It sounds so tedious, doesn't it? Work to maintain. Where's the excitement? It's not creative (usually), it's repetitious, it's as if you're standing still.
But in the garden, maintenance is a cherry on top of a spectacular cake. You're maintaining what you've created, finessing it, polishing, clipping, straightening. You're not forced to start anew, you like what's there! You just have to maintain it!
This is my morning today. TLC work in my garden. In the wee early morning...
(With a pause for breakfast...)
And into the early afternoon.
(Hey, Peach, who are you hiding from? Happy?)
It's quiet work. Ed joins me in some of it (more branch trimming), but mostly I work alone, moving fluidly from one field to the next, thinking no great thoughts, simply enjoying the sensual pleasure of being among plants.
At some point I stop. On my way to pick up Snowdrop, I detour to get a couple of boxes of tissues and some cans of chicken noodle soup. Ed is an old fashioned kinda guy in his treatment of sniffles.
It's impossible to predict in what state of drowsiness or perkiness the little girl will be when I come into her class. Today, she surprises me with a decidedness and determination: she wants to go to the coffee shop. There's a "please!" thrown in there somewhere, but mainly I sense urgency: now! Let's go!
Once inside, she makes sure that there are cookies still available (it's not a given) and immediately after, she searches for her favorite chair. Again, there are no guarantees, but today she scores a home run.
Of course, she then wants to go to the playground. It's right outside the cafe windows. Here's the funny part though: she wont play her favorite games if there are other children using the play structure. Today, a whole classful is bouncing about on this warm and lovely day. Snowdrop hangs back, waiting patiently until they're done and gone.
Several times, I propose that she join in, or at least do the swings in the moment when they're not in use, or that we give up and come back another time, but she shakes her head to it all: you have to be patient, Gaga -- she chastises me.
In the past, I'd wondered about her need to go solo on this playground. I mean, this is a city park. You can't expect to ever play alone. It's meant to be used by many.
But over the years, I've gotten to understand her more on this: the game she loves to play here is imaginative, vocal, and it doesn't blend well into the background. Her gut tells her that this wont play well with kids watching or listening. And so she'd rather wait.
And eventually her luck holds: the kids disperse and we have the place to ourselves and immediately she dives into our game of "ice cream shop."
The premise is very simple: I want a cone, she runs the shop. And that's all that's simple about it. From here, she and I improvise and each time it becomes a different game as a result.
Today we have an especially good run of it: I've introduced additional customers, she has upped her character load as well. We are on a roll!
Eventually, a handful of other children come over and Snowdrop stops her game and pauses to watch them unfold their own story. I can tell that this is a good time to leave.
Later, in the evening, Ed and I sit back and eat pop corn. We do not talk about goats. Does that mean the topic is closed? Of course not! With Ed, no topic is really ever closed. Except -- I'm not moving to New Zealand to see what it's like there. The door is totally closed on that idea. Otherwise, we take each day as it comes.
But in the garden, maintenance is a cherry on top of a spectacular cake. You're maintaining what you've created, finessing it, polishing, clipping, straightening. You're not forced to start anew, you like what's there! You just have to maintain it!
This is my morning today. TLC work in my garden. In the wee early morning...
(With a pause for breakfast...)
And into the early afternoon.
(Hey, Peach, who are you hiding from? Happy?)
It's quiet work. Ed joins me in some of it (more branch trimming), but mostly I work alone, moving fluidly from one field to the next, thinking no great thoughts, simply enjoying the sensual pleasure of being among plants.
At some point I stop. On my way to pick up Snowdrop, I detour to get a couple of boxes of tissues and some cans of chicken noodle soup. Ed is an old fashioned kinda guy in his treatment of sniffles.
It's impossible to predict in what state of drowsiness or perkiness the little girl will be when I come into her class. Today, she surprises me with a decidedness and determination: she wants to go to the coffee shop. There's a "please!" thrown in there somewhere, but mainly I sense urgency: now! Let's go!
Once inside, she makes sure that there are cookies still available (it's not a given) and immediately after, she searches for her favorite chair. Again, there are no guarantees, but today she scores a home run.
Of course, she then wants to go to the playground. It's right outside the cafe windows. Here's the funny part though: she wont play her favorite games if there are other children using the play structure. Today, a whole classful is bouncing about on this warm and lovely day. Snowdrop hangs back, waiting patiently until they're done and gone.
Several times, I propose that she join in, or at least do the swings in the moment when they're not in use, or that we give up and come back another time, but she shakes her head to it all: you have to be patient, Gaga -- she chastises me.
In the past, I'd wondered about her need to go solo on this playground. I mean, this is a city park. You can't expect to ever play alone. It's meant to be used by many.
But over the years, I've gotten to understand her more on this: the game she loves to play here is imaginative, vocal, and it doesn't blend well into the background. Her gut tells her that this wont play well with kids watching or listening. And so she'd rather wait.
And eventually her luck holds: the kids disperse and we have the place to ourselves and immediately she dives into our game of "ice cream shop."
The premise is very simple: I want a cone, she runs the shop. And that's all that's simple about it. From here, she and I improvise and each time it becomes a different game as a result.
Today we have an especially good run of it: I've introduced additional customers, she has upped her character load as well. We are on a roll!
Eventually, a handful of other children come over and Snowdrop stops her game and pauses to watch them unfold their own story. I can tell that this is a good time to leave.
Later, in the evening, Ed and I sit back and eat pop corn. We do not talk about goats. Does that mean the topic is closed? Of course not! With Ed, no topic is really ever closed. Except -- I'm not moving to New Zealand to see what it's like there. The door is totally closed on that idea. Otherwise, we take each day as it comes.
