The Sun Returns
The New Year came and left. When the weather finally shifted, it felt like the land exhaled. The snow melted into the soil, the air softened, and the tunnel—our freshly built, wind‑battled, snow‑kissed tunnel—stood ready for its next chapter. And so did I.
I had trays of seedlings crowding every warm corner, bulbs stacked in crates, and corms waiting patiently for their turn in the earth. The moment the sun returned, it was time.
Planting the Tunnel
My days were still full with my regular job, so most of the planting happened in the evenings. I’d close my laptop, pull on my boots, and head down the path to the tunnel—sometimes with Daisy and Luna trotting beside me, sometimes alone with just the sound of the wind and the crunch of gravel underfoot.
Inside the tunnel, the light felt different. Softer. Focused. The shade cloth cast a silvery glow over everything, like the plants were already being held in a gentle embrace. I planted row after row—seedlings, bulbs, corms—each one a tiny promise tucked into the soil. There was a rhythm to it: hands in the dirt, dogs sniffing around the edges, the sun slipping lower, the tunnel filling with life.
As the rows took shape, I added netting to support the stems that would soon stretch toward the filtered light. I organized my workspace, set tools in their places, and began to feel the tunnel shift from “project” to “growing space.”
Meanwhile, Outside the Tunnel
While I was buried in planting, Rob turned his attention to the outdoor garden. If the tunnel was my domain, the fence became his.
He measured, dug, leveled, and built—post by post, board by board—creating a sturdy barrier to keep the bunnies and deer from treating my future flowers like a salad bar. The gate he built swings open with a satisfying weight, like it already knows it’s guarding something important.
Together, our work started to shape the land in visible ways: rows forming under shade, a garden taking shape behind a new fence, paths beginning to emerge where we walked again and again.
The First Real Steps Toward Bloom
This stretch of days felt like the true beginning of the growing season. The tunnel was planted. The outdoor garden was protected. The land was waking up, and so were we.
Every seedling tucked into the soil felt like a small declaration: We’re doing this. We’re really doing this.
And with the sun back overhead, it didn't feel possible, it felt real.
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