Frostling

Any fruit or bud injured by the cold is a frostling. Nice word. D called, with the agriculture report, and we talked about greenhouse construction. In Mississippi I listened to the farmer's report on the radio in the morning while I had breakfast (I ate large breakfasts then), Marilyn would be out milking, and after Samara was born, I'd get her up and feed her milk her Mom had expressed for the occasion, and consider which of the chores I'd do first. More fencing, change some gates around, so that we could direct animals into certain places. Reclaiming an overgrown farm is an interesting project. We were bartering our excess for whatever we needed, and I was usually building a barn or a house for someone, to provide some cash. A satisfying and extremely physical life. I'd put on some oats to cook, in the little crock pot, and the house smelled wonderful; when I got up to pee, about 4 AM, I decided to have a bowl of the oats, with butter and maple syrup. A bit chilly, so I turn on my electric lap robe and settle in to watch the dawn. Basho:

Slowly spring
is taking shape:
moon and plum

In and out of town fairly quickly, and feeling a little flush, bought a couple of treats, pistachio nuts, some frozen egg-rolls that D had said were quite good, a bottle of zinfandel. Indulgence. Stopped at the pub for a pint and there was a new waitress. She was a bit bewildered that the entire staff knew me and stopped to chat. I caught enough ESPN, without sound, to see who was in the sweet sixteen. Took my leave and drove home the long way around. Coming up the creek, right now, is spectacular, all the various plants at slightly different stages of development. Small birds peck at the buds, to release the sugars, the bats are back. I stopped at the ford and drove back and forth through the shallow water to clean off the road-salt, a spring ritual. The ford is a beautiful place, a shelf of dark gray shale, that breaks into a couple of lovely water-falls down stream. The creek is wide and shallow, the banks are dense with undergrowth, I always stop, in the middle, and smoke a cigaret, just the sound of flowing water. The closer you listen, the more there is, bugs, birds, and the tail-end of a coal-train in Kentucky.