On What Sweeping Means to Me

 I ended my day today the way I often do in the summer: I swept the debris off my front porch and the sidewalk in front of house. I'd been transplanting seedlings today so there was a fair amount of dirt to sweep, but even on evenings when I'm not actively creating the mess, this is something I do. 

I realized at some point last summer -- the summer during COVID lock-down -- that it had become a ritual. My house is literally on the line of the sidewalk. There is no front yard, just sidewalk, and my open porch is lined with slate stones that do a fantastic job of catching dirt. I had swept periodically during the 20 years that I've lived here but when the house became mine a couple of years ago, I realized my sense of being here, of ownership, had shifted within me. 

I was born in 1960. My mother's father, who I never knew, owned a small office supply store in the Upper Valley of New Hampshire where I grew up. I remember the store and they way the downtown area was in that decade. Small businesses were owned by local families, and in the mornings in the summer, the ones who had awnings in front would unroll them and sweep the sidewalk. It was how they got ready for the business of the day.  It seems like such a small thing now, and sometimes I wonder if I am even remembering it accurately.  I know my grandfather did this, and my recollection is that lots of them did.  Does anyone do this, still?

The cynic in me imagines that when sweeping happens, it may be a task given to an employee, someone who may or may not care about how it looks when it's done. I say that not because employees don't care -- or even that they should -- but because the piece that resonates with me when I am sweeping is that I am thinking about my grandfather and what I imagine it meant to him. It was his store, his caretaking for customers.

It's different when it's yours. It's about pride, of course, but to me, it's also about being welcoming and hospitable. It's the same reason I spend time every spring putting hanging flower baskets on my porch, planting sunflowers in the incredibly tiny spot of dirt next to my house. I want it to look nice, of course, but I want it to look cheerful, open-hearted.  

Everyone has their own level of filth tolerance. I know that. If you are thinking: She sweeps her sidewalk, dear God how neat must her house be??? Rest easy. We all pick our organizational battles. A meticulous housekeeper, I am not.

 The thing about the sidewalk is that for me, it's a ritual. There is a meditative quality to it. Back and forth, back and forth. It's a lovely rhythm. The next thing I know, I'm done and I can stand back, take a look and smile. For this one minute, it looks neat, and I feel satisfaction.

I think about the reliable, low-tech pleasure of brooms, too. In an age of loud leaf-blowers -- which to me only seem to move piles somewhere else -- the quiet broom seems like an antique. 

The sidewalk isn't literally mine, but I feel a responsibility towards it.  I battle the weeds in the cracks but because I won't add poison to the earth, well, the crabgrass tends to win many of those skirmishes.

As I am writing this, I am reminded of a poem I love called Red Brocade. I often share it when I am asked to read a poem for an occasion. The spirit of it calls to me about being welcoming to all. To me, these ideas connect. To be in a place of open-heartedness, ready to offer kindness. 

So I will sweep my sidewalk and hope it says to all: welcome. 

My prayer is for all to center their lives with brooms and poems, to create receptivity everywhere.

Peace.

Red Brocade ~Naomi Shihab Nye - 1952-

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The Arabs used to say,
When a stranger appears at your door,
feed him for three days
before asking who he is,
where he’s come from,
where he’s headed.
That way, he’ll have strength
enough to answer.
Or, by then you’ll be
such good friends
you don’t care.
 
Let’s go back to that.
Rice? Pine nuts?
Here, take the red brocade pillow.
My child will serve water
to your horse.
 
No, I was not busy when you came!
I was not preparing to be busy.
That’s the armor everyone put on
to pretend they had a purpose
in the world.
 
I refuse to be claimed.
Your plate is waiting.
We will snip fresh mint
into your tea.