This afternoon, I donned a hat and went outside to weed my garden beds. A much younger me had put in a too-big-for-me-now garden bed at the back side of the swimming pool. Weeding each spring is a monumental task.
On a normal year, I'd weed like a maniac. My goal was to get it done as fast as I could so I could get to other tasks that also needed done. But this year, I'm retired. And I'm learning that things that once were urgent are not so anymore. I can weed today and tomorrow and next week if I choose.
I took up my hand rake and garden gloves and trash bag and sat on the back of the retaining wall. The sun had warmed the blocks comfortably enough that I could have sat there all day just to warm my bum. I raked and dug and pulled the weeds that had grown nearly knee high after a week of rains. I'd learned long ago that the best time to weed is a few days after rains had loosened the soil, but the sun had dried it just enough to keep it from being muddy. Today, the soil was perfect. Damp and cool and easy to turn.
As I worked the soil gently in my fingers, kneading old mulch and dried leaves deep into the bed where nutrients of old can nurture new plants, my mind became engrossed in the wonders of our Earth -- the simple sights and gentle sounds of nature that soothe my soul. The robins twittering in the massive oak trees above me. The starlings drinking from the remnants of rain puddles in the pool cover. The katydid disturbed by my hand chittering as it flew to find new shelter in a shrub. The ants scurrying to hide their uncovered eggs. A lone earthworm reburied. The wind in the leaves. The sun on my skin. The dirt on my hands. And shirt. I could relish this task this year. And find joy in the things I see and the things I can hear because of my hearing instruments.
I'm not even close to being done. There's much left to finish, my older self sighs, knowing there's more to treasure in this calmer life I am making for myself.
I can work. I can while. The decision is mine.
