A perfect day, sunny but not too warm, still too early for bugs, and the swampy wet everywhere has receded.
So good to be barefoot again; it was hard to put my boots on briefly. Mucky has his blanket off too, so it must definitely be spring.
Since the garden is still underwater and has a dubious future, I started chopping up the second of two flower/garden beds right outside my door: in principle a great idea, to keep your garden very very close to your everyday life. What started as a little project to wake up with before breakfast turned into hours of finger combing the angel hair pasta of rhizomes out of the dirt, and shaking soil out of rag dolls of sod.
Last weekend I hoed the other bed and it went much faster because it was not so grown over, but it felt interminable because I wasn’t feeling well. Today, hours of sifting soil by hand, crumpling lumps, plucking out rocks, and pulling fat worms out of the knots of roots, and I couldn’t have been more content. Strange but true. I ate breakfast at 3, did nothing I had vaguely planned to do today, and filled a wheelbarrow to overflowing with the grass roots, but it was very satisfying to complete.
There’s something about completion. Doing 3/4 of a job gives me no satisfaction at all. Even if it’s impossible to finish a thing in a day, I just can’t leave a project halfway done and feel good about the work I’ve put into it. Only when it’s totally done do I get the combination of relief and pride that completion brings. That causes many a late night for me.