Cleaning up

Well, no, I am not really in love with cleaning up.  But I am in love with the results of cleaning up the garden beds.  The sun came out this afternoon, allowing me to spend a few hours on the endless task.  It is mindless work, but sometimes, mindless work is a good thing.  It allows my thoughts to wander while I am being productive.  My cat (the one who did not succumb to diabetes, but instead, seems healthy and happy . . . without insulin) sidled up against me while I sat on the paving stones and picked up leaves and debris.  Occasionally, I had to dig down to get the roots of the incessant clover or put my spade to use in order to dig up a dandelion.  (The clover could rival the NYC subway system in its wanderings, and the dandelions win the award for Most Stubborn.)  But little by little, section by section, the gardens begin to look clean and promising.  These are mostly perennial gardens, full of black-eyed Susans, yellow primrose, thyme, blue fescue, echinacea, ajuga, and things I don't remember the names of because I planted them years ago.

These gardens were among my first projects when I found myself widowed nearly a dozen years ago.  In an attempt to minimize the amount of yard devoted to lawn, I pulled up all the crappy grass and bought every perennial I could find on sale and began planting.  In those early years, I waited patiently for results.  A gardening friend had wisely told me, "First year, they sleep.  Second year, they creep.  Third year, they leap!"  And he was so right!  At this point, they have a tendency to reveal their wild side, so maintenance is mandatory.  No more being tentative when cleaning up a batch of thyme.  I yank it out at will.  Echinacea presents a never-ending problem, as it wants to take over everything.  Although the primrose, daisies and echinacea will not bloom for several weeks, this is the best time for a perennial garden.  Everything is young and hopeful.  And clean.

I have many more hours ahead at this task of cleaning up.  But the rewards are quick to come.  The trick is to get the clean-up done before the growth takes over.  Today is the first of May, a month full of so much promise, it is hard not to be optimistic.  When I was a child, on May first, my best friend and I picked dandelions and violets and placed our little bouquets on the doorsteps of the houses in our neighborhood.  We would ring the doorbell and run and hide, then watch behind the bushes to see the faces on the women who found our little May Day gifts.  Despite the one old crone who yelled at us, we felt good about our springtime ritual. 

My ritual now is different, but it still holds the same kind of love.  It is the love hidden in the plants and flowers, waiting for someone to notice.