“Everyone is trying to accomplish something big, not realizing that life is made up of little things.” Frank A. Clark
It’s the little things in life that bring joy and meaning, at least for me. I have a marvelous back yard in which I have a vegetable garden, a bird feeder, wicker rockers under a large umbrella, a swing, and a hammock, a stone fire pit, and a large lighted patio.
Each day, usually mornings, I stroll out to the garden to check the growth of plants and the status of the ground as well as the security of my rigging for cucumbers, tomatoes, and peppers. I see the yellow squash, now about two inches long growing behind the large yellow flowers. I see the tiny cucumbers beginning to grow as their leaves and tendrils climb the netting. I talk to the tomatoes, urging them to make good production as I have people waiting to get tomatoes from my garden. It’s the little things.
I sit in my yard and watch the beautiful cardinal and goldfinches land on my bird feeder, each vying for a spot as they peck out the sunflower seeds and drop the shells to the ground. The little red house finches force their way into the group, chipping and chirping, while overhead in the trees, the crow caws, wishing to join them at the feeder.
From my wicker chairs, I write my blogs, work on other writing projects, read, and contemplate, all the while watching the bird feeder and listening to the rustle of the wind in the top of the trees. It’s the little things.
The little things mean big things to me. For example, the stone fire pit built by one of the men in my church, when loaded with wood and lit on fire, creates an exciting atmosphere for four little grandchildren wielding their marshmallow sticks, waiting for Nan to help them roast the marshies over the fire before putting them between graham crackers and chocolate. Sitting around the fire with friends, watching the flames, reminiscing or discussing the events of our lives brings me joy. I am so thankful for these moments.
Perhaps a particularly wonderful joy is seeing the lighting of my patio with cafe lights. I lay in my swing the other night, watching the wind blow the trees, but barely move the cable on which my friend attached the lights to secure them. That brought me great joy. Every time I flip the switch for those lights, I am excited about the beauty of my yard.
I don’t need the blue box from Tiffany or the designer jeans or expensive dinners at a restaurant. It’s the old guy in church who gives me a package of netting and some hints for my cucumbers, the bouquet of flowers a lady brings me to let me know that she is praying for me when my son is so ill, and the text from a friend who says, “Come sit with me a while under the pergola and have a cup of coffee; or the book a friend gives me with a personal note on the inside cover.
It’s the little things.