Tuesday, May 06, 2014


When I work outside, sometimes I think my entire being is making up for lost time. So much of growing up focuses attention on the development of what's inside the head. And heart. The physical, except for dedicated athletes or wannabe athletes, is an afterthought. Oh, let me fit in yoga or a bike ride in between my desk job, driving to the store and cleaning up after the cat who happens to have an upset stomach.

If that is the case, then perhaps I shouldn't be surprised by how much I ache to work in the yard.

So many people would call it dull work. Mindless stuff. How're you going to stave off dementia if you don't exercise your brain more? I'd shrug my shoulders to that. I don't feel mentally lazy.

Oh! That smells of denial! People are forgetting their own first name and they wont admit to a weakened memory! What basis does one have for feeling alert?

Well, for one thing, I remembered my children's names. No prompt needed! Youngest One and Older Girl!

The more sympathetic among you will say -- it's not you, it's spring. Give yourself time. Come summer, you'll be running inside to cool down.  You said this yourself -- May is the gardening month supreme.

I understand that argument, but I don't buy it. I long to work outside even on the most dismal of dismal projects (eg. raspberry patch repair). I really do think I am just making up for decades of an indoor preoccupation.

Outdoor work defined this beautiful day. I am so focused on planting, on digging, on sowing, on weeding that I can't be bothered with photographing the cuteness of Scotch or Butter.  Well, with the exception of the time of our morning wake up routines.




Ed flits in and out of my hours. There is breakfast -- we take it outside on the porch, but even here, my mind is on the annuals that need to go into pots today.


He then climbs the roof to make repairs...


...and I continue to shoo away chickens (it helps if I find worms for them; a meal like that zonks them out for a good half hour) so that I can do my work,  even as my hands crack  and my back threatens to stiffen and act up.


Evening comes early for me: I have a dinner date in town with old colleagues. Not a late into the night affair by any means. I'm on the road again as the sun draws closer to the horizon.


Home now. Checking the weather report for tomorrow. Only rains will keep me indoors. Or will they?