There is nothing better than the feeling of returning indoors after a productive day of working outside. This morning I managed to dig up two good-sized blueberry bushes from the pasture that have been struggling down there for three years. I dragged them topside into our backyard and re-planted them in pots, adding them to some nice acidic potting mix which I hope they will love.
As soon as I pulled them out of the ground I saw what the problem was -- heavy, wet clay soil -- exactly the opposite of what they need. Poor blueberries. I'm amazed they did as well as they did, but they won't have to work so hard anymore. Now that I've learned you can grow blueberries in containers, I'm going to control their environment and give them the nice cushy life they deserve. I just hope they repay me with abundant fruit. They'd better.
And the irony of dragging something out of the pasture to put into a pot was not lost on me. It's ironic in the sense that you can own a couple of acres and still need to do some container gardening after all. It's not just for apartment balconies. Learning to grow things in containers is a skill I'm convinced all gardeners and homesteaders should have in their toolbox.
I also dragged my citrus plants outside for some fresh air and sunshine, since the temperatures are going to be in the 70s all week. Everyone should be playing outdoors in that kind of weather, including lemons and limes.
Anyway, after a good day's work, at about 4 p.m. I came back inside to find the "changing of the light" happening; it's that time of day when everything takes on a golden hue and you feel yourself satisfied with a day's work done. It's a time for settling in as the light becomes warm and soft and you instinctively feel yourself winding down in preparation for night, like a dove into the nest at day's end.
It's far too often I fail to realize the perfection of these moments. If only I could grab them, every single day, and realize they are enough. There is nothing more to want. There is nothing more to crave, purchase, achieve or discuss. The moment is enough. Or should be.
Dinner consisted of an asparagus, mushroom and black olive frittata (thank you, hens) and some homemade biscuits, along with a very big, dark beer called a Velvet Merlin, produced locally. And then there were store-bought blueberries with some homemade creme anglaise topping them for dessert. Yum.
Days like this I realize I am blessed beyond all imagining, and that the blessing does not change -- only my perception of it does.
I love blueberries! Or almost any kind of berry. I buy them frozen when out of season. I love to eat berries topped with a little unsweetened Greek yogurt.
ReplyDeleteDusk is my favorite time of day. I love the colors of the sky and the way our trees become silhouettes against it. I agree with you. It signals that your work is done and it's now time for rest. One of my favorite books is entitled, "Remains of the Day", which uses dusk as an analogy for the latter part of life. Your work is done and now you can enjoy the fruits of your labor. (And no pun intended on the word 'fruit'!) :)
That is a lovely analogy, the time of day comparing to where one is in life. And you are right, dusk is the most beautiful time, when the sky turns all sorts of gorgeous colors, when the first stars begin to shine. Maybe if we looked at the last half of our lives in that way instead of how it is in America (becoming more and more irrelevant) we'd be onto something.
ReplyDeleteI understand about the feeling irrelevant part. I just attended a retirement party for a friend and met two interns who were there too. It reminded me of when my friend and I were the young hotshots. Now it's over for us and just beginning for them.
ReplyDeleteI must admit I felt a pang of envy remembering the suits, board meetings, budgets, seminars, problem solving and decision making. But now I have leisurely breakfasts in my sun room overlooking the woods, long walks in fresh air, time for my hobbies, healthier meals and the ability to be spontaneous when the need arises.
A wise friend once told me that you can have it all, but not all at once. I believe she was right.