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New Logo, plus T SHIRTS!

We survived 2020. Time for a refresh in 2021. Here's the Wild Violets Landscape Design original logo: Then, I nixed the bee (bees were all the rage, neonicitinoid controversy and all that, and bees are still super awesome, but I thought it was a little too cute )... And now, (drum roll) introducing a grown up, more natural, less cartoony version: I like it. That is all. Also, to go along with the Stay Wild revolution noted in a previous post, we now have t shirts for sale. I loooove them. (heart emoticon, etc. etc.). Hope you will too: https://www.orderteamgear.com/company-stores/wild-violets-landscape-design/

Stay Wild

Deep Breath. Here goes. And it’s gonna be sweary.  You’ve probably heard the phrase “Life begins at 40”. I’m there. I’m a few years into the decade, but already deep in the vibe. A shift is happening, and my mind is blown by the “aliveness” of it all. Here’s how it happened:  I’m a woman, wife, mom, daughter, sister, friend, entrepreneur, creative dreamer. I was also recently diagnosed with Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD), primarily Inattentive Type. “WTF”, you ask? I know. Don’t get me started; I’m still getting used to it myself, and it’s a long, complicated story filled with questions, doubt, research, doctors, naysayers, anger, acceptance, and lots and lots of hope (repeat).  It’s a fucking revelation . Here I am, at age 43, wondering why I’ve always felt anxious, socially awkward, misunderstood, and possibly legit crazy. I have been questioning myself for years. Decades. Trudging through life, wearing (too) many hats, grasping at fulfillment, and still

Observations

I was pumping gas one day across from an older gentleman when a jacked-up, loud-mufflered, big black truck pulled into the station and stopped abruptly nearby with a large, burly, bearded, agitated dude leaning out the window. “Hey old man!”, he yelled at the guy across the pump from me. “You the guy that just ran that stop sign back there?”. I, being deathly afraid of confrontations, was ready to flee so as not to witness the potential smack down and/or homicide of an old man by a large redneck. But, also, being an avid noticer of things and people, and also stuck mid-gasoline-pump myself, I froze in place, steeled myself, and peeked around the pump to see the show. Old Guy, with barely a glance at Agitated Guy, very slowly and deliberately continued his process of pumping gas: squinted at the pump screen, pushed a button, inserted the hose, and then simply said quietly and maybe a bit sadly, “Yeeaaaah, that sounds like me.” Agitated guy was still hopped up and tried to contin

Hibernation

  I am a gardener. I consider it a large part of my identity. But here I am again in January, in Minnesota, questioning my major life choices, specifically this career and climate in which I cannot actively “career” for 3 months out of the year.     I dream of vacations I would take to places where green things still grow, if I possessed the discipline and cash flow to be able to save money for this purpose. Oh, and if pandemics weren’t a thing. Also, thanks to COVID, I am home supporting my 2 nd and 5 th graders’ distance learning instead of working part-time outside the home this winter. I much prefer this home arrangement, actually, but the pay is in hugs and smiles which don’t buy vacations, although they totally should because the world would be way cooler.   So, I spend a lot of time reading. I read year-round, but full-time in winter, and perhaps out of resentment, pretty much zero of the books I read are about plants. I favor biographies, memoirs, and

Mediteation

I'm a tea drinker. Tea comes from plants, specifically Camellia sinensis , which is native to Asia but now is cultivated in tropical places around the world so all of humankind can have it's plant-y caffeine goodness but not have to drink coffee, which tastes like burned dirt. And that's the horticultural part of this post. What I really need to talk about is anxiety.  COVID anxiety is a new level of anxiety on top of my regular anxiety. My regular strategy of carrying around yellow legal pad to-do lists to keep on top of life's tasks is not cutting it. I feel like my brain is swimming in open ocean with dangerous distractions like Titanic-sized icebergs, sharks with frickin' laser beams on their heads, and that giant vortex of human-dumped trash in the Pacific. So, the docs suggest medication (of course), cognitive behavioral therapy, exercise, and meditation/mindfulness. Each one of these could be a large discussion, but lately I've been thinking a

Watch Out For Children

In 2014, my husband's parents moved into town. It was a big deal. My father-in-law, almost 77 years young at the time, was born on this farm and had literally never lived anywhere else. My husband had only lived one other place besides the farm, in River Falls, WI with me, for a few years before and after we got married. Hubby always wanted to live on the farm again. Due to the level of physical work that home and farm building maintenance, mowing, and general fix-its require on a farm, it made sense for Grandma and Grandpa to move to a simpler home with an association to take care of all that tedium, and the next generation to take over those tasks on the farm. Making sense, however, isn't the same as making it easy. The transition brought those feelings of fear and awkwardness and loss and excitement that come with big change. I assume these extended on both sides of the transaction and into the extended family, although we are all from a culture and heritage that doesn't

Go Home

I haven't left my corner of the world past the mailbox in a week. I haven't blogged in, I don't know, years? Coronavirus is here. Our spring break turned into 'social distancing' instead of visiting Grandma and Grandpa.  Regardless of human anxiety and fear, spring has the guts to show up. Snow piles are almost melted, birds are chatty in the cottonwood tree and the rhubarb is peeking out of the ground near the chicken coop. Seeds have the audacity to grow. Do I?