Milestone

I am a wildflower enthusiast.  One of the great pleasures of living on my hilltop is the constant changing scene that greets me on my morning walks.  For the past few years I have had to rely on pictures  I have taken in the past.  But this morning I reached a true milestone.  I took my camera with me on my morning hike.  First time in a long time.  There was a flower I wanted to add to my album...and it grows not on top of the hill...but at the very bottom.

And therein lies the tale.  Two years ago today I was in surgery to replace my worn-out right hip.  They gave me a bright shiny titanium one to get me walking right again.  Abuse, arthritis and age had taken their toll on the original to the point where I was unable to hike, walk, or enjoy my lovely country home.

And today I did something I have not done in three years.  Three long years.  Years of yearning as I passed by plants and sights I longed to record with my little Nikon camera.  In the car, with the windows rolled down I would stop and visualize myself walking over that high ditch and into the woods to snap a picture of the lovely blooms there in the shadow of the trees.

But today I did it.  I have been training my legs for several months to make the short trip down the hill...and then up again.  Stretching the tight muscles and urging my body to go that extra few steps.  Taking those tentative moves down the hill and over rough terrain until I felt confident again in my ability to walk without stumbling or falling over a root or rock.

Yes, I set off with that goal in mind.  Down, down, down I went.  And as I passed each familiar tree and turn in the road, my spirits soared.  "I am doing this.  I am actually doing this." I said to myself over and over.

And then I was there.  American bellflower.  A small, inconspicuous bloom.  But delicate, intricate in its form.  Not an intense blue like spiderwort or chicory.  But a lovely soft blue with hints of darker hues all around its lovely center.  Amazing.  I took a lot of pictures but found just the one when I got home  to share with you.

And to share with you this miracle.  Yes, a milestone.  All the way down that hill....and all the way up to the top.  Stopping along the way to catch my breath.  But feeling good.  Feeling whole.  And much more myself than I have in a long, long time.

July

This is a picture taken a few years ago when I returned to my hometown in central Illinois.  July always brings so many memories of my childhood back to me.  Especially the warm summer nights of midsummer.  As my dad used to say...listen to the corn growing.  And I could add the crickets chirping and the frogs croaking.

As soon as supper was over we would escape outside...screen door banging signaling our exit.  We would gather across the street at our neighbors...all of us kids....and choose a game to play in the gathering twilight.  Sometimes it was Hide and Seek.  Sometimes Kick the Can.  And sometimes just a pick-up game of baseball with all ages playing together.

If the fireflies were especially thick we would go and get a jar from home.  We'd chase those flickering lights up and down the field, sometimes catching one just as it doused its light.  Letting it crawl across our fingers we could coax it into the jar and clap the lid on quickly.  The more fireflies you caught the more light they made.  What joy to hold it up to our faces, very close, and marvel at the way they would make their bodies glow..off and on...off and on.

For a few glorious weeks I visited my cousins a little farther south in Woodford County.  My uncle ran a body shop in ElPaso and he would haul us down to Bloomington to the stock car races at least once or twice during our visit.  Climbing high up in the bleachers we could see the whole racetrack down below.  Smoke, crashes, lots of action.  The smell of burning tires....the screech of brakes as contact was made....and above it all the haze of that midwestern night....humidity clashing with night air...and the chilliness that came with the advancing darkness.  Bright lights made it seem like day, but when you looked around you could see the thick night crowding in on you.  Shivering, I would draw closer to my uncle and he would cuddle me in his strong arms.

I wish I had some way to open the memories of those magical evenings and show them to my grandson Gus.  He will have his own chance one of these days.  Summer nights pass by so quickly.  Enjoy them while you can.