The Late Years Eighteen

Peas, beets, onions a few years ago. How I yearn for them.

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The Late Years Eighteen  March 3, 2019

I did slow down, reconcile myself 
to doing less, expecting less. Then
spring begins: peepers, rain, daffodils
under the heavy growth of weeds
and last year’s stalks. One helper
cleared out the flower garden weeds.
I open the box of seeds. Sugar snap 
peas–a big envelope; Early Wonder
Tall Top beets–a small envelope. They 
should have been in the ground in 
February. Though my helpers cleared
the garden weeds, and I added wood 
ashes, those rows still need compost
and feathermeal. Then turning the
soil. Meantime some hens learned
to fly out onto a fig limb and down
into the garden. They’ll scratch up 
the seeds. They go through the
hole in the fence into the backyard
where I’ll have zinnias and cosmos.
My helpers say they’ll cut off the
fig limb, but will they mend the 
fence? I have the wire and the
tools. Maybe I can. The ground
in the garden is uneven, but if I
fall on the earth, it is soft, and
I don’t hurt myself. They don’t
want me to fall, but they have
other things they want to do. I
feel the urgency. I’ve been farming
in a small way, and it got into
my blood. The seed packets are
waiting. It will save money and
give us healthy food–organic and
fresh. I can make borsch and later
spaghetti sauce and minestrone.
Relying on oneself to overcome
difficulties is one dilemma. Relying
on others keeps me awake. Still, let 

me see what I can do.