Sandra Heska King

daring to open doors

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a lake and an artist date

May 9, 2013 By Sandra Heska King

lake and an artist date

I slow down as I turn the corner and scan Lake Abby. Something dark floats at the far end. Not a goose. Maybe a mallard. But I can’t be sure. It looks black.

I smash forefoot to floor, fly down asphalt, jerk wheel to left, spin gravel in drive, and ram gear into park. When I throw open the door, it slams back on my ankle. The camera’s on the kitchen table. I grab it, kick off flip flops and slip into muck boots, then race back up to the pond.

The duck, or whatever, is gone.

But the way the light ripples across chopped cattails fascinates me.  Redwing blackbirds perch on remaining stalks. Swallows dip and dive over the water. I squish closer to the edge, step over deer prints, try to decipher the songs of frogs or maybe toads that mingle with the birds. I wonder what happened to the geese couple. Mama spent a lot of time close to the “shore” on the east side, and I found broken eggs near there a couple weeks ago. But no babies.

Lake Abby2

Lake Abby3

I don’t have time to hang out here, but when I turn to go, I note the lilacs along the lane are in bloom. How did I miss that? Spring has exploded.

I remember the first weekend I came home with D. It was in May, and we’d only been dating for a couple weeks. We sat thigh-to-thigh and knee-to-knee on the bench seat of his company car as we drove down country roads, and I told him how much I loved lilacs. That they were my favorite flowers, and I wanted several around my house some day. I never guessed his family lilacs would one day be mine. I pull stems down, inhale the fragrance, pick a few stems for a Mason jar. I take them home and set the bouquet on the windowsill above the kitchen sink.

Lake Abby4

Lake Abby5

Lake Abby6

Lake Abby7

I need to run to the store for bread and milk, but I park too close to the garden entrance, and my artist, she pulls me toward the colors. I try to resist, but the breeze blows, and the sun’s warm, and she’s too strong. So we walk up and down the rows, sniff sweet cinnamon scents, stroke velvet petals and leathery leaves, read tags tucked in dirt. The smells carry phantom memories of the past that I can’t quite place.

I imagine a yard full of color and wish someone would come plant for me and keep it all alive. I fill a cart with red and white geraniums, white petunias, some airy white flowers called Diamond Frost Euphorbia graminea (heat tolerant, drought tolerant, and deer resistant.) And finally a small flat of red and white Torenia fournieri, “a compact, upright annual with lipped flowers and smooth foliage with toothed leaves.”

Lake Abby8

Lake Abby9

Lake Abby10

Lake Abby11

Lake Abby12

I pay, tie my artist to the cart, and push it to the car. I shove aside the soccer bag, softball bag, and bagged chairs, fill the back with fragrance. Then I retrieve a mini cart from the corral and pull it behind me as I push the garden buggy back. My artist insists on coming along, threatens a tantrum if she can’t.

We enter the store from the garden entrance and find ourselves in the grill aisle. I’ve needed new tools for a couple years, so we look everything over and pick out a spatula and tongs and a silicone baster and a grill rack for veggies. Then I decide I should consider some way to store them in the garage, so off we go to the home storage section—which happens to be right next to the wild bird supply aisle. I remember I need new measuring spoons in the housewares area—and they’re on sale. Along with a whole bunch of other stuff, and we keep stuffing the cart.

Now I’m really hungry, so the bread and milk turns into watermelon and blackberries and blueberries and strawberries and Vidalia onions and hummus, and…

So two hours later we, my artist and I, having shared an unexpected date morning, we go home, and I have lunch.

And then I remember we need cat food.

Still sniffing flowers,

Sandy

Linking with this week’s Artist Day post by Laura Boggess over at Tweetspeak Poetry

And in community with Emily

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Filed Under: stories and reflections

Comments

  1. Brandee says

    May 10, 2013 at 12:09 am

    Your duck chasing reminds me of something that happened last evening. My son pointed out a rainbow as we were coming down the driveway, so I ran inside, grabbed my camera, and drove back out the lane. The rainbow was fading fast. I took two photos before it was gone. But, later, I realized I’d taken them in black and white. Oh, my mercy. Glad you found beauty beyond the ducks.

  2. Elizabeth says

    May 10, 2013 at 12:27 am

    I like these beautiful ordinary moments type of posts. Lovely!

  3. S. Etole says

    May 10, 2013 at 12:51 am

    I like your artist!

  4. Martha Orlando says

    May 10, 2013 at 6:10 pm

    Isn’t it amazing how our artist can so beautifully distract and lead us into new discoveries? Only when we “forget the catfood” do we realize we have been floating on fancy and drinking in the wonders which surround us.
    Blessings, Sandy!

  5. Lorretta says

    May 11, 2013 at 11:03 am

    We must be sisters from another life because I’ve always said I’d rather have a fistful of lilacs than a dozen roses ANY DAY!

    Lovely…absolutely lovely.

  6. Shelly Miller says

    May 12, 2013 at 12:37 pm

    I’m a sucker for plants. It’s dangerous for me to park near the garden center of any store. And oh, the lilacs. We don’t have those at home but I’m seeing the buds here in England.

  7. laura says

    May 12, 2013 at 5:25 pm

    This had me smiling all the way through. I could just about smell those lilacs :). Beautiful, my friend. And I completely relate :). Question: Flowers or books? Now that is a hard one for me.

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