Harvest

Dear Maria,

Greetings from Rainlandia, which is a bit of an overreach but not by as much as I would wish. Of course, in your current circumstances rain would qualify, I reckon, as a novelty.

I heard through the grapevine you chafed a bit at the notion you are convalescing. Well, that is not a terrible thing, is it? Maybe the word seems old-fashioned, or maybe you think it suggests some malingering on your part. Poppycock. You’re doing what is sensible and needs to be done.

At least you’re getting plenty of sun. I could send along a photo of gray skies—dozens and dozens of photos in fact—well, you get the picture. And, yes, I exaggerate. At least the plants and trees and the first of the vegetables are thriving.

Turns out some of last year’s cucumber seeds seem to have borne winter well and are growing in the nursery bed with the burning bushes and crape myrtles. Note to self on that front. Seriously. Will be interesting to see the results.

Not that I am lashed to a harvest as if life depended upon the haul. Fortunately. Just a new shoot here or a tiny leaf there, or a bud or a peach, as part of my daily prowl services my expectations. Well, hoping for a bit more peach-wise.

You, on the other hand, have an end very much in mind. I get that.

We are, as we have been, living in two very different spaces the last few years. And not just geographically, though dramatically so now.

Really, I’m thinking more about time than space. The luxury I have to carry such a short list of have-to-get-done items allows for watching birds or the clouds or the kids next door rather than keeping my shovel moving. Melon seeds sown Wednesday rather than Tuesday, just fine. Squash or cucumbers to be picked—if or when it’s time for them, then that suits.

Okay, okay, I admit my personality may be the greater variable. Do you think? Go ahead, laugh out loud.

As for you—tell me about your Santa Fe visit after you get back. Take pictures. Enjoy the kids when they come out this summer.

Be well, be good, behave. Indeed, convalesce.

Always,

srk

Around the Bend

Dear Maria,

Thanks for the photos. Perhaps email will do just fine. Still not as satisfying as unwrapping a letter, so to speak, but the words mean the same and that is all that matters in the end.

I do understand what you are saying about the desert, the quiet. Coincidentally—and nothing more than that—I thought about the desert in January. We had a couple of unseasonable shorts and t-shirt days, and as I sat out back and looked at the winter woods, I thought how noisy the visual. How a desert landscape would be so much quieter, so less busy.

I am sending along one picture. You will laugh. Just days after I wrote in Miscellany about leaving the area around the lake untended by my hand, the beavers decided to execute a major water release. One day-long flush, and then a shorter one the next. Lake at the lowest level since 2009 according to a neighbor.

Have no idea how long to full bowl, if ever. The local engineers will manage that issue. Along with the rains.

By the way, 3 baby herons and a set of 6 and a set of 10 goslings this spring. Gaggle right there.

And I do understand what you are saying about knowing what the future holds. Timetables like 3 to 6 months, or maybe a year, hardly seem meaningful guidance. Especially when you try to consider the needs of your family and your role at work.

Let me go with the obvious—too obvious, I guess, but. You need to take care of yourself before you can take care of others.

I suspect on that front—what waits ahead—there are two types of people. Those who want to see around the bend and the others, not so much. Of course, if you knew how your storyline would go, you would rethink some decisions. But the not knowing is the great democratic equalizer, and so we all do the best we can with what we can know in the here and now.

We shall see when we shall see. Trite, but true.

I saw the other day the temperature was scorching hot out there. Good grief!  Summer will be an inferno I reckon.

Stay cool, be well.

Yours,

srk