I just came in from surveying for signs of Spring. You know how "I" know it's Spring? Every year the toads convene to sing their songs and lay their eggs in the pond down in the front yard. Our young ones run barefoot in pursuit of them.
After church, I set out today to plant my spring garden in the patch in front of the house. Macklynn and Madalynn were chomping at the bit to get to the toads and wanted me to take part. Last year they caught 5 gallon buckets of them. Michael reminded them that it isn't humane, so they netted as many as they could, until Madalynn belly flopped into the mud and made her way to the tub. While I was retrieving the tiller, Macklynn got chilly from the cold front and decided a bath sounded good to him, too.
I was left alone outside. I strolled down to the barn to find my metal watering can Mike bought me from the old hardware store in West Jefferson before it closed. Cranny, the lone kitten, appeared and stretched himself out from between truck parts to see what I was doing. I eyed the manure and hay compost the animals had created for me. The calves thought for sure I was there to feed them and since they're nearing 600 pounds, I wasn't going in for any digging. I didn't want to draw Michael away from cleaning the guns after target practice, so I resigned to surveying the "grounds". First though, I leaned over the fence to grab the calves' horns; oddly they're warm. They like to roughhouse that way, us holding onto their horns as long as we can. The pigs ran over to see what was up, so I scratched Patty's ear 'til McKala's calf shewed her off. The mean orange rooster watched and stood guard before his brood, while old Smokey waited steadfastly beside me.
Since Melody had the attic open greatly relieving me of the seasonal wardrobe exchange, I wore her wader boots and went past the barn where Tootsie's buried. I stood there and smiled for the time I had with her. I mosied further to the creek, Rocky Creek, that borders the property. Looking down at it made me question whether I want to move, not whether we should, just whether or not I want to. When everything greens up, I love to lie on the edge, feet dangling ...listening to the new leaves rustle and the water move by. Much like what Michael must've felt like yesterday. He asked McKala if he could use her ENO hammock to read the book I got him. We didn't know it until he returned, but he'd ridden over to another branch of the creek, hung the hammock, and read Truett Cathy's "Wealth, Is It Worth It?" as the sun made it's way through the woods to him.
I moved a couple of boards from the field that were left after Mike's trailer was repossessed. I assessed all that needed to be done and where it would fit into our new "routine". Ha! It's not like the days when the kids were younger and we could "drop everything" to finish off a project. Although, I think ...no, I KNOW they're better off for it. Character was built there and as Michael recently wrote for a testimony, he meets with God out there.
So do I. Ecstasy - The Daffodils announcing the coming of better things - The leaves of other bulbs rising from the cold ground. The Lilies that Mike gave me through the years of nursery hauling are making their entrances everywhere. The Thrift is blanketing the bank of the pond. The Peonies are pushing up ...Heaven must smell something like Peonies. Miranda's Tulips are already half grown across the high retaining wall. With my "Alabama" hoodie pouch full of junk from the yard I'd collected, I made it back around to my garden bed and got down on my knees to pull back weeds wondering if the asparagus was on its way back. "Yeess, there you are!"
My spinach, brussel sprouts, Romaine lettuce, collards, broccoli, onions, potatoes, and garlic will have to wait a little longer. Besides, tomorrow may be a gully washer.
There's no "moral" to this story. The story IS the moral. God is good. No, He is GREAT.
No comments:
Post a Comment