High on Believin'
On the Way

A Sort Of Metaphor

Over the weekend, I sat on my patio and looked across my yard, and I saw this. . .

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My pergola.

A cool and private oasis in my landscape. 

Green. 

Shady. 

Comfortable.

And it got me thinking. . .

because . . . well . . . it wasn't always like that.

Four years ago it looked like this. . .

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Nothing.  Just dead-ish lawn and a clear view to my neighbors' house.

I had always, always dreamed of having a pergola . . . or an arbor. . . or a gazebo.  With a swing.  And wisteria.  But I never really thought I'd actually have one.  Not in that spot, certainly.  Not anywhere.

But then I got cancer.

And needed to occupy myself during the four months of chemo treatments.

So I dreamed.  With landscape design books and gardening magazines open all around me.

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I decided I wanted to change my view.

I decided I wanted to create the spaces I'd always only dreamed of having.

I decided to make my dreams . . . happen.

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And I had help.

My friend, Sandie.  Who encouraged.

And Tom.  And Brian.  And my Dad.

They dug in.

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They plowed under.

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They raised up.

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They set down.

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They hammered in.

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My pergola.

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Because they love me.

And there it was. . .

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Raw.

Naked.

Stark.

In need of planting.

No one would see the pergola and not know it was . . . new.  Raised from what used to be there.

Kind of like . . . I was. 

But now . . . 

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Why, it looks like it's been there forever.

And always.

The structure is sound. 

The roots are deep. 

The edges are smoothed out.

Kind of like . . . me!

 

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