Friends who were supposed to come visit Sunday afternoon cancelled at the last minute and I found myself with unexpected time on my hands--the house was already extra-clean (thanks to the impending visit), the laundry done and the baseball obligations over for the weekend and, though I probably should have spent the time writing, I had sent in my fourth packet late Saturday night (after getting my workshops off the week before), I was fresh out of ideas for the next packet (still am) and not very excited about the next book on my reading list. I wandered around outside mindlessly for a bit--it was a beautiful day sandwiched between weeks of rain--until I noticed this:
My sorely overgrown and neglected herb garden. I had been thinking I wanted to redo this summer--dig it out and replant it, put in some sort of landscape design (I was thinking octagonal raised bed)--but I couldn't imagine when I'd ever get a chance to do it (as you may recall, I am a notoriously lazy garden and a disgrace to radical homemakers everywhere). So, looking it over Sunday, I thought, why not? I could just pull a few weeks here and there...
Two-and-a-half hours later, I had this:
Half of the garden completely dug out and turned over, the chives and sage replanted (I think I need some newer, younger sage plants) and the chocolate mint and lemon bam relocated to sunken flower pots where their aggressive growth might be contained a bit. The rock dividers are meant to keep things from spreading quite so much and to give a little visual definition to the whole thing. It's not the most beautiful or original design ever, but an improvement over weeds, don't you think?
Hopefully this week's rain will encourage the soil that I spread into the grass to sink down a bit (or the grass to grow up) and redefine the outer edge of thins. C mowed the lawn and I plan on using the grass to mulch it all once it's composted a bit, and plant some annual herbs closer to the outside edge. And maybe some day dig out the other half.
As I worked, I thought about how this between time is kind of like that pause at the bottom of the breath in some types of yogic breathing. You have let out all your breath and wait with your lungs empty for just a beat or two. Just before the emptiness gets scary or uncomfortable, you inhale, letting in fresh new air. I'm looking forward to the inhale, after this pause, of fresh new ideas and new ways of doing things flood back into me.