Dearest, Gentle Reader, My oh my how time flies when you put things off and then move: My excuses and I’m sticking to them.
I suspect that we all have had those times when we realize things weren’t quite so bad where we were: Yep, mea culpa. Illinois Beach State Park was as naturally marvelous as I wanted it to be. Edwardsvill, IL really is a surprise jewel but that glorious rock strewn beach is now a five or more hour drive away. The professional movers, while forgetting to pack the knife drawer, did pack every single rock so I at least have mounds and pounds of Lake rocks to work with… lots and lots of them; I had to port one Rubbermaid tub down to out new basement and did feel a pang of sorrow for our movers.
Western Illinois across from St Louis is a gem stone perched on a bump in the Mississippi River. The weather here is like a gentle version of my beloved NC but with rolling thunderstorms that power themselves over the River and then empty across the farm land and the old alluvial till. Edwardsville is criss-crossed by two lane bike trails and 1930’s bungalows: The bike trails sometimes appear out of no where like a treasure map of asphalt lines and grassy verges. At night we can hear the coyotes yipping through the adjoining neighborhoods and once or twice the screaming like howl of foxes. Mourning doves and Robbins nest in our neighbors eves, a mocking bird is nested in the big white Mansion, and a kestrel hunts at night, blending it’s high pitched ‘key’ with the frogs croaking.
Almost two years ago our beloved elderly pup, Moshi, passed. Simply put she had arthritis in all four paws and back hips, could barely walk, and had internal cysts. She was in constant pain and was 16 years old. Her collar is kept with our Scortch’s ashes. Ever the softy, I pleaded with the husband and after about 15 months we adopted another rescue dog. I originally named her Sorcha after Tyr Na Sorcha (the Irish’ Land of Light) and she is now nick-named Psycho Potato. One of her original trainers was thrilled “that she finally found the right people to take a chance on her.” If anyone from Alive Rescue is a Gentle Reader then know that Sorcha now lives to eat, shed, be pet non stop, and sprint after bunnies; actually any thing that may look like a Chicago bunny: soccer balls, yard gnomes, puffed up cats, clumps of grass, and or cement planters.
Once again I am trying for an herb garden especially after struggling to keep even ficus alive in the window in Chicago. The soil here is that dark grey and black soil of my Indiana childhood but has quartz chips and chert that come from endless years of the Mississippi flowing through before it skipped it’s channel to where it runs now. With this garden I have also discovered bunnies, gophers, and deer like my attempt at gardening. The wormwood hasn’t been touched so I have high hopes for anything medicinal or weird smelling or portulaca.
The moon has been at a bursting three quarters right now and between rolling thunderstorms it lights up the night with a sharp silvered glow and the one star visible above. Somehow moonlight makes the gutter drains magic portals, the water fountain by the darkened ball field becomes an oasis, and the asphalt road is an obsidian path home. I would love not to be the only one that night has a profound effect on as though your own personal world has emerged. Now, to be honest, I have almost no night vision to speak of but all the same the night loves to enchant me while sunbeams mean sleepy time.
Now I will leave you, apologizing for the simple glazing of my circumstances. My emotions are running a little high tonight and at this point are no place for Gentle Readers to be.