No complaints

I am super busy this week at work.

Like, nutty busy. My eye twitched so hard today, it stayed shut for an extra beat longer than it should have.

But I have no complaints.

We are hosting an event this weekend and my house is ... well, it's dirty. Like, no-one-cleaned-me-all-winter dirty.

I'm okay with it.

I saw a huge lizard the size of a a baby dinosaur - you know, the ones that eat human flesh - run into my garage and vanish among the clutter.

Stressed?

Okay, that weirds me out a little, but it's fine.

It's fine. Really.

A trip last weekend to a historic herb farm about an hour away left me feeling relaxed, cheerful and a little blissful.

And it's stuck with me so far this week.

The farm is Stream Cliff Herb Farm and you can learn more about it here. If you are ever in southern Indiana, I highly recommend stopping by.

It's a humble place, whose history dates back to 1821. Seven generations have lived on the farm and today it includes a private residence built in the 1830s and several out buildings, converted over the years into shops, a tea room, craft house and winery. There are soothing secret gardens and greenhouses bursting with flowers. Vegetable starts and herbs are just waiting for a home in your garden and, eventually, your kitchen table.

A friend and I took our time strolling the grounds and taking in the sights, gathering inspiration for our own yards from the weedy-casual, yet time-perfected, gardens. We chatted and laughed over a delish lunch garnished with edible flowers and herbs from the property. I savored my glass of punchy-sweet lemonade like it was dessert.

And then we shared a hunk of hummingbird cake for a real dessert. It was so rich, we couldn't even finish it.

Heaven.

I've been able to carry that relaxed vibe with me - for the most part - the rest of this week. There was something just, I don't know ... special ... about the aged beauty of the property: the juxtaposition of a practical working farm against the girlie-indulgence of overflowing pink flowers; the crowd of happily chattering (mostly) ladies; and the potential greatness that simmers in every summer garden. Maybe a little of that grace rubbed off on my weary attitude.

Oh, I'm sure it'll all fade soon enough, as the long commute, endless deadlines, forgotten grocery lists, dog-nose smeared windows, cat barf-stained linens, constant kid taxi and burning-tire smell of dropped pizza cheese in the oven will wipe it all away.