Sunday, May 07, 2017

spring at last spring at last thank god almighty its spring at last

It is time to wonder about the fungi that pester hollyhocks, why roses have blackspot why the yard is yellow. Rain. It is the answer to all the questions: why do you own so many black turtlenecks? Why are your legs so white? Why do you squint when you look up? Why so much vitamin D?


After the weather liars predicted rain all weekend, I was happily surprised at two days of sun and shine and scurried down to Wilco to buy another sixty bucks worth of posies. I love my flowers. I love seeing what happens when I pile a bunch in a container and wait for water and light to make magic. I know enough to keep most of them alive. I am happy to report that my Furnival's Daughter bloomed. (refer to previous post.) Harold Greer, the Rhodie King of the Willamette Valley, said he wasn't sure if it would. One did, one doesn't look like it will this first year.

We, my love and I, are married 13 years now. As I approach 64 and him 60, we are content and surprised to have survived the madness of two coinciding youths. Much like oncoming trains. I often wish we'd married sooner, what with wives and husbands in the interim, but we both know that it would have been a mess. Still, I have loved him forever. That he will love me when I'm 64 is a great comfort. And a thrill. Still...

There is a McKee Bridge Extravaganza on June 10th to celebrate 100 years of being a bridge. I grew   up under that bridge, watched the paddle wheel with awe, camped for months on end, learned to swim, got my worst sunburns, made bologna sandwiches in the sand while drinking 151. My son was born while we lived in a tiny trailer at McKee Bridge Trailer Park and I baptized his tiny feet in the January waters of the Applegate River that runs beneath the bridge and through my life in a cool green ribbon of memories both sweet and dangerous on its way to the sea.