Sometimes I go back and forth about why I have this blog at all. I didn't really want to be all out there in internet land. I didn't want to share what I was writing with others. I didn't want any criticism. This type of writing doesn't always allow for the detailed re-write process that I like to exercise. And it doesn't keep my words private until I'm ready to share. My thoughts are out there and I'm quite exposed, so in a way I am unable to be truly real. It's a strange type of feeling, to be so vulnerable, which is why I haven't told anyone that this blog exists.
Then I thought if I had a subject, then maybe I would feel focused and able to write consistently. And maybe it would be interesting and people would want to read about it. And it would at least get me writing every day, right? And that would be good practice in being a legit-real-life writer someday, right?
When I started all of this, I picked my home to be my muse, this Green Acres land. I was excited to take so many pictures and write about what we were growing and what we were learning and what I was making with our garden glories.
And then we had the strangest season.
Our tomatoes didn't grow.
Our zucchini and squash developed a case of cutworm (strangely, not appetizing).
Our corn didn't germinate.
Our apples didn't bud.
Our grapes didn't fruit.
What the? How did? But yes, we did, we utterly and completely messed up a lot of things in our garden this spring and summer.
And now we sit in winter's solitude, trapped inside with nothing to show for it but our potatoes. And my blog sits here lacking a whole lot of what I had planned for it. I'm not quite sure what to do with it all. I think it is important to keep writing but am not certain this format is working for me. I don't expect feedback. I am using this post as another writing exercise: to throw out everything within onto the page and see what it looks like in morning's light.
Here's to a clear morning!