This cope-with-weeds-in-the-garden-bed job is going to be a bear.
After attacking the mess with a hoe, a full-length garden fork, and a rake, I realized none of them would work. I was going to be standing bent over in the hot sun, pulling each weed by hand.
The excitement I felt in starting a new project swiftly seeped away.
Whenever I am confronted with a seemingly endless task, I always remember Allen stumping the back field, faced with thousands of stumps on every acre. His health was terrible and he was tired before he started. He explained that to keep from being overwhelmed, he kept his eyes on the small area immediately in front of the excavator. “Don’t look up.”
Thus I obediently try not to look up. Instead I make small goals for myself. I marked off the garden in twenty-foot sections. I got two weeded yesterday. Between other tasks, I’ll try for two more today.
It’s frustrating since I cannot begin the real garden work (the things that can be crossed off the list) until this is done. If I’d been able to focus on the garden a month ago, this task would never have arisen.
However, it is what it is. In my mind’s ear I hear Laura Ingalls Wilder’s mother telling Laura, “What can’t be cured must be endured.”
And as always, Allen teases, “Done whinin’?”
* * *
On another front, the brakes are out on the old farm truck. I noticed they were failing and checked the brake fluid. It was low. I bought brake fluid, refilled the reservoir, and felt like a genius. (It takes very little on the mechanical front to make me feel like a genius.) I then went to water the sheep, hit the brakes, and the truck sailed on. I stopped it, heart pounding, by turning the wheels uphill.
Damon came out and diagnosed rotted brake lines. The truck is not roadworthy even with working brakes, so this repair will be challenging.