The Spring that Almost Wasn't

Ever meandered through weeks, doing all the normal everyday things with which we fill our lives, only to realize that you've let other things, things that really matter to you, slip right through your fingers?

Yes, Mayor, Sis and I have planted our several plots at the community garden.  More on that later.  Yes, I've had lovely asparagus, onions, and lettuce from the garden on the North Forty.  Yes, truckloads of winter debris have systematically been removed from the North Forty.  Multiple trips to multiple greenhouses on multiple occasions have been made.  Garden projects have been started and finished. A normal spring, yet . . .

I just about let spring slip right through my fingers.

So, tonight I set out to make things as right as I could.

 

As dusk approached, I padded barefoot across the rain-soaked lawn to the tiny patio next to the garden on the North Forty.  I swiped the water droplets off one of the green plastic Adirondack chairs with my hand and had a seat. 

A few random leftover raindrops aimlessly plopped out of the sky, making a nice sound as they landed - on the leaves, on the pebbled patio, and on the metal table beside me. 

The yellowy beige and blue sky began to turn a glorious peach, darkening to orange, before fading once again to a grey blue.  As the day's last light faded, the once green leaves of the oaks became black, silhouetted against the deepening blue sky.

 

The robins, who make their home in the oaks bordering the North Forty, flitted from tree to tree, filling the air with their chatty bed-time birdsong.  A throaty toad joined in from a distance. 

 

Soon, the robins fell asleep, and the bats made their appearance, dipping and weaving in clockwise circles inside the perimeter of the oaks.  First, one, then another, and then another, very quickly and very quietly.  Toad continued his serenade, which seemed to grow louder in the absence of the birdsong.

 

The heady, sweet smell of honeysuckle filled the air, carried in on the faintest breeze from the hills beyond the North Forty. 

 

 

A train's whistle wailed in the distance.

 

I hoped to see the lightning bugs rise from the lawn, but not this night.

 

Spring was finally as it should be.  As I padded back across the yard to the house, I was so grateful not to have missed this rite of spring. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



New Friends in the Neighborhood

 

The once robust fish population in the back yard pond on the North Forty declined explicably earlier this spring.  Several of our long time favorite koi, and even some newer additions mysteriously disappeared from the pond.  A trap set out for the predators produced no results.

Since the population has held steady for several weeks, Better Half and I are in hopes the predator has exited the scene.  We decided it might be time to add to our dwindling population.  Better Half had seen a "Fish for Sale" advertisement in the local paper. We saw.  We went.  We bought.

 

 

We brought our purchases home in two blue tubs in the bed of the farm truck.  I perched on the overturned bucket for the ride home to guide any jumping koi back into tub.  Gratefully, the fish stayed immersed in the water all the way home.  Don't honestly know what I would have done if one had jumped out of the tub.

 

 

 Tangerine Sherbet, Black Beauty and Stripe, a comet, make their first public appearance on the North Forty,

 

 

as do Scarlett, on the left, and Delta, on the right.  Scarlett is one big red mama.  The rationale for purchasing big fish is to scare away would be predators.  We will see how that works out.

 

 

Here, Better Half gently releases Tangerine Sherbet, Black Beauty and Stripe into the pond.

 

 

After releasing the fish, Better Half takes a seat, where he spent part of the afternoon watching the new fish become acquainted with the brood.  He was happy to report that, after a short time, all were  doing laps together around the perimeter of the pond. 

 

All are fine and healthy today.  The bright new fish have been welcomed into the fold.  Hoping  against all hope that that fish stealer has moved on to greener pastures.



Boogie Shoes

Baby Granddaughter and I set out this late this morning to do some Mother's Day Shopping.  With a baby in tow, I hoped to make three stops, no more.  Extricating a baby from a car seat and returning a baby to the same car seat can be a trying ordeal, especially when said 9 month old baby prefers standing to sitting, and vocally expresses her displeasure at being coaxed into a sitting position.

 

Stop number one went very smoothly, that is, until I attempted to return Baby Granddaughter to the car seat, where she planted her chubby little feet on the seat, and stood, to happily survey the world around her.   Oh, what the heck!  I, too, decided the survey the world around her.  After 20 seconds or so of surveying the world and baby granddaughter,  I discovered baby granddaughter was more than happy to return to a seated position in the car seat.  A major meltdown had been successfully averted. 

 

Stop number two - Portsmouth Feed and Supply - a feed store housed in a former gas station owned by John and Phyllis Rice, and a host of other nice people, whose names I do not know.  Each spring the feed store is transformed into a garden - full of bedding plants, onion sets, sweet potatoes, perennial flowers, annual flowers, ferns, mulch, seeds, and just about anything else you might need for a garden.   Mayor and I buy our plants for the community garden at Portsmouth Feed and Supply.   

 

This day, I sought out ferns, Gerber daisies, and Beauregard sweet potato plants.  Ferns, check.  Beauregard sweet potato plants, check.  The Beauregard plants produced enormous 10 pound creamy sweet potatoes last summer.  Just had to have them again this year.  Unable to locate the Gerber daisies, I thought a third stop had become necessary, and hence, a third car seat experience.

 

As I waited in line with my squirming, darling, Baby Granddaughter,  her attention was drawn to a large plastic owl, with hideous shiny yellow eyes, perched on the counter, whose head slowly moved back and forth.  Baby Granddaughter reached for the owl. I discouraged her.  Baby Granddaughter reached again.  I discouraged her again. Phyllis, good naturedly, told me not to worry about her touching the owl, as it had already suffered more abuse than Baby Granddaughter could possibly reap upon it.  I relaxed a little bit. When I wondered out loud what Baby Granddaughter's mother might say if I bought the owl for her, the other customers in the store snickered.  So much for an owl for Baby Granddaughter.  It really was an ugly thing.

 

Just as I started to pay for my purchases, I remarked that I was looking for Gerber daisies, and hadn't seen any.  Phyllis was out from behind the counter in no time, assuring me there were Gerber daisies.  She took me outside, located the daisies for me, removed them from the shelves and set them where I could pick the ones I wanted.  As I chose, she removed them, one by one, and put them in a separate container.  Then, she carried the daisies to my vehicle.  Now, mind you, this is Mother's Day weekend, the place was full of customers, and I wasn't making a huge purchase, by any means.  

 

As I sauntered through the flower aisles, on a perfect Friday morning, following Phyllis, with Baby Granddaughter wiggling on my hip, there came, through the loudspeaker positioned outside the shop, KC and the Sunshine Band singing "I want to put on my my my my my boogie shoes, just to boogie with you, yeah, I want to put on my my my my my boogie shoes, just to boogie with you."  Baby Granddaughter began rhythmically bobbing her head and swaying her little body sort of in time to the music.  She looked up at me and grinned.  I, too, caught in the magic of the morning and the moment, sang a couple "my my my my my boogie shoes" and did a couple of head bobs and body sways with her. 

 

My hat's off to you Phyllis for going above and beyond the call of duty.  Thanks to you and your husband for your friendliness, your expertise, and your willingness to take the time to help the customer.  Thank you for loving the work you do.  Your business is one of the really good things about living in this small town. 

 

As I put Baby Granddaughter back into the car seat, she planted those little feet again.  This time, I smiled, and let her survey the world from a standing position.  After a very short time, she willingly and happily sat down in the car seat.  I put the rest of the purchases into the trusty Old Suburban, and set off, singing "I want to put on my my my my my boogie shoes, just to boogie with you." 

 

On the subject of shoes, my fascination with all things felt continues.  I just completed a second pair of felt baby shoes for the soon-to-be granddaughter of a teacher with whom "The One" works. 

 

The first and only other pair of felt shoes I made were for Baby Granddaughter to wear to basketball games where she showed her support for her uncle, Number 25, a member of the Valley High School team who had an enviable season. 

 

 

This pair of shoes is decidedly more feminine, all flowery. . . 

 



and polka dotty.

 



 

 

Just the cat's meow for a darling baby girl.

 



Picket Fence - Part 2

This tiny pile of wood is all that remains of the lumber for the picket fence project.  After a fierce evening of work, Better Half and I finished the picket fence, and the marriage survived intact, though there were several occasions when nerves became frayed and tempers short.  See Picket Fence Part 1.

 

A new gate will be built for the fence some day, but, for now, the original gate built by my dad and me will grace the garden. 

The long view of the fence. Just like a brand new pair of sneakers in need of a little dirt, the fence is in need of a little weathering.  It fairly shines in its newness.  

Better Half was careful to replace the horseshoe and bailing twine which adorned the old fence.

Flowers always dress up any space.  It was when I took this photo that I know I will come to love the new fence.