If I think about it too much, I will cry. When we came back from vacation a year ago July the construction crew had bulldozed our garden. Gooseberry bushes, raspberries, artichokes, a pink lemon tree (yes, there is such a thing), sorrel, epazote, all kinds of herbs, rhubarb, rose geraniums, strawberries, miniature roses, a dwarf orange tree, and much more, all of which I planted myself, had been smothered, crushed, or ripped up by the roots. In its place, there were trucks, crumpled Subway wrappers, empty 7-11 cups, and several tons of gravel.
But, like they say, spilt milk.
I'm paying someone to turn that grim parking lot back into a patch of dirt, in which I'm going to replant our garden. In anticipation, I started some herbs in a pot on the deck.
They're cute. I try to be philosophical. This is the cycle of life and construction projects. But thinking about that old garden really does break my heart.