There are just too many weeds in this world.
And they are everywhere.
And I cannot stay on top of them: they grow fast, they reseed, they develop dense root systems.
If I ever give up on gardening it will be because of the weeds.
These were my thoughts during the morning walk to feed the animals. I had worked hard yesterday, but the fact is, I am not starved for outdoor work time in early September. I am more starved for exploring new places and for thinking up new winter projects. I don't really want to weed my way through the fall months. Dig, pull, toss. Dig, pull, toss. To clear a bed that in a few weeks will be green with invasives all over again.
A visiting friend said to me this summer -- your flower fields are too work intensive. Ever think of planting bushes and grasses instead of flowers?
I shrugged off her comments then. There goes someone who does not love flowers as much as I do! And the work? It's good for me.
In September, I'm thinking she has a point.
(Cat, hiding. I don't know why.)
Breakfast.
I don't immediately return to weeding. I go on line and shop for bulbs. Typically, I don't get to this until October, by which time all new and interesting things are sold out. Today, I am looking for excuses not to weed. So I buy funky daffodils and tulips and hyacinths and crocuses. Stuff that rolls out the spring season here, at the farmette. Perhaps the most beautiful of all the seasons here, though I shake off the idea that I should have favorites.
More weeding.
And then I am relieved to see that it's time to pick up Snowdrop. (Yes, I bought some more snowdrop bulbs as well. I'm looking forward to March already! The weeds are less well established then. Are we nearing spring yet??)
Snowdrop is in great spirits lately. She has had stellar moments at school, at the farmette, and at home. When you are six, the days unfold before you like a never ending storybook. You do not plan for tomorrow or the next day. You roll with the tide and you try to squeeze in as many of your favorite play sessions as you can, in between the impositions of school lessons, mealtimes and bedtimes. When you are sixty-eight, you have far greater control and oversight. If your day doesn't fall into place neatly, it is your fault. If you find yourself obsessing about weeds, you have no one to blame but yourself.
(At home, the brothers.)
Evening. Have you noticed how much earlier the sun is setting? How pretty a September night is? I go out for a walk across the farmette lands and take in the sweet smell of early autumn. No need to worry about working the garden now. Look up, examine the skyscape, listen to the sounds of night. Cicadas, froggies, a dog or coyote somewhere in the distance, and even farther, the muffled sound of the city of Madison.
It's a beautiful time of the year after all. I suppose the trick is not to worry about imperfections but to take it all in as if you were just six, trying to fit in your play sessions even as you push yourself to weed, to work, to clean, clear and improve.
Now, how about a glass of wine from the Lake Garda region of Italy, just for old times sake? And maybe some popcorn, with a sprinkle of parmesan? Mmmm...
