“I admit, I’m a bit exhausted. Some people’s lives seem to charge ahead according to predictable patterns, but I am not one of them. My life is subject to constant change, demanding daily, on-the-spot ingenuity. Maybe there’s not that much difference between the two camps; I don’t want to pretend I’m some seer, passing judgment. All I know, are the things that speak to me, in many languages. Walking back to my truck, to get my water jar, or a shovel, a crow erupts behind the barn, flying with its caw-caw-caw. I’ve been flinging worms, and swatting mosquitoes, all day. There is a hose, close enough to bring water, by the can-full, to a subset of plants, who need it most. My job, today, is all about digging and prying out roots, with metal forks barely up to the task. An old, ornamental grass embedded into a stone wall; an overgrown patch of golden seal that’s invaded everything around it. Gardens must be tended, or forgotten. The day is one of humidity, and heat. My friend, a client, has left me a freshly laundered towel, forest green, in case I want to jump into the pond. Further afield, but within sight, is Lake Champlain, a mammoth body of water serving tourists, but also locals. This is, almost irrelevantly, the 4th of July weekend. There is a warning out, regarding cyanobacteria at the lakefront. But we are on the fringe of it, and doing other things, that relate to ongoing gardens, and secret, timeless spots. I don’t say secret to exclude anyone, but frankly, each topography protects areas for less use. And that’s okay, I don’t know what I don’t know, and don’t need to know what’s beyond my purview. I have enough. Each neighborhood can know, what it knows. You earn into that, by living in a place, or by association. Frustrating, at times, but that’s kind of how it rolls, in rural parts, or urban parts. You buy in, or you work your way towards information held tightly by locals. I feel lucky, to be let in, here and there. And yet still, feel left out. That dance, between being included, or excluded, is not to be taken so seriously. The minor tasks allotted us, bring exactly what we need. And so, finding myself in a situation of working with plants, I’m allowed to discover, in small doses, the clay, the moisture, the favored foundations, the nuanced growing conditions, of several specific genera. I faced an excess, of coveted medicinals, moving them into tubs, and boxes. Our current trend of preoccupation with “health” could be easily solved, with a fraction of these items. The irony is not lost on me. How much worry, and anxiety, could be alleviated, in short order, according to these vibrant healers. Whatever; I am only going to do what I can do, within a days work, leaning into what I feel to be true, about nature’s pharmacy. Go to doctors, if you feel you must. I can only report, from my tiny station, in the middle of nowhere. From where I sit, you are only a skip away, from joining with the raw roots of life. By late afternoon, I was cutting a clean edge, delineating artistic lines. I can only sit on the moist earth for so many hours. There is a time to rake clean, the mess of a long, hot day. Packing up my tools, I felt enlightened, but pretty solitary, and unremarkable. It may mean nothing, or something, depending on how attracted you are, to dirt. And growth, according to slow, old world rules. Our position here, on the terra, is not an idle joke.”
