Tuesday, February 18, 2014

The Soul's Demands

Whew, too long.  No excuses, simple laziness.  It is (finally) raining long and hard in the Pacific Northwest after a mild panic in our house about possible drought this summer.  We have a rather shallow well with a pump that does not always keep up with summertime watering schedules and laundry.  Lots of drizzle is a comfort; more than three days in a row without a good rain leaves me itchy and anxious.


Last summer, its embarrassing to say, I neglected the garden, as in blackberries growing in the rose bushes kind of neglect.  I had no idea I could be so apathetic.  Growing another person in my uterus had me alternating between vomiting and napping, which leaves little room for pruning, mulching, or harvesting.  All those summer fruits worth waiting for -- cherries, raspberries, blackberries, apricots -- caused immediate upheaval in my digestive tract; the joy of summer was lost.  It was nothing but mashed potatoes and cheese sandwiches.  Not even watermelon would stay down.


But now, the end is near or actually the end should be now but its not yet and the next life should be here imminently outside of my swollen torso.  Down the road, little lambs are being born and are running around butting their heads into their mothers and teasing each other.  Even in the rain, robins and blue jays and little brown and white stripy birds are flitting back and forth between the apple and plum trees.  The first crocus came up (which was then trampled by the good-intentioned but intellectually deficient golden retriever).  One chicken started laying again.  I am hopeful for spring.  Each year February does this -- I start getting seed catalogs and imagine bouquets of peonies and roses and wild flowers not seen west of Sissinghurst.  I create vegetable garden plans on the computer with detailed crop rotations and interval plantings.  I plan a pantry filled with pickled everything, 20 kinds of jams and tomato sauce.  Then March comes with another freeze, everything shrivels inside of itself , we hole up and watch too much bad tv (but wait -- the next season of House of Cards AND Game of Thrones are out) and I go to Costco for tomato sauce and pickles.  Which brings me to the title.  In Ravelstein, by Saul Bellows, Ravelstein posits this question "With what, in this modern democracy, will you meet the demands of your soul?"  I don't know if I have an answer to this question, or maybe too many incomplete and incoherent answers.  Costco (God bless it) and Game of Thrones don't do much for my soul but the promise of Spring . . .