Pitter-Patter

My brother, sod-hay-soon-to-be-grape-farmer extraordinaire once told me,

“All the old-timers have it right, Sis.   It always rains about 10 seconds before it’s too late.”

Nothing is lost, here, not really – My irrigation lines from last year still lie in the shed – – the new parts I ordered in April for this year’s expansion area plan still lie on the Ironing Board in the package that was shipped to me – – I finally opened it and made sure I got what I ordered – as if I could remember that far back what the heck parts I thought I needed – –

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Perennials have been watered when their wilted leaves greet me of an afternoon – I walk among them, look at the sky and say, okay – probably not a good idea to wait for Mother Nature to take care of it today – – – I admit, I got spoiled by our wet (for us), cool (for us) June – –

I’ve hand watered a total of 4 times since April – – Mother Nature has blessed us this year and we weren’t into burn bans and yellow prairie by June 2nd – –

Lest you think me lazy or irresponsible, Mother Nature has been informed of my experimental personality – It’s not that I particularly like killing plants on purpose, but I’m trying hard to surround myself with those who like living where I do – who can roll with the punches life delivers and come up fighting – –

If I can blog from the Great Beyond, I’ll let you know if this life choice was understood and deemed okay – or if I was condemned for all eternity by my callous disregard for life.

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Tonight, I realized – one more day and I’ll need to water – -sighing, I berated myself for not taking time to get my micro-irrigation system back online – that snazzy system that allows me to turn on the hydrant, walk around every 30 minutes or so, switching zones, and then – done, for another week – –

A sound lurks – – I turn down the Season 1 episode of Rocky & Bullwinkle that I’m relaxing to, as I drink a glass of wine and contemplate website functionalities, irrigation systems and why I’m such a procrastinator….

Oh – the sound – yes, it wasn’t the fan – – – or the freezer – – – But it must be tracked down, because since the stroke, if I hear a sound I can’t identify, I go quietly insane….

And then, I open the back door – – – and lean against the jamb, watching the gentle washing, cooling, hydrating power of the sky – quietly, I murmur ….

“Thank you, Mother.   You’re always just in Time and I’m so grateful for your Generosity.  As are my plants –  the ones I planted, but  entrust to your wisdom…”