I just spent a delightful week working harder than I have in a long time. Though I'm exhausted, it's fatigue that comes from physical work with a rewarding purpose—in this case helping our son move his family into a house of their own in Connecticut. They had everything well under control, but this is the kind of transition that is greatly aided by a little extra elbow grease. And since their house sits on a small plot of land, I focused some of my efforts on evaluating the overgrown vegetation and tackling the weeds. Someone years ago must have loved this yard, because under weed trees and wisteria that had run amok I kept finding remnants of a garden planted with care—varieties of irises, some hidden sedum, and two different hydrangeas, one with lacy violet-tinged flowers. It made me think of the possibilities inherent in a garden, of the dreams and disappointments that go along with owning a piece of the earth. With the arrival of a new family, a house and garden take on new life—literally—and suddenly there is a revival of possibility in a neglected garden. It was very exciting, especially watching our two grandsons discover places to hide (and places where toads and bunnies hide!). I came home with a fresh perspective on my own garden. What would I do now if I were just moving in and discovering this garden for the first time? A lot! I can't wait for cooler weather so I can get started.