Imagine that you’re an ant. You’re working with your colony in the moist dirt. It isn’t raining and newly hatched so there might be a peace to the community.

There might be a feeling of harmony as everyone begins to work together for the greater goal of preparation for the queen, the extra mouths to feed, and the cold winter ahead that is ever present despite being months away.

Life, for an ant, seems good. It might be as good as it’s going to get.

Then, a Teflon (I’m guessing it’s Teflon) covered shovel head dips in right in the middle of your home. The dirt is overturned again and again exposing you and your family to the light and breeze.

Foreign boxes of dirt with white pieces are pushed and covered. The overturned and exposed dirt – your home – is heedlessly pushed back into the created crater.

In an anxiety driven panic, your six legs climb the invader only to be swept away by dirt smudged fingers.

You’re severely injured. If you survive for the next hour, you will be crippled for the rest of your life. Several of your friends don’t make it.

—- And that is what happened when I was in the backyard yesterday planting some green zucchini.

There wasn’t that many ants when I planted the tomatoes, spaghetti squash, and yellow squash. But the zucchini… I guess I hit gold – sort of.

The ants, fortunately, didn’t bite me. They were black, not red, but there was a lot of them. I felt fortunate that I was wearing pants and did my best to roll them off my hands while I covered the roots.

But I felt sympathy for them as I swiped them away.

They didn’t deserve that.

Odd thoughts, huh? It’s got to be a metaphor for something. Childhood? American society?

Well… Jason bought me some vegetable and flower plants from a locally run nursery. The vegetables are planted as well as the petunias. Those are yellow and purple this year. Last year, they were black and white.

I have a foxglove and some hostas left. It shouldn’t take too long. It’s just getting it done Since it’s supposed to rain tomorrow, it’d be a good idea if those are completed this evening after mom’s dinner.

I think I would like some sunflowers somewhere but am hesitant as the yard is very shady. . Last year, we had a beautiful morning glory creeping up the front porch. It’d be nice to have another one of those.

Flowers are all fluff, kind of. They look nice and provide somewhat of a personality to a house. They’re something to care for. But, productively, they don’t really do anything and can be expensive and time consuming. Precious sources, like water, time, and federlizer, are consumed.

I guess the benefit is their aesthetics and keeping up with the Jones sort of thing. Hopefully, butterflies and bees are helped.

While, sometimes, the plants that actually produce – like the zuccinni – struggle or don’t produce at all. Last year, I had an exceedingly lengthy pumpkin vine that made one whole pumpkin which was compromised by bugs.

Funny that.

I should feel fortunate and grateful that I have some plants. I have the yard, the facilities, and capability to grow.

I like to grow plants and that was one of the drawbacks of Florida – I couldn’t grow anything in the sand.

For the past two years we’ve been in Indiana, I was such a stickler of what I wanted ,where, when, and how I would care for the plants.

By extension, the yard had to be mowed at least once a week. I would plot, plan, and obsess over how tall the grass is and mentally chart what areas grew taller than other areas.

The flower window boxes on the shet needed to have something – rather flowers or succulents – for some reason.

But this year… not so much.
I’m contracting instead of expanding. It’s a struggle to grow.

Relatively easy to destroy and maim the lives of innocent bug societies and cultures.

Maybe that’s my metaphor.

Maybe that’s what I do to the people and systems around me.

Not a great thought.

Anyway…. It’s about time to head to mom’s for lunch.
I’m out and I’ve kept my promise. I wrote a blog although, honestly, I didn’t feel like it.

I don’t feel like doing much of anything. It’s a slump. I’m not growing. If something doesn’t grow, it withers. It dies.

I need to, somehow, pull up from this bottom cycle but it’s hard. Not that it’s an excuse, but moreover, it’s tiring.

And I’m very tired.