A Nebulous State


Astounding to discover, I’ve not posted here, written here, even thought much about here, except for passing stray moments, for more than two weeks, give or take. Nor have I commented often to those whom I follow here. My apologies, truly.

In reaching to understand where I was (or, conversely, had been), I looked at my most recent posts. Ah, yes. The Happy Birthday to my mother. But what caught my attention was the one before, the previous full moon. Interesting that another full moon’s coming our way next weekend, Easter weekend.

From that post: …things are in a somewhat nebulous state, with confusion about the way the very structure of our lives could be morphing with reckless abandon, versus our diminishing capability to keep holding on….

Do tell.

So it’s been nuts. But it’s been constructive at the same time. And I haven’t hurt myself. All good things. So much was business work, but some, the best-non-thinking part, was farmer work. And now I’m sitting still, staring out my big window wondering how soon leaves will poke from the Oak’s tight-fisted buds; the backyard Redbud has already begun. Daffodils shine from the freshly mulched front garden. This year I added Blue Selvia to the same front garden, said garden being below huge oak which means shade, dappled shade, HOT midday sun. Ya gotta be adaptable in my garden. Not an easy match. Blue Selvia, says Springhill Nursery, is adaptable. It’s getting a tryout. And it draws either butterflies or hummingbirds, or maybe both. My son put together the bird bath, set the solar fountain inside, and it works. Robins have visited but I’ve seen few other birds yet this spring. It’s early, and today’s 50 degrees and damp weather hardly welcoming: March going out like a lion when it came in like a lamb. I’d stay south, too, if given the chance.

Yard work is not finished, but it’s close.

Our lawn is a golf-course-grounds-manager’s nightmare. It is a lawn from 1924. It’s gone through a lot. We have spent considerable time and money on this lawn, retilled (bought a tiller), reseeded, remulched, and watered, sometimes several times a week when seeds were newly down, repeat action in one way or another over the years. Oh, and fertilizer with pre-treat. Whatever all that did in the long or even short-term, we do not have a lawn. We have clover.

Last year we stopped the lawn battle. And one mid-morning, walking out to the car, I looked down and honey bees were busy around my feet. They just moved out of my way, intent on clover blossoms. I figure that’s a good thing all in all. So we don’t have a lawn, but we have bees.

But then, my friend Aaron is putting three hives into his yard ten blocks away, so maybe we’re working together. He says he’ll share honey. I’ve heard he’s also added six chickens to the mix. We farm in our different ways.

The next six weeks or so look full on my calendar. Ah well. I’ve chatted with you today. And that was fun. “Keep your cards and letter coming in,” as someone, Carol Burnett? so famously said at the end of each show. And I’ll say hello when I can.