TL;DR Hi! Due to being a human in the world, I need to take a little slow down! Slow downs are good! Slow downs are protective! For the next few months (TBD) I’ll be showing up here occasionally (monthly themes, playlists, and if I feel like it) and snail mail (for paid subscribers) will be created monthly but mailed every other month. Thank you for understanding. Existing in a body is weird and aging is weird, but alas - we persist(ish). -vanessa
P.S. Started writing this last week and seem to actively track down every possible distraction and reason to stop writing. You know.
👋 Hi from Culver’s (#IYKYK)
I’m on one of those oh my gosh I can’t see to write at home or during the day or in the evening or ever, let’s go on an adventure to see if that will focus you outing. There are chicken tenders involved. (And, if you are wondering, the Flavor of the Day is How Now Brown Cow.)
Today the first ruby-throated hummingbird of the season buzzed the hummy feeder suction-cupped to the kitchen window, right next to my head. Yesterday the brightest male Oriole I’ve ever seen stopped on the same feeder. I immediately filled the Oriole feeder and hung it on the pole in the yard. The milkweed be milkweeding. Now we’re just waiting for the monarchs.
We’ve already mowed eight million times. If the lawn grows for more than five days it’s nearly impassible. So green and lush and dense. First flush. Flourishing. (Goodness bless #NoMowMay. If we did not mow we might literally not be able to mow the rest of the year. But also, we have prairies and hay fields and a bunch of wild places, so I feel okay about it.)
It’s hard to remember that winter even happened. Everything has flung itself out of deep sleep and back to wild, awake life. It’s hard to push the mower through the thick, lush grass. It’s hard to not feel joy (and overwhelm) as this wave of summer builds with so much energy and momentum. A so-so-so very regular and welcome part of our seasons and annual cycle. Forward. Full speed until the last frost.
[Okay, technically our usual last frost date is May 15, but I *think* we look clear so I’m just sort of pretending it’s not going to frost again.]
Growing season. Just keep going season. Full speed season. It’s also hard to fathom that by late-July, amidst the tomatoes and squash and dahlias and zinnia ramping up in the heat and humidity, this green, cool-weather grass will have a panic attack, and do a u-turn to brownish. Like, suddenly. Or at least it will feel sudden, without all that slowing sunlight and long shadows and golden tones.
Amidst all this growth - so much growth - it’s hard to remember that come July the grass will slow and enter its own little mid-summer dormancy. When we can go almost two weeks without having to mow while remaining jungle-free. It’s still so unexpected to me. Only now (ten years living here) I remember it’s coming. It’s so counterintuitive. Unexpected.
Up here in the north (42.6 latitude) I am prepared for dormancy as the winter sleep. Or at least that’s how I think about it. It’s regular. I can see it coming in the change of light and shadows. It’s the regular cycle. Summer days are long and robust. Winter days are long and dark. And as the summer days shorten and the light tips toward the dark, it’s like you can see the dormancy begin to creep in. Like a shadowy creature slowly stepping in from offstage.
The light changes. The plants slow and try and wane. The trees color and brown and drop their leaves. A blanked on the ground for the long winter. The tender annuals get beat to death by frost. Black and crisp, little zombie remnants marching to the compost pile. And the rough and tumble perennials slowly lose their color, their flowers turn to fluff and puff and float away. And the crisped up leaves and stems sway in the winds and rain and frost like lonely ghosts into winter, eventually flattened by the weight of so much snow.
But below ground, those hardy perennials are making antifreeze and hunkering down for the long, cold, dark months ahead. Preparing. Protecting. (Science here!)
It’s a cycle. It’s a process. It’s what happens. It’s expected. It’s planned for.
As in, I can see it coming and I prepare for it. Us plants and humans - we see the signs and we prepare. It’s instinctual(ish). (Just think - Fat Bear Week). The whole world is geared for it. (Ok, fine in this north).
But - dormancy in summer? Does not compute!
But it happens! Cool season grasses, like all the grass around the house, experience stress in the hottest, driest part of the season. July and August. And, in order to survive - to remain - the grass shuts down some things in order to survive. Like growing. The growing stops. It’s less of a cycle and more of a panic button. (Stick with me here, METAPHORS people).
And this summer dormancy, it sneaks up on you. Everything is sort of getting warmer and warmer and thriving and growing and maturing. But this little grass…it gets sorta dry. Gets really hot. Gets really dry. And - panic! Emergency shutdown.
Welp, darn. I’ve lost the thread. I had all these great thoughts about this grass metaphor while mowing and now I’ve just been rambling on.
Look. Here’s the deal. Be it aging (perimenopause) or something *wrong* (whatever that means, hey thyroid!) or just what happens when we live in a human body in the world - I’m just not feeling great. (Today’s thought “If you’re worried you are a hypochondriac, are you a hypochondriac?”) [P.S. it’s now called somatic symptom disorder (SSD) and illness anxiety disorder (IAD). Both diagnoses share high health anxiety as a common criterion, but additional somatic symptoms are only required for SSD but not IAD. Source.]
And I’m making this whole, long analogy because I just assumed that I’d have the same amount of energy I always had when I had the most energy - for my whole life. I think I just assumed that I knew how I expected to feel in my body my whole life. And I am, in fact, not having all the energy I used to have. (Yes, I know, this is normal). But it’s sort of happening in ways that don’t feel normal (or gradual?) and it’s taking a toll. [Either from what is actually happening, or just how I am feeling and reacting about what’s happening (or not happening)].
So me, this nose to the grindstone, practicing imperfectionist, has been going on and on as if we are going into summer at full speed. As if we are going to be full speed until fall. (Going about life at full speed, as if we are going to be full speed until death.) Maybe I’m just learning I have to slow down a little. Maybe it’s an emergency brake.
I don’t know.
But what I do know is that I am going to take a little snooze. A little summer dormancy. A little pause. A little rest. (Trying not to resist rest, a resistance I am so good at.) Doing less is hard. Admitting it’s best to do less is hard.
And here we are! There are a lot of ways I am trying to do less in this mini dormancy (taking vacations, not working as hard at my job, sleeping more (but not tonight), making time for doctor appointments, caring less about things when I can. (Not everything can be a top priority). Resting, actually resting.
Writing here used to feel like a balm. Like the thing that always made me feel better. I was eager for. Waiting for all day. That just doesn’t feel like the case now. (A bit like trying to force two same sides of a magnet together.) So, I’m trying to find ease here. I’ll be writing less for the next few months (monthly theme, playlist, and random odds and ends so I don’t fully lose the thread of practice). And snail mail will slow a bit. I’ll make sometime for each month (month’s theme) but send it out every other month.
Thanks for understanding. That’s it. Let’s send off this missive that’s been drafting since Wednesday. Take good care and what can you take off your plate?
With love and spring dormancy,
💤vanessa
Other Notes:
Just so very glad you’re listening to your inner wisdom here instead of fighting it. I’m practicing at this, too, so it’s extra cool to see it in action (er, inaction?) elsewhere. ❤️
I keep hearing the words "collective exhaustion" and I think it's making every challenge we experience that much more... uh, challenging. Slowing down is wise indeed.