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I spent a good part of the day finishing what I had started yesterday, eradicating the Lily of the Valley and replanting the hyacinth, daffodil and tulip bulbs and the iris rhizomes. It was hard work, my hands hurt and I pulled a muscle in my buttocks but I feel really gratified that this section is 100% finished. The 15% left, is a small area that I am hoping, won’t but take a day to banish the Lilies and replant whatever is in that tainted area. As I was digging and pulling, I felt twinges of guilt about my other chores. I could easily spend hours doing really hard work outside in my garden while the thought of spending hours cleaning the house makes me sad. I know that it’s okay to hate housework, but I should at least try to put as much effort into it as I do with gardening. When I say that the thought of housework makes me sad, I’m being melodramatic, it just doesn’t excite me the way that gardening does. I suppose that the feeling of bien etre that happens after vacuuming or dusting dissipates so quickly and what work that was done is undone so quickly. After years of doing it in my parent’s house, my Tantine Cecile’s house and now twenty years at my house, housework has lost whatever sense of accomplishment it used to have. Whereas gardening hasn’t gotten stale and old, even after years of doing essentially the same things, I still love doing them.
The issue that dogs me from spring through the summer is I’d rather spend hours outside and by the time that I come inside, I don’t feel like doing much of anything else. It’s not as if I won’t work on this, I’ll get the balance between outside and inside work figured out. I’m feeling overly zealous for gardening because everything is coming up, the bloom is on everywhere you turn, it’s a little heady after a weird mild winter, but still winter nonetheless, grey and cold.
