After a day accomplishing many things, it was wonderful to rest my chin in my hands in the silence that settles over the house when all three girls are in bed. I'd just left Merry and Elspeth in clean sheets, their noses in books and lamplight flooding their freshly showered faces. Bea had shown me her last trick for the evening ("I do it for the Show," she promises me every night, arching her back). Martin was outside mowing in the last of the daylight, and I hunched over my desk at the second floor window and studied the garden. Sky blue spires of lupines rose next to glowing dark plum trees; spiky purple alliums popped by the budding tea roses. How long will it take until our pears and apples bear? How big will the oak and maple trees grow, and what will they hide with their dense leaves? When they are so huge I can barely remember when I planted them, where will Elspeth, Bea and Merry be? Far away, I'll warrant, if their independence is any indication. And good adventures I wish to them, too!
Take courage, heart: the weeds will always be with us. Did I mention the weeds? So many, many weeds, growing in profusion after endless rain.
Still, I'll not be twisted over some crab grass; soon I'll be out there armed with piles of newspaper and shovels full of mulch.
And now I've got to beat Martin to the shower.
Sunday, May 15, 2011
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