The ‘Worm Moon,’ originally so named by the Native Americans because they noted that as winter ended, the full moon illuminated the earthworm’s trails on the newly thawed soil. I watched it rise on March 25th over the fence at the back of my house; it was big and beautiful, and I knew spring was finally here. March’s full moon is a harbinger of warmer weather. The Hindus also celebrate this joyful occasion with a holiday called Holi, the festival of colors, named after the myth of the female fiend Holika.

I am on the 6th letter of the alphabet, F. My collection of words for this blog includes Fauna and Flora, Flowers, Fairy houses, Frogs, and Faces.

Today is about the wonders of springtime, my favorite time of the year. I love how Flora creeps slowly forward for weeks, each tiny new leaf breaking open and unfurling, and then, with a rush, spring is driving the cold grey days away. Traveling through town, I see new growth everywhere. The tiny leaf buds are opening into green and rusty-red leaves. The Pacific willows on the embankment along the waterfront are bursting with bright chartreuse green. Later, the trees will blend into the background and not be noticed. 

In the garden, I feel in control of what I do. Any decision is mine alone to make. Yes, plants die, and that makes me sad. I lost a bunch of roses this winter from the terrible freezing weather. I will replace them with something else. Moles destroyed my peace of mind last year. I tried everything from forceful spraying in the holes to deterrent granules and hot pepper sauce. It remains to be seen if they will continue to return this year. I hope not. But the beauty of the garden is watching it change in the spring.

I am in my garden every day, even when it is raining. At least for a walk-through to see what is in bloom or about to burst. A few days of sunshine last week opened the flower buds on my only Rhododendron, which I can see every time I walk past my kitchen window. The Ribes (the King Edward version) is in flower along my side fence, and the Kerria japonica has tight yellow buds, and those harbingers of spring, daffodils are everywhere.

Even when it rains, I am glad because it waters new plants I have bought to replace the roses. I brought my first tray of vegetable starts yesterday. Tomato and pepper plants I will re-pot and keep in the greenhouse for at least another month, and a small pack of lettuces to get me started on the salad routine. Onions I will plant today; last year’s crop lasted me until Christmas. I have golden beets to try this year; they taste so wonderful.

Outside my back door, I have a small patio and a ramp leading down into the back patio. Along the railings on both sides are my Fairy houses. At one time, there was a pond under the ramp, but it is long gone, and now I have a collection of small ceramic and other types of Frogs. On the wall of the building that was once a garage, now an exercise room hangs a collection of different Faces. These items all bring me pleasure as I walk away from my door. 

Here are a few more early flowering plants.

SHORT STORY

DERELICTION by Elizabeth Jane Pryce

everyday,

when I walk by

it stares at me, 

dark hollow eyes,

the mouth opened wide

full of teeth 

in a skeletal white face.

Was he good or bad?

Did anyone see or try to help?

Thomas was a decent fellow, not yet thirty. He had dark brown eyes and high cheekbones in a clean face, with long, callused fingers with thick nails, ridged like a mollusk. Thomas wore cheap but new, heavy cotton pants and a denim jacket over a collarless blue shirt. He wore black, army surplus boots, hobnailed with small moon-shaped half circles on the inside heel, protecting them from being worn down. He had a world-weary look about him.

Thomas had come into town, “Just passing through,” he’d said. But although the townsfolks didn’t know, he had stayed for years, living just outside the town on a farm. He married the farmer’s only daughter, who some said was a little funny in the head, and raised two children. The mother saw to the building of an extra room attached to the main house. It was really only a rough lean-to. Only Thomas stayed in the lean-to after the daughter had her two babies.

Thomas never went back into town, even when the babies were born. His wife and her mother did all the shopping, and he stayed behind, laboring on the farm. Mostly, cows and wheat. He saw to the calving during two or three springtimes and built a barn before he suddenly wasn’t there anymore. No one missed him or talked about him. The children, who had barely known him, always said when asked in school where their father was, “Ain’t got one.” Some children laughed at them and said, “You got to have a father to be born.” But that didn’t change their story.

No one thought to call the police or the FBI or even to send out a search party. There were no records of Thomas even coming into town. The girls grew up and moved away. Some say they went to California, some to Washington. It wasn’t until the mother and daughter had passed on and another family had moved onto the farm that there was any suspicion of foul play. The barn was derelict. The roof collapsed, and the walls all askew. The new farmers decided not to rebuild but to tear it down and plow the ground for future crops. 

Once the barn was pulled down, a trapdoor was found underneath the old straw bales stored on one side of the building. It wasn’t bolted. When opened, steep steps lead down into a cavern of rooms. Earth was beginning to fall in, but it was obvious that it had once been clean and cared for. In one corner was an old-fashioned stove, and lining the walls were fifty, ten-gallon buckets of water with the lids still sealed as many more stacked together in another corner. In a cubby off the main area was a bed. When the new owners entered this room and lifted the handmade quilts on the bed, they discovered a skeleton stretched out in repose. Only then were questions asked.

Was the skeleton our man Thomas, who had been ‘passing through’? And who is the skeleton that stares at me through the shed window on my walks? 

No one will ever know because this is a thoroughly fictitious tale.

Love to hear your comments about this post EJP