It doesn't look like much yet.
Right now it's aluminum framing, cloudy panels, grass underfoot, and a single table sitting in the middle like we're pretending it's something finished.
But when the lights are on at night? It feels like something.
A friend found it for free and immediately thought of me. That feels important. Not something we had been shopping for. Not something perfectly timed. Just an opportunity that showed up and somehow fit.
We built the base first. Then the frame. Then slowly the panels started going in. There was a moment standing in the yard looking at the skeleton of it thinking, Are we really doing this?
Apparently we are.
It's not landscaped. There's no gravel down yet. No tidy potting bench with matching terracotta pots. Just grass. Cold February air. And a structure that suddenly exists where there was nothing before.
At night, we ran string lights along the frame. Not because it was necessary. Just because I wanted to see it glow.
And it does.
It's quiet in there. Even unfinished. I stood inside after dark and it felt like the beginning of something I've been picturing for a long time.
Right now it's just potential. A small greenhouse in the backyard. A little unexpected. A little hopeful.
Seed trays stacked in spring. Bundles of drying herbs in summer. Maybe flowers for Wild Flour & Petals one day.
Right now it's just potential. A small greenhouse in the backyard. A little unexpected. A little hopeful. Grass floor and all.
But it feels like the start of a new season. And I'm ready for that.