14. A Nothing Diary [Irritation Scents the Sweet Woodruff]
Dead zelkova branches knocked down by the spring breeze pile up behind the house.
Once this shaded area receives the strong summer sunlight, it will sprout ivy even in the briefest periods of direct light.
And it will tangle, becoming more than I can handle.
I looked at the back of the house, intending to clear away the dead branches before that happened.
However, I realized it immediately.
Come to think of it, I had disposed of the rusted wheelbarrow early in the spring.
It is not impossible to carry them by hand.
But with this amount.
It wasn't enough to leave me at a total loss, but it was enough to sap my motivation.
At the very least, I should get rid of the ivy that has started to grow while I still can.
I put on work gloves and pull hard.
The roots are deep, and the stems have thorns.
And, contrary to how they look, they were strong.
They were strong enough that I thought I could even use them as rope to pitch a tent.
I started this with a light heart, but I am revising my opinion that it is not an easy job.
It has been about four years since I last had the luxury of doing this kind of garden work.
While watching my daughters, who were just babies, I realized how much time had passed.
They take advantage of the fact that no humans come here, and they act as if they have already taken over.
Don't joke around, you vines.
"What are you doing?"
Suddenly, my four-year-old daughter calls out to me.
"Don't come in here! Branches are falling, and there are thorny vines!"
I warn her, but,
"Hey, what are you doing?"
My daughter, completely undeterred, asks the same thing again. It's been like this lately.
"It's garden work, look, go play over there!"
I didn't explain it properly. However, having heard her sister's voice, even my two-year-old daughter comes over.
This is hopeless. Let's stop.
"Look! Let's go play over there!"
Saying that with a frayed edge to my voice, my eldest daughter crouched down and began picking some small, white flowers.
Found another one, have you?
You really are good at finding flowers.
"Look up the name of this flower for me."
My daughter has recently realized that I'm not actually that knowledgeable about flowers, and that I look them up on my iPhone each time.
I can't use my smartphone unless I take off my work gloves.
But even if I refused here, I'm sure she would repeat,
"Look up the name of this flower for me."
over and over again until she was satisfied.
I reluctantly took off my work gloves.
Woodruff.
That was the name of this flower.
A lovely flower on a rough stem.
The flower blooming in the dappled sunlight was modest, and indeed, it was a flower my daughter would like.
(Hmm...)
As I was convincing myself, alone,
"Hey, what kind of flower is that?"
my daughter asked.
"It's sweet woodruff. Come on, let's go over there quickly."
I hurried out of the ivy-covered garden.
And now, I think about it.
I wish I had taught her properly.
I sometimes treat you demanding children carelessly, using busyness as an excuse.
You are no longer children who know nothing.
It is always me who fails to realize that.
I looked it up later. They say sweet woodruff has a sweet scent when dried.
So, I decided I would go with my daughter next time.
That child will surely understand that there are thorns, and that branches fall.
If it comes to it, I can just protect her.
Shall we try making some potpourri together?
Though I've never made such a thing even once.