Today, I had an experience that, while simple and homespun, felt so perfect in every way that I wanted to preserve and share it with you.

Photo Credit: Andy Reago & Chrissy McClarren

Among the non-native plants in my yard are some daylilies. I really love only two of them, so I decided to remove the rest to make room for new natives. My Dad said that he’d like what I cleared out. So, I dug them up and duly carted them over to my parents’ house.

My Dad was outside, tucking some spruce seedlings into a nursery bed, when I arrived. We visited for a few minutes, before I offered to plant the daylilies for him if he knew where he’d like them to go.

This involved a bit of deliberating before their new home was decided upon. My Dad went back to his baby spruce trees. I took a shovel and started turning soil over where he’d directed.

We worked in companionable silence.

The soil in my Dad’s garden has that coveted chocolate-cake crumb structure, thanks to years of dedicated compost application. The rich, earthy scent filled the air as I dug.

It was cool and cloudy, intermittently drizzling.

Presently, and much to my delight, a wood thrush began to sing.

Now, if you’re fortunate enough to live surrounded by acres of woods, you may already know the joy of this virtuoso’s aria on an everyday basis in season. But if not, you can enjoy a snippet of its lovely song here.

Have you ever had one of those moments when every element seems to merge into this single bubble of deep and quiet happiness? You want to hold onto it forever and you know that you can’t, so you just give yourself over to it wholly until the moment is past?

That’s how I felt: completely present, even as I found myself straddling past, present, and future all at once.

We finished up our jobs and meandered to the house, where we shed our shoes and went inside. My mother had the wood stove blazing cheerfully. She made some tea and we visited for awhile until it was time to go home and see to other tasks.

Prosaic enough.

And yet it wasn’t. Because the most everyday of experiences can be infused with significance in the company of people we love.

I hung around my Dad in the garden when I was little. In this picture, my older son was hanging out with me while his baby brother napped. Will there be a new generation in the garden someday? New babies – plants, birds, bunnies, people – to delight in all it offers?

Whether in the garden or not, what have your “moments” consisted of? ❤️