A sense of place

It's so interesting to think about.  There are places in the world that speak to me, for sure.  And many that don't.  A sense of place means to me about where I feel at home.

My places are green, with forest, water, and mountains. I'm fortunate, indeed, to have two places like that to call home. 

It wasn't accidental at all, but serendipitous.  A place spoke to us, in the Northern Appalachians in Quebec, even though we didn't need a second home 21 hours north of North Carolina.  That was almost five years ago now.

We already had a wonderful place in Asheville, surrounded by mountains in our tourist city. We're taking advantage of the opportunities this spring to enjoy the spring wildflowers, see our naturalistic garden unfold, and take advantage of the abundant restaurants here, after a long pandemic hiatus.

And I'm happy to have spring greens: lettuce, spinach, chard and kale -- thriving in my front raised beds.  Wonderful to be able to harvest them!

When we return to the Northern Appalachians in early June, one of my first gardening activities will be to plant greens, along with warm season veggies (it always seems way too cold, but is necessary to do!), dashing to the local nurseries right away.  (It does seem pointless to plant tomatoes to me, as so many folks do, but squash, beans, and sugar snap peas from seed -- well, I'll be doing that.)

I look forward the most to returning to Parc du Bic and my favorite trails.  Wonderful, indeed.