Our Proper Work

I've been thinking a lot lately about my grandparents. My grandmother was one of my favorite people, and I've missed her often over the last 25 years. She died at 99, so I had a plenty of good time with her, and lots of lessons. My grandfather died much earlier- maybe 20 years before. But I also have a good handful of memories with him, too.

I guess it's a matter of getting older. Or maybe it's more a matter of my oldest getting married in a few weeks. It's all good, and happy, and the way it's supposed to be. But what's sneaking up on me in quiet times are the swelling emotions, the threads of time, the ties that bind.

So, why my grandparents? Well, I've been getting up very early to try to get all my work done. I remember visiting my grandparents in summer when I was a kid. My grandmother got up before light to collect eggs, to pour the cream off the milk the dairyman had left in the bin on the back porch, and to cook breakfast. But the first thing she did was to go thru the whole house and open all the windows to let the cool morning air in. And after breakfast, before the sun was much above the horizon, she'd go back around and close them all, and pull down the shades to keep the hot sun out. Seemed like a lot of work to me.


This last month or so I've been doing just that, and enjoying the sweet smell of fresh air and the sweet soft colors as the morning comes. Nothing like it, and worth all the trouble.

Getting to work very early also allows me early quiet time to look before the busy spring day begins. Maybe I should say time to see....Like the picture perfect field next door with corn coming up in even rows and the old farm house tucked back under the oaks.



I've planted some vegetables in front of the office, and spend a little time watering them each morning before the sun comes up. I've been keeping an eye on my potatoes, planted in big black containers. They've been reminding me of my grandfather's huge garden out back. After supper, he and I would walk to the potato rows and survey the plants. He'd pick one, and with his digging fork, he'd dig and lift one side. My job was to crawl down under and claw around for the new potatoes hidden underneath. It was like finding buried treasure, or panning for gold. Sitting here, I'd swear I can still smell the soil, and feel the smile grow on my grandfather's face as I pulled up one perfect red oval after another.

It's also a good time to walk around the garden and see what's new. Fothergilla gardenii

It's a way to appreciate every day, and to make every day special. It took me a long time and a crazy course to get here. But I see that in some very basic way, I am right back in Ameila Courthouse, VA in early summer, when the city life of a busy girl was replaced by walks to town for groceries at Bill Stengel's store, picking ripe tomatoes, and listening to my grandfather call back and forth to the bird out back.

My big girl, almost married, introduced me to Mary Oliver's poetry some time ago. Once again, maybe Mary says what I'm feeling best.

Yes! No! by Mary Oliver

How necessary it is to have opinions! I think the spotted trout
lilies are satisfied, standing a few inches above the earth. I
think serenity is not something you just find in the world,
like a plum tree, holding up its white petals.

The violets, along the river, are opening their blue faces, like
small dark lanterns.

The green mosses, being so many, are as good as brawny.

How important it is to walk along, not in haste but slowly,
looking at everything and calling out

Yes! No! 

The swan, for all his pomp, his robes of grass and petals, wants
only to be allowed to live on the nameless pond. The catbrier
is without fault. The water thrushes, down among the sloppy
rocks, are going crazy with happiness. Imagination is better
than a sharp instrument. 
To pay attention, this is our endless
and proper work.

George Bernard Shaw said "Youth is wasted on the young". 

I'm not sure that's totally true, if you can find a way back to it on a cool morning, with the sun still below the horizon.