So I expect a garden to look after itself during the hot months. And what I encountered this afternoon was: bugs and blight and drought-damaged plants and the creeping trails made by moles and voles. Plus, some flowers. I would like to be able to focus on those flowers--and the oranges on the mock-orange. But it's hard not to berate oneself while standing knee-deep in weeds, dead stalks, and the accusing survivors.
It's a hobby, I tell myself, not a moral obligation.
Also, I'm convinced that the only true waste of time is berating one's self--or others, for that matter. But it's very hard to stop.
So I kept weeding and pruning. Didn't yield to the impulse to simply toss the clippers and give it up. I give myself credit for that.
This is one more example of a garden as teacher and provocateur. I've always liked the saying: if someone wants to rule the world, let them first cultivate a little plot of land. It's humbling.
My bold goal becomes simply to keep going, to fix what I can.
