While drinking coffee this morning, my mind rambled back to the summer. I logged on to my computer searching for photos of the summer of 2015. Photos are the proof of my memories. I look at them and I remember the day or event. If my home caught fire, the two things I would grab would be my photos and Tommy's love letters. Both of those items are things I could never replace. He doesn't remember half of what he wrote--but I do and that is what matters to me.
Summer took its time arriving. June was the wettest month we have had in recorded history. As far as temperatures went, we never reached 100 degrees. Unofficially, at my house we did three times. Several times during the summer we had lows in the 50's. Tommy and I did not fish as much as we usually do. The days were often too humid. When we did go, we fished Little Dixie. I love that place. We seldom caught anything worth keeping but the view was delightful, the coffee good and the company even better.
We spent as much time strolling the trails in Little Dixie as we did fishing. The lake is 205 acres. It is nestled in the midst of 733 acres. Nature trails, both man made and animal, are everywhere. Each new view is in competition with the last view seen.
On any given day we could be found driving the back roads of Callaway County, especially around sunset. An old gravel road is a moment in life waiting to be photographed. Old broken down barns and homes have a hidden history. Stories few people know or care about. Often Tommy and I make up our own version of what we saw. One old house was ready to fall down. It was still hanging on, fighting weather and decay; but loosing the battle each year that passed. I fell in love with that old memory. Someone took great care in the structure of their home. Later we learned its story. At one time it was a huge two story home, with a winding stairway and a veranda almost as large as my home. The couple who built the home had 22 children between the two---his, hers and theirs. I can't imagine raising 22 children. That is a lot of people to care for, feed, clothe and love. I had 3 beautiful daughters... our greatest treasures. I swear there were times it felt like I had twice that many children -- I never corralled the hidden three kids to confirm that suspicion.
Every year I spend a small fortune on flowers for each season. I am in the midst of building perennial beds that no longer need to be planted year after year. Honestly, I am tired of all the work that goes with keeping flowers beautiful. I am delegating this job to Mother Nature. I think she will do a better job than I usually do. While driving the back roads, some of the prettiest flowers I have seen all summer are perennial wild flowers; growing here and there, keeping company with cows and buzzards. When I was a little girl, I used to say,' God made wild flowers for poor people.' Every time I said something along that line, Mama thought I was about to die.
Tommy and I will probably go to the river late this afternoon. Perhaps we will eat supper at our favorite bar and grill. I am still in pursuit of buzzards. I missed many photo shots, that begged to be taken, because I forgot my camera. I am not giving up. I still have time to get a few good photos. Tommy teases me about my fascination with buzzards this year. It is true, the buzzards are trapped in my imagination. In one missed shot, a dead tree was filled with close to twenty buzzards. It was an ironic photo --and I wanted it, but missed the shot Another time, we were rounding a curve on our road, six buzzards sat on an old rail fence. All of them were transfixed on something in the water. One turned around and looked at the truck, ignoring us he returned to watching the muddy water with rest of his buddies. There were several good shots in those few seconds. Then they flew away.
This is first time in my life I have ever been this curious about buzzards. There is a story and a photo in my mind growing bigger each day. From a distance these scavengers look enchanting. Soaring to great heights as they scan the area below looking for a dead carcass. They remind me of a certain type of human, who looks lovely from a distance however, the closer they get, the more undesirable they become--much like the buzzards.
All to soon the trees will start to change colors, birds and buzzards will migrate to warmer weather. Nature will strut her colors while mere mortals try to capture her beauty with a camera. This is an on going game nature and people play. Find the perfect tree, find the perfect leaf, find the perfect love and see what happens.
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