I really wouldn't let myself blog at all until May because I'd set myself a May 1 deadline for having the third draft of the poetry manuscript done, so a wonderful friend could read it and give me some feedback. I was very lucky in the early days of the pandemic (March and April) to have the manuscript to focus on. It kept me sane--and away from reading zillions of disturbing reports and craziness, which would've stressed me out even more than I already was. This fabulous distraction worked so well that I got the manuscript into shape before the deadline. I was organized and driven. When I finished, I missed those feelings of being organized and driven. I thought I would go on to my next project--because in some ways, at least during the winter, I had felt the second project calling, but knew I had to complete the first one--but I was surprised to find I felt completely stymied on that. (Still do, actually.) But in May I thought I would blog. I intended to blog.
But I didn't. And it's only been in the last few weeks that I figured out that the situation of living in a place where people have values very different from mine (not only does this county vote opposite to how I do, but they voted down a new library in a recent local election--come on, people!) during a pandemic where truth claims and credibility are called into question actually took my voice--or a big part of it. Or made me feel so beat down that I didn't feel like I had the strength or desire to speak. So many people have blogged and written poems and written stirring things and reported doing great things on Facebook during this pandemic--I wish I were one of them. But, really, I process things slowly, and I am trying hard to love my own path with its gifts/lessons of discipline and patience rather than spend time envying the achievements of others. I've been happy to see many more poetry readings in the last couple months than I've seen in the last ten years. (I feel like a major accessibility issue, especially but not only for disabled people, is finally being addressed because it has to be. For some of us, access has been an issue for some time!)
My favorite conference came and went (so glad I "went"--it was on Zoom), and it helped me come back to myself in all sorts of different ways--including starting me happily on draft 4 of the manuscript! A sweet friend is helping me by reading the sections as I "finish" with them, which is a great gift I treasure. I haven't blogged before now because I am mostly too busy with editing and writing and occasionally getting some reading in (oh to spend the day reading!!!) and all the usuals of life.
So, we've always had lots of animals come onto our land, but this year we had a lot more. In late spring, we had ducks coming regularly to our pond, though that's since stopped. I had hoped that at least one mother duck would stay and share her ducklings with us--to no avail. We used to keep chickens and ducks, but when I got sick with my autoimmune arthritis mystery disease, it was very challenging to tend them. My husband's back occasionally goes out, so there were these times when we'd look at each other and try to figure out which one of us hurt less and how we could do less for them in the snow. And that's how my homesteading fantasy died--when it came right up to the limits of my body. Since I thought I had debilitating arthritis and doctors weren't helping to explain what I could expect because they didn't know (still don't know) what I had, I thought the pain was what I could expect going forward. Thank goodness I am much better now, thanks to a brilliant book and a ton of work, including changing my diet. But I have a fondness for ducks, and I miss the ones we used to have, so I loved seeing those ducks in our pond and wished they would stay.
Then there are the robins. In our porch light, a robin had built a nest several years ago. This year, we found her at it again, fixing it up and laying those bright blue eggs. (We don't open the front door when she's nesting because it disturbs her, so we pay close attention to the nest. Yes, we are very funny people but the animals are the best part about living here!) And then the two babies with their upstretched mouths. And then a week or so later, all gone, the robins off into the trees. For the first time since we've been here, she's on her second set of babies in one year in the same nest. Right now, she spends her days finding worms and feeding them to the babies. One morning pretty soon, we'll look and they'll be gone.
For the first time since we moved here, we have baby muskrats and baby groundhogs in our backyard. They are so adorable. Also lots of bunnies. We've seen does with her children scampering behind all awkward on their legs come through the backyard as well. With predictable results. We had two big salad bowl planters full of salad greens (the kind you can cut and then they grow back) on our porch. One day I was watering, and saw that it had been almost completely munched down. (I'd really have liked to have seen the bunnies or deer or whatever on the porch though!) Now, there's nothing growing in there. They munched it all the way down! These critters we love so much really did a number on the entire garden actually, so we had to put down the usual things that they don't like (we're completely organic, so there's soap in bags and things like that).
And then the garden itself! Because I was sick last year, I let the whole thing go. So even getting it deweeded and ready was quite the challenge, but I did weed all eight raised beds (again and again and again because that is so much of what gardening is: I need to weed again actually) and got them all planted, having started seeds in the basement. I find starting seeds to be roulette--it's not about what I want to plant, but about what actually comes up. And that was especially interesting this year because most of what I started were old seeds from previous years. So we've got too many tomato plants and not enough bell peppers. We had broccoli and cauliflower started, but that also got munched down and now won't grow properly. Napa cabbage and alpine strawberries are new experiments for me that are growing at the moment. Then in the direct-seeded category: we had two kinds of peas but they're spent now and so the beans are trying to come up. I finally got a kind of zucchini that is resistant to mold, so I'm actually getting some zucchinis out of my garden, finally. Then there's blue jade corn (the only kind I had because early on in the pandemic it was very difficult to get seeds and we had no money) with beans and squash in a Three Sisters planting.
My one sadness is that the nasturtiums are not getting big and bountiful and taking over and spilling into the walkway (so the blog image here of nasturtiums seems like a lie). So far, we have only one orange bloom. But I'm hopeful. (It's not really the blooms I love, but the silver dollar leaves, but they're not taking over--at all.) Gardening is so good for me since it cultivates patience and trust. You just can't plant things in the ground and then dig them up a little while later to make sure they are growing. You have to be patient and trust that things are happening where you can't see them.
And patience sure seems needed now--in our present pandemic circumstances. And certainly writing--at least my writing--requires a kind of long patience, a trust that I'm not wasting my time, which is a lesson I seem to have to learn over and over again. Watering my garden in the morning shows me that patience is worth it, that I trust rightly. Writing too is worth it. This post will remind me of my beautiful garden when there's nothing but grey snow to look at.
Stay safe, everyone. Hang in. Patience.
