Homebodies - Ahh, spring...
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- Published on Saturday, April 22, 2017
By Rita Friesen
The Neepawa Banner
The defeated snow banks, receding and retreating, bivouacked in the tree lines and fence lines, reluctantly give way to rivulets of tears, admitting the end of their dominance. The trees are showing signs of promises fulfilled, the buds now full second trimester round. It is good.
The evening walk witnesses the end of winter. Overhead a vee of geese is low. I pause and marvel at these majestic, fine tuned creations. In the stillness I can hear the thrum and thrust of their flight, marking the way across the darkening sky. I’m reminded of the year of the farm auction, late spring, beautiful weather, and as the geese crossed low overhead, one errant poop blessed the shoulder of my youngest, a smiling moment.
The stillness is broken by the persistent whine of a dirt bike. The rising and falling sound not unlike the sound of a mosquito in the tent, drawing close then wisely retreating. An insistent sound, and on this evening, a joyous sound. I am reminded of the yard filled with my children, dirt bike, mini bike, garden tractor, all buzzing and whining and zipping. Laughter and daring and growing and learning, repeated years later by a flock of grandchildren. Different yard, same joy, a smiling moment.
Once again the air is silent, pregnant with promise. And then, the croak of a frog from the lowland. The voice is rusty with a winter’s disuse, but strengthens with each successive boom. I’m reminded of the frogs in the creek that swirled past the farm. Walk to the south, it was there, walk to the east and you met it again. The wonder of throwing stones, counting the bounces and the immediate silence of the chorus with the first splash. And the frogs in the lowland beside the home at the acreage, filling the spring evening with song. Sitting on the front porch, cars humming past, sunset glowing and frogs offering a bass symphony. A smiling moment.
The robins begin their evening canticle. Giving thanks for the day, blessings for the night. Dancing, hopping, flitting, building a home, enjoying life. I am reminded of bird houses I know. The one I scavenged from my aunt’s abandoned yard, still cherished. The one my sister and her husband created for me, now hanging on my garage wall. The one they made for my son, a cherished heirloom – a garage with an attached restaurant, with all the names and aptitudes of the family included. A smiling moment.
As I turn ‘in at the gate’, through the back yard, silhouetted against the moon light, is the promise of my gardens. A raised bed, containers, all ready for production. I’m reminded of the gardens I knew and loved. The farm one, large enough to feed the troops. The smaller one on the acreage, enough to enjoy and share. Fruit trees and flowers, red tomatoes and snap peas. Looking at this future, it, too, is a smiling moment.
