Books and writing have been a passion of mine ever since I can remember. Whenever I was asked about what I wanted to be when I grew up, I always said a writer. Genetics being what they are, they intervened, so to speak, and I wandered through college in a way that I never would have dreamt of when I was younger. First I studied biology, then English literature, and eventually I studied art history and several languages. All of these topics I studied with so much passion I was able to propel my way through school despite my aches and pains. Without my parents' financial support, it never would have been possible, and I often wonder about other folks like me and what they are able to accomplish and how they do so. Being chronically ill leads you to many limitations, but it also clarifies so many other things. As I child I read books in a raft, floating in the creek behind our house, under the branches of an overhanging group of trees and shrubs. I was hidden to the world in that sunlit tunnel and sometimes I feel that is the place I want to return to and so here I am learning how to write a garden. How to create that kind of feeling and refuge for others, those who didn't have the childhood I had, living outside and loving wildlife the way I did.
Tonight, for the first time, I will attempt to write some short pieces for a non-profit gardening publication. This isn't something I have taken lightly. My hope is that in time I can learn to lighten other peoples' loads, while filling mine up with something that will help me carry on.