It's not that I want it to snow. I'm not ready for blizzards and wind and freezing temperatures. I don't like that it's dark when I wake up in the morning and is dark before 8 p.m. I love autumn and its warm days and cool nights. I love sunshine. But enough is enough. The pressure to be outside and take advantage of the fine weather is beginning to overwhelm me. And the guilt if I am not hiking or canoeing or working in the yard or taking walks or sitting on the deck or just plain enjoying this awesome weather is weighing me down.
It's not that I haven't been taking advantage of this incredible fall weather. Last weekend I decided to do my part in the yard upkeep department. I don't like yard work. Oh, sure, I get excited when the first tulip leaves pop up through the snow. And I feel as bad as everybody else when the daffodils are hanging their heads under six inches of snow. I even kind of enjoy mowing the lawn the first couple of times during the spring. But on the whole I would be perfectly happy and content never mowing a lawn, planting a garden, or weeding a flower bed again. Isn't that why artificial turf and men were invented?
However, since I do have a propensity for guilt, as I said, I did my part last weekend. I did some weeding in the flower beds and as I finished one area, I looked over at the raspberry bushes. About a month ago the bushes liked like this. I was whining about them migrating into and taking over the grass in the backyard.
 |
| Anybody out there want to share their raspberry disease expertise? |
Within the last month they developed some kind of disease and began to die. So many died that I couldn't stand looking at all the dead leaves. My clutter gene took over and I started hacking the dead canes out. It was like eating potato chips. Once I cut out the first dead cane, I couldn't stop until all the dead wood was gone.
Throwing any type of organic material away is a federal offense in this house so hours later, after the yard was strewn with dead raspberry canes flecked with blood from my scratched up arms, I started hauling them to the compost pile. Unfortunately, since they were diseased Dean said I couldn't put them in his compost. That meant I had to first drag them back out of the compost, and then cut up a bajillion canes of raspberries into a trajillion six or eight-inch lengths so I could lay them carefully into flimsy white garbage bags and toss them into the garbage. I wish I had a picture to show you but my fingers were bent into a permanent garden clipper position by the time I was finished and I couldn't push the camera button.
The good news is, if they're going to insist on dying, our migrating raspberry bush issue may be over. The bad news is, four hours of weeding and raspberry chopping did not relieve my “please, just one nasty day” guilt.
Because our summers are so short it's a frantic marathon to do all those awesome summer things before the blizzards and icy winds roll in. But I'm beginning to wear out. Enough is enough. I just need a break. Just one day to hunker down with rain pelting on the windows. But no. Those perfect days just just keep coming. And every moment I'm not outside adds to my guilt.
My arms weren't red from the welts I get when I touch the pine bush when I mow; and they weren't speckled in bits of red blood from an errant raspberry cane, but I was wearing red yesterday, and we were outside, and we did our best to make the most of a picture perfect fall day.
 | |
| Final Score 38-14 ... Go Huskers! |
Once again today is another in the never-ending string of “this is why we live in Wyoming” days. A day I should be outside. Not in here. At a computer. Typing. The forecast shows no break in the weather. Days and days of continuing warm days, cool nights and bright sunshine. The increasing shame weighing on me because I should be outside on this magnificent fall day has nearly incapacitated me. Before I am completely exhausted by these beautiful days, and immobilized by my guilt, I must go stand on the deck, in the sun.
I will watch Dean work in the garden until I recoup my strength. Or until I am struck down by lightening for even harboring the thought of a less than perfect day. Wait a minute, lightening means rain ...
◦
3 comments:
You should have at least worn a little yellow or brown for the game, what kind of Wyomingite are you?!
I wish for snow sometimes too. But it never snows here. Ever. Unless you climb a mountain, which I don't.
I'll remember this post when you are complaining about cloudy, miserable days.
Cathy, you should save all these posts and see if you can find a publisher for them. I love your sense of humor.
I have to agree with Abby that you are no Wyomingite if you cheered for Nebraska. I understand that Nebraska will revoke your citizenship to the state if you don't wear red on game day, but that shouldn't be too bad. After all, you sacrificed Abby on the altar of NU, didn't you?
This is my first visit to your blog. I really enjoyed it! In fact, parts of it made me wonder if I wrote it... too many nice days in a row wear me out, I'm all excited about gardening for the first week of Spring but my enthusiasm wanes quickly thereafter, and I can see the same mountain from my deck! I'm gathering you are from Nebraska originally? I lived there during some of my formative years and once had a GO BIG RED t-shirt. I even know the Nebraska State Song!
Post a Comment