The Tyranny of the Garden
This is the season that I refer to as "The
Tyranny of the Garden." Although things are somewhat late at our
house, probably due to the lack of rain, there is now an assortment of produce
in the vegetable garden which, if not picked when it is ready, will rapidly
become inedible. So, at least every other day, I go out with my picking basket
as I did today and return with okra pods, a carrot or two, green beans, lima
beans, black-eyed peas, golden zucchini, and scores of tomatoes. As I sat on my
couch shelling the limas and black-eyed peas, I watched a hummingbird at the
feeder which had decided today (for the first time all summer) to play Keep
Away, perching on the wire from which the feeder hangs and chasing off all
other hummers who tried to come get a drink.
I mused about the contrast between the urgency of
dealing with the veggies and the waiting for news about a dear friend who is
finally losing a lengthy battle with cancer. In the liminal space between
"Gotta do it now" and "Can't do anything now," the other
activities of life--preparing meals, bicycling, reading--seem somehow unreal. I
wonder if the hummingbird is feeling something like that tension in his tiny
brain, something between the frantic activity, now over, of raising a brood and
the need to fly south. "Not time yet . . . but I need to be ready . . .
I'll just guard this food supply and wait."
It's helpful to have something to keep yourself busy.
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