Wind.
Growing up on the plains
It has just been a part of my life.
My father always said that his mother,
A woman who kept house during the dust bowl
Putting wet towels around doors and windows,
Understood that wind was important to staying cool
In the summer.
And she never cursed it.
Rogers and Hammerstein even wrote it into
What would become our state song.
You know
“Where the wind comes sweeping down the plains.”
I’ve always tried not to complain about the wind.
But these past few days have really tried my resolve.
The wind has been howling off and on.
One day it’s an unusually hot wind out of the south.
Then it turns on a dime and gives us a mid-April frigid north blast
Leveling my tulips for the third time.
With wind in the forecast for last Friday
I was fearful we might have to cancel a long planned fun morning
Of Debra and her camera in my garden.
But on Thursday she called to say she was coming.
Period.
Luckily my garden is somewhat protected
With old trees and a two story house
Covering it from the south and north.
It was still pretty
Shall we say breezy
When Debra arrived Friday morning.
For the photographer in Debra
My backyard is something akin
To a village of bouncy houses
For a three year old.
She just doesn’t know what to jump on first.
The parrot tulips in the pots on the patio
Drew her in
And the clicking began.
But the wind was wanting to play as well.
Some of the pictures were clear
Others blurred
And some take your breath away.
It did not detour her
Finally declaring she would just wait
“The wind will die down…it always does.?
She moved from parrot tulips
To the more protected Hellebores
To the tulip lined path
leading to the garden house.
The light and the wind
Dancing around.
Creating opportunities
And problems.
All of which were joyfully accepted.
Her patience paid off.
As you can see by the results
I’m sharing here.
This reminded me of my grandmother.
Accepting what she couldn’t change.
Finding the good in what some would consider bad.
And just simply making the best of what you are given.
Some might call it Pollyannish.
Others perseverance
I call it grace.
Gail
In My Garden 