Redisovering Myself: The start of a sudden Retirement

Tag: gardening

  • 🐔 Why Are Retirees So Obsessed with Sourdough, Gardening, and Chickens?

    A Soft Reflection on Time, Peace, and the Unexpected Joys of Slowness

    After decades of alarms, meetings, deadlines, and responsibilities, something curious happens when we finally step off the treadmill:
    We pause.
    We exhale.
    We look around… and start thinking very seriously about starter dough.

    Time off — especially the kind that comes with retirement — invites reflection. It’s like waking up in a quiet house after years of background noise. At first, the silence feels strange. Then it becomes sacred.

    And in that stillness, a surprising craving bubbles up.
    Not for action or output.
    But for… simple things.

    Bread.
    Seeds.
    Feathered friends that cluck and wander and don’t expect you to join Zoom.

    The Great Retiree Plot Twist: From Boardrooms to Backyard Chickens

    You may have noticed this shift. Maybe you’re feeling it too.

    Suddenly, people who once ran teams and managed schedules are:

    • Watching sourdough rise like it’s a TED Talk.
    • Naming their tomato plants.
    • Talking about “the girls” in the coop like they’re coworkers on break.

    Is it a little funny? Yes.
    Is it also incredibly profound? Also yes.

    Here’s why we think retirees are being pulled toward gardening, baking, and backyard livestock:

    🌱 1. It’s Grounding (Literally)

    Gardening puts your hands in the earth and your mind in the moment.
    After years of screens, speed, and synthetic everything, we crave the real. Dirt under our nails. Sunshine on our necks. The satisfaction of a sprout.

    🍞 2. It’s Slow — and That Feels Right

    Sourdough doesn’t care about your calendar.
    It rises when it rises.
    It teaches patience, presence, and pleasure in process — things retirement finally gives us space to enjoy.

    Plus, feeding a starter is weirdly emotional. Don’t ask me why.

    🐓 3. Chickens Are Surprisingly Therapeutic

    Yes, chickens.
    They’re quirky, busy, and oddly calming. Watching them peck around is the equivalent of nature’s white noise machine.
    Plus, eggs. Beautiful, pastel, free-range eggs.

    It’s like having a low-stakes hobby that produces breakfast.

    💚 4. These Hobbies Reclaim Time as a Gift

    In the workforce, time was always managed, budgeted, or fought against.
    Now? Time can stretch. Breathe. Bloom.

    These peaceful rituals aren’t just pastimes — they’re personal ceremonies. They whisper, “You’ve earned this.”

    So No, You’re Not Losing It

    If you’ve felt the mysterious urge to:

    • Compost like it’s your new religion
    • Start an herb garden in your kitchen
    • Learn how to make bone broth
    • Buy chickens and name them after old coworkers…

    You are not alone.
    You’re just in your next beautiful, slower chapter.

    Final Thought

    Whether or not you bake the bread, plant the seeds, or raise the hens, the message is the same:

    You get to live gently now.
    You get to love your days without a deadline.
    You get to trade pressure for presence.

    So if the sourdough calls… answer it.

    It’s probably delicious.

  • Bloom Where You’re Planted… Or at Least Try Not to Trip Over the Hose

    Ah, spring. That glorious time of year when the sun finally remembers where I live, the birds return like they never left (with attitude, I might add), and our garden goes from “sad little dirt patch” to “mildly impressive botanical experiment.” Everything feels just a bit more alive—and wildflowers are popping up everywhere—nature’s way of saying, “Look what I can do without supervision!” They’re beautiful, unruly, and oddly relatable.

    I’ve always loved gardening, though I use the term “gardening” loosely. In the past, it usually meant me rushing out the door to work or some meeting, shouting instructions to Larry like, “Just stick the tomatoes somewhere sunny—but not too much sun!” and trusting him to make the magic happen. He’d plant, I’d supervise—from a safe distance, usually with coffee in hand and a very vague idea of what I’d even asked for.

    But this spring? It feels different. I’m still supervising, of course—old habits die hard—but now I’m also helping. Which is how I managed to stick my hand directly into a fire ant bed last week. Larry, ever the picture of calm (and sarcasm), looked at me and said, “Did you not see the mound of dirt… moving?” Then followed it up with, “Go wash your hands and put the itch cream on. And for heaven’s sake, where are your gloves?”

    I’d like to say I’ve learned my lesson, but let’s be honest—I’m more of a “dig with bare hands and a vague sense of purpose” kind of gardener. Still, there’s something deeply satisfying about being out there, side by side, getting our hands dirty—itchy or not.

    Spring also brings something else: track season. Which means I’ve officially become that enthusiastic grandma yelling, “GO! You’re doing GREAT!” like I’m coaching the Olympics from the bleachers. Watching my granddaughters sprint like lightning bolts fills me with pride—and sometimes mild panic when I realize I forgot my sunscreen and will probably resemble a tomato by day’s end.

    One of the best parts of track season? I get to hit the road again with my adult daughter for the meets (we do this during volleyball and basketball seasons too). It’s like a mini girls’ road trip—more sports drinks than spa stops. We snack, talk, laugh, argue, and honestly? It’s some of the best quality time I get, even if she does gripe about my driving.

    Spring also means Easter, and this year we started a new tradition. Since the girls are officially “too old” for a classic egg hunt, we went big with a good, old-fashioned scavenger egg hunt. Clues were hidden in trees, behind downtown park benches, and yes—even one detour to the cemetery to visit great-grandparents. (They were a bit skeptical about the timing of that clue, given the Easter theme.)

    The grand finale? Lunch at my house, complete with baskets filled with goodies for two beautiful teenage girls—because you’re never really too old for chocolate and surprises.

    And in all this chaos—muddy garden shoes, wildflower chases, track meet traffic—I’m rediscovering something important: me. I’ve got more time now, and I’m filling it with joy. Gardening with Larry (though I still question his decision to plant every variety of tomato known to man), planning adventures, or just sitting in the sun pretending I don’t hear the laundry calling. It’s like meeting myself again after a long, busy season—and I gotta say, she’s not half bad.

    So here’s to spring: for bringing blooms, bonding, and just enough pollen to make me question every life choice. I’m leaning into the chaos, soaking up the sunshine, and laughing through it all—because honestly, what’s life without a little dirt under your nails and laughter in your lungs?