Around 3 a.m. there was a sound I couldn’t place. I listened for some time before guessing the low hum was rain on the roof. Sure enough, this morning when I looked out the window as soon as I got out of bed (as always; doesn’t everyone?), the garden soil was dark. I took my coffee onto the step, also wet. We needed rain badly and this wasn’t enough, but I’m grateful for it nevertheless. Of course I’d watered the flowers and front lawn yesterday evening for more than two hours.
It’s only 8:30 and I’m inside for a second cuppa after sitting out there under the grey sky for the past half-hour. A little chicken lady — a ruffed grouse — came out of the row of lilacs and made her way hesitatingly toward the house, stretching her neck out in lightning grabs of dandelion flowers within her reach and gobbling them down in an instant. First time I’ve seen that. Then she did a roadrunner’s dash across the lawn and disappeared around the corner of the porch.
I meant to go for a bike ride last night but Duckie thought we were going for a walk and was so desperately excited I couldn’t disappoint him by leaving him behind. My bike would leave him in the dust, vulnerable to predators like fox and coyote. (A friend’s small dog, a Yorkie, was let out to pee early one morning and was attacked right in the yard by a coyote; he was rescued but had to be euthanized). So we walked instead and Duckie Doodle chased off two deer that were loitering near the end of the driveway. They disappeared into the trees and no amount of peering through the trunks and leaves could bring them into sight again. Amazing how wildlife can vanish like that.
Speaking of vanishing wildlife . . .
That was yesterday. He planned to leave early this morning for Saskatoon and, after seeing family there, to make stops with friends in North Battleford and Cranbrook on his way back to Kelowna.
I don’t know how we manage to find things to converse about for the three hours at a time that he usually visits me. He sits at the kitchen table; so do I, and I putz about making our lunch or doing dishes. Somehow we come up with the words! He’s been over about four times in the week he’s been here, so I can’t complain of not getting my fair share. He has plenty of friends and family to call upon before he feels he’s done what he came to do.
The above is a pretty good picture of me ol’ da! I’ll have to send it to him for the rarity it is; we both lamented — laughing, of course — our way of looking like hell in every photo we’re in. But he struck a pose for me upon request.
Mary, I’m not such a Good Samaritan as it might appear. I was asked by a friend, in passing at the credit union, if I’d volunteer for the food bank — something I hadn’t done before, though certainly could’ve and quite possibly should’ve. When directly asked for help, you help if you can. I don’t want to attend meetings (I went to one to get an idea what they needed from me, and it was a pleasure to be among women talking and laughing and planning) or distribution nights (though this is where you’ll “feel the love,” they tell me) or fundraisers; I’m selfish with my time and I accept that. So I do what I can from home and, considering my interest in web design, this is a natural fit. The local food bank was started and is run by a small group of about six women who lead busy lives, and they deserve all the credit.
Last night Joan sent me a photo of a couple paintings she’s been working on during a class in oils. I immediately fell in love with one and put dibs on it. “It’s yours!” she said.