“I hope you can begin to recognize your family for what it is: a grafted tree. Magnificent to behold. One of a kind. Contrary to nature. Intricate roots sprouting luxuriant leaves. Loaded with challenges for a gardener, but ultimately yielding a harvest of unparalleled sweetness.”
~ Sherrie Eldridge

Living in this neighborhood is a dream, and it takes us only ten minutes to get to the old center, though not before passing through a village with cows, sheep and hills of grass, and grandmas sitting at the gate on benches.

The weather is heavenly as of late. It has been a weird spring again: warm seasons layered with freezing temperatures. Rufus takes us out for walk, we want it or not, but we are always grateful in the end. As we step out the building, the fresh air engulfs us with a breeze.

There are two wonderful rows of trees going up the main neighborhood entrance road, with a bright future ahead of them, the promise of thick shade, spectacles of leafs dancing. And yet, five trees in a row were hit by night frost. As you get closeup you notice the small twisted, brown, burnt leafs. On this side of the road some younger trees died last year from heat, thirst or malnutrition. And they were replaced. But as the Spring rains and thunderstorms began, even these trees that a few days ago seemed to loose the battle, I see now other leafs spring up. Buds and light green leafs. It gives me hope. Such a little thing, these trees are symbolic to me. I cheer alongside them for their survival.