Friday, May 11, 2007
Small But Necessary Tasks
Just this past winter, the vidal acre had been occupied with a crop of corn and timber covering. large money had rented large machinery and a large effort to harvest and clear the trees. the land had been plowed and made smooth for the measured marking flags, the auger holes, and the hopeful vidal vines. where the corn had stood, cover grass starts to grow and mowing will need to happen soon. where the timber had laid is a barren scape of grey-brown dirt, leftover bits, and charred patches from the large scale harvesting tasks. tendrils of tiny greens are starting to appear amongst the rubble. my husband asks if i wouldn't clear the area of rocks and stuff over 1" in diameter. looking at the third of the acre, i decide i'd rather rake than try to gather by hand.
raking up a third acre of leftover detritus--twigs, corn stalks and husks, rocks, bits of turtle shell and the odd animal bone (?! oh boy1, no. no one will buy that on ebay.)--is not hard work, merely tedious. its the type of work a mother can do and keep an eye on boy2 visual check, who wisely insists upon digging little-boy holes only in the shady areas outside the fenced acre. smart child scrape, scrape eck. someone could use this rake at home to gather up the toys on our neglected carpet. eck. i think the sun may be getting to me. i quickly make up a list of more satisfying work that could be accomplished at home. scrape, scrape flooring! finishing a bathroom! painting! reorganizing the garage! our tiny backyard! money, i think grimly. the rake is free and the work is in front of me. scrape, scrape so i continue with my task, torn between work, home and vineyard and the juggling of all the associated tasks. priorities. and then, is this even necessary? i mean, its scraping. ground. bah. and as i'm nearing the top of the hill and the sun is dropping in the sky, my husband walks up to me. he's smiling appreciatively. i recount my domestic meditation. we stand in silence, recognizing the vineyard's impact on our everyday life. after the moment of silence, he points out that though a small task, it is necessary so that disease doesn't spread through the vines or a mower blade isn't damaged or debris isn't kicked up by the mowing and possibly hurt someone. and then he picks up a rake and helps his wife finish the field. he's a good man.