More spring rains have arrived, which makes us drought hardened Texans cautiously hopeful that the long, long drought is broken. Most of the trees we have planted survived because I assiduously watered them with expensive water company water, even though we planted drought resistant varieties.
But with great pleasure this morning, I set here with my coffee watching the sheets of water fall past my window. It messes with my plans to do some serious pruning of the trees along the front walk, but I am certain another day will appear to do it.
I have been receiving lots of invitations and suggestions to tour Israel, both from friends here and friends there. I wouldn’t have to pay housing fees, and could be driven in comfort from place to place. But some revolting afflictions of old age beset me, and Rusty is not going anywhere. My visit to Israel will be postponed until the day of the coronation of the king occurs. Rumor has it that a new, faster and more comfortable form of transportation will be available then as well.
So I am resigned to remain here in my adopted home state, civilizing a feral plot of buffalo grass and scrub oak. But that is OK .. it is just the way I planned it. A place that snows occasionally, but no one owns a snow blower, and the county doesn’t own a salt truck. The natives have never seen such implements. If God causes it to snow here, we let God remove it. But the curse side is mowing. In spring, we mow weekly. Five hours on a riding mower each week until the hot July suns make the grass grow dormant. Then we get a break until late September.
Not much else is happening on the homestead this day. It will be a long day of whimsically musing, ubiquitous coffee cup warming my fingers, and unfocused gazing out on the rain soaked verges of retirement haven.