1. The feel of a ripe tomato, the size of my hand, pulled off a vine. Yes, there may be spots on it. Turns out you need to prune the bottom of tomato plants to prevent disease from jumping from soil to plant…or something. But the tomato is red, and large, and firm, and smells like dirt. And I just know that BLT is going to be amazing.

2. Walking my dog by the water. Sailboats skirt across the bay while the touristy pirate ship glides slowly past. The geese waddle as fast as they can away from Ruby, which is only fair as, two months ago, they were hissing and flapping up a storm protecting their young from our husky-shepherd. Some days I feel as romantically inclined towards geese as Mary Oliver. Most days I delight in seeing them scamper away from my not-very-ferocious dog.

3. Campsite board games. My husband and I are particularly fond of a zoo-building game called Ark Nova. It takes us between two and three hours to play, and he almost always wins. But the methodical process of adding animals to my zoo, supporting conservation projects, and adding to my zoo’s reputation is satisfying, gentle, and surprisingly relaxing. Sitting in a dining tent, listening to trees chatter around us, gazing out over the water at an Ontario provincial park makes it even more so.

4. Camping dining tents. A sanctuary from rain and mosquitoes. I hope Mary Oliver doesn’t have any poems in which she lauds the mosquito. I simply cannot get on board with such a notion.

5. Weeding. Now listen. I’m not talking about the every-other-day business of picking small weeds from the garden and keeping everything neat and tidy. My weeds are given free reign to wreak havoc for weeks. I allow whole forests of weeds in my garden. They’re so tall they block the sun. But when you pull those suckers out? You can clear a garden bed by pulling up seven stems. It is the ultimate form of delayed, and then immediate, gratification.

6. Ted Lasso. Someone in the world knew we needed more Ted Lasso. They were right. I am grateful.

7. Transit Systems. Be it the Toronto Subway, the Hamilton City Bus, or the regional Go Train. Sitting on public transit makes me feel like I’m a part of something. I’m reminded that mine is just one story among many, that my seat neighbour can tell me something of trouble to put all mine in perspective, and that joy can be shared. I wonder if my perspective would change if I was a regular transit commuter. But for now, I am grateful every time I swipe my Presto card and feel a little bit more alive.

8. My six blooming wildflowers. I couldn’t tell you all their names. I think one is a California Poppy. The other may also be a poppy? And something that looks like a Black-Eyed Susan. I scattered a thousand seeds in early June along the side of my backyard. Two weeks ago, they finally started blooming. All in just one spot. The rest were likely unable to put up much of a fight against the husky-shepherd who loves dirt, and the towering weed forests. I am aware I could have done more against the weed forests. But then where would I find the satisfaction of weed pulling? At any rate, my square foot of wildflowers makes my heart sing.

9. My new cat vet. Finley, my eight-year-old tabby, has had an upper respiratory infection since November. We’ve gone back and forth to our normal vet, who seems stymied by the situation and a little lackluster in his treatment. So we sought out a local cat specialist and I brought Finley in last month. It wasn’t so much a cat vet clinic as a cat spa, complete with mood lighting, ambient music, and cricket sounds in the hallway. Finley was given his favourite meat stick. I drank Nespresso and munched on proffered cookies while waiting for test results. It is bougie and ridiculous and feels like it should feel over-the-top. But it mostly just felt like a warm hug. I’ve never looked forward to going to the vet before.

10. Watching my dog try to eat flies. I mean. It’s just hilarious.

11. Soft evenings. As I write this the sun is starting to set, casting a warm glow on the leaves that envelope my back deck. Ruby lies at my feet, at ease with the world, at least until she spots a fly. It’s warm but not sticky, and an oh-so-gentle breeze occasionally lifts my hair. I wish these evenings would go on forever. But then, I suppose, we wouldn’t get the crisp delight of an October morning.

So I’ll let the joys come and go as they will. And for now will simply be grateful.