My tree-climbing child self and my best-Swedish-saw-and-secateur-wielding adult self spent most of today cutting away dead wood. In addition to the physical satisfaction of a day's hard labour, this activity is also a metaphor, of course.
Isn't everything? ; )
Beneath these piles of sorry-looking rhododendron and cabbage tree branches there is - believe it or not - grass and a footpath. . .
I was slightly annoyed at being stung by a wasp whilst working - the most uncouth of all insects, proffered friend Chris on Facebook. I'd commented that the palm of my hand was throbbing. He was being kind, commiserating. And I agree with him about wasps. What other insect would presume the sugar water we put out for the tuis and bellbirds each morning is being poured into the coconut chalice as an invitation to them to partake? The wasps, I mean. My patient nectar-feeders have to hang about till dusk these days, practicing their riffs and trills and clackity-clacks whilst waiting for the wasps to take themselves off to their (very hidden) corner of the neighbourhood to sleep - or whatever it is wasps do after dark. (Does anyone know?)
I am always glad of the birds' company; they become more interactive and conversational by the day - especially when I spend good chunks of time out in their garden.
It'll take me a day or three to clear up this little lot (there's a fair bit still to be done) but I felt a sense of relief when I sat down on the front steps this evening with my ripe avocado and glass of pomegranate juice; how good it is to able to see through the wide-armed trees and all the way down to the water again.
I think wasps catch up on the housework, Claire.
ReplyDeleteAnd, apropos of nothing...since serotonin is one component of wasp venom,being stung might hurt like hell, but it's very funny, too! (sorry!)
dear claire,
ReplyDeleteas noted elsewhere...i have been in a bit of a funk...but reading this post reminded me how much i love clearing brush! is there anything more satisfying? the way dormant smells are released, the tidiness imposed on messy, unruly nature--a messiness and unruliness that make life worth living, for me, but i enjoy the very temporary taming of it, nonetheless.
thank you so much for being there; your claire-ness, along with my other blogger Saving Graces, is such a reliable touchstone.
xo
susan
Ah, the metaphors - clearing space to better facilitate opening up the mind.
ReplyDeleteGrass, a footpath, a way out. Love it.
Sorry about the wasp.
Go Claire!! What a satisfying day, and and how good that we have arms that work, biceps with enough oomph, a swedish thingie to wield when we need it. I look forward to being sottom (quietly sitting on my bottom) on your top step face-forward to the water. Pam xx
ReplyDeleteWhat a beautiful yard. And you are so close to the sea! Give it a nice "hello" from me.
ReplyDeleteWasps are nasty - mostly because there is no consequence when they sting or bite us. I got two last year on my legs - at different times - swelled up like an orange.
xo
And if we over-prune, it will grow back, in the garden or in metaphor. It seems, at least for today, that I can see the water but haven't found the path. Wasps built visible nests at two of our former houses, finding their way indoors. I am sorry you were stung...skills such as you displayed deserve better treatment.
ReplyDeleteWow, you were ambitious today--you'll surely sleep well tonight. We 'attack' chaos and confusion wherever we can. You've done a great deal with your brush clearing, Claire, and its results will show up elsewhere in your life in places you don't yet know. Wasps? Perhaps the little beastie was put there to remind you to take care of your body while you were thrashing through nature to find a solution to something internal.
ReplyDeletexo
Claire perhaps the wasp thought you were a fig! Without wasps you know the figs would never be. You are just sweet and exotic enough I think. You fooled him.
ReplyDeletexo
Well, Dinah - you could be right! Was it okay being stung by that dastardly wasp, just for the shot of serotonin? I guess so! Serotonin is 'a well-known contributor to feelings of well-being; therefore it is also known as a "happiness hormone"' - and since I haven't felt melancholy since Friday evening, perhaps I owe the (now-dead, I'm afraid. My reflex/reaction in the moment was to stomp on said hero) wasp a vote of thanks! You're right, it is kind-of funny. Thanks for the chuckle ; )
ReplyDeletePS. Actually, Dinah, laughs aside. . . For someone who cannot squash an ant, stomping on that wasp was fairly traumatic. (Something to do with being witness to my slightly unhinged fury at a small, sharp-bottomed, winged creature who was only doing what wasps are wired to do - namely, head for any available syrup and sting any perceived-to-be intruders). Sigh.
ReplyDelete'Do I contradict myself? Very well. I contradict myself. I am huge. I contain multitudes'. (Thanks, Walt).
Dear Susan
ReplyDeleteFunk is a land I know well. Especially these strange days. I find myself experiencing (having to harness/put immediately to work) great surges of energy one moment then feeling utterly depleted the next; a euphoria/dysphoria seesaw! Eeurgh. Especially confounding when we know all about the value of finding peace with whatever comes and things 'as is'. I find I have to take myself very deliberately by the hand and walk myself to the quiet fulcrum; the supportive hub. Like you, I am (mostly) happy, even energized, when engaged with the mess and unruliness, but what satisfaction there can be in the temporary taming of it! Illusory or otherwise. Clearing brush is a wonderfully cathartic process - the body and mind appreciate it, find it invigorating.
It's interesting that so many of us have been feeling a need to be silent. Or perhaps it's more than a need - perhaps it's an imperative? I feel it a lot of the time, too. As you suggest (along with Vesper Sparrow over in her nest), we can companion each other in - and through - silence, too. Thank you for being a steady place for me, too, Susan.
Oh, and Susan - here's a link to a Vivian Maier site that you will enjoy visiting - http://www.vivianmaier.blogspot.com/
Dear Kass - ah, yes. The ongoing clearing process. . . it keeps us on our toes, that's for sure. Even the wasps have their part to play, their wise instruction!
ReplyDeletePamelaMM - oh yes, there's a lot to be said for sharp Swedish thingies. (Shout out if you'd like to borrow mine some time?!)
ReplyDeleteI love the new words you come up. Sottom. Another goodie. I'm looking forward to you being sottom on my front steps soon, too. L, C xo
Dear Rachel
ReplyDeleteA kiss to the wind and an 'hello' to the sea from you via me! It is wonderful to have this beautiful stretch of water at the bottom of the hill (the Otago harbour with a peninsula opposite - you might like to have a look-see here. . . ?http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Dunedin_Otago_Peninsula_Harbour.jpg
and here http://davidwallphoto.com/searchresults.asp?tx=otago+harbour+otago+peninsula&ts=&c=&Lids=&Gids=&p=1&n=4088&phrase=
So, you too are acquainted with wasps - or they, with you?! Sorry to hear it. Glad it was some time ago. Love, CLaire xo
Hello Marylinn - yes, if we over-prune, it will grow back. We're like earthworms in this regard. . . or lizards; i.e. creatures capable of reconstituting their missing or broken bits? Your comment reminded me of a poem I wrote some years ago that referenced pruning and this self-same process. One of the lines was (something like this) 'we cannot stop the trees from growing; trees are born to burgeon.'
ReplyDeletere; the wasps. . . wasps' nest-building skills are to be admired even when we find their manners trying?
It can be helpful to see water even when the way to it seems not yet apparent? (Perhaps the journey is largely about discovering what we cannot see, and about 'moving towards', Marylinn. Perhaps there's a certain reliability in not-knowing?
And who was it who wrote 'may the path rise up to meet us?' You've encouraged me to look at this differently - sometimes the path finds us?
L, C xo
Dear VS - I slept like the branches I felled (prone where I landed). . . and the same again last night. (I spent the whole day carting armfuls of vegetation from the bottom of the garden to the skip on the driveway; not long now till this particular job is done!). You're so right about the way we attack chaos and confusion in order to understand things and restore balance and order to life. Every now and then it works! (And then we're provided with an opportunity to go to it all over again. . . ; )). So long as the spiral is upwards-ascending, all is well?
ReplyDeleteLittle critters - the stinging wasp, in this instance - can come to us as messengers. I definitely had something to learn from this one, yes. Several things, actually. So, a blessing on the wasp (I do wish I hadn't stomped on it, but. . . well, I did, and now must let it go.). I've been discovering a lot of things about my shadow self lately, which - whilst not a bad thing - brings up things that are not nec. all that easy to stomach either. What fallible, imperfect human beans we are. . .
Onwards, upwards!
Love, Claire xo
Dear Rebecca - oh, to be considered a sweet, exotic fig! Even - especially - by a wasp. What a beautiful slant you to bring to things. Thank you. L, C x
ReplyDeleteyou live in heaven. What a beautiful place to call home!
ReplyDeletexo
What a beautiful garden Claire, with its new window to the water!
ReplyDeleteThank you, Rachel. Thank you, Lisa.
ReplyDeleteI would welcome a visit! ; )