Ever since the year Tom died, Mr. Good Neighbor has graciously tended to my roses. While I struggled to maintain some sort of normalcy inside my home (keeping the kids fed, arranging for rides to school and baseball, and caring for Tom) my neighbor insured that everything was coming up roses outside the house.
Six years later, I’m still struggling to maintain some sort of normalcy inside and out. But thanks to Mr. Good Neighbor and his magical concoction of chicken poop, my roses continue to bloom and grow.