0018

I suppose it was inevitable that fatigue would hit me sooner or later. We've had a couple of chilly, drizzly days with just enough periodic showers to be a nuisance. Besides that, the bugs are finding me - the little black flies that zoom into my ears and nose and, like miniature kamikaze planes, right into my smarting eyes. And wood ticks, whose bite leaves a lasting itch. I tried to spend some indoor time cleaning and organizing a bit, but with so much that needs fixing, I don't know where to start. I have taken to covering my cot (still close to the stove downstairs) with a small tarp during the day, so I can raise some dust without getting my bed too filthy.

Anyway, today is better weather, so I take to the garden again. I'm close to having my target area dug up, and I've got much of the early planting done. Just a morning walk through to see if anything is coming up, and to think about what to do today. And I do see plants coming up - a few little carrots and lettuce and radishes. But mostly, I see the grass coming back up from the overturned sod. All those grass roots are still alive, and will not be quelled by a simple spading. (Duh!!)

So, I drop to all fours, and begin hand weeding between carrot plants. What remains to be dug, I will double-dig, to bury the grass roots deeper. Meanwhile, where I now have garden plants emerging, I can't uproot the grass without completely redigging, so I guess I'll just be fighting grass all summer. (Sigh!)

Soon, it begins to grow hot and buggy. I'm weary, so I walk back to the house for a drink of water and a little break. Derek is buzzing around on the knoll with his 3-wheeler. I find the noise and the waste quite disgusting. I stop and look at the wet and disintegrating pile of junk still sitting where John's crew left it. This is disgusting, too. I suppose I could at least get some of those boxes of canning jars into the basement. I pick up a box of jars, careful to hold it from the bottom. At the top of the steps, I try to support one end with my upraised knee while struggling with the decrepit door. The wet cardboard fails, and the jars fall through, half of them breaking on the concrete steps. I curse my stupidity, and go get a broom to sweep up the mess. By the time I've swept up the broken glass and am carrying the unbroken jars to the basement, my weariness has grown much deeper. I hear Derek come into the yard and walk through the door, which I may have left ajar. He calls out my name. Climbing slowly back upstairs, I chew Derek out for coming into my house uninvited.

"Sorry!", he says, and shuffles back to his 3-wheeler.

"So am I," I say to myself, as I plop down on my tarp-covered cot.