I have often compared my wild Park with the beautifully manicured half-acre (or so) over in the land of Bonfire. I feel inadequate, when my grass gets long, or is composed primarily of weeds, when my world is overrun with spiders and mosquitoes, or when my deck just isn't as much of a hangout space as the patio at Bonfire. But then I remember that Bonfire Gardens just aren't a one-man operation. There are typically three or four adults working on tilling, planting, weeding, and grooming. The Bonfire leader not only had her man to help out, but she also had the not-inconsequential assistance of a badass cowboy who was almost always available to work and build structures (and fires, when he wanted to relax). I can already tell the difference around here, with my man finally home, and enthusiastic about getting his hands dirty. I can't keep him inside. (For that matter, when I picked up the computer to write, he disappeared outside to burn the next pile of sycamore pods and juniper trimmings.) I'm finally going to see what the full potential of my Park really was, just in time to turn it over to a new ranger later this year. It won't be a case of "you don't know what you have until it's gone," because I know what I have. I just can't care for it all by myself.
I got a glimpse of a simpler way of life today, one that I hope to expand upon. The Bonfire leader asked us to come over and participate in the planting and prep, before a big holiday gathering with family (and us). We are trading labor for dinner, although really in my mind, we are trading labor for labor already received (she did help us before our family came a few weeks ago). I like making this sort of bargain. I would happily operate on any side of that equation, wherever my strengths lie. Typically I'm better at the "providing a meal" than "laboring in the fields," but I'm willing to learn and practice just about anything. Seriously, I'd love to start bartering a little more, for the sheer joy of it. There are lots of talents I have that I'd like to trade for some of the crafts and skills of my friends. Perhaps that sort of communal living makes me sound like a hippie, but I'm cool with that. I wonder what I can bring to the table first.
We are nearly through spring cleanup around here. There are still several beds to be weeded and mulched, but we've made great progress in pruning, and the man's tireless work clearing sycamore pods is really showing. Today he finished the powerwashing on the back half of the house. What a difference that made. I wasn't able to get it done last year, so the house was turning green everywhere except where I attacked the siding with bleach and a scrub brush. When we first came out here to house hunt, almost exactly four years ago, we toured a neighborhood about two miles from here that we really liked. We drove around it at night, with the windows open, and it smelled of flowers (tea olives were blooming everywhere that week) and the neighborhood felt so lush and well-established with its big trees and sprawling saw palmettos, compared to the drought-stricken eastern New Mexico where we were living before. When we finally moved here, I drove around that same neighborhood in bright daylight, and it looked a little less romantic, with green mildew riding up the sides of so many of the houses. I had no idea that it would be a ubiquitous problem, and I would spend most of my time here fighting the same battle against it.
Now is the time it gets really exciting. Everything is starting to bloom. It's such a beautiful place to live. I'm really going to miss this.
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