There are people in this world who will never snap. Taunt them, torture them, throw them under the bus and they'll stay calm. Total control. You can't rile them.
Since I was about 13 years old, I've thought that it was a worthy goal to aim for such equanimity. Most of the time, it's not hard. If you don't like anger or hysteria in general, chances are you yourself don't generate much of either.
Still, I'm no queen of chill. I cannot say that I will never snap, because this morning, I snapped. And Ed got the brunt of it.
Oh, it was to be expected. There's the obvious -- all the horrors of the world. Too, there are the threats that grow, especially to my family. And there are the limits to how much I can help them. And there are the bugs.
I snipped, clipped and tidied the beds early, hoping that Ed's attempt to douse stuff with garlic last night would help scare off the meanest mosquitoes. It did not help. The monsters were ferocious and fought me with every hundred snipped lily heads. (This week I'm sure I'm at the peak of spent lilies, which is always well over 1000, though on weekday mornings, I do not get to all of them.) Every photo I took was accompanied with a buzz somewhere not too far from my head, my arms, my everything. I could feel the annoyance level rising within me.
I dumped the final bucket of spent flowers, came inside, slammed the door and burst out in a torrent of tears and words, something to the effect of "I am never ever going to do any more gardening again, you can mow down the whole garden as far as I'm concerned, I give up!" Bang pots and dishes for emphasis.
Okay... this from Ed. Why?
We're messing with the oils and natural repellents and they're not working and I cannot, simply cannot take working in a bed with so many mosquitoes. I'm done. Bang.
Ed hates emoting craziness even more than I do, and that's saying a lot. Once the torrent of words was out, I calmed down and then we began the long talk of whether or not one has a right to be upset 1. because there are bugs, ones that have lived here far longer than we have, and 2. just because your sweetie got upset with you even as it's not really your fault, since you're just trying to test different innocuous systems of bug control (which, however, are not working).
This then was my morning.
On the upside, the flowers took no note of my mood. They bloomed as prettily as ever.
And, by breakfast time, Ed and I were at peace with the world once more.
Which is a good thing, because the young family came immediately after.
The little girl wants to water the tomatoes again...
The little guy wants to dance with chickens again...
And then they both want to go to the barn to check for eggs. I hesitate. There are bugs, and there are no eggs. We think that the hens are hiding them, but we don't know where. The kids and I check anyway. Nothing. Dare I take them to the tomato field? Ed told me a handful of cherry tomatoes are ripe for picking. There's a breeze. I can hover and chase away any daring mosquito. We head out.
Sparrow, a guy who rejects ingesting anything that grows, nonetheless loves to harvest the stuff. Dismayed that his sister should have the privilege of plucking off tomatoes, he demands equal rights!
Happy kids indeed.
In the afternoon, I once again Zoom chat with my nine friends in Poland.
You just have to shake your head in disbelief when you listen to reports from Europe. People, traveling to vacation spots. Family gatherings taking place. Daily trips to stores, to parks. The occasional stop at a coffee shop. At the same time I'm told everyone is wearing masks on public transportation. Everyone. Wearing. Masks. Sigh...
I hope the fall doesn't lead to greater spread there. No decisions have yet been made as to schools in Warsaw. Like most of the world, Poland is proceeding very cautiously. Still, at least the lives of my Warsaw friends have edged a tiny bit closer to normal. Me, I'm on day 132 of isolation. Family -- also isolated. And honestly, I feel we have been enormously lucky that we could work and play and live in isolation. So many others have had struggles that far far exceed our own.
Later, as I settle down to browse stories and news, I click onto the FB page of Stoneman Farms. What!! They had their first corn up for sale yesterday! I quickly call. Still some left! Will do curbside pickup! We're off.
It feels unreal to be riding the motorbike with Ed to this farm that's literally five minutes up the roads from us. Last summer, when we picked up our last corn from them in late August, we were engaged in goat talk (they have goats, I wanted goats). Life felt so playfully simple. Goats, no goats. Fresh corn, will it be good if you freeze it? (It will.) Good bye, see you next year! Then boom! We all took a beating, some of us way more than others.
At Stoneman's, the grandkids play on the lawn while the grownups bag corn. It is curbside, but I wear my mask and a glove. We don't really linger. Ed visits with a goat. We ride away with 13 ears of freshly picked corn.
In the evening, Ed and I talk about our 300 fruit trees. Seriously. 300. This fall or spring, right here on farmette lands.
Since I was about 13 years old, I've thought that it was a worthy goal to aim for such equanimity. Most of the time, it's not hard. If you don't like anger or hysteria in general, chances are you yourself don't generate much of either.
Still, I'm no queen of chill. I cannot say that I will never snap, because this morning, I snapped. And Ed got the brunt of it.
Oh, it was to be expected. There's the obvious -- all the horrors of the world. Too, there are the threats that grow, especially to my family. And there are the limits to how much I can help them. And there are the bugs.
I snipped, clipped and tidied the beds early, hoping that Ed's attempt to douse stuff with garlic last night would help scare off the meanest mosquitoes. It did not help. The monsters were ferocious and fought me with every hundred snipped lily heads. (This week I'm sure I'm at the peak of spent lilies, which is always well over 1000, though on weekday mornings, I do not get to all of them.) Every photo I took was accompanied with a buzz somewhere not too far from my head, my arms, my everything. I could feel the annoyance level rising within me.
I dumped the final bucket of spent flowers, came inside, slammed the door and burst out in a torrent of tears and words, something to the effect of "I am never ever going to do any more gardening again, you can mow down the whole garden as far as I'm concerned, I give up!" Bang pots and dishes for emphasis.
Okay... this from Ed. Why?
We're messing with the oils and natural repellents and they're not working and I cannot, simply cannot take working in a bed with so many mosquitoes. I'm done. Bang.
Ed hates emoting craziness even more than I do, and that's saying a lot. Once the torrent of words was out, I calmed down and then we began the long talk of whether or not one has a right to be upset 1. because there are bugs, ones that have lived here far longer than we have, and 2. just because your sweetie got upset with you even as it's not really your fault, since you're just trying to test different innocuous systems of bug control (which, however, are not working).
This then was my morning.
On the upside, the flowers took no note of my mood. They bloomed as prettily as ever.
And, by breakfast time, Ed and I were at peace with the world once more.
Which is a good thing, because the young family came immediately after.
The little girl wants to water the tomatoes again...
The little guy wants to dance with chickens again...
And then they both want to go to the barn to check for eggs. I hesitate. There are bugs, and there are no eggs. We think that the hens are hiding them, but we don't know where. The kids and I check anyway. Nothing. Dare I take them to the tomato field? Ed told me a handful of cherry tomatoes are ripe for picking. There's a breeze. I can hover and chase away any daring mosquito. We head out.
Sparrow, a guy who rejects ingesting anything that grows, nonetheless loves to harvest the stuff. Dismayed that his sister should have the privilege of plucking off tomatoes, he demands equal rights!
Happy kids indeed.
In the afternoon, I once again Zoom chat with my nine friends in Poland.
You just have to shake your head in disbelief when you listen to reports from Europe. People, traveling to vacation spots. Family gatherings taking place. Daily trips to stores, to parks. The occasional stop at a coffee shop. At the same time I'm told everyone is wearing masks on public transportation. Everyone. Wearing. Masks. Sigh...
I hope the fall doesn't lead to greater spread there. No decisions have yet been made as to schools in Warsaw. Like most of the world, Poland is proceeding very cautiously. Still, at least the lives of my Warsaw friends have edged a tiny bit closer to normal. Me, I'm on day 132 of isolation. Family -- also isolated. And honestly, I feel we have been enormously lucky that we could work and play and live in isolation. So many others have had struggles that far far exceed our own.
Later, as I settle down to browse stories and news, I click onto the FB page of Stoneman Farms. What!! They had their first corn up for sale yesterday! I quickly call. Still some left! Will do curbside pickup! We're off.
It feels unreal to be riding the motorbike with Ed to this farm that's literally five minutes up the roads from us. Last summer, when we picked up our last corn from them in late August, we were engaged in goat talk (they have goats, I wanted goats). Life felt so playfully simple. Goats, no goats. Fresh corn, will it be good if you freeze it? (It will.) Good bye, see you next year! Then boom! We all took a beating, some of us way more than others.
At Stoneman's, the grandkids play on the lawn while the grownups bag corn. It is curbside, but I wear my mask and a glove. We don't really linger. Ed visits with a goat. We ride away with 13 ears of freshly picked corn.
In the evening, Ed and I talk about our 300 fruit trees. Seriously. 300. This fall or spring, right here on farmette lands.
