finding joy in my yard when hair days fail

Sometimes, when I look in the mirror and see my wild, unruly hair, I can’t help but laugh. I remember my mother’s perfectly set curls, her Sunday ritual before church—something I never quite mastered. These days, my hair does its own thing, but my yard? That’s where I find my pride. Back in the day, neighbors competed for the greenest lawn, each blade of grass trimmed with military precision. Now, I see younger folks planting wildflowers and letting clover take over, calling it a ‘pollinator paradise.’ I admit, I miss the old uniform lawns, but I also love the color and life these new gardens bring. Sometimes, I wonder if we’re losing tradition or just finding a new way to connect with nature. Here in the Midwest, the seasons rule our gardens. Spring brings mud and hope, summer bakes the earth, and autumn covers everything in gold. My peonies, handed down from my grandmother, bloom every June—reminding me of family and simpler times. But last year’s drought hit hard. My neighbor’s native prairie patch thrived while my thirsty roses wilted. Should I stick to tradition or adapt? The HOA sent a letter about my ‘messy’ yard. They want uniformity, but I want my space to heal and grow. Is it wrong to let nature take its course? I see the conflict between order and wildness every time I step outside. Maybe it’s not about having a perfect yard—or perfect hair—but about finding beauty in what’s real, and sharing those stories with each other. #yardstories #gardenmemories #traditionvschange #Gardening