Nurture strength of spirit to shield you

but do not stress yourself with imaginings

I have a framed copy of the Desiderata prayer above my desk. It was at my grandma’s house in Minnesota since the 1950s then moved to my parents’ in Florida. I took it after the Estate Sale. It’s one of three things that didn’t break in the car wreck during my “Life Reinvention Van Tour” in Mexico. I refer to it often. Especially when I’m feeling punky. It’s a beautiful reminder that whatever you’re worried about now, will pass.

Spring makes me panicky. Or it used to. Just some old tropes about my past days farming and pressuring myself to go beyond organic, raise soy feed hens, buy ladybugs and hand pick aphids off of spring buds to create a bucolic homestead worthy of bridal showers and wedding receptions.

Go Placidly amid the noise and haste and remember what peace there may be in silence

That sounds good when you're riding the F train in an ice storm, oh just give me some silence!  but I have to say that the announcement of the water truck, the circus music of the corn vendor and the welding guys playing their ranchera too loud a block over is kind of comforting in my Spring free desert Mexico neighborhood. Kids running home from school, the old goats working on cars across the road calling each other cabron and verga every three words and laughing, barking dogs in the distance, birds chirping. Delivery motos with cheap mufflers whizzing by.

At some point in 2019, I got tired of the buzzing critics in my head chatting over their tea pots. Oh, chamomile? Hmmm, I prefer passion flower. I wildcraft all my herbs and steep the leaves for 3 minutes and the stamen for 30 seconds for optimal hormone health. I've swapped out my peppercorns for chaste berries. Also I grow all the flowers to save all the bees. Hugelkultur? Of course I've got berms and swales. How else would I harvest sweet potatoes? This is a nightshade free garden. 

Spring in the desert? Meh. Some lady was selling petunias out of her pick up. And the mango trees are flowering. End of story. This is the time in the Sonoran desert when it's not the little bit cooler part and it’s before the very hot part. 

Many persons strive for high ideals: and everywhere life is full of heroism. 

March and April in Northeast Georgia had me scrambling to put post it notes in my seed catalogs, Is it time? Or will I lose everything in a late frost like the "one" time in 2012, 2014, 2016 and 2018. Will I bother with zucchini this year or just eat what the neighbors cast off. Will this be the year I buy my own riding mower or just keep paying Carlos. Is it too late to prune the pear trees? Don't forget to net the blueberries or the birds will get everything. Close the doors on the porch so the rat snakes don't get under the sofa as it warms up. Repair what carpenter bees ate on the deck last year. Burn the Japanese Knotweed or it'll cover the east side of the house by June. 

People told me I'd miss that place when I sold it and to be honest, I don't. In fact, I feel like I've missed a boulder crashing on my head. I'm in an ugly rental with no desire to do anything to fancy my home but sweep, mop, hang dog beds on the line and wash my two plates and two glasses and then get on with the dog feeding parts.

It's okay to change. It's okay to age out of ambition, design, curb appeal, pursuit, lampshades, DIY organic gardening and doting on a house. I loved my old growth trees and without question living in the woods and having seven acres and endless craft and creative pursuits and nature was neato for a time. But then it wasn’t. Fourteen years to be exact.

I have a feeling bucolic pursuits are most often enjoyed by folks with farm hand workers and "people" to pitchfork the hay and clean the chicken coops and cull the hens and pull the feathers and restock the freezer and cut the walking paths in the wild flowers and make the goddamn tea with the nettles and lavender soap.

I was too busy marketing the weddings and promoting the bridal suite over the garage to enjoy much. I was composting, mulching, fixing the wood chipper, keeping hawks from eating my hens, booking jazz trios and writing menus for brides who didn't care about food or wine pairings as long as the event looked good for the 'gram. 

Do not feign affection, Neither be cynical about love

I had weekend helpers sometimes and I even felt pressure to make an itinerary for them. Stacking wood, pruning trees, clearing the garage, painting the doors…non stop to do lists and money leveraging. Taxes. Property and otherwise. Workers. Mortgages. Garden centers. Hardware stores. Feed stores. Truck and van mechanics. Propane. Changing the filters in that giant AC system.

And the endless annual debacle, how to address The Weeds Growing in the Expansion Joints on the Patio. 

Imagine that being a thing? I laugh. 

It makes me jittery just to think about all of it. Heavy in the pit of my gut. I brush it off. It's over now. I rake the sand in the backyard and pick up dog poo. 

Spring meant pressure but maybe I'm just the kind of person who feels stress when the blossoms unfurl on the Maples. I spent about 1% of my time enjoying that property and the rest of it was a decade plus of To Do List Judgement. That property owned me.

I enjoy the petunias the girl is selling out of the truck but smile and walk by. I know the dogs will eat them, or I'll not have anywhere to hang them or be able to find a pot in this pueblo to replant and they'll just die in the heat and I could have bought three nights worth of tacos for what I paid for the flowers. I pick tacos. 

Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the Universe, no less than the trees and the stars. You have a right to be here.

For more info on the dog rescue in the desert, linktr.ee/lolasdogrescue