I got up early this morning, looked out and guess what! The sky was blue, and the temperature was a perfect 70 degrees with no wind. (Okay, I didn’t get up with the chickens, but who cares because I don’t have any chickens to get up with.)
I went on a two-mile walk, trying to get half of my 10,000 steps in and was gratified with flowers and blooms everywhere. And for the forty minutes it took me to walk the two miles, (I’m not a fast walker, another who cares) my brain held thoughts of COVID19 at bay. My husband has always maintained that flowers are what make us civilized and if that’s true, Boise is very civilized. Thank you, Tom, for drilling that into my head through the years.
My excursion was beautiful. And, even better, the last fifty feet of my walk, approaching home, I saw more flowers, pretty little yellow things protruding from my lawn. Dandelions. Although considered a weed, I think they are simply fine and dandy, although my neighbors probably disagree. They add a lovely contrast to my now-green grass and the blue skies; and they make me happy, glad to be alive, grateful not to be sick, thankful for every blessing I have. Who knew a simple weed could offer so much!
My grandfather, vintage 1886, loved dandelions. He had five acres on Maple Grove (wouldn’t that be worth a pretty penny now), and raised all his own meat, fruit, vegetables, and DANDELIONS. He used his grandchildren (my brothers and me) to pick them by the basketful, and he cooked and aged them somehow into they turned into an exceptionally fine wine, so he said, although it was off limits to those of us under the age of ten.
It has been difficult to be caged up all these weeks, but we should all keep our eyes open for the beauty in our lives, appreciating something we thought was nothing. I think I’ll take a basket with me on my next walk, mimic my grandpa, and dream of dandelion wine.
