summer solstice

So is it going to be quick and dirty, with immediate results, or slow and contemplative, with a gradual improvement? When you ask it that way, it seems obvious that the latter path is the one to take. Defer gratification, enjoy the journey.

But today, I opted for the quick and dirty.

The day began early and with many phone calls. One of those things that one has to iron out when there is a hiccup in the health of one's parent. I did not work in the yard before breakfast and that's okay. The flower beds can stand a short period of neglect.

(small corner of Big Bed)

The day will have rain and possibly storms and so I anticipate more time inside than outside. But breakfast is on the porch. Late but lovely. With perfect peaches and day old berries (so they are perfect minus a day!).

And now comes the fork in the road. Ed is off helping a friend acquire a broken motorbike. Don't ask. It's the type of project Ed would wrap himself in, because the friend is enthusiastic and the outcome may eventually be a good one and a piece of machinery is salvaged from someone's dump pile. 

Initially I sit down on the porch and speed read my mystery book. The last four chapters are always the best: like a delicious finale to a grand meal. Ed is in and out, trying to decide how to go about fixing the wreck of the motor. I'm done reading and I pull him away for a minute to ask if we are ever going to take out the incredible weeds in the remains of the raspberry patch. 

We walk over and take a look at how bad things look. 

Pretty bad. Vines, black walnuts, weeds of incredible proportions, smothering the raspberry canes. It's not as if the canes will ever produce edible fruit. They do not have much (any?) sunlight and we haven't harvested a decent berry here for years. Still, the weediness of the place is frightening.

I should not be surprised then that in the end, Ed agrees that we should mow the whole patch down. 

I'll do it later -- he tells me.

Well, once I stepped into the thick of that mess, I could not let it go. And so when Ed went off to deal with the motorcycle, I take out the tractor mower and plunge into the patch. And I continue, mowing down other horribly weedy farmette areas. And I mow. And mow. And I have to say, I dislike mowing immensely because the bumpy tractor ride makes me totally sick. My insides heave and my head spins from the noise (Ed wears noise canceling ear muffs but somehow that feels weird to me, so I don't bother). But I just want that quick result! The gratification of taking out weeds (including not a small amount of wild parsnip) from swaths of farmette lands is there before me.

It begins to rain an hour into my mowing craziness and so eventually I have to stop. I am grateful for that rain. I'm sure otherwise I'd be out there still, taking down all that needs to be taken down, even if we can't yet figure out what to do with cleared uncultivated land. Keep mowing it? That's no solution! Plant something to outcompete the weeds? Sure, but what?

The rain is slow and gentle. I brew a cup of delicious coffee and return to the contemplative path. Really, it makes more sense to enjoy the journey and not rush to the end post. The burst of ferocious energy that has you rush to get things done is best left for those days when you have a spa moment waiting at the end of the day. Or at least a glass of Cava and a piece of fine chocolate. Wait! Day's not done! There's still time for that! 

But first, dinner with the young family! With predinner play.

Hey! Happy Father's Day! (To the two best-in-the-world sons-in-law!)

Dinner!

And later, much later, I pour myself that glass of Cava, take out a bar of dark chocolate with bits of orange peel, and think back to the day, the week, the year. 

Happy summer solstice to all you northerners!

With love.