Blowing in the wind

And some notes on the move to substack

I’m learning about substack little by little, and some things aren’t quite as I’d expected. It is much easier to use, from my point of view. But a couple of weeks ago, when I shared the essay that appeared in A Considerable Age, I was surprised (okay, I admit, mortally wounded) that none of my regular readers appeared to like it or have anything to say about it. Lots of Alice Goldbloom’s followers did, though, so I was pretty sure it wasn’t really a dud. Still, how do you ask your friends, ‘Um...didn’t you like what I wrote?’ Pitiful. But finally, I did. And it turns out that—as far as I can tell—you can’t like or comment without “joining” substack. I’m sorry. I’m not happy about that. But it’s not a hard thing to do, so I hope some of you will. If you do, you’ll find a lot of interesting things written by a lot of interesting people. Oh—and you can completely ignore any reference to payment. I assure you, nobody’s ever going to have to pay to read what I write here.

If you understand this better than I do, feel free to comment!

Blowing in the wind

It’s been a slow start to spring here in northern Ontario. Yesterday wasn’t the first spring-y day, but it was the first day I really felt spring. It happens every year. I watch the snow melt, the brave little crocuses push through the still-frozen ground, the robins poking the ground in search of worms. I see the chunks floating down the river as the ice on Echo Lake breaks up.

The signs are unmistakable, but still I am not yet ready to emerge from my winter cocoon. I stare out the window and worry that it won’t happen. That this is the year, I will slouch my way into summer without ever rising to the challenges of spring. And there are many, here in my too-large house on my too-large property, where I continue to live despite all the sensible arguments that tell me it’s time to move on. This year, I have found a willing young man to help me out, which will make it easier for as long as I am able to resist those arguments.

I needn’t have worried. It is sometimes sooner, sometimes later, but always that moment arrives when my hands grab the secateurs or the hoe and I know that once again I will rise to the occasion. Maybe not with the same vigour as twenty years ago, but enough. Yesterday, while my helper hauled away the piles of soil left behind when I tilled up a strip of sod last fall, I cleared out the weeds and started to prepare the herb bed for planting. I was delighted to see that some parsley from last year survived the winter. I made a stab at working up the bed of shrubs and perennials along the south side of the house, wishing once again that I had an eye for plantings, but knowing that soon it will be dense and green with occasional blooms, and that will be good enough for me. It will be another few weeks before I can plant the vegetable garden, but I have seeds on hand. As usual, I will plant more than I can possibly use.

Another sure sign of spring, this morning I hung out the laundry. A few weeks ago, I wrote about the contemplative pleasure of sweeping. I feel the same way about hanging laundry on the line. Just as I have a vacuum cleaner, I also have a clothes dryer. I use it all winter, on rainy days in the summer, and when I need to get the cat hair off my black tee-shirts (although why I bother, I don’t know—they’re a magnet for the stuff). But hanging out wash is a pleasure, and this morning I took the bird feeders off the clothesline and returned it to its intended use. The birds will be fine now, and the feeders attract critters I’d rather not feed.

Many years ago, my mother worked with a team of oral historians to record the experiences of women who lived in the coal-mining towns of Appalachia. These women scrutinized the clothes-line habits of their neighbours to judge their suitability as housewives. Were the clothes organized by colour? Were the shirts grouped together? Were the socks in pairs? Oh...I get it! I recently saw a photo of “clothesline art” in which items were arranged to depict images of animals (https://www.helgastentzel.com/collections/clothing-line-animals). I’m not there, and I don’t consider clothes-line arrangement to be a measure of virtue, but hanging out laundry on a sunny morning is another one of those tasks that is its own reward. I’m seeing more of them as I move further into my dotage.

After looking across the fields at the hill this morning, gardens waiting to be planted, freshly washed sheets flapping in the wind, I left my too-large yard, went back into my too-large house, and added a few items to the “arguments for not moving” side of the ledger. It needs everything it can get!