a girl's best friend

Consider the raised flower bed. I have always wanted them.

Always.

There is something so organized and clean and orderly about raised flower beds.

Contained.

The chaos of a summer garden can be contained in a raised bed. Strong redwood setting clear boundaries for what should and should not be happening in that bed. No weeds. No chickens. No mess.

Are these raised beds a metaphor for my secret desire to have a quiet and orderly life? Do they represent calm control over things that are usually quite unruly?

Or...

Are these raised beds a symbol of possibilities and creativity? Empty soil canvases waiting for exotic herbs and gorgeous cutting flowers?

Or...

Are raised beds simply the answer to my aching summer-garden back and perpetually dirty knees?

Could be.

Or, it could be that these particular raised beds are so special because they were built by the hands that mean the most to me. It was noticed that I love raised beds even when he doesn't. The corner posts were finished with the beveled edges that I love on pasture fences. He remembered that.

Who needs diamonds to feel loved? I have raised beds.