Spring days in Humboldt County, Pacific Northwest, are deceptively perfect. They hypnotize us innocent Spring Lovers into forgetting the other three hundred fifty-nine days of wind, rain, fog and constant chill.
Without hose-watering, our grass is a rich green. This gives a manipulative boost to background colors to create a faux grandeur. Black and orange fat cat, tiny yellow flowers, weathered wood saw horse; all are thrown into a deeper shade and meaning. Each everyday shade is granted a seemingly innocent ticket to inch into our visionary soul and suck out previous memories. The times they hid in fog? Gone, flown south, don't know what you're talking about
Walking through that infamous farm behind our backyard, there are black and white cows with melted chocolate colored eyes, thick, long black eyelashes that laugh at the concept of mascara, and fur invitingly soft. They keep us entertained by pretending to be more frightened of our fifteen pound Maltese than they are of the piglets. Those fat rascals even leap lightly when he enters their pasture. But you and I know that when they form a group to gaze at Morris, it is yet another act to keep us diverted from the painful truth of the dreary cold of the rest of the year.
Those piglets? Don't even open that version of Pandora's Box of Cuteness. They are long-haired, plump piles of adorableness to the point of being lewd. Even the big pig mommas are in on the jinx of being winsome. The breaking point for me is when they snort. Who can stand such moments and not be swayed into thinking this is how life always is in Humboldt? Takes one strong character, I can tell you that.
Okay, and don't get me started on the baby bull lying protected behind mom and dad. The appealing atrocities extend to the way in which the parents wrap their tongues around the grass before pulling it in. Oh, did I not mention that? You can actually pull out some of that grass around your ankles and hand feed the animals. Of course, be sure that you are only offering the grass. Don't mix in your finger-food fingers. The illusion of perfect day would be lost in an Emergency Room visit.
What is that sound? We can only hear it on non-rain days. The usual pitter-patter rainfall normally distorts the ear from the rush of our dogs racing through tall grasses. We can just make out the top third of our bounding, forever playful Daisy, St. Bermastiff. Only glimpse little guy Morris when he is on the up side of his leap-run. Both are in on the gig as their pink tongues hop along with them. They know the route to follow as we hike the perimeter of the small farm.
I am not sure if our neighbors are in on the deception game, or have been deceived themselves. Never can tell about these things. On our way home, we discover they're moving. Friendly neighbors giving away kitchen wares, clothing and a big, comfy couch. We grab what we will use. Chat about where they are going. Share a love of music conversation. Wish them well in future times.
Walking across our lawn with a freshly planted flower garden bordering the house, we notice a swallow bringing fat worms to her babies.Tucking the dogs inside, we observe Cautious Momma Swallow. She waits until not a peep of noise or movement could be prey about to pounce. Then, flies into the nest in the eaves of our house. Even unseen baby birds in on the conspiracy. Another nest a few feet away, being built for yet another family.
Our Maple tree has burst with spring leaves. Happened all in a night, it seems. Green a shade lighter than the lawn. How do the plants learn of the weather-forgetting plot? Mother Nature's influence is strong, indeed.
Entering the house, dogs are quiet from their run. Or, they're destroying my slippers in the backyard. Never can tell with those two. They can only be expected to be sweet for so long.
Wishing you as lovely a Spring Day as ours. And that you develop temporary amnesia the coming of winter.
Spend the rest of the day reading with your child:
Heather Leigh,
Easily Manipulated By The Wondrous
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