It's worth remembering that some of the most important, worthwhile, positive things we do bring no tangible reward. No prize, no promotion, no kind words from the beneficiaries of your effort. No exercise ring closure on your smart watch.
I began the day with, well, animal care.
And immediately after -- weeding. Much of this involves digging up the incredibly invasive common violet. This is one of those flowers that inspires people to get into fistfights over its worth (figuratively of course). It invades lawns, which in my opinion is a good thing, but it also invades flower beds and it is persistent. It has at least a hundred ways of spreading (an exaggeration, but indeed there are many) and it uses all its available tools to take over beds that are not yet established. I have maybe a million of them growing in my one sunny bed by the secret flower path and the only thing to do is to take a shovel and dig each one out. There will be seeds and left behind and next year I will find a whole new ground cover of violet clumps, but at least I will have saved the bed from total destruction. (They suck up the nutrients and moisture and latch onto roots of other flowers. And no, they do not have a lovely smell and they do not add color to the garden. Their bloom period is short and they are fragrance free.)
An hour's worth of work before breakfast, another hour after, and of course, there's not much to show for it: a tiny fraction of the bed is now weed free (not that anyone could tell) and my watch rings moved, but imperceptibly to complete their circuit. Bending and digging doesn't count as heavy exercise, even though I am exhausted from the effort.
Breakfast is late. Again, I dont mind and, too, it gives Ed a chance to sleep in.
And I return to weeding.
Later, in the afternoon, Ed and I do our bike and walk loop. Trail to park, a forest hike, road to farmette. It's unusually lovely at this time of the year. You see the beginnings of a fall landscape, but it isn't intense yet. Gentle greens, a touch of yellow. The prairie is drying up, but it remains stunning even in this autumnal iteration.
And as we cut through this verdant landscape, I think about a childhood friend who died this summer. She belonged to the pack of friends who came to the village in Poland year after year, in much the same way that I did. Parents remained in the city, kids stayed with grandparents, or known entities who lived in the country and could stand to look after them. We were free to do what we wanted so long as we showed up for meals and didn't get into too much trouble. Of the maybe a dozen kids that we would get to know over the years, three have already died. Poor health, maybe substance abuse. I dont really know what happened. But back in those tween and teen summers, when we sat on the hill that sloped down to the meadow, trying to decide whether to walk through the forest and catch the sunset on the other side, or toss a volley ball around in a circle, thinking no great thoughts, floating no great ambitions, I have to think we defined living in the moment. It's funny that we should work so hard now to rid ourselves of sinking off into the past or endlessly arranging our lives to meet some insane future expectations. Back then, it came naturally to move with whatever idea came to mind, to walk, to maybe sing a Polish pop song, like our friend liked to do. O mine sie nice martw, o mnie sie nice martw, ja sobie rade dam... (dont fret about me, dont fret about me, I'll manage just fine...)
Evening. Young families are in their own orbit tonight. Ed and I fix our supper and then we exhale. It's been months since I'd worked this hard in the garden. You can't tell by looking at it of course. Behind the scenes work. Laying the foundation for next year's growing season.
with love...
