I decided to walk to the grocery one day this week. I only needed romaine lettuce and the grocery is only 3 blocks from my house. Two long blocks and one short one. It was a great afternoon for a walk. I dug through a bit of shoe debris and found my good walking shoes, untouched since roaming around last summer. One does not roam around usually in Kentucky winters, though this year I could have a time or two. Anyway, I tied my shoes, grabbed two fives and my iPhone, and away I went.
I got to the end of the first block, the short one, and there was the entrance to our little city park. It's lovely in summer, all natural with a stream running through this eastern edge of it. The sun was shining and the children were all in school; I would have the park all to myself. I could almost see the main street a mile away at the other end of the walking trail. It was so clear.
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It was much longer to walk through the park than to walk the three blocks.
Those voices in my head again:
"I'll walk through the park to the grocery."
"It's a little more than a mile."
"I can walk a mile, no problem."
"Oh but . . . can you walk another mile back?"
"Dare me."
"You haven't walked all winter."
"But I'm never still, I move all the time."
"Remember your age."
"Oh good grief. I've walked it before and lettuce weighs nothing. I'm walking through the park and that's that."
I'm so glad I won that argument!
I chose to walk through the park. It was a most gorgeously beautiful day and the first time in years that I'd taken a spur of the moment walk. The park's full of old trees, the kinds that seem to have a story to tell. It was built in what used to be an old overgrown field where mice and rabbits played among the roots and squirrels and birds danced overhead flitting from limb to limb. Now it's frequented by walkers and soccer teams and concerts on special occasions. I think the rabbits and mice and squirrels moved to my back yard. But the birds still reside in the park.
The roots and nooks and crannies of full grown trees in winter give them personality, much like a bunch of little old ladies standing around gossiping in their every day dresses and aprons with pockets, waiting for spring when they can dress again in their green finery. I especially love the oaks, they remind me of an essay by D. Everett in The Columbian Orator, 1797: "Large streams from little fountains flow. Tall oaks from little acorns grow."
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There are walking bridges across the stream, and foot traffic combines with a bit of vehicle traffic near the parking lot. When I get here, I know I've walked about a mile.
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It's a memorial park, and in memory of those who contributed much to the growth of this tiny town, benches and lovely seating areas have been placed in their honor. These pictures are not the very best but my camera didn't take the walk with me, only my phone. I hadn't planned to walk through the park anyway. Thankfully, the old lady who lives inside me, grumbling at every move I make, never said a word once I started my walk. She groaned a little when we got to the hill that led out of the park and on to the grocery. She might have been a little tired; it's been a long time since we climbed mountains. In the grocery I found my romaine lettuce then made my way downhill and back to the park.
The sun was in my eyes on the homeward trip, making the stream shine like a silver ribbon at Christmas. But across the foot bridge and on to the walking path again, I ran into my favorites, a little cluster of river birch, marking another seating area. Beautiful texture in the late afternoon sunlight.
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Roots like old gnarly arms reached downhill for the stream and the sycamores reached their white naked arms for the sunny skies above them. I noticed the oaks still haven't shed their leaves of last summer.
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I'm not sure why I was so fascinated with roots that day, but my eyes were drawn to their shapes, the curve of their lines, the crevices they created. The moss and lichens were interesting too; I don't always spend much time looking at them, I'm usually engrossed in blooms. But the sun was in my eyes and I was looking down. Finally I found them, tiny flowers smaller than my smallest fingernail and ranging from white to lavender to sky blue. I'm not sure what they are but looking at them and their green foliage seems familiar. At first they reminded me of blue eyed grass in bloom, but looking closely I see they aren't. Still there's something about them, something from my past. A shadowed memory.
Across the stream there are daffs blooming. I wonder if someone tossed them there, they seem too random to have been planted.
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I'm at the end of the walking trail now; my house is just around the next corner.
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It's interesting that the first thing I see in my yard is a bright yellow dandelion glowing in the western sun. For once in my life I just laugh at it. Let it bloom, it's just about the only thing around here that's showing color!
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The yellow maple in the front yard is full of buds, a good sign of things to come. The bunnies stay in their little spot in my yard year round, watching over things, guarding the vinca and yucca they hide in, knowing full well that vinca will be gone in a few weeks. I only keep it around in winter because I need to see green occasionally.
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Around the corner of that same brick arch where the bunnies sit guard, the vinca is blooming. It's been blooming since the first of February, a little early even for Kentucky. That's another reason I keep the vinca around during winter, it's always my earliest bloom.
"You're wrong. You know the dandelions have been in bloom for weeks now."
"Dandelions don't count."
"They do count. They're plants, too, even better, they're edible. They have a purpose a lot more important than vinca. Why I remember a time when they was the first greens of spring and I picked me a mess of them greens and heated up a little bacon grease and . . ."
"Don't start. I've already heard that story and I don't want to hear it again."
"'Twarnt a story, little 'un. It's just the way we lived back then. Remember?"
"I reckon I'll always remember. You're still rumbling around in my head, Aunt Bett, how could I ever forget? Now would you please tell me what that little tiny blue flower is?"
Stubborn little woman Aunt Bett was. Still is. Once she taught me about a plant she expected me to remember it forever. I just can't for the life of me remember the name of that little blue flower.
"Chickweed, maybe?"
I'm not sure if that was her voice or my own.
Life sometimes is confusing.
Most of my arguments are with myself.
I suddenly caught sight of green through the murk of my back windows this morning. The thermometer on my tiny front stoop said it was 29 degrees, too cold to check out those little blobs of green out back. That was early this morning.
'You won't go out until it's at least 40,' I told myself.
'I'll go out when I'm ready,' I argued back.
'Don't even think about raking.'
'Rake. Rake. Rake.'
About an hour ago, without checking the temp, I took the trash out, camera in hand.
'Too cold to be taking pictures.'
'I'll use the zoom.'
Now every leaf that was left on anybody's tree in the entire neighborhood blows down the little hill and into my yard. Every single winter. I have a fine time raking every spring, though I usually wait till the end of March. It's been very windy this entire January. So windy in fact that I think I also have leaves from Oklahoma and Texas covering my flower beds. Leaves that I don't even recognize are all over my daylilies. And irises. Roses. Etc.
'Don't think about the rake.'
'It's 45 degrees.'
'Tomorrow could easily be 10 degrees. Do NOT rake. It's Kentucky for cryin' out loud!'
'OK! Enough already. I'll just take pictures.'
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Spiderwort. Roses. Coral bells. Daffs. Mint. Daylilies. Irises. They are all up, for goodness sakes!
'It's January. They need the leaf cover.'
'Yeah.'
'So do NOT touch the rake!'
'I need to prune those roses.'
'You shoulda done that last fall.
'Winter sneaked up on me.'
'Do NOT touch the pruners.'
I love it when I get the last word. The rake is still parked in the garage. So are the pruners.
But the day is not yet over.
I got up this morning feeling a little sorry for myself just as I do every January. Not a thing different about that. It's blah for about as far as my eye can see out my huge expanse of back windows facing south west. There's no color unless you count the bright orange sweat shirt of the kid who just stepped out of his front door across the street.
He's no kid, but younger than I am. Everybody's younger than I am. But he just works weird hours and goes to the park to play basketball for exercise most mornings.
In 34 degree weather?
Yep, every single morning; better him than me.
So he's gone now and I'm back to blah. It's always like that, here it is only the 20th and seems to me January has already lasted at least about 50 days. I don't really like this month. It's like that danged creaky step. You have to get past it if you want to get anywhere, like maybe to February.
These windows need washing. It rained sometime or other; it rained sideways and muck landed on my windows. Happens every January then I can't see out and if I can see out around the muck, it's just a dull blah of mismatched browns.
I can see parts of 5 houses from here. Even the red brick is dull and brown with brown roofs and tan trim and no grass to speak of; what grass I see is all fairly brown, too.
On the other hand there's my baby magnolia. Bloomed for the first time last spring. I can see it very well from my computer. I planted it right there, several feet away from my deck just so I could watch it grow. Started it from seed. Everybody said it wouldn't grow, magnolias don't start well from seed here in this climate. I never did listen much to what others said.
Well it grew and grew and now is maybe about 10 or 12 feet tall. It's the only green I see out there. Between it and me there is a fence post that holds my blue bird house. The bluebirds have raised many families in that house. I've watched every one of them. Then a year or so ago the little wrens decided to take it over. Not that they wanted it, they just didn't want anybody else to have it. Like a lot of people. So I've had a time trying to shoo them away.
A week or so ago it was cold and raining sideways and the birds needed food, but I had run out of bird seed so I whipped up some peanut butter oatmeal random seed concoction and ran out in the sideways rain. I thumbtacked a plastic lid right on top of the blue bird house and spread that concoction all over it. I don't know why I did that, just seemed right at the time.
So this morning while I was in my January doldrums, I had a visitor. No, I had two visitors. Heh. Doesn't take much to cheer me up.
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Doesn't take much to entertain me either.
We had a lovely sunset last night. I think I might make it till February. Maybe.
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I've never had so much pink as I've had this winter. Even in summer I hardly have any pink blooms. But for my birthday this year I received several Amaryllis bulbs. I planted them November 21, it was a pretty Monday, a good day for planting bulbs. They started blooming quickly and I had whites first, then white with a pink edge, then by December another white and another pink, a couple of reds. Lots of blooms!
They say it's good to save the best for last and somehow that's what happened. Not that I planned it, the Amaryllis did. I had not a bit of control. But today has been a beautiful day for January. It was about 60 degrees of brilliant sunshine. So I took my last Amaryllis blooms outside on the deck for an hour in the sun. They seem to be pinker than ever now.
It's been a really good winter for pink Amaryllis, particularly those named Candy Floss.
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It's the end of another year. I wonder if there are things I left undone.
Did I clear my footprints from the days that I ran through, did I leave unnecessary debris behind?
Did I bruise someone with my anger, a harsh word thrown to the wind?
Did I ignore someone who needed me?
Did I fret too much about things I could not change, did I stress over little nothings that made no difference anyway?
Did I do the best I could do with what I've been given?
Did I step aside and allow others attention?
Did I only forgive when I should also have forgotten?
Did I withhold a smile when it could have eased a burden?
Did I worry too much when the floods were around me, instead of being thankful for the rainbow that followed?
Did I stop and smell the roses?
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Did I dance in the sunshine?
Did I smile in the moonlight?
Did I tell my friends how much I care?
Did I take only one when there were two?
Did I leave enough behind for others?
And did I care enough?
I hope I did. I believe I did.
And if I didn't, then I believe that's why we are given tomorrow.
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