There I was, up to my knees in the meadow, sniffing the breeze the way Miss Sadie and the Cowboy do. July is a fragrant month around here. Hot. Humid. Filled with the small sounds of insects going about their important business.
Driving along the ribbon roads you might form an impression of green or tawny grasses flowing by. Get out of the car and stand at the edge of the meadow and you will see an astonishing variety of life: grasses, clovers, alfalfa, native wildflowers, invasive species–and stray garden plants that wandered in and liked the neighborhood.
Wading through a meadow reminds me of Gram. I look for the creek. I reach for her hand. It’s always there.
This post is for Bonnie, and would have a soundtrack if I could manage it. Feel free to hum along. Over in the meadow in the sand, in the sun, Lived an old mother turtle and her little turtle one . . .
I went looking for a proper Over in the Meadow link for you, and found one that has the words and music I remember. Then I happened on Kit, Fan, Tot and the rest of them, a book of stories by Olive A. Wadsworth published in 1870. It’s sentimental and didactic but I was thrilled to find it because my Civil War veterans probably read it to their children. There, on page 187, is a different version. Gram and I were great improvisers.
Perhaps we should have a little contest. The person who can identify–correctly–the greatest number of plants from the slideshow wins. By this means I hope to find out myself what a couple them are. Devious, eh?