“We had a tractor today, which was pretty great. Otherwise, it would have been shoveling soil into buckets, & running up and down the hill a million times, to achieve the same result. Dan was fresh off a business trip to Munich. “I’m not really back yet”, he said, confidentially. “I’m still goofing off”. But he was primed to get back on his tractor. His family business: robots. Likely, a savvy investment as compared to, say, CD manufacturing or gerbil farming, at least for now. Strange bedfellows is one of the things I love about the way I run my life. It seemed the perfect day to redraw the shrub bed, and plant grass. Dan’s tractor moved deftly around us, dumping composted farm manure onto the barren areas, metallic levers cocked to do a singular job, in gigantic, clanging deliveries. Then, as Dan receded, no longer needed, the crows called and we on the ground returned to our solitary raking. It was a hot one, with some cloudy moments, and breezes. Yesterday, there’d been more shade. A different kind of hard work, as only a gardener can attest to. The huge Sorberia, completely out of control, sending tendrils below the surface of sanity, to strangle and control. A day of bliss, despite the fights with spent flowers, readying seeds, where none are wanted. No, it’s not necessary, to have too much of anything. Just because seeds are in production, doesn’t mean we need to sow them. There are things to stop, right now. To cut down, to rein in, to arrest. The arrogance of spreaders, those who have tricked us into believing their proliferation is good, must be held to account. Show me why we need a hundred more of anything. Let me consider, instead, each pod, to determine its merit, its suitability to my garden. And so after the epic battle of one woman against the roots of “False Spirea” intent on taking over, there came, a divine opening. I drove to the Barnard Store, found a spot in the parking lot, across from the lake, and sat, just for the enjoyment of sitting, I guess, until something else happened. The ends of my work days are filled with a perfect, physical exhaustion. Dirt staining my hands, salty skin, an amble when I walk, that only comes from labor. Though thoroughly done with work & facing over an hour’s drive home, I considered meeting friends, on a farm nearby, for music, for a cup of ale, & conversation ... it has always been a long time, for me. Not sure I can muster up a voice to talk, not sure, I can pierce past the facades, or face the disappointment of failing to do so. My love is too big. It’s painfully soft. Yet, those who might care, might not get it, or have any clue, how much passion runs my show. It’s a long game. You don’t always get what you want, yeah, I get that. It’s rough to be denied, over and over and over again. So you hide, or you pretend, or you lay out your best vulnerable self & make huge mistakes:, romantic, frustrated, misanthropic, curious a.k.a I am an idiot. Because, that’s the truth we got. It’s wonderful to see my friends aging, changing, finding their deeper missions. I get more excited about the future, the more time erodes, and washes each hour I/we have left, into the rocky sea.”
