Heat & Restraint

What Does Care Look Like in Extreme Conditions?

A teaspoon of salt, chased with a liter of water, and patience.

The world will not end if the gardens go unweeded.

Be gentle.
Be aware.

I stand up and my breath is taken away. My vision begins to fade for a moment. My ears begin to ring. I lower myself back to the ground, continuing to pull weeds as I come back to this moment in time.

Moving slowly.

My skin begins to tingle, dripping with sweat. The sun has shone deep into my cells, and it is time to cover up. My shirt sticks to my body. Uncomfortable, yes—but now I am shielded from the sun and the mosquitoes.

We check in more frequently.

“How are you feeling?”

“Have you been hydrating?”

“Did you have enough for lunch?”

Us outdoor girls retreat to the air-conditioned cab of the truck.

There can always be too much of a good thing.

In this case, the heat. The sun.

The plants and us—we have begun to wilt. We begin to feel dull, lifeless, flushed.

But we have legs. We can make the decision to retreat.

We can find respite beneath a large shady tree, work within the great casts of shade falling across a garden bed, or call it a day altogether.

We are not tied down by our roots. We are not limited to the place where we were told to exist—from now until forever, or until someone decides to allow us to move.

We do not have to depend on pushing through an entire season of growth, setting seed, and relying on the wind, the weather, or the help of feathered and furry friends to carry our genetics forward. We don't have to endure simply for the sake of survival, hoping for a more favorable environment somewhere down the line.

We can simply decide.

Is that giving up?

Or is that our superpower?

I would be willing to bet the plants would see it differently than our hard-headed selves.

There is something to be learned from working within restraints. With limits. With the conditions we have been given.

The heat is asking something of us.

So we listen.

We slow down.

We retreat when we need to.

And perhaps that, too, is care.