The Clover Patch and the Winding Road

Hello, friends. It’s just before six, and the sun is doing that beautiful, low-hanging thing where it turns the little blue house on Sycamore Street into something out of a watercolor painting. Mark just pulled into the driveway—I can hear the familiar heavy rumble of his truck—and Biscuit is already doing his frantic 'dad’s home' dance by the screen door. It’s been a full day, one of those Thursdays that feels like a bridge between the busy week and the resting weekend.

I spent my shift at Miller’s Hardware today, and the shop was particularly fragrant. Mr. Miller was restocking the cedar planks, and that sharp, clean scent of fresh timber always makes me feel grounded. Between balancing the ledgers and helping Mrs. Gable find the right shade of outdoor stain, I found myself thinking about growth. Not the explosive, overnight kind, but the slow, stubborn incremental kind that happens when you aren’t looking.

After I got home and saw Emma and Noah settled with their snacks—Noah is currently staging a prehistoric battle between a plastic triceratops and his apple slices—I laced up my sneakers. I’m officially at three and a half miles for my training run now. It doesn't sound like much to the seasoned marathoners out there, but for a mom from Cedar Falls who used to get winded chasing the dog, it feels like a monumental victory. My lungs didn't burn quite as much today as I rounded the corner past Joanne’s house.

Joanne was out there, of course. She’s moved on from the petunias to some late-season weeding, still in that iconic pink bathrobe even though it was nearly four in the afternoon. She gave me a little wave with a gloved hand, and for a second, I felt that familiar surge of self-worth. It wasn't because I looked particularly graceful—I’m sure my face was the color of a ripe tomato—but because I showed up for myself. I’m doing this for the Harvest 5K in October, yes, but mostly I’m doing it for the Lucy who deserves to feel strong.

When I got back, the house was quiet for a rare ten minutes. I took my robin-egg-blue journal out and sat on the back porch. I looked at the little clover patch near the swing set and thought about my 'Lucy’s Little Light' Etsy shop. I had three new orders today! One was for the 'Morning Rain' scent, and two were for 'Cedar Hearth.' It’s enough profit to cover Emma’s new horse-themed notebooks and maybe a little extra for our anniversary dinner next month. Nine years with Mark. Sometimes it feels like nine minutes, and other days, in the best way possible, it feels like we’ve lived three lifetimes together.

Mark came in through the back gate while I was cooling down, his work shirt stained with the dust of the construction site. He stopped, looked at me—really looked at me—and said, 'You’re glowing, Luce.' It wasn't the kind of glow you get from expensive highlighter or a fancy spa day. It was the glow of sweat and effort. In that moment, I felt deeply desirable, not just as a wife or a mother, but as a woman who is actively carving out her own space in the world.

Megan called briefly from the bakery to confirm our pickleball match this Saturday. She sounded exhausted but happy, the smell of cinnamon practically wafting through the phone line. We talked about how hard it is to stay in shape when there are fresh pastries around, and we laughed. It’s those connections, those little threads of friendship and community, that keep the fabric of my life from fraying at the edges.

I haven't called my mom yet, but Diane will be expecting her Sunday call, and I already have so much to tell her. I want to tell her about the miles I’ve run and the candles I’ve poured. I want to tell her that I’m learning to love the version of myself that doesn't always have a perfectly clean kitchen, but has a heart that is full and feet that are moving forward.

Tomorrow is Friday, and the rhythm will shift again. But for now, the house is filling with the smell of the pot roast I put in the slow cooker this morning, and the kids are giggling in the other room. We are safe, we are healthy, and we are growing. Those are the big-small victories I’m holding onto tonight.

Take a breath for yourselves tonight, ladies. Look in the mirror and see the strength that I know is there, even if you’re tired. You are building something beautiful, one mundane Thursday at a time. I’m going to go help Noah get into those velociraptor pajamas now before the dinner chaos truly begins.

I love you. — Lucy