Time for Confession? I Hear Ya!
Suddenly, It's June. The work and stress of teaching is like the memory of childbirth. Already, I have forgotten the intense labor of those last weeks. True, I learned a lot, teaching in the "remote" format, but I missed being on campus. I am looking forward to teaching face to face in Fall 2021.
Somehow, I found the energy to do a fistful of end of year reports by their due dates in May as well as editing the upcoming 2021-22 catalog copy. With each task checked off the To-Do list, I felt lighter and lighter. I have forgotten my high anxiety, which was complicated by the number of hours I spent online. It's a little nutty how working from home doesn't have the "limits" of shutting your office door for the night or weekend. Instead, work is always there. I think both instructors and students suffered from this "constant" presence of work to be done. I am not sure what exactly I learned this past year. I stepped up; my students stepped up. We got it done. Now we're looking around, feeling a tiny bit lost, because we are suddenly free to do whatever we want. For me, that feeling of being oar-less is disconcerting, but I somehow right myself after two weeks of drifting . . . Now working on new poems and stories; edited my novella, hoping that it holds up for my readers (we'll see what they say!); sending manuscripts of prose and poems out. It's been 4 years since I've put together a manuscript. The process requires such concentration to get it just right (we'll see what they say!).
Of course, time doesn't wait here on the farm. Our gardens (5000 square feet) are nearly planted to capacity. We are out there in the early morning, trying to get things done before the sun and its brash white light fries us to a crisp. It's been plenty warm lately. Gardens are looking good, too.
My time in the garden is a meditation on whatever I'm writing or editing. So I can weed a couple hours; then come in and work a few hours on writing projects. I hope this will be a summer of healing and accomplishment. Here's hoping we have bushels and bushels of produce!