> jumping into life.

« Home | Spring thrums. The vibration wakes me in the night... » | Spring lunges like a child in rainboots towards a ... » | Turn off the radio, and let the frogs chorus you h... » | Spring on the windowsill, if not yet outside. » | He says, Do you really want babies but got chicken... » | I started writing this morning, about the cloudy s... » | At six-thirty, there was light enough to feed the... » | The sound of an engine outside, stuttering, stalli... » | As promised: » | The wind is so cold. I close up all the vents in t... » 


I was wrong about the bird-tree, which sits between our house and our landlady's, hung with feeders. It is not a crabapple; it is a lilac. What do I know of winter trees?

Besides which, I am not so good at being meticulous. Botany and baking are generally the only arenas in which I can be bothered to note all the details, and even then, I tend to throw in more lemon than the recipe calls for. Tend to know my plants by heart, not by the book.

But it becomes clear that if we are going to have a business--and, especially, if we are going to have a business together--I will have to find more attention in my personal budget. I forget to plug in the chicken fence; I forget to water the seedlings; I spend the day searching for a dress to wear to an upcoming wedding and by the time I get around to making that phone call I'm supposed to make, the store is closed. He--botanist because he loves things in order and loves to order them--cannot understand the skittering of my mind. I've not been sitting, of course, and that does much to exacerbate things: my mind always skitters, always has, but at least when I'm sitting I know it. These days I don't notice until he's lost his temper.

But it is spring. The lilac tree will be confused with nothing, now. Its branches are alive with color: cardinals and goldfinches, orioles and bluejays, red-winged blackbirds, jeweled hummingbirds, and the post-modern black-and-white of an assortment of woodpeckers. Bald eagles send the chickens scrambling for their coop; the tulips have almost passed and the big lillies starting to take their places. A fortnight still until last frost, and we have tomato plants with two sets of flowers, ready to go three weeks ago into the greenhouse we decided not to build this year. Rhubarb. Ramps. Peas and potatoes in the ground. Full leaf-out here on the valley floor. Green. Green green green, the earth stepping out into Oz from the dreary Kansas of winter. It's all going to be okay. Spring is here.

Hey. But it's okay to be Kat!

I'm just sayin'.

It's funny that he's the ordered one. Cause of the two of us, he's the scattered one. (Now imagine having to live with me.)

Becky, my mind could use organizing, what yah say?

Spring, what a privilege to experience. Lush greens and a sun to suit.

Telephono call coming soon :) Much to discuss.

Post a Comment