Fifteen

Fifteen.  My girl is fifteen.  I am not sure how that happened.  We have rocked and sang and gone to sleep and woken up and shopped for clothes and had talks and laughed ourselves silly and participated in learning how to cook and do laundry and sew and fifteen years has just flown by.  She's …

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Forget being planted. Just. Bloom.

I've had a blog post rattling around in my brain for awhile, but I've been waiting for a time to get it all written just right with the exact pictures I want for it, and now--this second-- I say enough!  I'm slingin' it out there and will straighten it up later. Three springs ago I …

Continue reading Forget being planted. Just. Bloom.