I really don’t consider myself a girly-girl. I realize that may sound ridiculous.

I was raised in the country, surrounded on three sides by woods. As children, we would spend hours collecting snakes, getting lost in the forest, tramping through streams and getting filthy dirty.

The sense of adventure and wonder as a result of  these childhood exploits never really left me.

Fast forward to my adulthood where I am that suburban housewife. No longer in the country. No woods in sight. With a small postage stamp of a backyard and neighbors way to close to each other.

I’m a long way from where I was raised. Which is both a good thing, a bad thing and another blog post all together.

I get most of my daily inspiration from the outdoors. Running, walking, exploring or simply digging in the dirt is an instant recharge of my batteries. (I was made for being a mother of boys, let me tell  you.) 

Me and my postage stamp sized backyard spend a lot of time together. I’ve built quite the garden back there. (Continuously in process, of course.)

I always feel a tremendous sense of accomplishment when ripping out weeds or adding new plants. It is a simple pleasure.

Most favorite plant? Hydrangea.

Most favorite tool in the entire free world? A pickaxe. Best. Stress. Reliever. Ever. If I had a therapist, I bet he/she would analyze the hell out of that one. (If you happen to be a therapist and are reading this, email me privately with your medical recommendations. Or maybe not. Heh.)

It is good to  find solace in simple pleasures. Oh, who am I kidding? I just like playing in the dirt.