Don't Forget to Remember

Day broke between six and seven. Here on the land, songbirds of the morning filled the garden with their greetings, while all around my barn home crows caw-caw-cawed the sun’s intent. The eastern sky moved from pink to grey to a pale, pale blue, signaling another gardening day. Oh, if only my aching back were as willing as this February that is eagerly reaching toward spring.

A “norther” made its way through mid morning, bringing brief but welcome rain to a dry landscape, and strong winds, which will quickly rob the ground of the surface moisture that fell for at most 30 minutes. According to some weather readers, we are in a La Nina weather pattern that has settled over the central Pacific Ocean, bringing with it the likelihood of below normal rainfall and above normal temperatures. Over the past few months drought conditions have widened around central Texas. Growing up, I heard the expression, “March, in like a lion, out like a lamb,” or the reverse. The lion has begun stalking February for the last two years.

The roses are pruned. In an effort to simplify this garden, I’ve taken down to the ground most of the vines that have owned much of the wire fencing. Jasmine and honeysuckle are gone—at least for now—revealing inside to outside. While taking a rest from industry a couple of days ago, I noticed a female cardinal making her way into a hedge that I had partially hacked away from near the front gate, and though I winced at the impact of sanctuary undone, my need to make things less complicated—unlike my life—could not yield to the imagined needs of any bird.

The ground is littered heavily with clippings. For now, my complaining back says no to bending over. If I am fortunate, the guy who has hired on to help me clear away the effects of winter and my absenteeism will return. The morning rain forced him back to town, to his wife and two babies. In his mind, maybe today is a wash, as they say. Maybe this cold, March wind in February and the thought of wrestling wet debris has encouraged him to wait for tomorrow, no matter it is Sunday, the day of rest. The only work happening around here now belongs to the wind chimes, suspended from branches and from the rafters of the shed on the far side of the garden. Grace Notes, the big ones are called. Just inside the edge of the open shed, a water feature quietly spills onto itself. “Grace,” it says, “Don’t forget to remember.”

Don’t Forget to Remember—Normangee, Texas (February 21, 2009)
R. Harold Hollis