To say my summer didn't go exactly as planned would be an understatement.
I had plans to travel. I had plans to go see the Backstreet Boys at The Sphere in Las Vegas (don't judge — it's a millennial dream). I had plans to get my pool ready early in the season so I could swim a couple of miles each day and get into really good shape like I did a few years ago. I had plans to finally use this big box of seeds I've had for a while and create a garden worthy of a magazine cover.
Well, I was off to a good start, but in late April I got sick — sicker than I'd been in years. Worse than I ever felt the few times I had COVID. That left me laid up for a few weeks. Then, before I could recover, my dad, who lives with me, came down with it too. Around the same time, he was dealing with some other health issues and an injury that set him way back and left me 100% on my own to take care of every single thing that needed to be done around our two homes and several acres of property. I could barely keep up. I couldn't keep up.
Once I got over the disappointment of having to cancel or postpone all of my plans, I embraced it. In June, I wrote a column here and even suggested that maybe we should all get to have a wild and feral summer, sort of like a summer break for adults, where we just kind of get to hang out and do the things we loved to do as kids. While I was doing more work than play, I was outdoors 80% of the time, and I mostly loved it.
And here I am almost two months later, a changed woman. Sort of. A smarter woman for sure, as I learned so much.
First, there was the garden. As I said, I was aiming for Instagram-worthy — something you'd see on the cover of Southern Living. That didn't happen. First, there's some major data center construction going on less than a mile from me, and it's driven a lot of wildlife my way. One day, I stepped outside and found that something with little hands had dug up every single one of my tomato plants, my snapdragons, my sunflowers, and my zinnias. I replanted all of it four times. Four times! I bought solar-powered lights. I got netting. I put up extra fencing. I set up other things to scare this creature — most likely a raccoon or possum — away, but it didn't matter. It was determined. My family has been gardening on this land for a century, and at least in my lifetime, we've never had a problem quite like this.
Once the creature finally decided that my garden wasn't fun anymore, I was finally able to get a few things to grow, but after weeks and weeks of nonstop rain, I ended up with a slug problem. I may be the only person who owns ducks and has a slug problem (if you know, you know). Then I realized some of my seeds had just gotten too old and that one very naughty cat had, at some point, mistaken my box of seeds for a litter box.
Long story a little shorter, my garden ended up consisting of about four cherry tomato plants, a chili pepper plant, and one single watermelon plant that looks super healthy but doesn't seem to actually grow much.
That said, there's a garden space I planted last year and kind of left alone this year — my chickens love to dig around in it, and it just wasn't worth trying to keep them out. Despite that, it's actually filled with volunteer zinnias and balsam flowers from last year, and it's kind of wild but lovely. I sit outside almost every day and watch butterflies and hummingbirds visit. I also have a space where I took every flower seed I had left in that box and scattered it to the wind, and sunflowers and zinnias and marigolds are popping up all over. They're not blooming yet, but in another month or two, it should be gorgeous.
I've had a couple of deer take up residence on my property and give birth this summer. Despite my desire to grab them up and snuggle them like pets — it's a problem I have with almost all furry animals — I kept my distance, but ensured they had a safe place to stay. That meant doing things like not cutting down the brush where I knew the newborn fawns would sometimes sleep and not inviting them with food, but not chasing them away either. These deer trust me now, but not in a "trust all humans" way that's unsafe for them, which would probably eventually get them killed. They remain alert when they see me, but they don't run like they do when they see a neighbor or a delivery driver.
Between the deer and the cardinals and brown thrashers that fight over the extra sunflower seeds I "accidentally" spill when giving my chickens a snack and the yellow garden spiders that have built webs in the corners of my duck pen and the skinks that patrol my pathetic little garden, I've learned so much about how the natural world works just by observing all of this wildlife.
I'm in a few Georgia gardening groups on Facebook, and I've seen so many people complain about not seeing pollinators or lightning bugs this year, while I'm seeing them in droves. It took me a while to realize that part of that is actually due to what I initially saw as neglect. Taking care of nine acres of land while trying to work, manage households, pay bills, buy groceries, ensure my father is well and fed, take care of animals, exercise, cook, have a little bit of a life, etc., means not everything gets done exactly like it did before. The grass isn't always cut to a certain height. Weeds are allowed to grow in certain areas where I don't spend a lot of time. Brush becomes denser. But what felt like a mess at first became a habitat for necessary beings to thrive. I'll carry that forward.
I've learned a lot of practical things too. While I didn't actually get to spend the summer swimming miles like I planned, I did spend it hauling, digging, walking, mowing, cutting, tending... moving instead of sitting at a computer all day. My strength, stamina, and energy levels are much better. As it turns out, physical work is darn good for your body.
I learned that you can't just push a mower into super tall wet grass or it will cut off. I learned the difference between how all the pool chemicals for sale in the free world work against algae. I learned how to fix a filter. I learned how to install an air conditioner because doing all of this stuff in 90-degree weather and then coming inside to a hot bedroom is no good.
I learned that when faced with a five-foot snake in my duck pen that requires relocating or, even worse, a pool full of frogs and tadpoles (they terrify me way worse than snakes ever have), I am capable of handling it without calling my dad or anyone else to assist.
I learned the difference between coyote, fox, and domestic dog excrement to get an idea of what sort of creature was hanging around outside my chicken house, which is pretty secure, thankfully. That was... fun.
I learned that sometimes the old way of doing things isn't always the best, and sometimes it's okay if you cut a few corners.
And now, as we reach mid-August, I'm learning that things come to an end. It's 94 degrees outside today, and the calendar says we still have another month of summer, but you can't let that fool you. The way the light hits the trees in the late afternoon or the way a few leaves fall every time the wind picks up reminds me that we're nearing the end. Before you know it, the beautiful greenery will turn red and gold and then disappear. The flowers will die. The wildlife will become more reclusive. My swims will become cold plunges.
And in my particular season of life, this could very well be my last summer here on this property that has belonged to my family for multiple generations — land I know like the back of my hand. It's bittersweet, but I have reckoned with the fact that all signs point to it being time to say goodbye.
For a while this scared me, but now it feels okay, exciting even. And not to sound cliché, but when something ends, something else usually begins. Next summer, the deer will have new fawns, new flowers will grow in the neglected gardens, and spiders will build new webs. Wherever I end up, I'll face new challenges, and I highly doubt life will always go the way I plan, but there will be plenty of good stuff to embrace too, and I can't wait.
