• Having a yard at all
• Health
• Crepe myrtles
• Loquats
• Cascarones
• Dracaena
•  
• Weeding out the thorns
• Morning glories
• Oregano plants
• Hot shower and Advil

Taking a little time for gratitude. Looking  for the blessings, even in yard work.

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I confess, while I enjoy being outside and need regular doses of sunlight like a little plant, I am not much of a gardener. I might dabble a bit here and there, but heavy duty yard and garden work, well, let’s just say that it isn’t my happy place.

And yet it must be done. Weeds grow, leaves fall, plants grow willy-nilly and must be cut back. So to the yard I go, armed with rake and clippers and a sturdy pair of garden gloves. Each time I’m out there doing the outside chores, I try to distract myself with happier thoughts.

This year, I was reminded of a practice I’ve adopted to help me through the trials this year has brought. Each day, I try to dwell on at least then things that I am grateful for in that day. No matter how bad a day has been, I can find that many things to be grateful for. So surely, there must be something in the midst of the dirt and weeds and thorns I can find to be thankful for.

There were. Some were even worth sharing—so I offer you my list of yard work gratitudes.

Having a yard at all

During Hurricane Harvey last year, we were in an area that experienced serious flooding. Five of the eight homes on our street took on from a foot and a half to four and half feet of water. The flood waters stopped two thirds of the way up our driveway. We are blessed to have a yard to be cleaning up.

Health

I am thankful for the health and strength to be out doing yard work . Having spent a lot of last year in and out of doctors and hospitals with my parents, I am reminded how precious it is that I can rake leaves and pull weeds and enjoy the sun on my face in the process. It is a blessing to be able to do these things, no matter how much I like or dislike the chore.

Crepe myrtles

As I get to the side yard, I am confronted by four twenty-five foot tall crepe myrtle trees. They desperately need trimming and nearly all the branches in need of clipping are WAY over my head. Such fun with the long handled pruners.

We planted these trees when we moved in twenty years ago in the hopes of providing shade to the kitchen and one boy’s room on the west side of the house.  They were just scrawny little bits of twigs back then, planted in the middle of a drought. We weren’t sure they would even survive the process.

They remind me of all that has grown up in this home—my three boys—in those twenty years, how big and strong they have become and how grateful I am for their maturity.

Loquats

Near the crepe myrtles, I find so many seedlings that have sprouted and I need to pull up. I have to thank the squirrels for these. They are little loquat sprouts, buried by the squirrels when the tree fruited in the spring.

When we moved in, we didn’t realize that the builders had put in a fruit tree as part of the landscaping. Then when it fruited, we had no idea of what it was. Since then, we’ve come to enjoy the exotic fruit and all the interesting adventures it has led us on.

Adventures with the kids like learning about the fruit in the first place, learning how to make jams and jellies from it, learning how to can said jams and jellies, meeting heretofore unknown neighbors when they ring the doorbell and ask if they can pick some. I’ve had several lovely ladies from overseas ring the bell and tell me how they had a loquat tree in the home growing up and how much they would love to have some of the fruit. I always say yes—how can you possibly deny a person the taste of their home? Those are some very precious memories, even if the tree does leave me a lot to clean up now.

Cascarones

As I rake, I encounter bits of brightly colored egg shells. It’s hard to believe that the cascarones from Easter are still around and still as bright as ever. Cascarones are eggshells filled with confetti that you throw at each other or smash over each others’ heads at Easter. It is a Hispanic tradition that we’ve enjoyed for many years.

Even though my kids, now all in their twenties, have outgrown hunting for Easter eggs, they still enjoy this tradition. We get at least a dozen cartons for the boys and their cousins and turn them out in the front yard while the ‘real’ adults stand on the sidelines and take pictures—and get hit with a few eggs in the process. I am grateful that my family is close and can still have silly fun together.

Dracaena

Moving to the front flower beds, I encounter several massive dracaena plants that are now towering into the branches of the pine trees overhead. They have to be cut back as they look a horrid mess right now, and it’s not going to be easy. With trunks as thick as my upper arms, I’m not sure what tool to use to get through them. How did they get so big in the first place?

A dear friend of mine gave me the parent plant when she was moving out of the country. Sadly, the years and the miles have made us lose track of each other. The friendship was a huge blessing though and something I really needed to remember just now.

Bonus points: I just learned the dame dracaena comes from the Greek word meaning female dragon—how cool is that?

 

Weeding out the thorns

 In that same front bed, I encounter, not for the first time, a particularly aggressive, unpleasant thorny vine. According to the interwebs, it is known in Texas a greenbriar. But, the plant has a variety of names. Some places call it catbrier, cat sawbrier and sarsaparilla vine. Other areas it is also called roundleaf greenbrier, bullbrier, chinabrier, saw greenbrier and tramp’s trouble.

Whatever you call it, it is vicious. The thorns are long enough and tough enough that I have to find a second pair of heavy leather gloves to put over my current garden gloves to tackle this beast without serious injuries. I’ve tried to pull this particular vine out before, but it only grows back with a tenacious stubbornness that rivals my own.

This year, I bring out the big guns, the shovel. Actual several of them in different sizes. I follow the vine down into the ground and begin uncovering the roots. By the time all is said and dug, I’ve pulled out the big shovel and dug down about eight inches to reveal a massive, gnarled root. This beast is the size of a generous hand of ginger, but not half so attractive. No wonder it kept growing back.

I have people in my life who are like that thorny vine, who have attacked and hurt me and kept coming back for more. Staring at that root, I am reminded that there is a deep, ugly root behind those thorns, one I did not plant and really has nothing to do with me. Their thorns ae about their root, not about me. I am thankful for that reminder as I am still licking wounds from thorny people.

Morning glories

Working my way around a large pine tree, I spot another set of leafy vines. These have flowers, pretty purple ones, instead of thorns. I probably would have pulled them, despite the flowers, except that my middle son informed me that they were actually morning glories that had decided to take up residence in my flower bed. How very thoughtful of them, really. So instead of pulling them, I weed around them and carefully give them purchase to wind up around the nearest tree.

It is funny to think about how the little heart-shaped leaves got promoted from weed to ornamental plant with just a simple remark from my son. And it’s interesting to consider what that promotion means.  I remember times I feel like I’ve been promoted from weed to ‘real plant,’ and I’m grateful for that promotion.

Oregano plants

Moving past the morning glories, I see that my pot of oregano needs to be moved. As I move it, the air is filled with the fragrance of oregano—and images of all the tasty things I’ve cooked with it flood the memories. My middle son and I planted that a couple of years ago. He went through a gardening phase—I have green onions sprouting up in the most unexpected places thanks to him. I’m grateful for having gotten to share those creative moments with him and for all the time we’ve spent together cooing with this oregano.

Hot shower and Advil

Finally I get to the end of that flowerbed, and it’s definitely time to call it a day. It probably was an hour or two ago, but who’s counting, right?

I put away the tools, strip off the gloves and muddy shoes and head straight for the shower, stopping ever so briefly to grab the bottle of Advil–everything and I do  mean everything hurts right now–along the way. I turn the water up as hot as I can stand it.

Is it possible to be too grateful for indoor plumbing and water heaters? I’m pretty sure you can’t. As the meds kick in and the hot water penetrates the layers of grim, I’m so thankful for living in an age where these wonders are commonplace and accessible.

 

So, do I like yard work now? Nope, I don’t think that’s gonna happen anytime soon. But having the chance to dwell on things I’m grateful for is always a good thing. I’m happy for that. Not to mention, I’m not cringing every time I look at the front yard, so that’s pretty good, too.

Have you been able to find opportunities for gratitude in the mundane things of like? Tell me about them!