How do you use social media?
A woman on a mission, a woman on a mission. Too long I’ve couched it; a lazy Saturday, Super Mario Wonder–playing flips my twitchy switch. Out the front door, I bolt. Driven by my green friends—how are they today?
The ten immature hedges are looking worse for wear. I jump for joy at the mini spokes of new growth on a couple; wilting and deadening on the others makes me question the Florida shipment from Walmart, and if they were too young to make the trek across state lines.
My green thumb’s limitless potential has met its match.
You know the one rainbow water arc that one sprinkler from your childhood makes, the one you leaped over like an acrobat while giggling ferociously? Well, I got that yesterday. It’s a simple piece of machinery that, besides its use for play, its ease of setting and forgetting left the spongey instead of brittle bounce beneath my feet—exactly the impact I’d wanted, oversaturation to help the grass and ground.
The new ginkgo tree is doing well, and the honeysuckle not so much. Seeing the protective eyewear on the front steps, I remember the back area along the pool pump and brick is way overgrown, and that weed whacking it would be so satisfying. That’s what I mean by mission. The ambling unlocks the tasks of the day, not the other way around.
I have to be careful. If I look too long, if I think too much, I see my failings. And those failings lead to resignation. And ain’t nobody got time for resignation. We’ve got plants to help, and things are working, and in the failings are our teachings.
Onto weed whacking—be back soon with yard work insights!
I hope one day I’m that crazy old lady, vines running up and down my house, that kids dare each other to knock, as I skitter to the door with one glass eye, my hair frizzled as I’d just been electrocuted, and a dark, cobwebbed house.
Far from those days, and yet hopefully closer than I realize, I stayed home today. When asked why I didn’t come along with him, Dave told me his mind lapsed, that impulsively he’d wanted to come up with a reason, then realized—who cares—and said, “She didn’t want to.”
He is spot on. I did not want to leave this hallowed land.
The same land that two years ago called me from 2,600 miles away and said, “I need you, come live on me.” So I did.
Past the frog hotel, the cardinals are playing. Never have I seen anything but a female and a male at the feeder together, but just now two males came. The dance across the yard, as if a mini territorial dispute was the next act.
Having wanted to read The Lost Apothecary, its place I filled with deeper organization and house tending than I’ve done in a while. Things like adding several capfuls of Neptune’s Harvest—dead fish–smelling fertilizer—to zest up my plants, and unshelving all clothes and accessories in my closet, washing them, and folding and organizing.
I’d told Dave I felt I was at 33%. Not energy-wise or mood-wise, but “me” -wise. Like the static of all that’s out there coming from out there into me is clouding and polluting me—my perspective, my learnings, my peace. Rather, it’s not that that’s the problem; it’s the lack of consistent personal time. Things like a hose roller-upper that I’ve put off getting for months—days like today, it goes on my to-buy list, and it gets taken care of.
I want two dump truck loads of high-quality soil. Living forty minutes away from the city means companies don’t deliver here. Finally, Dave called the county, who gave him the name Jeremy, who gave him the name of a company, which gave him the name Preston. The same Preston—had we looked back on the checks we wrote in August of 2024—we’d see his name for fill dirt and gravel.
So we have an actual guy to do the actual job we need, but now—does he have access to the good stuff? Like, I’m talking fancy compost, topsoil, nicely broken down and ready to love up on my plants. I am willing to pay extra to avoid buying bags of potting soil ever again.
It’s dark enough out here; the cute mushroom solar lantern turned on. The light within casts through the patterned holes onto our black table.
Oh, and to answer the daily prompt, I think it was a dumb question.
Love, Jaclynn