March Gladness

Dear Maria,

Greater number of daylight hours, longer stretches outdoors, and a bit of a slowdown letter-writing-wise. All good, not to worry.

Of course, this time of year a lot of our friends and colleagues are—well, yearning for their spring break. Hungering? Starving, even. Somehow I still feel its tug, even after just about two years out. Nearly gravitational, internally.

This weekend marks the Azalea Festival where thousands and thousands of visitors will invade. I can hear my mother’s eyes rolling. Thousands, will visit. Y’all come back, just not all at once. As always, there has been talk about whether the town will be in spectacular bloom or is this the season of an erratic rollout of redbuds and dogwoods, wisteria and azaleas, pear and cherry trees.

I daily have my eye on all that I have planted, front and back. This season—so far, at least—my little slice of the planted world is tracking as expected. Tea olives first, followed by the young plum trees. Next the Cleveland pear and the loropetalum. Then the Drake elm in that spring shade of green that at times seems like it can’t be real.

The acoustic lily—now a threesome after the bulb crumbled in my hand two years ago—is breaking ground. Tiny buds are forming on the knockouts, and soon the Japanese maple will leaf—one of my favorites.

The laggard is the Chinese elm, the one I rescued from Lowe’s four years ago. Easily more than a week behind the Drake, just now the first bit of leaf emerging. That I pruned it significantly in February caused me some anxiety: I may have killed the rescue elm.

But, leaf is coming. It lives. And I will shake my head when I think back to my worry when it is fully greened out and growing vigorously. Another reminder that Mother Nature is the pacing guide.

After all, Mother Nature has all the time in the world. Need to remember that simple truth.

And as sure as spring comes, summer will follow.

Lackadaisical, yes, but always holding you and yours in my heart,

srk

P.S. Out back with Max a few minutes ago, and the crape myrtle is showing the first leafy signs of life. All good, still.

Happy 108th, and Counting...

Dear Maria,

Greetings from Giddylandia—windows open and every knockout, front and back, shows new growth. Loropetalum should be blooming full out next week. As for Daylight Savings….

I forgot to tell you about one of those ridiculous internet quizzes I took a few weeks back. Yep, I know I swore them off after one too many Disney princess quizzes—Jasmine, by the way. What can I say? And the whole slew of them really so that apparently in some other worlds I am Elizabeth Bennet, Camus, Gandalf, or a bear.

My lapse was with a prediction for age of death from a site going for eerie. Trust me, I provided the appropriate head slap after the fact. Ready? My age at death was predicted to be 109. Yep, 109. I laughed at first and then spent the next week horrified by the idea when it came to mind.

My first take was wondering who the heck would I be talking to. And then who the heck would be talking to me.

Of course, only if my mind is still intact. As if I would know otherwise.

Retired for 50 years. Wow.

I’ve had friends here for 30 years, nearly. That means I could meet someone at 89 and have him or her as a friend for 30 years.

Will make showing up for the Duluth East Class of ‘71 reunion in 2061 interesting.

Wonder what the sea levels will look like.

Wonder if child poverty rates here and in the world will be much changed.

The elms I planted out front will be 50-year-old trees. The Cleveland pear most likely won’t survive much past 2035.

Pythons in Okefenokee?

Maybe I’ll save my books after all, and then I can open a museum.

Wonder how many great great grand nieces and nephews I will have.

Did I tell you the last letter was the 70^th?  Let’s see, you will be a girl in your 90s. Only 2500 more to write.

No more quizzes. Ignorance is bliss, after all.

Yours until time stops, srk

Worldviews for $1000, Alex!

Dear Maria,

As for how it goes, all you need know is that I had breakfast and lunch out on the patio, also fed the roses and trees and shrubs, and even King’s Pizza had their doors open while I ate supper. Yep, a spring day.

Now a java chip grande at Barnes and Noble, and what could possibly concern me? Simple things, small pleasures, and all is well.  Chances of a longish stretch of cold weather now are diminishing each day and with that, so do chances of me sulking about—well, not down to zero, but much lower. Mercifully.

Just after lunch, spotted a hawk sitting up in my neighbor’s white oak with three crows perched in the same tree. Don’t know what the cue was, but suddenly the hawk let loose with a piercing cry and the crows started cawing and off they flew, crows chasing the hawk. Two of the crows. One flew off in the opposite direction. Maybe that’s some sort of survival mechanism. Like the cabinet official in the bunker. When one of the pursuit crows got in tail-feathers-close, the hawk pulled a 160-degree u-turn and dropped onto a tree limb. The crows seem to stall for a moment, and then off they went. Impressive move.

In the last letter, I wasn’t calling out either the Koch brothers or Giuliani in particular. Read out loud, I would have voiced the offending sentence with a tone of resignation, to be followed by a short sigh. My lament is the current penchant for so many to be shocked—shocked—that there may be differing worldviews in the, well, world.

Rudy needs to leave NYC more often, and maybe live somewhere else for a long stretch. Decade might do. Oops, did it again.

Maybe my knowledge of history is terribly incomplete, but when was there ever a grand unified worldview? Will there ever be one?  Obviously, were I a betting man, I’m going all in against.

When we start kicking each other down the slope of don’t love the same, don’t believe the same, don’t think the same, only a hard fall awaits us. About all I want to know is whether on a lifeboat a person will be a hoarder or a sharer. As for who loves the ocean more, I am not so interested.

Maybe I need about 5 acres to garden out of town, small cottage, minimal contact with the world. Or unplug more often.

With much love. Take measure of that as you will.

srk