(re-post)
A COTTAGE YEAR IN THE CITY
SEPTEMBER
Today I'd planned to go to the fall fair out in Metchosin, memories drawing me from past years of sun rolling around on the fragrant autumn field where now people gathered in a festive spirit. Fresh produce and weaving exhibits and home baking and sheep shearing demonstrations and a chance to manipulate a life size backhoe were the woof and warp in my mind. Completing the tapestry was the thought of the salmon/lamb barbeque at the end of the day.
A check of the bus schedule to plan my timing - no bus. What to do. I could call a friend with whom I shared the delight in the past but since she hadn't mentioned it my fear that she had other plans and my asking would cause an embarassment won over the notion that she might not know it was on. And once I accepted the fact that I would not be going this year, the most incredible relief flowed over me.
I could now stay home. (There's an awareness for future pondering!)
I spent the day in the garden.
It was a gentle 'being' before 'doing' day which seems to concern attitude rather than activity because things did get done. But there was no pressure, no shoulds. Just enjoyment. A listening to my own needs and that of my surroundings and working together.
The grass that has grown all summer and is now dry and sere (oh what a glorious word!) got cut with the hedge clippers (the tool I find best, so far, for such trimming; the squoosh, squoosh, squoosh sound is satisfying and soothing).
This in the area that has had bushes and trees planted but these are still babies with lots of space in between where grass and glorious weeds prosper. (In the section where Centra Gas dug up for a new pipe for next door and then planted grass seed, leaving me a note to Please Water, has sat dormant all summer, bare of grass, but nature did toss up a few green offerings.)
In the section between the fig tree and where I think an orchard would like to be (have I not planted five apple trees, four of which I grafted myself and there's a pomegranate tree a friend gifted) I raked the grass. It seemed to want this, not cutting, and I felt as if I were combing away unwanted hair from an appreciative animal. As the dry grass came away with my rake the earth showed through and wisps of green shoots caught the sun.
Some of the dried grass debris (I like this word too; say it and it makes my tongue and lips do a dance step together) was put in the compost bin and I gave a cheery greeting to all those little red wriggler worms who have unconstipated the heap.
The rest of the grass I used to make a circle for interest and for walking around where I planted what I think is wheat. I got it from Biz Whitby at her garage sale - I think she was selling bunches as decorations but I told her I wanted to grow it and she gave me three sprigs.
Normally it's put in the ground in the spring but when I said I was going to try a bit now she seemed to think it was worth a try. I likely would have done it without her "guess so, why not" - actually I would not have known, would I. Huh.
(Biz is the lady down in James Bay who has a 'garden not a lawn' and of whom I have heard many times in my four years out here as I spoke of my method of gardening (which I have now readdressed and will speak of later) with the advice that I should get in touch with her. Well, it occurred that we met by chance - at a garage sale. [I have met quite a few people through garage sales and will also explore this adventure of human relationships] I asked her to come have tea with me and having not heard from her since I think I will have to make a more definite invite if I wish her to come.)
Where was I? Oh yes, the grass circle. Then I got a lovely old stick from my beach combing collection and wrote neatly on it GORGEOUS GRASS and put it in the circle. Also there's a few grains scratched into the earth in four places over by the stone wall which I marked with branches and a piece of red twine tied on each. Will see what nature makes of this intent to grow.
That was the big stuff that got 'done' in the 'being'. I used a useful tool when starting which is to think in terms of "small areas." Mental tools are as necessary as physical ones, I think, in any endeavour but particularly in this quest to live in the now. So I decided to concentrate on one area at a time and give it my whole attention. It works. I relax into the moment and become increasingly receptive, which is the key, really.
It's why childhood is remembered as so free and innocent and lonnnnnggggg. We were receptive. We had not closed down to the world that was painful or confusing. We let ourselves FEEL things and memory remembers the joy of the experience of truly feeling. I am weeding out the toxic in my life, dealing with the fears, tossing out those that make no sense to my adult state, allowing myself to once more feel. It is glorious. The hardest journey I have ever travelled, this frontier of self. But oh, none more satisfying.
Two wonderful events occurred in the garden as I was relaxed in the moment. I had finished with the 'big' raking and was down on hands and knees under the fig tree poking around and taking out berry bush suckers and grass clumps and other things I did not want there.
Suddenly realized there were flowers amongst the English violet leaves which were coming out of their summer dusty look and looking positively perky again. Well, no wonder. Almost hidden in those leaves were purple violets. Not many. Not large as the springtime blooms. But magnificently fragrant.
If my bulk was a hindrance (as it is when I watch a butterfly soar away from me) I did not notice this time as I folded down and nestled close to those violets and inhaled and inhaled and inhaled.
I am overwhelmed by the surprises of a moderate climate.
The second marvel was a grasshopper. He scooted out of the way of my rake while I was still combing the earth and arrested my action completely. I stood and stared. This was perhaps the second grasshopper I've seen this year and oh I want crickets and grasshoppers and a toad or two and many butterflies to be part of my habitat.
Very carefully I got down on my knees and bent forward with all my looking powers at attention. I saw him, also motionless, in the tall grass. By this time we were almost nose to nose. I stared at him. He stared at me. I hope we both partook of the communion.
"Tell all your friends they are welcome here," I whispered.
Comments