Within a budding grove

Memorial Day weekend is less of a holiday then most. It is the weekend that Yankees are schooled to put in their gardens to avoid the random frosts that patrol the month of May. As such, its is a very busy weekend. I do double time during the weekend as I am normally just back from NOLA and the bush hog beckons. I love cutting the grass and I consider my tractor my oasis within this budding grove. I can think on the tractor, and focus not on the larger issues of running a business or the difficulties of certain designs, but on the simplicity of line as a theme unto itself. The only thing I care about for hours on end is keeping the beautiful symmetry of the mown grass and smelling the fragrance of nature as it happens. There is no telephone and no interruptions. The job is not an easy one as I  find it the perfect place to have champagne. Most of my friends are aware that I believe that farm machinery and champagne do mix when done in moderation. I chose rose champagne this weekend to toast the cherry blossoms that are singing their swan songs, and announce the planting of mortgage lifter tomatoes that have that lovely pink color when they start to blush in the Fall. The lines are straight in  the fields, and the new garden freshly watered. We await first the cherry fruit that Proust obsesses about in the book "within a budding grove", the second book of  his series, In search of lost time. I find lost hours on the tractor and can't imagine spring or summer without that outlet to enjoy. I admit to being especially excited about "Yellow Meat". This is Arkansas cognoscenti vernacular for golden colored watermelon. In my humble opinion the fairer brother to beluga, but much more approachable. I would give up all food with the exception of cheese for watermelon, and consider a feta and watermelon salad genius.

The sun is orange in the evening sky this time of year, more so when it gets hot as it was this weekend. There is no better place to watch it set then the seat of a bicycle. Millbrook might be the most beautiful place to bike ride in the world. The rolling hills, lack of cars and the density of  trees allow the sun to break though the tress and create paintings in shadow on the road below ones feet. One moment its Franz Klein the next Clifford Still. I believe that somewhere in the long ago past willow trees and live oaks were related. Any arborist will tell you that this is not true, however, the trees speak the same language. They weep together. Spanish Moss pulls the boughs of the oak to the ground in the same manner as the willow. I was amazed how mush I felt like I was biking in the deep south and I was 10 miles from Massachusetts. Everything is green, as is the birthstone for May. Emerald.

Green is the middle of the color spectrum and, as such, keeps the eye most at rest. Theory is good, however I find emeralds very exciting. I do not

 associate the stone with Caligula in repose.. True story, Caligula would wear emerald glasses at the Coliseum to match the buffet. Kept him relaxed they say. I personally find good emeralds magical. They, more then any stone , emminate light from within. The inclusions make them glow, they push the sun's reflections from unusual angles and trap light within the rock. If there is one constant in this blog it is my infatuation with, so called, flaws in stones. I love them, they give any stone its character. Good inclusions make great stones. Especially emerald. My brother Seamus is an emerald birthstone and he is the greatest gift to me. 

I include a photo of a camouflage bracelet that I made a while ago for a neighbor of mine. We wear lots of camo up here when the weather cools down, its also pink, like the champagne.