I hope you had a good equinox last week. Activity is very much horticultural in our townland. A neighbour has found us a bargain potting shed and my husband has been busy clearing and leveling the space where they will erect it. Not quite a Pennsylvania Amish barn raising, but an Irish example of meitheal – that Irish word describing neighbours pitching in to help with harvest or other tasks. Meitheal is alive and well in our townland where we share seed and recycle handy items. The shed will rest on pallets that another neighbour had just put into a skip after clearing out one of their own sheds. What may no longer be useful to one may just be the solution for someone else’s project. And none of us want to add to landfill unneccessarily.
The week was spent tatie hoking – potato digging in Ulster parlance – and being the Lady of the Shallot’s bed. Also wrapping apples in newspaper from a friend’s tree. Everyone is spreading things around; my apple tree friend had been given crates full of windfall of second hand fiction. That has been parcelled out around the county.
The forecast of showers has proved wrong. I came in from clearing up hedge clippings and weed piles for lunch and after eating my sandwich sat down with my pen and found a sonnet forming.
A Clearing Season's slide of diminishing daylight- sudden slant of gold that parts pewter cloud to stop your breath and break your heart before the darkening scrolls across from the west. These days are spent digging and lifting spuds between showers, sweat streaming, a chill wind plastering damp hair to skull, shivering, judging Setanta gave a decent yield. Now a clearing of each bed, laying bare weed root and lingering fruit, reckoning what counts as success in a year, whether by wit, crazy chance or lazy practice. Rake it level. Crumble it fine. Sow now something hardy to bear the coming frost. Copyright © Bee Smith 2021. All rights reserved.
I hope your own writing practice is going well. Last week marked the reconvening of many of my Zoom creative writing colleagues for our Saturday virtual gathering. That was cause for great joy. We look forward to dedicating ourselves to projects over the coming weeks as the days shorten and darken.
What a lovely marking of the season, Bee. I am quite curious though, how were you the Lady of Shallot’s bed. Oh! I have just figured it out, I think. You planted shallots? So clever, you. Cari Ferraro https://cariferraro.com
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I loooove this poem, especially the opening few lines. ❤️
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