Apart from the heat, the weather has been perfect this summer for working outside. Sunny day after blazing sunny day.
We never have weather like this in the Adirondacks. Usually in summer I work outside for a day or two, then spend a day on indoor tasks while the mountains disappear in darkness, the ground soaks up rain, and clouds hang low over the fields. However in this drought the grass has burned brown, the pond has gone dry, and I’ve worked outside every day for weeks.
I realized not long ago that I had not taken a day to rest all summer. The two days I haven’t been working (aside from the hours of barn chores) I was having surgery or going back to Vermont for a post-op visit.
DH was driving me home from the surgery and, full of Vicodin, I read the sheet of after-care directives.
“It is important not to raise your blood pressure. Treat yourself as if you have the flu,” I read. “OK, then I’ll mow.”
“How about not mowing, and lying in bed with a book?”
“Oh, there is way too much to do. Mowing will be fine. I just sit there.”
DH sighed. For some reason, my workaholic tendencies disturb him much more than his own, which are notorious.
It is dark at 5:30 in the morning again. I’m so aware of the shortening of the days, the arc of the summer closing. There is still so much to do. I wake up in the middle of the night, worrying. Time has felt so short I haven’t been reading. Many days I haven’t even made lists. I scribble a couple of reminders on my hand and keep moving.
I’m feeling driven.