Life Without Credit

In the monastery garden my lettuce seedings are popping up now.  A couple of the older ones are almost ready to harvest.  The beets I planted last summer are not bulbing up more and are showing every indication that they are going to seed which means it's time to pull them all out and use the greens for eating and use however many baby beets we get out of it.

We were going to buy some more dirt this weekend since we are going to be bringing the raised beds from the old house to this one.  We are also digging up our blueberries, my antique roses, the rhubarb, and the daphne, and all of them need fresh dirt to mix with the clay before planting.  However, we don't have enough money to get the dirt until the next paycheck.  Back when we weren't in default on every one of our credit cards we would just put it on the card knowing that we would pay it down later.

I felt depressed thinking how we can't do what I want to do in the garden right now because of no money.  I can't order the two roses I wanted to have in my garden because I miss them so dreadfully ("Frederick Mistral" and "Abraham D'Arby") and I won't be able to order any elderberries either.  By the time I'll have money for them they will be sold out.  I felt deflated that all the things we need to dig up from the other yard to bring here will possibly die while we wait to afford more soil.

But this morning, sitting out there seeing what a rich tapestry is already being woven out of last year's meager efforts, I see how much abundance I already have in wonderful plants.  I see that the evolution of a garden is a slow and gorgeous process which requires patience, and work, and it isn't about the whole picture (unless you are gardening to impress the neighbors) but the triumph over small patches of earth. 

Life without credit is inconvenient if you don't make a lot of money.  We must schedule Max's psych appointments around other needs like groceries, taxes, garden, animals, dental work, and all the other necessities in life.  (Yes, I count my garden as a necessity.)  But it is also forcing me to realize that as long as we're moving forward then we're doing a good job.  As long as all these things get their moment, get their due, then we are succeeding.

I so rarely sit outside and just enjoy all the little details of color and shape I've already laid down in my yard.  I'm always too busy planning the next step or making myself feel guilty for all that I haven't accomplished yet.  I plan to make myself sit down in my yard with my morning coffee more often to listen to the hens squabble over nests, to see what flower is makign its way to the sky, to appreciate how my lawn is just a place holder for more wonderful things to come.

These moments don't just appear like magic.  They're there for the enjoyment all the time.  There are no neon signs that point you towards a potentially delightful moment- you have to snatch them.  You have to make it happen.  Life goes at exactly the speed you make it go.  You have to stop and listen.  You have to do it for yourself.  You have to slow down enough to notice that change, wonderful change, is all around you.