The Meadow in Springtime

I’ve blogged before about patience.  More specifically, about my lack thereof.  I know that because I just searched on “patience” in my blog file and found 48 entries about patience — most especially about the non-existence of mine.  Out of 4,083 blogs in 13 years, that may not be an overabundance.  I’m not sure.  And I don’t have the patience to think about it.

In my “Out of Sync; Out of Patience” entry on September 29, 2015, I began:  I’m glad the month is wearing down. It’s been a hard one. My stars must be out of alignment or my karma is catching up with me or I’m just going through a bad patch. You know… one of those time periods when you should just stay in bed until you are back in sync with the world.  

The Meadow in Winter

And I went on to enumerate a whole gaggle of little annoyances that coulda shoulda woulda been readily taken care of in a more perfect world.  That was eight years ago, almost to the day!  I’m happy to say that I am chaffing at my current bit about more important matters which, in my mind means some sort of progress.  I’m concerned about the mowing of the meadows in front of Oysterville (which is usually completed by the end of September) and I am concerned about the weather (which needs to be dry for the mowing.)  You have to admit that the latter issue is truly a biggee — and one that, sadly, can’t be influenced  by my worrying and stewing.

Once upon a time, the meadows in front of Oysterville were kept cropped by my grandfather’s cattle.  Nowadays, the Oysterville Restoration Foundation coordinates the mowing effort and homeowners contract with Mr. Jim Kurtz to do the honors.  The contract with the weatherman doesn’t work quite so smoothly, though.

The Meadow in Autumn Starring Jim Kurtz – The Mower Man

We badly need a dry spell so that Mr. K. can get on with it.  This year the meadow grass is more luxuriant and higher than ever. and we need the mowing to restore our bay view and reassure us that the gorse and scotch broom and alders that pop up each summer will not get a permanent foothold. It’s one of nature’s certainties that the meadows will restore themselves once again come spring, giving protection to the nesting birds and field mice and other little creatures of Oysterville, and the cycle will continue to tie the past and present together in our ever-changing world.

If my folks had named me after that New England ancestor Patience Mc??, would that have helped?  In this case I doubt it.  Like time and tide, the weather is out of our control.  So is my patience.