There is a Google Maps photo of the front of our house from before Lauren got to work on it. In the old photo the yard is made fully of grass with a few sparse shrubs in the beds under the windows. Now, life stands tall in a patch of earth outside those windows where wildflowers grow to my chest; to the height of my heart. And potted patches of earth, full of color, sit on the steps that lead to the door. The window boxes are terrariums filled with sprouts and mosses that delight me with their insistence on being. All of these manifestations of sunlight, drizzle, soil, and some extension of intention, are a recipe of welcome each time I arrive home. The wildness on my doorstep reminds me that I’m where I belong. It reminds me that we, many instances of growth and growing, belong together.