A fair morning, when the birds are singing and little blossoms are making promises . . .and a soft breeze sweeps the territory . . .beckons to me -to linger, there in it. The yard is a bit uncivilized now, for it has not been mowed in weeks. I love the wildness . I may be the only one, that does, but some how the wildflowers that that spring up, seem grateful and glad, that I dare to let them bloom. The only things, I really quarrel with are poison ivy and thorned vines.
In the evenings, I have been spotting the first of the rabbit community, appearing. They are a skittish lot and likely to startle me, darting from under a garden bench. The boxer is on high alert and bravely defends me . He has never harmed a one of them, but chases them playfully, back to the young woods, that the rabbits call “home”. There are fireflies too.
June has always been the time of fireflies. Country folks take notice of such things. These last few years , things seem to bloom and grow “out of season”. . .and it seems the peach tree is easily fooled. I can not blame the lovely peach tree, nor the fireflies, for I think, that time flies whether you are having fun or not.
Now I do not measure time, by keeping up with minutes. I like to do things til, I am finished or do things “for a while”. A sundial would be the best clock for me. I know, by shadows when early morning, isn’t “early” anymore. ..and they also tell me when to start supper. Of course I spent my childhood outside and so such things are quite natural to me. I keep track of the calendar, for the bill collectors are reliable folks. And now . . .all of a sudden, “they say -” it is May!
May is called “the sweetest month”. I am fickle, but for now I declare it is so. The iris blooms and the cape jasmine will soon follow. The birds sing merrily in the morning and the fragrance of the wild privet fills the air. Clover is starting to bloom . I love the sweet, green scent of clover. May is a wonderful time to bring a baby home, too. My own Tres was born in May, on a mild, bright Sunday morning. I could not wait for the sun to shine on him and so we stood for a while, in the sunlight of May, before we went in the house. I always remember that in May.
The rabbitpatch territory is almost tidy! Every day, I do a chore or two. The tasks range from trimming the roses in the “Quiet Garden”. to stacking tin and yes, cutting vines, AGAIN. I have stepped in fire ants (several times), and have scratches from thorns, everywhere. Still, the rabbitpatch looks “tended” and I declare it may have been the geraniums, that sparked my heart, to even begin!
I was shocked, when my sister, Delores, mentioned that “Mothers’ Day”, was this Sunday. I should have known, for I had noticed my “Mothers’ Day” rose is loaded with blossoms, ready to unfurl, at any moment. I have had this “wild ” rose for almost a decade. Peggy, a friend and neighbor, of Mama, saw it growing on a ditch bank, on her farm and sent it to me. Every year, the bush, I named “Miss Peggy” blooms profusely . . on Mothers’ Day. How lovely, it looks on the old plcket fence, with its’ tendrils spilling on to the grass, splashing pink blossoms, like a joyful fountain.
Hence, Delores’ announcement, we have plans to celebrate our Mama, on Sunday. I do hope, we will “brighten her day” for the last few weeks, have been like none before them, for her. She puts forth a gallant effort, but she has lost “the love of her life” – a love affair, that lasted sixty four years altogether. In addition, Mama has had to face all the” business” , that comes with someone, dying . . in the “foreign”ways to her, of this modern world – and the corona virus even complicates that. Can you imagine, marrying the boy, that you crushed on, when you were fourteen? You move from your parents’ home, to marry him, a few short years later-and think how the world has changed since 1958. You are married for 62 years-and for the first time ever, you live alone. . .well. that story, belongs to Mama,
I think all us feel like a part of us has “gone missing”. You feel “lacking” in some indescribable way. I told Jenny, that it seems like our family, has been “fractured”. Still, though . . .I have a peace -“that does pass understanding”.
A lot of people are having a difficult time with isolation. Let me be clear-that I miss my grandchildren . I have enough chores here to keep me busy. I love the grocery pick up, for I can still cook. I love to read and I am doing on line puzzles, which require a deep concentration for someone as inept as I am with puzzles. The boxer and I spend more time together than ever and clothes are not put in the dryer. Supper is never rushed -and there is always something blooming on the territory. I like solitude, in general. . . and, I do not feel alone in the midst of trees, nor a flock of sparrows. The old field is good company and I greet the clouds as they pass over, and wonder where they have been. These habits were natural to me, as a child and have remained with me . . .I do have a rose bush named “Peggy”, after all.
It is a good thing, that I am odd, in this way, for a rural setting does not come with sidewalks full of dog walkers and strolling couples. If by chance, there is a siren, then folks stop what they are doing, for we are not used to commotion.
Of course, country dwellers do have large landscapes and big skies. I can not imagine how I would fare cooped up in a third story apartment. . .nor owning a small business, in such times. . . nor having no one to miss seeing. So, I can not complain. . .most especially in the company of sparrows . . .and “Peggy” blooming her heart out.