Summer's end
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Why, then, do we have to be human
and keep running from the fate
we long for?
Oh, not because of such a thing as happiness--
that fleeting gift before loss begins.
Not from curiosity, or to exercise the heart ....
But because simply to be here is so much
and because what is here seems to need us,
this vanishing world that concerns us strangely--
us, the most vanishing of all. Once
for each, only once. Once and no more.
And we too: just once. Never again. But
to have lived even once,
to have been of Earth--that cannot be taken from us.
- Rainer Maria Rilke
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You wake up one morning in August and the air feels cooler and thinner than it has, and there's a sweetness, like the smell of alfalfa hay - sweet, and just a little rancid. It happens every year, and I'm never ready. It's the smell of summer ending, and I think of it as the smell of death. Okay, that's dramatic: it's really just a few dead leaves, a build-up of grass clippings, some spent flowers, and of course, my bad attitude.
I intended so many things this summer. I wanted to find a way to do them all, but a week into June I realized I'd put too much on my plate. I was stressed and anxious and feeling bad about everything, so I got rid of pretty much all of it. After all, I work for myself, and since I'm not being paid to suffer - not being paid for anything, as it happens - I might as well do what I feel like doing. I spent the last two months' spare time needle felting and keeping up my flower garden. I didn't write. I didn't submit. I've been getting up early most mornings, while there's still an hour or so before sunrise. I sit in my untidy studio in the quiet with a mug of tea beside me, and poke out little creatures or sew tiny clothes. To what end, I'm not sure. But the process makes me happy, so I'm going with it. The rest of my life, well, it hasn't seemed as serene as the few hours a day I spend in my studio or the garden.
This is the third post I've written this week, the first being self-indulgent and dramatic, the second being rambling and over-confessional. I've decided that after not writing most of the summer, there were things I needed to get off my chest and out into the world before I could move on. But you don't necessarily need to see some of those things. I'll just share that this week has been about trying to move forward and focus on what we managed to accomplish this summer, and what we can still accomplish. In other words, I'm trying to suck things up and move on. Just like a vacuum. Suck crap up and move on. The main problem for me is that I haven't figured out how to empty my canister yet. Badum-ching! See, this is where my mind is right now, so it seems best to let some photos do the talking.
Partial pictorial update on the summer follows.
Dave started work on the chicken house, a project we've put off the last few years. It's an investment, and I don't have any idea if it will ever be put to the use I'd like for it, which would be as a larger studio/shop space for art, and a guest house. I would love to have more space to create and perhaps space for others to create with me. And Dave and I have always wanted to have a place to house family or friends, but also maybe people needing housing for one reason or another.
Walks to see Pa's cows, and to the lake.
And a few times a week, our kitchen looks like this. Except add about 100 pounds of tomatoes and 20 more eggplants and cucumbers to that which wouldn't fit in the picture. Because Dave insists on planting a "truck-farmer" garden even though we aren't truck farmers.
Finally, Nettie has been helping me with some vegan baking. We've tried several new recipes this summer which we really liked, and I hope to share those soon.
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And if you're in the mood for it, the song Nettie and I have been singing for most of the last three days.
flower crown moments
A few days ago Dave offered to take Nettie to the zoo for the morning, and I decided to stay home and make flower crowns. Another mom might have waited to do that when her children were home to help, but I wanted to enjoy it. So I did it by myself. I'm not even going to qualify that.
I was inspired via Instagram by a lovely friend from the Netherlands, who shared photos of her boys in their flower crowns. They were celebrating solstice. I was late to the party, as usual. Actually I just never go to parties. But, as my friend pointed out, with all my garden flowers, I would be able to make a very nice crown for Nettie. I have what I'm calling a "cutting garden" this year, which means that I have flowers that look good once they are removed from my poorly-planned, overcrowded, mess of a garden. I have been bringing in and giving away as many as I can, because they're not particularly picturesque where they are, except from just the right angle.
My hollyhocks, circa June 6-7, 2017.
The same hollyhocks, circa June 30, 2017. Rest in peace.
My beds looked good for oh, I'd say about two days, after which time a string of thunderstorms toppled, crippled, or maimed all but one of my hollyhocks, which are now also ravaged by rust or scab or some other horrifying derma-botana-logical condition which has made them so unsightly that even though they are still blooming in an amazing variety of colors, I'm very close to cutting them all back and being done with the whole thing.
My herbs are out-of-control, which is apparently the state of herbs. You either don't have them or you have scads of them and have to start pulling out everything you see. I found mint in my sweet peas yesterday that was four feet tall. I think that must be some sort of record. The Bells of Ireland, which I was so happy to see coming up on their own this spring, are lying in the most unsightly way, their stems splayed in every direction, the bells coated with mud. Cilantro has gone to seed everywhere and the poppies have popped and popped until frankly, I'm sick of their weak, bobbing heads and their petals dropping all over the place. I've pulled thousands of volunteer morning glories. Thousands. They just keep coming, winding their sneaky little tentacles around the spindly necks of my phlox and autumn clematis.
But flower crowns.
They're so romantic and whimsical, like something from a fairy-tale or a dream. Because who, in real life, has time to make a flower crown, and who, in real life, is going to wear one? Outside of a wedding or something, I really don't know. They seem so frivolous. You can only wear one once, and then the flowers shrivel up and all you can do is maybe hang it on the wall for nostalgia. And honestly, I knew there was no chance that Nettie was going to wear hers for more than a few minutes, hopefully just long enough to snap a few photos. So it's kind of a flaky way to spend your time, right?
That's how I felt about my "flower crown moment" for most of the week. A little flaky. I mean, I wanted to have fun, but most of the time I was working on the crown I was feeling guilty that I didn't go to the zoo with Nettie. And then Dave called me from the zoo to tell me that one of my very best lady-friends was at the zoo with her three little boys who are under four, and I felt a whole lot guiltier. I mean, there she was momming it up hardcore, and here I was at home in my quiet house, making a blasted flower crown.
Actually I didn't stop with Nettie's crown. Despite the guilt, I ended up being so inspired that I made a few tiny crowns for some little felted mice, (talk about frivolous), and I shared photos on Facebook and Instagram. People really liked them. Like, a lot. More than they've liked anything I've posted recently. And I'm pretty sure it was the flower crowns that people liked, not so much the mice. Strangely, not a single person complained that I was being flaky.
So I've been thinking about why a flower crown has so much appeal, what it is that we're responding to. Then I looked at the photos again and thought, "Oh, Rosanna, stop making everything so complicated. They're just pretty, that's all." And they are pretty, even beautiful. Not in a complex way. Not because of composition or lighting or design. They're just pretty flowers that will be faded tomorrow. And sometimes, that's what makes something beautiful: the transience. The impermanence. The frivolousness of something spent just for beauty's sake. That's why I garden, and why I'll try again next year, even if I only enjoy my beds for two days. I have spent so much of my adult life working toward something, and never stopping once I get there, to enjoy it. It's such a sad way to live, never celebrating, never being frivolous.
I'll be making more flower crowns, for Nettie, for felted animal friends, for myself, maybe others. And I'm going to try not to feel guilty. We don't need more guilt. We need more flower crowns, or at least flower crown moments.
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