Ten Years Later

My father died ten years ago on April 23rd 2011. Yes, I have been watching over your wife best as I know how. Hopefully I am a bit less grouchy about it than you would be. Like father like son.

 

The house you built for me stands strong. I have a crooked shed to go along with my crooked stoop now. Stuff accumulates.

A verdant garden grows. Yours is even bigger and tidier than it used to be. Found seedlings have grown to become small trees. The spring bulbs have multiplied exponentially.

Death has been chatting at me all month. When it is my time I wouldn't mind it happening, like you, in the midst of one last beautiful spring, a time of rebirth.

I am old now. Your wife is 93. My body is doing all manner of odd things these days. Last night I had a major case of the vapors, an intense dizzy spell that lasted a couple hours after a nice walk in the garden. Checked my pressure and it was good. There is a lot of pollen in the air and an unusual amount of smoke from fires in places unknown that may be the cause. I remember an intense case of the vapors a couple springs ago about this time. I had to come home from work and lay down.

As Sister #2 likes to say, as we get older none of our processes work as efficiently as the used to. My processes are losing their efficiency and I have been spoiled by a lifetime of a well functioning system.

It's been ten years. I think it is time for a fresh coat of paint on the cozy cabin we built. Now to find the energy for that.

Life along the scenic byway rolls on. If you thought the roaring thunder of motorcycles was bad back then, you should hear them now. The Rattler has become a destination ride and the touring season lasts about ten months of the year instead of being a phenomena primarily of high summer.

I have been doing my part to make things scenic.

People point, gawk and slow down to look at the house we built.

When the grasses get cut down in early spring there is a pretty open temporary view.

The roadside vegetable garden has been keeping your wife well supplied with tomatoes all these years. The cucumbers have been more problematic. We get some. Never enough.

I don't think you were still with us when a red bicycle flew up into the forest trees. I think it would make you smile or groan or both or one of the two.

It is spring again in an abundant garden and I am home where I am meant to be, living a life outside.

When it is my time,

The garden is ready for the remains of me.