can be both physically taxing and emotionally draining, I don't mind getting a little dirt under my nails.   It's too late in the season for any real changes but still time enough for cut zinnias and a batch of pesto.

I think there are a few stray patches of grass in this lawn although the violets are clearly winning.