The Fourth Sunday in Lent

Salmon patties for supper, and it’s not even a Friday. Ah, deliciousity….

***

It was too frigid and windy to do much outside today, though I did prepare the beds for Mrs. Orr’s new roses. Not just any roses, but certified Tyler, Texas roses. And climbing roses, at that. Tonight it will frost, and then we’re supposed to have at least ten days of no-freeze, so I’ll try to get them planted tomorrow, and then I can cover the tender leaves. They’ll run up the side of the old goat shed if everything goes well.

I never could have thought I’d have to get out the San Angelo bar just to plant two scraggly rose bushes. Got my usual bushel of rocks in the process. When I was putting the bar away, a clump of straw from a bale in the corner had spilled into my path, so I kicked it hard to get it out of my way. Well, well…turns out that there was a cinderblock hiding in that clump of straw. I didn’t break my toe, but I sure hurt it. I told my wife that she’d probably have to yank it back into place if it turns out that I’ve jammed it.

“Well,” she said, wrinkling her nose, “I guess that’s the least of the disgusting things I’ll end up having to do.”

The silence after this remark was immense, as deep as Lake Baikal. Somewhere off in the distance, a coyote yipped.

***

Mrs. Orr, for all her cruelty and indifference to my hurting hallux, did me a great kindness this week by finding and ordering me a copy of a new biography of one of my favorite writers, Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings. The bio is The Life She Wished To Live by Ann McCutchan. It looks very good and I’m so grateful for it. Interestingly, this book arrived on Friday, and the next day, we went to donate some furniture to Habitat For Humanity and browsed in their store while we were there. I found a pristine copy of Rawlings’ Cross Creek (not to be confused with the 1983 movie starring Mary Steenbergen, Peter Coyote, and Rip Torn, which I enjoyed very much) and bought it for 25 cents. I have three or four copies of this book, but wanted to send this nice edition to my sister, along with copies of Merton’s The Seven Storey Mountain, and Anne Morrow Lindbergh’s Gift From The Sea. I’ve been saving all of these to send to her since we went to the library book sale earlier this month. What nicer gift could be received than a package of books someone picked with love?

I love that cover photo of the Rawlings bio, incidentally. Gaze at it and you can hear the frogs singing down in the marsh, and you can feel the sweat-slicked typewriter keys beneath her fingers and smell the bourbon on Miz Rawlin’s breath.

***

I listened to a lot of music last night while my wife and the puppydogs drowsed in the shadowy room. Some of my selections were:

Elizabeth, by the magnificent Jimmy Fortune, which always immerses me in the pure South. His daughter’s harmony is reminiscent of Patti Loveless’s.

The often maligned and always underestimated John Denver. One of those rare folks who sounded as good live as he did on an album. This was from Japan in 1981.

The Civil Wars, who are now broken up, but who remain one of my favorite duos of all time.

A good one by First Aid Kit, a pair of sisters from Sweden. Here’s the other great one of theirs.

I generally don’t like the tiresome neohippie Sarah MacLachlan, but this one is a very good arrangement. See also her Rainbow Connection, the best version out there.

I always liked Alanis, even when everyone else was making fun of her. Yes, she does have a face like a horse, but the rough talent is undeniable.

The Boxer….best version I’ve ever heard, and so there.

Tyler Childress….a great lyricist.

Mark Knopfler, one of the most gifted musicians alive.

Tom Jones, whom I idolized as a little boy. He hasn’t lost one iota of his magnificent Welsh hammer on a Celtic anvil of a voice.

The melancholy best of Mary Chapin Carpenter.

And finally, the inestimable Gillian Welch.

***

I said my morning prayers today while looking at something that never ceases to seem miraculous to me. Just a few days ago, I was puttering around in the yard and looking at the various plants and shrubs which were still winter-dormant. I specifically examined the limelight hydrangeas on the side of the house and the snowball bush around back. Both were a mere collection of bare sticks without the first sign of green or life.

But this morning, both plants had been resurrected. Along the branches of each, tiny green dots showed where new leaves will be erupting soon. And a little packet of bees had fought their way out and were tenoring and altoing through the chilled sunshine to visit what rising blossoms they could find. A few hours earlier, at a feed store, we had caressed the tops of three baby goats’ heads, feeling their horn buds and listening to their insistent, babylike “Maaaa’s” while they peed all over the clean concrete floor. And I laughed, laughed hard. I hope not to be trite or tiresome here, but there is so much to be learned and so much encouragement to be gleaned from the cycles of nature. What was it Dylan Thomas wrote? “Hail to His beasthood!”

~ S.K. Orr

2 Comments

James

March 28, 2022 at 12:01 pm

Every season has high and low points but I have an extra and equal appreciation for Spring and Fall. They make a fantastic change and great recovery from winter cold and summer heat.

Last week we got what I hope was our last dusting of snow for the season. I don’t mind the snow but we need the rain much more. From our ridge up here everywhere you look is either Sage with a Juniper thrown in here and there, or dryland wheat. Farmers took a whale of a beating last year.
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  March 28, 2022 at 9:20 pm
  
  Good to hear from you, James. We got snow two weeks ago on the weekend, and though we’ve had a few mild days since then, it’s still quite cold here. The wind has been particularly savage. In this area, the last frost usually doesn’t come until mid-May, so we have a bit more to go before it stays warm. I know I’ll grumble when sweat is running into my eyes, while doing chores, but I’m hoping that I can remember what this bitter arthritic blade feels like when it’s sunk in up to the hilt and twisted roughly. More than anything, I just hope to be grateful for the various beauties of every season, because each one has it’s full share.
  
  I hope the farmers have a better year this year. Gonna be interesting to see how all this stuff going on in the world affects our food supply.

2 Comments

James

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