I thought maybe I'd write a bit about the picture of my pond below; one of my happy places. Lounging with a glass of wine, listening to the pond's happy gurgle, smelling the Iris and soaking in all the pinks, purples and greens of the primrose and phlox is a spring/summer highlight for me. The first night it's warm enough to sit by it, I throw on some David Gray, pour a big glass of white and head out, giddy with excitement. It's the true beginning of summer for me.  The boys mow the lawn and I wrap up in a blanket, think about what I'm going to plant that summer, smell all the new flowers blooming, teach Sara their names, drink my wine and watch the sun go down. If it's a weekend, we light a fire in the fireplace on the patio and eat s'mores. Happiness.

I think one of the reasons I love this part of my yard so much is because it's grown to something peaceful and beautiful, though it wasn't always that way. When we first moved into this house in '03 I hated this berm.  It was a big hilly lump of heavy clay soil in which nothing would grow. I've planted hundreds of dollars worth of plants in what I used to call the Northwest Berm (now the Pond Berm, go figure) in my annual gardening plans. It made me sad to even look at it. One day, staring at it out of my kitchen window, I'd had it.  It was either flatten it out and sod it, or (lightbulb!) build a pond.

The day Brian started digging I took my dog, Quincy, to the vet for his annual check-up. I found out that day that he had heart disease. I came back from the appointment and Brian was so proud of the progress he had made in digging the pond I had wanted so badly. I plopped down on the edge, feet dangling down, and wept, with Q right next to me. The dog that was the straw (another story entirely), had a month to a year left in his squirrelly little life.  Here Brian was so happy of his accomplishment and all I could do was cry.

Q lived over a year from when we built that pond. He died the fall of the following year, and probably dug up half the plants I built around it in that time. But, it's still beautiful. And when I look at the pond, I think of how sad I was when I sat on the edge of that empty pit and how beautiful and full it became by the time Q died, just like a sick little puppy found on the side of the road in a tobacco field in Virginia found a happy life. I think about what a lifeless, horrible lump of clay it was and how it was molded and transformed into something peaceful and happy, something I look forward to looking at each day. It reminds me that even when things feel horrible, good things can happen and that beauty and happiness can come with a little faith, patience, and perseverance.