Hospitality and Humility

On Sunday, Cahen and I joined some friends for a walk up to Mt. Tabor Park to eat pb&j sandwiches and watch the sunset.

When we walk with our friends Chelsea and Dakota, we always check out the houses. There are many beautiful houses around here, especially as you get close to Mt. Tabor Park. It turns out that we have a common favorite. From the street, there isn't much you can say about the house itself, because it's surrounded by lush greenery, with hidden places to sit throughout. Some gardens are meticulously manicured, others strategically planned to appear unkept. And, then there's this kind of garden: the one that's been nurtured for years, allowing for careful negotiation with the plants to keep them flourishing while also making passers-by swoon.

We stopped to take it in and discuss our favorite details. The clumping bamboo. The fuschia in full-bloom. The semi-enclosed dining area.

Then an old fella, shoulders sprinkled with sawdust, approached. "That's what 20 years of hard work gets ya."

He offered, and we eagerly accepted, a tour. As we gushed over the details, he humbly gave the credit to his wife and daughter. We were all making mental notes for our own "dream house" - the weights & pulleys used to close the door behind us, the 30-foot-high grapevines, the secret enclosed koi pond retreat. I'm sure he, his wife and daugher are all equally responsible for the spectacular beauty of the place. It's also evident that time played a big role. There have been many hours over the course of 20 years tending, cultivating, pruning, watering, planning, shopping to make this place as lovely as it is.

I got something more from our tour than I expected - a gentle reminder to love what I do every moment. And, if I do, there's no telling what beauty might surround me in the years to come.

Sunset dinner on the mount was lovely, too.