Some Days

Some days you end up doing yard work over your lunch break because it's the only time you can and it's about to rain for 7 days straight. So you are in a pencil skirt and (low sensible) heels cutting down stems and raking things and thinking that there has to be a better way.

But there wasn't, really, because it was just this last weekend you got the all clear to cut down dead stems because it's been a late spring and pollinator bees were still hibernating in them. And over the weekend you worked all day Saturday and didn't want to tackle this particular yard work on mothers day, though you did do some other yard work.

So the pollinators are safe and you are cutting the stems and you have mulch in your shoe and you are thinking about this is then first year you knew not to cut the stems, and even though it's a PITA to be doing yard work on a random Wednesday afternoon it still seems like a reasonable price to pay for a pollinator or two. And you feel bad you have not known to do this in the past. (and you also feel bad because your rhododendrons are toast from their bark being stripped by bunnies all winter, and thinking about how many of them must have died of starvation).

And then you wonder why you've not thought about the pollinators before, and about taking responsibility for the future, and about leadership in general. And it strikes you hard that the jerks in the Alabama legislature that voted to dehumanize women last night are for 100% sure not thinking about this, that their garden services cleared their gardens weeks ago with no care for what was there, and that maybe you are one of the only ones who seems to care about the future.

Well, not the only ones, because so many people you know care too, but all of our effort together does not seem to be moving the needle very much. And you worry that the future is getting increasingly bleak for your daughter. And suddenly a stolen hour of gardening seems very heavy and you just need to sit and put your head down for a minute.


Six said…
I’ve been just sick about Alabama. I never want to interfere with parental relationships, BUT Beatrix WILL know that it’s OK to talk to me about that stuff. I was too afraid to tell my Mom that I’d been raped. I was too afraid to tell my Mom that I took the morning after pill at the hospital. I was too afraid to tell my Mom that I still got pregnant. I can’t imagine compounding that with knowing it is illegal where you live. So Beatrix, Madeira, my nieces, and Aiden and his “Ultimate” friends (because males in general are not evil and can be great champions of your choice. I want Aiden to tell everyone he knows, “My Mom has you covered!” I will scream it loud because you never know who is listening.
I know I could be spending my energy on the bigger picture. But one of my biggest fears is that someone is going to have to have no one to talk to and no one to help. So I’m going to keep my efforts.

Sorry if this seems fragmented. I blame it on my new drugs...

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