I am not complaining. I just got to spend the entire day with my hands in the dirt, kneeling and plunging my trowel to cut the roots of the weeds and then shaking the dirt from them and tossing them in an old canning kettle which, when full I empty into the garden cart, having arisen painfully from my knees to do so.
Meanwhile, listening to a semi-amusing audio book about a blogger. It starts out with a rich, famous blogger (think Dooce, think Pioneer Woman) finding her husband with his jeans down around his feet in the front seat of his Audi while her 26-year old assistant is assisting him in "mouth to penis resuscitation."
Okay, not too original but it's good entertainment as I plunge and tug and pull. Lily got it out of the library and passed it on. It's set in Florida so there is that too. It is not, you may surmise correctly, Great Literature but as a story, it will do.
It has rained and it has become sunny again. It is going to get back down into the thirties this week. I am mildly surprised but not shocked as the pecan leaves have not yet begun to show and the old wives tale is that you should not set out your tomatoes until they have.
We've already lost one row of tomato plants by ignoring this advice and I hope we don't loose the two rows Mr. Moon planted to replace and add to those. The potatoes and peas and onions will be fine but the peppers and eggplant and those tender little 'mater plants could be in danger if we get frost.
Ah- the eternal problems and worries of the gardener and let's face it- the same thing will happen this year as happens every year which is that the weeds will return to take it all over again, despite all my vows to "keep up" with them that I make every year. And the red ants will overrun the garden and the tomato horn worms will suddenly, as if by spontaneous generation, appear to eat all the tomato plants and the stink bugs will suck the juices out of the tomatoes that do survive and besides that, the garden won't get enough sun and so the plants will all be of the Bonsai variety anyway.
Remind me again- WHY do I do this?
Oh yes. Because I love it. And because I must.
The baby chicks are doing very, very well in their new home. They are being chickens, scratching and snapping at mosquitoes and gnats, exploring their new world. Owen asked the other day if they had started laying eggs and I envisioned tiny eggs, the size of quail eggs being laid by my baby birds.
"Not yet, honey," I told him. "They have to grow up first. "
And they do. And hopefully, they will.
I saw Elvis, Jr. in my yard today as I weeded. He was accompanied by Miss Honey, which I found delightful. Wouldn't it be funny if he took a liking to my new chicks when they achieve maturity and became their husband?
God. I am so easily amused. It's really shameful. But honestly- I find all of this so fascinating. It's like I'm Margaret Meade, studying the natives of some far-off island, taking notes on their culture, their ways, their behavior. Or perhaps Jane Goodall, studying the chimpanzees in the Gombe. Okay, maybe not that fascinating but I don't have to live in a tent, either.
And Mr. Moon is home and I have watered the porch plants and the outside plants still inside for winter which need to go out. Soon. When the pecans begin to leaf. I feel no need to rush this. I feel no need to rush anything these days. I want time to slow down. I want my grandsons to stop growing up quite so fast. I want to be able to admire the fuzzy buds of the wisteria for a little while before they so very soon turn into the beautiful purple grape-like blossoms they are destined to become. I want to plan our trip to Mexico slowly and with joy, dipping into my sense memory which is so strong of it that I can literally find myself there for a moment, as if I had slipped the bounds of time and space and see and smell and feel it, exactly as if I were there.
I want to shiver in the anticipation of things.
Contrast that with how I felt two months ago which was that I just needed to get through this thing and then needed to get through that thing and my whole life was pinned and ruled by just-getting-through-this and it was all dread and fear.
And now there's this:
Having a martini with my husband, sitting by the chicken coop, watching the chicks and the chickens
as they run about the coop as the sun goes down and the cat comes up to join us.
I am the luckiest woman on the planet. And I know it. And I want it to slow down so that I can savor every bit of it.
Amen and hallelujah.