Trees that during the winter blended with the general grey have lit themselves up with this deep purple fuzz. Other trees are covered with the most extravagant white and pink blooms, each as showy and large as a tulip. They look so airy and gorgeous that I have trouble believing they are real. Surely they are tissue paper flowers that some one attached to the old, gnarled tree in the front yards with thousands of unbent paperclips, just in time for Easter.
But no, they are real. And oh! Let me not forget the white trees. Dear lord. These are trees of sometimes majestic stature, I mean, as large as an oak tree in some cases, that have lit up like holy white candles. In the evening, they draw all the light to them and simply glow like a paper lantern. In the day, it looks as if tens of thousands of delicate white moths have landed in the branches of a otherwise bare tree and are hovering there.
And apparently the dogwoods are not yet in bloom, so there is more to come. Hard to imagine.
I am ruined for life. Here's just what's in my back yard. Unfortunately, we don't have any of the tulip trees or the moth trees. (You can tell my grasp of botany is top notch!)
This last is my vine. It's doing quite well.
The other thing in a state of bloom is the insect life. We are besieged by them. Spiders guard the front door and the back deck. Wasps hover by the first story windows, wiggle in between the screens. Ants mark out their territory on the kitchen counters and the lady bugs continue to die by the scores in every place imaginable.
That's just the regular troops. There are the special forces as well, like the slimy little thing that was darting around in the sink the other day, the long flat thing that was zipping across the bathroom floor and, of course, the cockroaches. You would think that I keep a very dirty house from all this, but I really don't.
Yesterday Keith and I decided to throw worry to the wind (it's been tight as we try to pay off Tier Two debt as quickly as possible.) and head off an a spring road trip. We started with a gas station breakfast of fried chicken and cheese in a greasy croissant and coffee for me, with a cheeseburger for the hubby.
After this invigorating start, we headed out for Shephardsville along a back road route, where the scenery kept me in a perpetual state of flower shock. We had the windows rolled down and the country music on. The sun, even at eleven in the morning in early April, was hot.
We stopped first at the Jim Beam plant, where the sweet smell of Bourbon literally perfumed the spring air. It's on a hillside amid towering ginkgo trees. Ginkgo trees have very dark, almost black bark and looked sharp against the delicate spring green all around them. We thought we might be able to purchase some Bourbon for cheap, but not so much. We did learn how to make the perfect mint Julep.
Further on into Shephardsville we saw a horse drawn carriage. Fifteen minutes later, we were in said carriage, jolting amiably down the lane amid heavy traffic. It was awesome. There was the down home smell of horse, the clip clop of hooves, and a jolly, white bearded Southern character type in cowboy hat giving us the age and history of various buildings along the way. Some of them were as old as the 1790s.
Afterward, we gave the Percheron a friendly pat and went on our way to lunch in what used to be the town tavern way back when. It had double, huge fireplaces with hooks above for hanging pots, low doorways and blackened beams above. I got the "Kentucky Club," which was a massive, gut busting combination of ham, Cheddar, turkey, swiss cheese, fried green tomato and bacon and three slices of toasted bread.
When we got home, instead of doing the sane thing and taking a well deserved nap, we took the dogs out for what turned out to be a two and a half mile walk. We returned limp with sweat and was forced to turn on the AC due to the real heat outside. We had to keep it on all night long.
The AC. In April. What, oh what, will this summer be like?
