Changes

 

June 6, 2021

First order of the morning was deadheading of the roses. In this I was far behind. 

The bears marauded last night. They broke one of my pear trees for the sake of a few bitter unripe fruits. I trimmed away the broken part–unfortunately, the central trunk-- thinking it could still live. I’d left my leather gardening gloves on the porch. One of them carried a glove some distance in his mouth, thinking for a moment that it was not totally unlike meat.

The clouds of mosquito larvae in the water garden diminish to a few hidden amid the stems of the waterlily. The tiny fish have done their work. One of them was dead and had to be flicked from the surface of the pool. Perhaps it was gluttony.

Light fixtures began falling from my ceiling, so I called the electricians, who came to put them back in, warning me that if it happened again the remedy would not be so easy. Whose fault is that? That same afternoon two boys from AT&T came to the door wanting me to switch from my current cable service to theirs. . . fiber optic. . . direct. . . it had some advantage, anyway. The main advantage is that I would end up saving $840 a year from my current plan, which, they explained is expensive because, in this area, a monopoly. The last point in their favor is that they were handsome and merry, and I wanted their company as long as the exchange was being made. The down part is that I have to wait some morning for a truck to arrive, then learn a new way of working the TV. I worried about what features were being offered until I realized I don’t really care what’s on TV, so long as I can sit in a stupor before bed with a cocktail in my hand. I will also lose my land phone line. Though I could think of no reason other than nostalgia to keep it, it grieved me. The old order changeth. 

This is Sunday. Friday and Saturday together made the most intense space of gardening since I moved to this house. I’m digging out the back garden–something I didn’t attempt wholeheartedly even when I decided to have a garden there. Part of success is ruthlessness: out come unflourishing roses, planted without research; out come clumps of daylily which were here when I moved in. Planted $200 worth of plants from Reems Creek, including bushes like spirea and beauty berry that will take up space in the middle so the edges can be dedicated to smaller things. Dig dig dig. Plant Plant Plant. Then, most importantly now, water, water, water. I emit a stream of blasphemies each time the hose kinks, as though that were the worst thing a person could encounter in a day. Describing activities in the garden is corollary to the observation that all through that time of labor I was perfectly and uncharacteristically happy. Twice this week I have prayed, “Lord, thank you for my life,” a prayer which I have noted in the past as not been general in the last four decades. 

This is the first summer when the great mullein has not made a volunteer appearance in my garden.