Since moving to Ontario, I can see the British roots in how intensely some people garden here. Little patches of front yard filled to the brim with roses, tulips, and asters. The moment there’s a warm breeze, shorts and tank tops come out, and there are people out picking their particular weed from the yard.

I’ve been trying to learn the native plants and flowers here. What my garden will grow, I don’t know yet. It’s rocky, and so different from where I lived before. But I’ve learned of trilliums, maples, black walnuts, serviceberry, and more. I revel in all this learning. I’m grateful there’s no grade, but the learning feels good.

We went to a flower farm recently, too. Sunflowers everywhere, as far as I could see. It was beautiful. Just another way of observing my new province, one bloom at a time.

I also want to write sometime about the book The Serviceberry, and how much I’ve learned of indigenous practices from it. How grateful I am to learn of such cyclical patterns in nature and such wisdom.