This morning, my nature-loving little boy invited me to come see a grasshopper he caught. This was a big deal because it had taken him a couple days to achieve this task, one he usually finds quite easy. Although I wanted to share in his triumph, I had to respond with “I’m sorry honey, I’m stuck in the weeds,” because literally, I was balancing between perennials in the center of my garden, plucking the uninvited, but thriving greenery.
Weeding has been the theme of my life for the past weeks. The mass of clutter, glaring at me until I find time to tackle it, picking, sorting, and ousting till I can breathe again.
Being someone who can be quite obsessive when I start a project, I tend to let other things fall to the wayside. Early this year, I started a new job and concurrently began the process of revamping our kitchen. The consuming combination led to my dropping of Mindful Making, and other seemingly important things until I could actually have space in my brain for a thought external of those two topics.
Today, our kitchen monster is 95% tamed and my job has steadied for the mid-summer months. The tv area is more integrated, and the dining room is no longer a make-shift kitchen. The living room has been de-cluttered and the toys have been combed through.
My poor. lonely. studio/dumping ground/laundry room has been purged, sigh, and the garden has been weeded.
I am feeling like I can breathe – deep, pure, cleansing, relief. I’m feeling like I can pick up the pieces of projects I’ve let fall to the wayside, including this blog.
So if you’ve gotten this far, thank you for reading. And thank you for your patience as I move onto things I couldn’t do until the weeds were cleared.
1. Use the handle of garden tool to push a hole three inches deep in rich, loose, soil
2. Plant individual cloves, pointy side up. Larger cloves from locally sourced bulbs are best.
3. Fill holes with rich compost
4. Collect dry fallen leaves and shred with a mower
5. Cover compost with a generous four inch layer of leaf mulch
6. Make an "outside bed" and go to sleep.
My vegetable garden and I weren’t on talking terms this summer. Coming and going, I’d give it the side glance, occasionally noticing something bright to pick. Usually though, my son found the ripe fruits ready for picking. Indignantly, the plants thrived little less than usual as a result of the compost I’d laid heavily in the spring, when I was starving to dig in the dirt and high with visions of a heavily abundant harvest.
As a result of my negligence, I was the one who suffered most. The plants did their thing as I moped in front of the computer screen and inspiration was replaced with guilt.
Finally on this dryish autumn day, the garden called me for a kiss and make-up and I dutifully answered. Clearing out the mostly passed tomatoes, peppers, eggplants, and herbs, a few final gifts were offered as a sure sign of appreciation. And as usual, I was filled with gratitude for this miraculous gift nature provides. Our time apart reminds me of our codependent relationship and I know next year I’ll be a better steward. Now that I can actually see the soil, I await patiently for our first hard frost to sweeten the remaining carrots - a treat to quench my craving in the colder months ahead.