Why sometimes less is more

My garden is small compared to the cut-flower gardeners and homesteaders I follow.

Actually, in comparison, tiny would probably be more accurate. Then again, when put alongside a good number of urban gardens, of which mine is one, it would probably fall in the good-sized category.

I want to do all the things. Grow cut flowers and veggies, fruit trees and shrubs, Grow in a greenhouse and raised beds, in formal and informal gardens, have chickens and cows, make cheese and ice cream and create stunning floral arrangements that include everything from flowers to herbs, and veggies to weeds.

But here I am, 58 today. While I may feel 35 on the inside, my body has begun to remind me more and more often that 60 is fast approaching.

I like being in my 50s. I've been able to let so much go, and speak up without apology when something needs holding on. There is freedom here in the second act.

There is also acceptance of what is and finding comfort in boundaries that used to chafe.

I may want to do all the things, but a small garden makes that unfeasible. A small garden becomes a hard and fast boundary. I may imagine I can plant endless varieties of assorted green things when I lay in bed dreaming at night, but morning brings me back to reality.

And my 58-year-old body thanks me. Because, sometimes, less is more.