Hawthorn Hill Journal by Richard deRosa
Midwinter Musings on Simplification
It is seed ordering time. Come spring, we are making some significant changes up here on the hill. Our seed order will be smaller than usual. We cut back to one vegetable garden last year, using one strictly for flowers. The plan is to return the lower garden to its original grassy state, and move the blueberry bushes to the fence along the upper garden. If we stick to our guns, half of the upper garden will host vegetables, the other half cutting flowers. We will call on outside help to clear out the lower garden, as well as several perennial beds. Aging not only takes its toll on a body’s capacity for heavy duty chores—the mind also offers unsubtle hints that perhaps it is time to ease up. Tylenol does not work as well as it used to, and the mind clearly says there are other, less arduous, tasks to tackle. The surprise, at least to me, is my willingness to succumb.
As long as we are here, we will garden. We just need to pare down to what is more manageable. We spent so many years adding gardens that taking them out does leave a bit of a bitter taste. But life is all about change, about waxing and waning, about getting through time in ways a bit different but equally appealing in their own right.
When we first tilled the land 20 years ago, it never occurred to us that there may come a day when we would ever turn the place over to someone else. The idea behind removing gardens is to reduce the amount of physical labor required to keep the place in tip-top shape. It is a way of perhaps prolonging the inevitable.
Inevitabilities have a way of skirting consciousness. You sure as hell know there might come a time to move on, but dealing with it is tinged with no small amount of sadness. Letting go is never easy. When young, one never considers the possibility of getting old. Our situation is that we are older than we ever thought we would be, but in good health for our age, which makes it even harder to contemplate living anywhere but here. We are not alone. When gathering with friends, we discover that we all are having these conversations with our spouses and grown children.
Since starting this essay yesterday, we have decided that we will not order seeds and will just go with what we have and hope for successful germinations. Besides, there are plenty of places around to buy sets. After all, we have a terrific farmers’ market. I did order onions, but that will be it. Our main crops will be onions, carrots, beans, potatoes, squash, only two varieties of lettuce (in the past I have been known to plant towards 20 types of lettuce) since we can get by nicely with a few heads a week—and peas, of course. There will be a few other things but in very small quantities.
I look forward to spending more time in the Adirondack chair on the deck, just enjoying the view. Sitting still is one of my favorite pastimes. Years ago, when the chipmunks were marauding our blueberry bushes, I considered the ultimate organic control method: picking the little buggers off with my 22. I just could not bring myself to do it. I am not opposed to hunting, but it just seemed a bit extreme, and who can blame them for eking out a livelihood, even at my expense. Frankly, the cost to us was paltry, since however many they chomped off we were still left with abundance enough. Maybe I thought it would somehow be manly to pop a few off.
Actually, I have never quite figured out what really does constitute manliness. If popular tropes are used as the example, I fall miserably short. But then again, when measured up against what is often characterized as normal, I do not fare well either. I remember reading a book years ago that questioned what we have come to call “common sense.” Its premise was that there is nothing more uncommon than common sense. Common sense approaches to life can be pretty stifling. Since finding ways of getting along with one another within the communities that we live in does make sense, what does not make sense is a stifling conformity. Difference can be a very vital and cohering dynamic within a particular community. Getting through time is an ongoing balancing act.
We will be heading to Arizona for the winter. We think we have figured out ways of simplifying things up here on the hill. Time will tell.
Dick deRosa’s Hawthorn Hill essays have appeared in “The Freeman’s Journal” since 1998. A collection, “Hawthorn Hill Journal: Selected Essays,” was published in 2012. He is a retired English teacher.
