Early Morning

 

Early in the morning, when all is quiet and the sounds are just beginning. Out in the garden, the sounds of the bees in the pumpkins. The singing of the mockingbirds. The screech of the jays. All of it speaks of a peace that draws me and the feel of the dirt under my feet. Still cold from morning. Today, will be a hot day. The morning glories have already closed up for the day. The sun shining its golden rays over the mountains. I was taking pictures as the sun came up and I captured the first ray on my sunflower.

Time began in a garden. I know why it did. In a garden, you can see time change faster than that day to things that keep me so busy I don't notice. In the garden, already the sunflowers are tired. The pumpkins are showing the signs from the heat that beats down on them day after day. The leaves are turning yellow, and the stalks are starting to dry. Already, my thoughts are moving on to planting for the next spring. I have always wanted sweet peas, and I have decided that this year, I will make a place for them to grow.

 

The gourds have gone completely crazy. We counted 20 cantaloupes in there yesterday. I don't try to count gourds. When I was a kid, and in the summer I lived on horseback. We would ride as far as we could in those days. There was a place that in the summer gourds would grow wild. Then when winter came we would ride back and they would be dry. For some odd reason, we thought it was the best fun to have our horses step on the gourds, because they made the nicest popping sounds. Looking at this yesterday, it reminded me of the simple things that give joy.

I had to show you these pumpkins. They are starting to get their warts. I planted them because they are called warty pumpkins. I am so glad they will be that kind.

Another thing we did in the summer was we would ride to this place. These people must have had hundreds and hundreds of pigs. We could smell them before we could see them. We would sit on our horses and watch the melee of these pigs in the huge fenced area. We would laugh and just watch. I don't know why it gave us such a thrill. The people who owned the pigs, never paid us much attention. I kept telling my Dad about them and finally talked him into getting on a horse and coming with us. We rode over and we got to the place and we were sitting there just laughing watching the pigs and my Dad looking at us like we were crazy, because he couldn't see anything funny. The man came out that owned the pigs, and said hi to my Dad and called him by name. We sat there with our mouths hanging open. Dad knew that man? How could Dad know that man who owned all of those pigs?
They chatted for awhile. Come to find out the man would pick up the produce trimmings from Dad's grocery stores and that was what he was feeding his pigs. They laughed about it. Dad introduced us and apologized for us sitting there laughing at the mans pigs. The man was very gracious, and said we could come anytime.

That place lost its fascination for us after that. We just never went back. There are houses built there now. I always wonder if the people who live there ever smell pigs when they work in the yard.

Summer brings back memories. It must be the heat and how time just slows down. Gone are the dirt roads and the cotton fields. There are no more sounds of the frogs at night. Just the sound of the cars traveling on their ways. I find sometimes even now, the memories come in and become more real that the things that remain now.

Have a lovely Sunday.
~Kim~

 

The night wind with the big dark curves of the night sky in it, the night wind gets inside of me
and understands all my secrets.

---The White Horse Girl and the Blue Wind Boy,"
---Rootabaga Stories, Carl Sandburg, 1922