What drives people to work so hard at something that they do not have to do? Sure, you want to have a pretty yard if you are lucky enough to have one. But who would spend long hours day after day without pause or interruption bending, digging, heaving, pulling, and digging some more without a need for it? If the yard looked plenty good without that extra effort?
I would.
I don't know why. As I set out in the morning, I know it's going to be tough work. And I know that the farmette meets my definition of sublime without the additional extensions of flower beds, I know, I know! And yet, the draw is so huge, so powerful that I swear, I'd neglect all responsibilities and life's tasks and pleasures (and I have done this in my younger years) just so that I can be out there digging, planting.
(Lilac's blooming!)
(And so are the first irises!)
The only explanation I can offer is that there is a heretofore unidentified gene for this kind of madness. One that skips generations, because my daughters don't have it and my parents didn't have it. But my grandfather did and maybe Snowdrop does (or else she's just humoring me by picking up a clump of dirt, holding it tightly, oh so tightly, as if it represented all her deepest passions).
In any case, today, I was up with the cheeprs at 6. I worked on the flower beds until 8. I went back to bed and slept for another hour. Then we had a (late) breakfast.
And by 10am, I was out again...
... and I did not come inside (not to eat, to drink, to check my phone, or to exhale) until after 5.
(Ed, bringing in the asparagus for dinner.)
Am I tired? Yes, of course and so there is a real danger that the blog post will be hurried and raw. But it hardly matters. The farmette grew today by leaps and bounds! And somehow, in some hard to describe way, I grew with it.
I would.
I don't know why. As I set out in the morning, I know it's going to be tough work. And I know that the farmette meets my definition of sublime without the additional extensions of flower beds, I know, I know! And yet, the draw is so huge, so powerful that I swear, I'd neglect all responsibilities and life's tasks and pleasures (and I have done this in my younger years) just so that I can be out there digging, planting.
(Lilac's blooming!)
(And so are the first irises!)
The only explanation I can offer is that there is a heretofore unidentified gene for this kind of madness. One that skips generations, because my daughters don't have it and my parents didn't have it. But my grandfather did and maybe Snowdrop does (or else she's just humoring me by picking up a clump of dirt, holding it tightly, oh so tightly, as if it represented all her deepest passions).
In any case, today, I was up with the cheeprs at 6. I worked on the flower beds until 8. I went back to bed and slept for another hour. Then we had a (late) breakfast.
And by 10am, I was out again...
... and I did not come inside (not to eat, to drink, to check my phone, or to exhale) until after 5.
(Ed, bringing in the asparagus for dinner.)
Am I tired? Yes, of course and so there is a real danger that the blog post will be hurried and raw. But it hardly matters. The farmette grew today by leaps and bounds! And somehow, in some hard to describe way, I grew with it.
