One of my favorite signs of the season, ferns slowly transform sections of the forest floor into a sea of green.
Walk in My Woods is my ongoing series about life on our Rhode Island property, the changing seasons, wildlife, and the quiet moments that shape how I see the world.
Last weekend marked two years since we bought our home in the woods.
As I looked around the property, I found myself thinking two very different thoughts. The first was how much we’ve accomplished. The second was how much I still want to do.
If I’m honest, most of this spring I’ve been focused on the second thought.
Work, travel, and a few meaningful opportunities kept me busy throughout April and May. Between projects in Kansas, time in Arizona speaking with photography students, and work closer to home in Boston, the weeks seemed to pass quickly. The garden waited. I haven’t hiked nearly as much as I expected to this year. My list of projects around the property seemed to grow faster than I could make progress on them.
This past weekend, I finally had a chance to spend some time outside and start catching up. I planted a few herbs, worked on some projects around the property, and spent time simply enjoying the woods instead of thinking about what still needed to be done.
As I walked around, I started noticing all the things that have changed over the past two years. Trails that didn’t exist when we moved in. Areas we’ve improved. Spaces where friends and family have gathered. Small projects that felt insignificant at the time but have quietly added up to something meaningful.
One thing that made me smile was seeing how much mint had returned to the garden. Every year it seems to spread a little farther and grow a little fuller. Like many things around the property, the change is gradual enough that I don’t always notice it until I stop and look.
I’ve always been motivated by what’s ahead. The next goal. The next project. The next improvement. That mindset has served me well throughout my career and in life, but it can also make it difficult to appreciate what’s already been accomplished.
One of my favorite signs of the season is watching the ferns emerge. A few weeks ago they were barely noticeable. Now they’ve taken over sections of the forest floor, transforming the woods with vibrant shades of green. Every year it feels a little bit magical.
Standing there, I realized that progress often looks the same way. It happens gradually, almost unnoticed, until one day you stop, look around, and realize how much has changed.
As we begin our third year here, I’m excited about the projects still ahead. But this weekend was a good reminder that growth isn’t always measured by what’s left to do. Sometimes it’s measured by taking a moment to appreciate what’s already taken root.
Originally shared in the June 15, 2026 Indermaur Media newsletter.
