Meadow. For me, it’s a lovely word that conjures visions of simple beauty and a feeling of freedom. As a writer, I love to watch how certain words claim bits of myself. Meadow claimed a piece of me when I was around 10, on my first visit to Tuolumne Meadows in the High Country of Yosemite National Park. Since then, the word has had an almost spiritual significance: Tuolumne is a place where I feel most at peace.
It will come as no surprise then, that when Stephanie suggested we approach the backyard as a meadow, I was instantly on board.
The challenge was turning a small yard defined by a painted cinderblock wall, ninety-degree angles, and a concrete driveway into something that remotely resembled a meadow. Continue reading