Growing Gratitude

It's August. Hot, steamy days with the tiniest breeze create such draining conditions. But by evening, it's almost always tolerable to be outside and do some gardening. Saturday night I was walking out to close my roadside cart for the night when I looked up and saw this scene. The moon was hanging in the peaceful, coral and blue sky, and dark, wispy clouds balanced over the moon. It made me stop, and gratitude washed over me.

Sounds of bull frogs and crickets filled the air, and an owl hooted near the creek. There was just enough light from the sliver of moon to walk in the dark without a flashlight. The air was heavy but wisps of cooler air were present. The air smelled like sweet corn, freshly cut grass, and a tiny bit like fall. I stopped and tried to soak it in, so I can remember it this winter when we are cooped up inside and everything is dull gray.

Sheridan is everything we could want for a place to call home. When my husband and I built our house here, we intended to live here a year or two and then move north to where we were both raised. Quickly we realized that Sheridan was "home," and before we knew it, there was no place we'd rather live. (Side note: okay, maybe in the winter I do wonder why we are living here.)

I feel so grateful for this community, its people, and all the opportunities it has given our family.

There's so much to be said about living in the country yet only living a few minutes away from town. Stepping outside in the early morning and getting to watch the sun rise while working outside is only the beginning. Smelling honeysuckle and lilacs, seeing the yellow finches and the cardinals playing in our backyard, hearing the calming yet lonely song of the mourning dove, watching swallowtails and monarchs hover around like I remember from my childhood, hearing the neighbors' roosters crow--this is just the beginning of what we get to see, smell, and hear every single day. For that, I am so very grateful.