In October 2016, I left the garden that readers of this blog are familiar with. I grew there–plants and children–for 30 years.
And then I had to give it up.
I’ve spent the past year chronicling the new garden, a “chapter” a month. I decided to post here, for old time’s sake, two posts a month, from December to April, starting with the first night alone in the new house, sitting in an empty living room surrounded by boxes.
It’s a strange, affectless moment, that first evening in a new house. The past is a closed door, and the future one with new locks and an unfamiliar key. All the boxes are labeled and placed in their appropriate rooms, and the checklist for how-to-move-out has become a checklist for how-to-move-in. Everything looks strange—the furniture shrugs itself uncomfortably into new spaces, there are too many pots for the kitchen cabinets, and there’s a street light right outside the bedroom window.
As if you were going to be able to sleep, anyway.
Not Dabbling In Normal 
Just found your blog and am looking toward to reading about your new chapter in life. Change is challenging.
I can’t help but wonder why you started over. Not because I’m being nosy, but because I’m at a crossroad in life myself. I’ve been in the same house for almost 30 years, but my only child has married & moved about as far north as I am south. My marriage is often a question mark. I’m about to turn 60 & wonder if this year is my last chance at real change.
Lost my old house in a divorce. Check out the Facebook page Replanting A Life (you’ll have to thread your way down to the first entry, bc I can’t figure out how to reverse it so the story reads in order!)