How can I not begin with this picture? It is a perfect representative of the multifarious beauty that Spring has engendered upon the island—along the paths, in the yards, in the thickets, and along the riverside where I wander. It seems that tulips are de rigeur on the island (wink to my companion, with whom I recently shared a laugh over our American pronunciation of this Gaulish appropriation: də-rē-ˈgər, in case you were wondering), and the number of different colors in which they greet me as I wander repeatedly surprises and delights. Thus, I will be sharing some of the dazzling flora that surrounds me, and which prompts my companion to such effusive declarations as: "I feel that I don't need to go on vacation when I find that I am in a paradise just by stepping outside my door!" Be that as it may, I do hope that we can manage to forsake our island paradise for at least a brief sojourn abroad at some point in the year ("abroad"=non-Minnesota).
These grape hyacinths surround our home, and I have not seen them growing anywhere else on the island—our very own little treasure. I can't say that, throughout my life, I've ever been much of a flower enthusiast, but you may now put me down as a convert. It would be hard to ignore the gorgeous colors burgeoning all around me, and even harder to stifle a due appreciation and acknowledgement.
It is as though Mother Nature has stepped forward to say "Oh, you want some color? Here, have a boysenberry hyacinth! Have a bubble gum tree! How about an electric crimson tulip?" It seems that she has them all in stock, and promiscuously displays them all here on Nicollet Island by lifting her skirts and revealing the fruits of her fecundity. (My, what flowery prose!)
May as well trot out some more tulips, I have plenty to spare. They always remind me of the old rhyme that was written in many graduation books when I graduated 8th grade, back when kids still did that sort of thing and wrote quaint verses like this one: "Tulips in the garden, tulips in the park, but the tulips that Dougie likes are the tulips in the dark."
As I stood and looked out over the river this morning, I thought of one of my favorite songs, Many Rivers to Cross, by the great Jimmy Cliff. I pondered how I do indeed, like everyone else, have many rivers to cross, and I stood admiring the Mississippi, the literal river I cross more than any other these days, which is in fact many rivers, is it not? For isn't it true that it is a different river each time I cross it? Likewise, it seems to me that every figurative river we cross is always a different river—even if it is the same person we have encountered many times before, or the same place we have been, or the same sort of situation we have often known, each new experience represents a new opportunity to behave differently, for on each new occasion we ourselves are not exactly the same people we were the last time. Here is the song for you to enjoy, and let me just say for the record that I love Jimmy Cliff, and though I wish I could sing this song as well as he does, even if I could, I would still prefer to sit back and listen to him do it.
Thought you might enjoy a glimpse of this somewhat eccentrically designed front yard of a neighbor's home. I love the golden ball and the statue of ... uh, a female Eros/Cupid whose bow and arrow seems to be missing? Or perhaps, more likely, Artemis/Diana, the goddess of the hunt? At any rate, I love this yard, whose quixotic design pleases me each time I walk by.
And here's a sight that took me back to my childhood in Brooklyn, where clotheslines were often strung between houses, or from house to telephone pole, and where I would sit and watch my mother clothes-pinning the laundry to the line. Just one of the charming throwbacks to kinder, gentler days that we encounter and find so heartwarming here on the island, the Rockwellesque scenes that evoke a wistful smile and a few heartbeats of gratitude. Like the day my lovely companion came home to see a few small children out playing with makeshift wooden swords—she said all they needed was paper pirate hats to complete the nostalgic image. Or the time when I spotted a father and his sons fishing off a log in the river (see post of 4/4/12).
I couldn't resist including this shot of a determined waterfowl cutting swiftly upriver, leaving a vivid and lovely fan-shaped wake on the surface behind him. There was a gaggle of geese in the river off the southeastern shore this morning making an awful racket. I lingered in hopes of discerning the source of their discomfiture, but to no avail. Then I noticed something, and wondered if it might have been a factor.
My last post contains a picture of these steps which I could not have taken today without wearing waders. The river has apparently risen a great deal on this southeastern end of the island. As recent as a week ago, there was a great swath of shoreline at the foot of these steps. We have had some rain in the interim, but not really all that much, so I must believe that a great deal more rain has fallen at points farther north, which has contributed to the ascendancy of the waters embracing Nicollet Island. Might the higher water level have anything to do with the distress of the geese? I don't know the answer, but it seems possible. Whenever you notice something strange occurring, you must ask yourself: what within the context in question is suddenly different? What has changed? The answer may well lead you to a logical explanation for the strange occurrence. Or not. There is much in life we can explain to our satisfaction—and much we cannot.
Here are some blood red tulips for you to admire as I bid you farewell. Can you explain their beauty to your satisfaction? Does it matter? Life flows on, in and around us—it rises and falls, ebbs and flows, and when its beauty defies our understanding and surpasses our expectations, there is nothing to do but embrace it, admire it, love it.
D.E.S.
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