I got into green earth
and green earth got into me
and on my clothes
and under my nails
and between my toes...

Under the watchful guidance of a helpful friend, I made my first attempt at gardening and landscaping. I figured after three years in the same house with the same man it was about time to make a move at some small form of domesticity. That and I wanted to make a good impression on my parents who are coming to visit soon. As if to say, "look at me permanently residing in Canada all hunkered down making a life," and like my young flowers, taking root. Tentatively at first, exploring the conditions and then resigning to settle.

Yes. I admit it. I quite like it here. I love my city with its history, its hodge podge of different cultures and all its eccentricities. Hamilton is the relative you love to make fun of but secretly adore for all their quirks and big fish stories. My city has some cracks and scuff marks, but that's what makes her interesting. And best of all, she took me in.

I put up a good fight at first pretending it wasn't my decision to move here. But being angry is exhausting and rips patches from the quilt that holds your soul together. I want to be happy. And warm.

And so I dig. I grunt and sweat at the effort, but I continue to dig.

Yes, my marigolds are a little lopsided, and some of my Black-eyed Susans look like they could use an ice pack and a Tylenol, but I put them there. With care, with expectation and with the hope that the sun will shine on them just the right way.

"At first, it's unfamiliar, then it strikes root."
--Fernando Pessoa