Time


How much do you try to fit in those little shreds and patches of time between the usual things to be done.

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I tossed the laundry in to the basket, grabbed the bowl of pins. loaded up the washer with the next load then headed out to hang them in the sun and breeze.

Summer breeze

Summer breeze

 

Walking back from the clothes line out back near the far pasture; I notice some weeds in the garden. I stop to pull the few I noticed; as I pulled, I noticed more. The seeing, pulling, and shifting went on for some time. My back was sore, then I looked at the clock, I had been at it for 3/4 of an hour. I had missed the rinse cycle on the washer, no softener in this load.

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What continues to astonish me about a garden is that you can walk past it in a hurry to get to the next task at hand, see something wrong, stop to fix it, and emerge an hour or two later breathless, contented, and wondering what on earth happened.

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Do fill the cracks of time so tight you couldn’t slip paper between the minutes? Do you accomplish more when you think you don’t have enough time? 

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I have a list of things to be done a mile long. This list seems to the should haves, at the end of the day I wonder why I didn’t hem those pants (sorry Mike), why didn’t I trim the dog, (sorry Finn), why didn’t I trim his hair, (sorry honey).

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“What may be done at any time will be done at no time.”
– Scottish Proverb

I did however: weed the garden, hang the laundry, help Jenn with her knitting, do the dishes, make the beds, vacuum the rugs, feed the animals, throw the ball for Lexi, clean the chicken coupe, plan dinner, write this post, respond to emails, and its only noon! 

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“It is not enough to be busy, so are the ants. The question is, what are we busy about?”
– Henry David Thoreau

I have much to learn.

Be well,

Jess

 

Walking


Walking and conversation seem to go hand in hand. Inspired conversation, thoughts from deep within, the longer the walk the deeper the conversation.

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I think I could write an interesting memoir of outstanding walks I have taken with others, during which togetherness was not only shared but settled tenderly into the landscape of memory.

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When I was a child, my sisters and I used to walk, from the busstops to home, through parks, across fields and up and down hills.

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We talked of many things, some meaningful (to very young children) and some completely outrageous, and quite a few very tall stories emerged on those walks.

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Whatever the content of the talking, those walks and those conversations remain important memories for me of my attachment to my family, and to nature.

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We used to stop along the way to look for Lady Slippers, a protected native orchid. We found a few. We found Poison Ivy more often.

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The content of these walks have become blurred, now they’re more a painting in my memory. There, As a whole, no particular parts.  Cherished.

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“As a single footstep will not make a path on the earth, so a single thought will not make a pathway in the mind. To make a deep physical path, we walk again and again. To make a deep mental path, we must think over and over the kind of thoughts we wish to dominate our lives.”
– Henry David Thoreau

Get out there, it’s good medicine.

I am the walkingist girl around, we (my husband or daughter and I) try to put in 6 miles a day, though we don’t always achieve this; weather has her own say in things.

Be well,

Jess

Complication is an Understatement


It has been quite a summer, I don’t feel as though I am any further ahead than when I began.

I do suppose, our crazy, busy, complicated lives are very different, though much the same.

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We try to keep it simple; life is a lot.

A lot of dreams. A lot of work. A lot of family and friends. A lot of expectations and a lot responsibilities.

Inevitably there is a lot of juggling.

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The juggling game changes from time to time, it moves from juggling your own needs with the needs of sick family member; their needs take momentary precedence.

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The juggling changes when a loved one enters your life anew. You welcome the ball changes.

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Life is never enough.

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Never enough time.

It flies by, try as  you might to capture it, holding it close so that it doesn’t slip through your fingers…then it’s gone.

Years pass, you hardly notice.

Wish as you might, they are gone.

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Never enough energy. There is always one more task to be completed.

Just when you think you’ve reached capacity, another undertaking manifests. You find a new spark.

You do.

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Would it be conjecture to say you feel the same?

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Accomplishing more than you ever thought possible.

Daring to dream of that which should be unattainable.

Be well,

Jess

 

 

Those moments.


I have been crazy busy, trying to get the gardens back in shape after the long, cold winter, and two seasons had passed by with little to no attention.

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What a job.

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I sheared a friend’s llamas and the goats are sheared; of course today is 50*.  I’m certain they’re questioning my motives right about now.

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With a life so busy and full of to do lists, it’s easy to miss the pocket-sized moments of beauty and wonder, isn’t it?

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I need reminding, from time to time, to lift my head from my daily tasks ~ listen to the birds chirp their own particular warble…

this gives nesting a

this gives nesting a

Notice that one cloud, as it moves past the sun, beams radiating warmth on your upturned face.

reminds m

reminds me of Nemo..

Let nature take hold of your soul, breathe her in, fill your heart.

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Be well,

Jess

 

 

Heady with the aroma of growth


A simple bit of earth has the impressive power of evoking grand dreams. The magic begins with the arrival of winter’s dispersal of seed catalogs.

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If you garden and are anything like me you dream, and plan you scratch lines in the soil with the toe of your boot, you carve and through grassy strips creating new beds and expanding the old. You move this here and that there, in hope of better growth. Maybe this next to that would be better…you have illusions of a grand garden (or perhaps delusions).

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Notions gleaming with possibility and loosely tangled treasure bounce through your noggin, like spring peepers on your pond.

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Ideas flash like a a photographer’s bulb, if only they were as easily created as they are imagined.

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I imagine more garden paths, lined with pea stone beckoning you to enter herb gardens filled with basils, thyme, rosemary, and sage, or a bench tucked away in a secret cutting garden.

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Fields of french lavender lending their fragrance to dawn’s solitude.

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You feel the moss under your bare feet that cling to the damp slate slabs in an outdoor dining area. You sit, senses drenched with wisteria draping from the pergola overhead. Birds, bees, and butterflies going about the daily task of pollination (no chemicals to harm them in sight).

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It’s still much too cold here to get out and work the soil, so I sit sipping Earl Grey whilst I bide my time, content to plan and dream.

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“My garden of flowers is also my garden of thoughts and dreams. The thoughts grow as freely as  the flowers, and the dreams are as beautiful.” Abram L. Urban

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Be well, dream, and do.

Jess