We planted two rows of raspberries on the hill above the house this weekend. I can see them from the upstairs window, tucked between the hazelnut trees along the south side in a rare patch of sunlight. We live in a valley, surrounded by fir trees, so gardening sun is at a premium. We saved this precious space for the luxury of raspberries.
I laid the plan for the bed out on a hand-drawn map probably eight years ago, soon after we moved into the little old house. I'm glad I didn't know then how long everything would have to wait. Somehow the years went by. There were homeschooling and soccer games, sunny days, books to read, memories to make; a house that kept falling apart, a recession, heartbreaks, questions and doubts, storms that took our breath away. I only thought about raspberries when I took out the map, traced out the plan for what I'd thought my life was going to be. Yesterday I realized the raspberries will be mature about the time our grandkids are ready for them. A long time ago I used to be a girl who strained and pulled and cursed at anything that slowed me down. Against all advice, I prayed to learn patience. I can feel it now, how I have become curved and smooth, tolerant as stone.
Last week my grandmother came for a visit. For six days I accomplished nothing on my to-do list. I drank tea, listened to stories, entered an octogenarian world where elemental tasks expand to fill entire days. It is the elderly that finally learn to live present, I realized; the years ahead will take the rest of these edges, teach me the long-vision that makes us simple. I had to laugh. A long time ago I used to be a girl who wanted to be wise.
P.S. I made some changes to the blog. Please let me know if you can't find what you're looking for or if something isn't working for you.