My folks are out of town and as I live on their property amongst the giant pecan trees, I offered to help out with the kitties and the garden. They are off to cruise from Iceland to Norway over the edge of the Arctic Circle and their days and nights probably aren’t getting warmer than about 40 or 50° every day. And here we are in Texas melting away in a sauna. This morning when I woke up, I checked the weather and it was 78°F but 90% humidity and this was before the sun even rose.
When mom and dad left on their trip, the plum tree on the property was so weighed down with little red globes of sweetness that it looked depressed and pregnant. The leaves were this beautiful, dark and golden green tone, every one of them unique and blended in color like a spoon through coffee and cream. After doing probably four or five batches myself of plum processing and making them into jellies and jams and juices, finally the tree is lifted up and unburdened.
It’s so lovely to be able to live so close to nature in such a tiny little space. When I wake in the mornings and the air inside the RV is chilly from the air conditioner running all night, I like to throw all the doors and windows and vents open to the dark of late night early morning cricket song. Except for this morning, when it felt like stepping out into an absolute sauna. And oh how I hate that I’m having to use an air conditioner to survive and not have an autistic meltdown from overstimulation.
And the continued hot flashes.
In the mornings when it’s still somewhat tolerable outside, I will brush off the mosquitoes that meet me at my door and step out barefoot in the grass that’s just a little bit too long and pick green beans under the sunrise and tuck cucumbers into the bowl beside them as the light lifts.
With the amount of rain that we’ve been having, which is very unusual for this part of Texas, the green beans and cucumbers and peppers and plums and pears and tomatoes almost outweigh us all.
Tomorrow, I am going to experiment with canning some sweet and spicy and perky pickles. Try saying that five times fast.
The kitties at mom‘s place are thrown off with not having their primary person and secondary person around full-time. The 18-year-old Twoey with the galaxy in his eyes sleeps out primarily on the screened in porch in the back under the trees cover. He has fans and protection from the coyotes that run along the side of the river at night. Dashing Dash has been sleeping in the spare room mostly leaving an outline of black hair where he naps on the bed. Demi the dingbat, she likes to lay in the same place every day in the main bedroom. Every time I go in to bother her I am reminded that I am invading a sacred space. For her, at least. Chip is an absolute pig and swine and won’t stop yelling at me the entire time I am in the house. He’s a food fiend and absolutely ridiculous. I toss laundry at him and pretend that I am angry, but it’s a game that he and I have learned to play together.
I can feel the house missing its people. Dad’s shop isn’t usually this quiet and it feels disconcerting to not see the doors open and shut every day. When he is gone, I think that I will be opening and shutting the doors just to keep it feeling alive.
Five more days and they’ll return, so I give the house a pay and let it know how many days it has to wait. I know it loves me considering its feelings and giving it updates.
Our homes have their own presence, you realize. And they miss us, as do our trees and the sequestered bedrock we live our lives on.
A Burd in Flight 