In the last week the following things have happened in my outdoor domain - birds found and ate my tomatoes (now have to build a mesh enclosure over both seeds and established plants); earwigs attempted an assault on my basil (thwarted by dark beer, must get more tuna cans and dark beer); ditto for the unidentified pests who have a penchant for radish tops (note to self: figure out what those suckers are); pepper seeds failed to germinate (code word: "replant"); torrential rains caused all of the pea seeds to fill a few holes and sprout together there (now must untangle and replant); and a new cubic yard of dirt was delivered, but the fully loaded truck got stuck in the mud (many concrete blocks, spare chain, and two by fours later.... we called for help!). Oh, and the cats have decided to bring their many gifts directly to the back door, in hopes of wooing the nearest serial killer (this week's tally - five small rabits, a few lizards; several field mice, and one mouse that was large I remain convinced it was conceived by a power plant).
On the indoor front, there are now chickens in the bathtub.
I am going somewhere with this... I think. In all honesty, I am not completely sure. Today, though, as I was making a list of things to buy during yet another trip to the feed and hardware stores, I realized that a) I will not get all of this done; b) I can't force more daylight, plants to grow, cats to stop killing things, or garden predators to move on; and c) that is okay. The above three points are one definition of "patience."
Modern women are not forced to cultivate skills like patience. We are told to go after what we want aggressively, decisively, and in designer footwear. We may not know how to cook or bake, but we wield a Blackberry like no one's business. We may never be taught to care for plant, animals, or other people, but we'll sign on the dotted line to buy houses, cars, and vacation flats without a man's money to back us up. We are weaned on terms like "work-life balance," that talk a lot about work, give a brief mention of balance, and fail to mention our immortal souls.
I am not immune to the pull of progress. It would be easy to immerse myself in work, dedicate every waking hour to someone else's whims, and dream of the things I will do "when I have time." But now, on the cusp of a summer I will spend by myself, I am thinking a great deal about the skills we learn from others, the points that only nature can make, and the things that the internet will never share.
I learn when I am alone, the types of lessons that you learn when there is no one to rely on but yourself. Lessons like how to trim an entire lawn with a weed whacker because you don't know how to fix the lawn mower and don't want to pay someone to do it; how to grill without a propane explosion; how to take a washing machine apart and how many towels it takes to clean up the water afterward; and how to cook, exercise, rest, and exist in a manner that makes you happy. Lessons like how to grow food, feed my animals, and tackle garden challenges one at a time.
I am beginning to loathe the electronic leash that is my Blackberry. It's a good feeling.
Friday, March 5, 2010
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