259: Spring Cleaning

Our raspberry bush already sprouting. Neither Zephyr nor I trimmed the bush back this autumn, so we shall see what happens. The runners are already sneaking up, much to Ryan's chagrin; we shall see if he decides to yank them, or if he'll let me have my way, which is let the raspberries run wild! They are delicious and eating them straight from the bush in late summer is such a deep, simple pleasure.

Being sick for a week is keeping me home for the weekend; we had planned to travel to Milwaukee to visit some friends. Instead, I'm using these small bursts of energy to do some housecleaning, which is always a torture, especially as I never seem to feel as if I am winning. I have the worst impulse combination: to reuse everything and throw away as little as possible (though donating is OK), to attach something sentimental to too much, to collect things that should be read before passing along or shelving, and to get fed up, often, with repetitive motion cleaning. But it does feel good when we are able to look around and not shudder, so I'm going to work on some of those ignored things--the haphazard kitchen shelf that keeps crashing down, the tops of bookcases, and maybe I'll do some of those rudimentary repetitive things, like dishes and vacuuming (and maybe I'll not bemoan the terrible condition of the carpet while doing so).

I keep thinking of that little patch of yard, the squared in garden (the strawberries I want this year) and this poem by John Updike. No, it's not a beautiful poem, but it's still something nice to read on a day when the windows are open, there's a good rotation on Pandora playing on the stereo, and the recycling and donation boxes are filling up:

Hoeing
--by John Updike

I sometimes fear the younger generation will be deprived
of the pleasures of hoeing;
there is no knowing
how many souls have been formed by this simple exercise.

The dry earth like a great scab breaks, revealing
moist-dark loam--
the pea-root's home,
a fertile wound perpetually healing.

How neatly the green weeds go under!
The blade chops the earth new.
Ignorant the wise boy who
has never performed this simple, stupid, and useful wonder.