I will be the first to admit that the above photo does not really look like much.

Wow.  It’s some weeds and a somewhat charred fence post.  Good job, Lacey.

But wait.  Look a little closer.

Those three little plants down there at the bottom of that fence?  Those are the very first perennial flowers I’ve planted on the farm!  If all goes well, next year and countless other years from now these will be a much larger and more beautiful patch of purple coneflowers.

Not my purple coneflower … yet

One of my big dreams on this farm is to plant a mixed border all along the front of this fence; to fill it with coneflowers and cranesbill and Russian sage and calendula and black eyed susans.  Hydrangeas and phlox and Japanese forest grass and irises.  Lambs ear and roses and agastache and cosmos and forget-me-nots.

I go to bed dreaming of these future flowers, and how they will spill around the edge of the house to the front yard.  I dream of paths meandering through it, and benches hidden in it’s folds.  Of blooms hanging heavy over fence pickets and bumblebees drowsily drifting along, searching for nectar.

Not my garden … yet

What excites me most though, is that this dream is entirely possible.

The farmhouse will be our final home, the one we live out the rest of our lives in.  I will have the years necessary to plant these flowers, to shape these paths, to watch it all mature and come together.

I can’t wait to see what this farm’s flower garden looks like 30 years from now; to see what we’ve managed to grow with our own hands and our late night dreams.  Whatever it is, I know it will be wonderful.

And to think it will have started with those three little purple coneflowers, under that slightly charred fence post.