When Audley and I moved back to north Alabama (four years ago this week), it was with a tremendous amount of hesitation. We had been away for ten years. Coupled with our hesitation was our dream to finally settle down after years of moving and to build a small farm. We imagined the joy of being close to family. We looked forward to occasional sleepy mornings. We cherished the idea of the simple, meaningful work of tending land and animals together. And eventually our retirement plan. We understood that a lot had changed in the ten years we had been away. There were divorces, deaths, and life moving on. However, with our children grown, we knew that settling down into small town life was what we wanted.

We were surprised by how quickly life filled all the open spaces. Our plans shifted to “when we have time.”

I took a full-time teaching position, and Audley continued traveling for work. Our little farm grew with chickens scratching in the yard. Sheep were in a pasture at my parents. Pheasants roamed and a garden began to take shape. At the same time, the demands on our time also grew. There were many days when it felt like we were tending everything except our marriage and the life we had dreamed of. We’ve learned one crucial thing in thirty years. A lasting marriage means taking care of it before anything else.

Back in September and October, something in me shifted. It was actually a lot of things shifting at once as proof that you cannot “go home” really hit hard. We made a couple of major changes from Audley changing companies to where we worshiped each week. Inevitably these changes lead to other realizations.

I began to realize that I didn’t want to continue teaching. Not in this season. Not in the way it has become. I spent much time in prayer. I weighed options carefully. I did not want to hurt feelings (the forever challenge of a chronic people pleaser). I suppose I expect too much and want others to have the same amount of passion I do. I tend to pour 100% into everything I tackle. Yet, the constant resistance wears on a person. The lack of effort is challenging. The endless cycle of assignments half-done or not done at all is overwhelming. The attitudes of not caring and whining are exhausting. The lack of discipline is frustrating. It is difficult to pour yourself into something day after day and feel that so little of it takes root.

More than the frustration, it was the weight of it all. There was the stress I didn’t want. I was losing sleep lying awake, wondering what I could do differently. I felt the need to be available for my husband, family, and my role as a Lolli. Then there was a sense that my heart simply wasn’t in the right place anymore.

And that realization, while hard, was also eye-opening.

Mostly because my heart is somewhere else…

At home.

With Audley.

With my children and grands.

With the simple life we had planned out, even if it is coming along slowly.

I am deeply aware of what a blessing it is to even have the choice to step away and return home. Except for a short season when our children were in high school, I’ve always been an at-home wife and mother. If I’m honest, returning to that role feels less like stepping back in time, and feels more like stepping into exactly where I’m meant to be.

And now, in most coincidental timing, spring has arrived right alongside this decision.

I’ve been on spring break, and the garden, our yard and our home has been given my full attention. Not making travel plans was just what I needed.

Planting my garden actually began several weeks ago, when the cool-weather seeds went into the ground. Now, as March winds down, the garden is waking up in the most beautiful way.

The sugar snap peas are climbing and cabbages are forming.

Celery, radishes, lettuces, carrots, fennel, and leeks are all up and growing steadily.

The perennial herbs like rosemary, chives, parsley, sage, and oregano are full and fragrant once again.

And also, a most unexpected surprise of all…

Johnny jump-ups, scattered like confetti all around my garden.

They’ve self-seeded so freely this year. I’ve been able to move them about and tuck them into pots. They fill in spaces I hadn’t even planned for. It’s amazing what the garden chooses to give you, especially when these particular flowers didn’t bloom so well last year!

It was a reminder that not everything needs to be forced or planned. Sometimes the unexpected adds the perfect amount of charm to your plans.

In other news, I’ve carefully mapped out the entire garden for the season. Tomatoes have been started, seeds are sorted and ready, and plans are in place.

The Old Farmer’s Almanac might say we can plant early here in north Alabama, but I’m trying to choose patience.

{I’m struggling because it is so pretty right now!}

If there’s one thing gardening teaches, it’s that rushing rarely brings reward. A late frost can undo your hard work. Therefore, I’m waiting and watching the weather. I am letting the season unfold as it should. It is quite a challenge! Dogwood winter is real here in Alabama. The garden (and by the garden, I mean myself) will have to wait for its proper season.

In a way, that’s exactly where I find myself too.

In between seasons; letting go of one life and timidly stepping into another.

This spring feels like more than a change, it feels like a return.

A return to where and who I am meant to be.

A return to meaningful work.

A return to tending not just what grows in the soil, but what grows within our marriage and home.

There is much ahead. There are plans and dreams. No doubt a good bit of hard work lies ahead too. But for the first time in a long while, it feels right.

And that, more than anything, feels like the season I’m meant to be in.