Here it is Mother’s Day, and I must say it’s been emotionally challenging today. This is my first one without a mother. Grief has some interesting twists and turns. However, everything seems right in the world for the moment. We had a lovely rain last evening and full-on beautiful sun and sky for the Sunday festivities. Son Reuben and grandson Christian gave me several hours of brawn. There is always something heavy to move around at my place. I’ve finally accepted the limitations of this aging body and no longer try to do it myself. Also, I’m sick of spending a fortune at the chiropractor.
Just like last week, May is busting out all over this week.
The bleeding hearts at Fiddlehead Farm are head-turners in North Tisbury. The red buds at the old Humphrey’s place are coming into their own at the end of North Road. Wisteria is beginning to bloom everywhere and I picked an enormous bouquet of lilacs for the house.
On Friday morning at 9 a.m. I was coming onto Water street in Edgartown just in time to hear the Federated Church chime the hour and then favor everyone with all the verses to Come, Thou Almighty King, an Italian hymn by an anonymous author and music by Felice de Giardini. You lucky few who live in the neighborhood!
Allow me a tiny bit of bragging rights. I transplanted some teensy lettuce seedlings from a garden bed into an unheated hoop house in November or December. They stayed alive and gave me a few tiny leaves for winter salads. Then this spring, they took off and formed beautiful, buttery heads easily bigger than softballs. I’m justifiably proud, although the whole thing was completely serendipitous and a big surprise.
I shall forever withhold judgment on fellow gardeners. I’m ashamed to admit that I just pulled the rest of the Christmas “greens” from one of my window boxes. How I have the nerve to still call them greens is beyond me. Life can get away from me so easily.
Violet and I attended the A.A. Milne story The Man in the Bowler Hat at the Grange Hall on Saturday night. We thoroughly enjoyed the production. The players were fabulous. Taffy McCarthy did a stellar job directing as usual. We laughed until our sides hurt.
We came home in the pouring rain to find the hen house door blown shut before all had gone inside to roost. In the pitch dark we located several very wet birds. Chickens think they’re dead at night and are very easy to catch but it was quite a task in our decent clothing worn for a night on the town.
We missed the rooster who was wandering around the next morning very wet and annoyed. I believe he began crowing under my window before 4 a.m.
We have some very large willow logs from a tree cut early this spring. The logs are cut into 18-inch lengths and almost a foot in diameter. They have all begun sprouting out of their bark-covered sides. Some of the sprouts are over a foot long. I suppose a few willow twigs could be put into water and the willow would act like a rooting agent for some other species.
Anyone who has a willow near a septic system or house foundation knows how problematic they can be.
Then, of course, we still have the giant ones obstructing the view of beautiful Lake Tashmoo. No one can deny how lovely they are but they do not belong there hindering the general public from seeing the ocean at the only location between Vineyard Haven and Menemsha.
Let’s move right along from a local political interest to the special election in South Carolina. As I’ve mentioned previously, we northerners live in an alternate universe from our neighbors to the south. Mark Sanford won the election regardless of trespassing charges at his ex-wife’s home. He claimed he wanted to spend time with his son. He could have done that in lieu of clandestine visits to Argentina with taxpayer money.
Please do not misunderstand me. I have no interest in a politician’s personal life when consenting adults are involved. Wasn’t he involved in the House resolution to impeach Bill Clinton for his behavior in the 90s? Who knew a walk on the Appalachian Trail could lead directly up the capitol steps into the U.S. Congress. Perhaps I should give it a go? Perish the thought!