Maybe it is this time of year, as the garden explodes and we attempt to make magical summertime memories for our kids at lakes and fairs and parades, but something about July always leaves me rocking wide-eyed in the corner with my arms wrapped tightly around myself.
Oh, at the beginning of the month I have a plan. I have THE plan. My weeds are mostly under control, thoughts of mulch and bountiful harvests dance through my head and I plot inviting the neighbours, all of them, to BBQ and bask in the beautiful space that is this yard.
Then somehow, every July, there is a flurry of travel and cabins and camping and laundry (oh! the laundry!) and when I glance back to the yard, the garden, the rugs, the wind is knocked from me as the reality of all that I have to get done once again takes me completely by surprise.
We have had approximately 7 inches of rain this month. This is unheard of on the prairies. I am a farmer's daughter and I will refrain from complaining about the rains that just keep on coming but
as thunderheads gather every evening I do feel a curl of hysteria rise in my chest and I have been seen lately sitting at the window with a maniacal smile pointing to the garden that is now completely overgrown with vegetation (both the wanted and unwanted types) and I wonder when, if ever, I shall get the time and a break from the rain to get control of my yard and life.
I am hosting 4 extra boys for a day and night on Wednesday (do wish me luck that there are no broken bones) and next week we start a week of swimming lessons which will invariably bring an ear infection to my poor 6 year old who is plagued by them.
I am so lucky, so very lucky, to know myself well enough to know when I must, must have a break. It came today, when Husband drove company back to the airport and my sons went to gramma's for a sleepover. After two weeks of company and a flurry of travelling and sight seeing, tonight I got to pull weeds for an hour uninterrupted by rain or kids. And I realize how cathartic my garden is, even as it's riotous growth makes me a bit squirrely with to-do lists. My garden is a reprieve from people, noise, expectations, obligations, appearances, extravagances. My garden just is, and I need that. A lot.
Not every mom has to get home to feed the pigs or can't go on a hot vacation because it is lambing time. These are choices that I have made, and all for the right reasons. It isn't always convenient to have animals and live tied to a piece of land. I realize that I am much more Waylon than I could ever be Martha, and I am so, so okay with that.