Archive for May, 2008


I give up.  The battle of the weeds cannot be won.  And it’s still early in the season.

We live on 2+ acres of land consisting mostly of clay soil.  Plants that you would like to see grow, require a lot of care and ground preparation.  The ones you WANT to shrivel up and die…weeds…flourish in this packed, dry earth. 

I don’t like gardening.  I never have.  I have a little plot of favorite plants and flowers by my back door, and that I tend joyfully.  But the rest of this place requires a team of gardeners working 4-6 hours a day to keep the place looking nice.  I have begged my husband to let us sell and move to a condo somewhere where the only plants we have to tend with are growing on the patio.  But no.  He loves his acreage, and his great big shop, and the creek running through the land.  The privacy from neighbors, the singing of the birds, the crows that have become almost like pets, the deer that wander through, and the raccoons that climb trees after the bird seed we’ve put out…he doesn’t want to give any of that up.  He seems not to see the brush and weeds that cover every bit of ground space that isn’t blacktopped or what we call “lawn.”  That’s a laugh too.  If it weren’t for the dandylions and moss, we wouldn’t HAVE a lawn.  The only time we need to mow is when the weeds get too high.  It’s pathetic.  Niether of us are gardeners, and it shows.

I keep hoping that one day we’ll have it in the budget to be able to hire some full- time gardeners….well, not full-time, but on a regular schedule.  But these days extra dollars are going into the gas tank, or to the grocery store.  I could try to like gardening more, but I don’t think it’s gonna happen.  Not with this soil.  Not with my creaky back, and hips and knees that need replacing.  I guess I learn to ignore it, and try not to wonder what friends and familiy think when they come to call.  It is what it is.  I’m working on accepting that.


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Sunday Scribblings prompt this week:  Soar/Sore


It’s not easy living with a sore heart.

How many times can it be battered before it

just gives up?

My heart is old.  It will see 60 years this summer.

This year has aged it.

A lot.

Death seems to show up at every turn.

It hurts.

My darling little niece.

A dear, older friend.

An especially loved dog.

All taken from me in a matter of months.


My heart doesn’t want to BE sore…

It wants TO soar.

To the heavens and back.

As free as the birds soaring overhead.


I long for a lightness of spirit

That will fill my sore heart with joy.

It’s out there….

It will come.

It’s just not time yet.



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