Picket Fences, Roses and Contentment

When we moved into our home twelve years ago, it was the Eyesore of the Neighborhood. Many of our new neighbors told us so. They didn't even blush when they said it.

"Oh, you're the new family that moved into the Eyesore of the Neighborhood." (Okay, so maybe that wasn't a direct quote, but you get the idea.)

The house had been a rental and for a quick sell they slapped a coat of paint on it and put in some turf. There was not a thing to be seen growing in the front yard except that slab of green sod.

In spite of the size of the house ("freakishly small"), it had four bedrooms that we desperately needed and the price was right. We would have to work with the Slab O'Sod front yard.

Eric painstakingly cut, painted and installed a real white picket fence. We took our time choosing and planting our roses. We were so grown up now. We had roses that had REAL names. For sure that was a sign that we had "arrived."

When spring comes to our freakishly small home the roses practically sing with color and fragrance. I walk up and down the fence line, deadheading, trimming, smelling, and admiring. And I photograph them. Every. Single. Day. No, seriously. Because every day they seem to get much more beautiful than the day before.

Look at the red climber that shoots up 15 feet and is so thick you can't even see our roofline. It's called Stairway to Heaven and has its own story. (<–If you look back at this old post, you can actually compare how much its grown since then, but that' s not important right now.)

The Disneyland roses start off a beautiful orange color. Orange roses? I know! Slowly, they open up to reveal a fantastic blend of orange and pink. I can't get over them.

I have classic red roses, too. Classic-drop-dead-gorgeous-Cuban-woman-lipstick-and-nail-polish RED.

I kind of wander around my garden like a loon. At this time of the year, even the corners around the yard that I've practically ignored are springing back to life with so much color and beauty that it takes my breath away.

When I say, "practically ignored," I mean "put down in this spot and forgot about it." I picked up this purple, climbing geranium a few years ago to train up on the fence but never got around to the actual planting. (Shut up.) And yet, it continues to reward me. As if to remind me that just showing up is sometimes enough.

So I stroll around the front yard of my freakishly small cottage-like home and I sigh contentedly.

It feels to me like I'm cooperating with God as I look around and feel His presence as I remember the words in Genesis:

"The land produced vegetation: plants bearing seed according to their kinds and trees bearing fruit with seed in it according to their kinds. And God saw that it was good." ~Genesis 1:12

As my land continues to produce, I look around and with a sigh of contentment, think to myself, "This is good."

This is REALLY good.

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