One Step Closer

Of course we are about a month late.  That observation could be made about virtually everything we are doing these days.   Hurrying to catch up while feeling perpetually behind.  In this particular case it has to do with mowing the 3 acres of prairie we began to restore almost a year and a half ago -- a massive job for two feet trailing a walk-behind brush mower with a 36" cutting width.  The same is true with planting vegetable seeds for a fall harvest -- which we just started getting into the ground on Monday but won't be completed until tomorrow.
And ancillary brush trimming.
And chipping branches.
And moving the chicken coops.
And weeding.

We are doing a better job this year of gathering and processing the harvest, though we can hardly see each other over the Mt. Everest of pots and pans left in the wake of canning and cooking and blanching and freezing.  The promissory notes of planting seem to all come due at once despite our best efforts at staggering and staging their maturity.  The refrigerators (yes, that's plural) are completely full and Lori announced yesterday that the freezers (yes, that's plural) are similarly so.  Meanwhile the tomato season is not yet in full swing, the braising greens are still flourishing, and the cabbages are just maturing.  There is neither space nor time to catch our breath, let alone "catch up."

I'll blame some of the tardiness on forces beyond our control.  Consistent rains have certainly been a blessing, but their pricetag is muddy fields and prolific weeds.  "When I have the time" hasn't always aligned with "when the circumstances are suitable."  Nature has delayed us on more than one occasion, which just exacerbates the problems when it finally gets out of the way.  And by that time something else has likely moved into the "urgent" category.  Which is another lesson this work has rather ruthlessly enjoyed teaching me:  triage -- the prioritizing of work to be done -- is a rolling regimen that ultimately just makes the Muses laugh.  John Lennon is credited with the observation that "life is what happens while you are making other plans."  If that whole music business hadn't worked out, he apparently could have been a farmer.  "To-Do" lists, I have learned the hard way, can only be written in pencil.

But at least the first of the fall seeds have been planted, and now we just wait to see if the weather will be kind or if an early frost comes along before they fully mature and bites the whole undertaking in the...leaves.

And the prairie is finally mowed.  It looks so scraggly now after its beautiful splash of summer color.  But I'm taught that long term resilience in the prairie demands aggressive measures in the short term.  as the original recommendations from the DNR explained, "mowing the seeding allows for enhanced light and water penetration, enhancing prairie establishment."   It's the act of beating back the stuff you don't want so as to improve the chances of what you DO want.  As in so many areas of life, the easy way is rarely the best way.

As I followed the mower through its paces I kept picturing the grasses, the wildflowers, and the bees, and allowed an anticipatory smile to emerge through the perspiration.

One of these days.

But for now, at least I am one step closer to "caught up."

Right.