The other day I set out into my yard with a zest for geo-spatial reconfiguration and a simmering detestation for the ill-placed cherry tree saplings hiding among my raspberry canes.
I had two goals:
- Eliminate the threat of having six+ new cherry trees destroying my garden
- Rake and level the area I chose to build my raised bed
Now, it started on a good note. I raked, moved rocks, cursed at stubborn root systems, and paused to assess my progress. Pretty good.
My gaze snagged on the pale dead limbs of old raspberry canes sticking out among the new growth. “Hm,” I said. “Well, I might as well get started on those, too.”
I retrieved my loppers and got to work. Snip-snap-snip through zones 1 and 2, leaving pruned and sturdy, healthy canes unencumbered by the corpses of their ancestors.
My real troubles began in zone 3. “Gee,” I thought, “I better clear out the sunflower patch while I’m over here.”
With the lyrics of Mad World lilting under my breath, I stooped to pull the first clump of weeds with my battered, hole-ridden gloves.
Pop. Easy peasy—wait. You. I crouched again, song forgotten, surveying the one stubborn weed sticking up from the damp soil. It was brittle and dead above the ground, but another firm tug confirmed that not only did its roots run deep, but they ran wide. The ground pulsed with each tug.
I reached for my shovel. “Time to go, pal.”
The shovel sunk into the earth with one firm shove (el, haha) and I went to lift the root clump after working around it in a circle.
Thunk.
Nada.
“Oooh okay, we’re playing dirty, huh??” I re-positioned my stance and tried again, this time with more oomph-ta. Nothing.
After several more minutes of oomphing and shoving and cursing, the little beast broke free with one of the most aggressive root systems I’d ever seen. I felt accomplished for all of one minute before turning around and seeing 5-6 other weeds exactly like the one I’d just fought with waiting for their turn to bat.
I attacked them with the ferocity of vengeance. My shoulders complained, I cut myself, and my lower back said “Hey, you should stop!” but did I listen?? No!! Must press on until I pass out!
That strategy worked until I straightened after another prolonged but successful weed bout and my vision flashed black and then white and then black again with a cool light show thrown in. “Ah,” I thought, “not ideal.”
When my vision came back I looked at the remaining weeds, the raspberries that still needed pruning, the old hoses that needed to be removed from the fence (old, useless watering system), and remembered the lilacs that still needed further reshaping.
“I could do it,” I thought. “It’s fine.”
I turned to the next offender, drove my shovel down, crushed my hand between the handle and a concrete barrier while trying to lift the root ball, swore very colorfully, and put the shovel down. “Yeah, no. I’m going inside.”
A small, bitter voice told me I was weak, and that I should just keep going. It said I was soft and useless unless I pushed myself to and past my limits.
I stopped halfway through the yard. I almost went back to the weed patch.
Instead, I went inside, made a sandwich (the first real meal I’d had that day) made some coffee, and did some beta reading for a client.
And then I went back outside and plucked that weed out of its stronghold like it was nothing. And then I finished clearing out zone 3 of the raspberries. I removed two more saplings, finally cut down those old hoses, removed an annoying and useless green wire that had been tangled in the fencing since before I was the homeowner, and reshaped the lilacs.
As I did so, I remembered the lesson I keep learning, in almost every area of my life: Sometimes you have to stop to move forward.
Aka, taking breaks is not a weakness, it’s a responsibility. Responsibility for my health, for my reactions, for my quality of life—all of it.
The temptation to push on beyond what I should is always there. It’s just how I am. But more and more I see how damaging that can be, and not only physically, but mentally.
Of course, there are times you must press on. But the wonderful thing about limits is that they can be expanded over time. And I can do that in a measured, intentional way without hurting myself.
You don’t run a thoroughbred in a cross-country race it’s first day with a saddle, with no conditioning. You don’t spend x amount of hours doing yard work without fueling your body and taking a breather when you need one, especially if your day-to-day consists of typing and reading.
Sometimes a break really does allow for a better approach. There are a million different metaphors attached to this. Sharpening the ax, refilling the cup, recharging, etc.
The point is, you can work hard and also be mindful of what your body needs. That’s not weakness, and it’s definitely not laziness. Because the more you practice and persist with the proper precautions, the more you are capable of next time, and the time after that, and so on.
Never underestimate the power of a break!
Thanks for reading and happy spring.