On Mother’s Day eve

Last evening, driving home from a dinner with the Daughter Person, Son-In-Law, and Granddaughter, we saw one of the strangest sights. Perched on the crossbars of several power poles at one of the solar farms were five or six large birds. I just caught a glimpse as we drove past so I turned the Jeep around and we went back for a closer look. The birds were turkey vultures. Perhaps traffic, prior to our arrival, had driven them to their perches instead of allowing them to feed on the carcass of the dead deer at roadside. Personally, I prefer to see the vultures at a distance, soaring gracefully on thermals. Up close and personal, so to speak, they’re reminiscent of the darker tales from the Brothers Grimm.

A far more pleasant site than perched vultures were almost hidden clusters of white trout lilies, and some as yet unidentified flowers, we saw on the way to last night's dinner. Once again I was slowly driving a gravel road and the Better Half had me stop to take a look at some small flowers along the ditch on the west side of the road. I’m still working on what they are. The trout lilies were farther north on the same side of the road. On the east side the ditch is deeper, flowing with water and brightened by marsh marigolds. (I hope it’s becoming evident why I prefer driving gravel roads. Have you ever noticed a trout lily as you exceeded the speed limit on a state or interstate highway?)

trillium at Mother’s Day

Photo by J. Harrington

Father back in the east side woods trilliums bloomed. The combination of wildflowers, flowering bushed and trees, lilacs are just beginning to come on, and the rapidly growing green leaves and grasses make me think of the joy that new life often brings, especially when its in the form of infants, puppies, kittens or lambs. That brings us toward the closed of today and a wish that all of you, and everyone born of a mother, has a wonderful Mother’s Day tomorrow. That includes Mother Trees, too!

To a Child

By Sophie Jewett

The leaves talked in the twilight, dear;

   Hearken the tale they told:

How in some far-off place and year,

   Before the world grew old,

I was a dreaming forest tree,

   You were a wild, sweet bird

Who sheltered at the heart of me

   Because the north wind stirred;

How, when the chiding gale was still,

   When peace fell soft on fear,

You stayed one golden hour to fill

   My dream with singing, dear.

To-night the self-same songs are sung

   The first green forest heard;

My heart and the gray world grow young—

   To shelter you, my bird.

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