This morning at 8:30 a.m. there was frost all over the field's surface. The garden's surface had a crusty layer of iced-together topsoil. The cat and I prowled around quite happily all the same. I wanted to visit the new root-crop bed and see how the energy felt now that it's had a chance to settle into itself.
Next time I come into the field I'm going to bring a rattle with me. Like to walk around out here near the equinox with a pomegranate rattle. Letting the dried seeds call to Persephone Spirit - seeking her blessings as she rises into her aboveworld guise as Queen of the Flowers.
I really love this time of morning in the field. Maybe an hour or two earlier if it's very hot. Got the sense the main bed and everything else needed time without me. Everything that normally lives out there has been making adjustments to our regular highly focused presence. I'm there regularly but not in this kind of immersive way. Feels good to be acting and visioning through this specific lens again. I grew our food the first three and half full years we lived here before growing too sick to manage. Felt like such a failure at the time but now I have a lot of admiration for what I accomplished even while ill.
Had trouble settling in the studio after this morning inspection tour and then again after lunch. J. was evidently having the same trouble and we met as if planned out in the evolving sanctuary bed. This is how it looked when Mama and I went out while J. was working in his office:
and this is how it looks now. I asked if J. could create this grouping. He subsequently moved the other rock to join the rest as is evident in the larger view above. While he was completing the wall I worked in my own personal circle of pachysandra hell to double the amount of cleared space.
It occurs to me there has been no dormant season this year. The ground cover area where their roots live never froze after the January thaw. There are a number of places where the size of the colonies have nearly trebled. It would be the most disturbing thing in my brain if we weren't immersed in a global pandemic. It doesn't take much thought at all to foresee we're going to resort to bringing out the industrial weed wacker and massive amounts of plywood and cardboard. There is no other way to begin to dream of bringing it to heel in the slightest.
Okay Cheryl and all others - feast your eyes. It has tumbled merrily out of its laughably tiny intended space and pulled the whole damn wall with it. And this is but one of five out of control pachy nightmares on our property. But on the tiny daily hands level - I've cleared a good bit of it just there at the very edge. Am now into gnarled well established groupings that are tough enough to successfully pry them out with a pitchfork. That makes the work marginally quicker and the runners pull up in long ropes instead of small pieces.
Also back there - living and perhaps hatching in the dogwood bark - many tiny ticks. I have picked one from the hollow of my throat and now of course imagine they are everywhere. Once J.'s clocked out of work for the day we're going to have to check thoroughly and have equally thorough showers.
Meanwhile, earlier this afternoon I sat on that little bench with my back to the nightmare and ate a honeycrisp apple surrounded by numerous songbird mating calls and a small falcon flying round and round amidst many cries almost as if talking to itself. Not sure what was going on but I could see the bird quite well just across the road in our neighbor's woods. Beautiful control of the air as well as its body and binocular vision.
Everything involved had a ring of normalcy. I felt both healed and energized from grounding in this garden that holds so much life and meaning; grounding more firmly my intentions to clear as much of my projected goal's worth of reclaimed garden space as I possibly can. It's good to have engrossing physical tasks I know how to accomplish. Especially with J. around needing physical outside engagement on a very similar schedule.