Really, this is is more like an unstructured notebook. It's a place for me to put stuff I don’t want to forget: I tend to have a difficult time holding on to big concepts, and I find myself rediscovering them often. Maybe If I write them down, I'll spend less time spinning my wheels. It is somewhere between a digital garden and a second brain.
Each entry in the garden is marked with a status. I've adopted this concept from Maggie Appleton's digital garden, where Maggie tags entries with Seedling, Budding, and Evergreen.
In an early cloudy August afternoon, my family and I walked to the tip of Great Diamond Island, where we’re staying for a few days. At high tide, Little Diamond Island is visible across a stretch of blue-green water, with just the thin ends of grass blades breaking the surface. But when we arrived at the shore, low tide was just an hour past.
Between late-1800s-era houses, flowing grass and bright wildflowers, we approached the narrow, muddy sandbar connecting the two islands. Cross-island joggers passed us as we strolled along the sandbar, our voices loud and our eyes turned down. The mud was laden with snail shells, clam shells, and barnacle-covered rocks and bricks. We chatted over little fish (were they minnows or tadpoles?) darting around in tide pools. We were probably all wrong; both only live in freshwater, not the saltwater of Casco Bay.