I have lived my entire life around a man made lake that is now over one hundred years old.  In a landlocked city, I have only just now come to realize my yearning to see and be near water.  We have lived near creeks as long as I can remember and I have always had an integral connection with them.  The lake is a tributary of the Trinity River and has a dam that is 40 feet high.  When I was a little girl riding around with my father he would always slow down so we could look at the spillway.  Not pausing to view it would be like failing to make a stop sign.  I remember rolling down my window and peeking out to see if the steps were bone dry or rolling with water.  Despite the lake’s origins, it has become a haven for migratory birds and a respite for two and four leggeds alike.  Now my little girl rides around to work with me and I slow the car down and holler, “LOOK AT THE SPILLWAY!”  I let her window down so she can smell the water or hear it rushing along as it makes its way down; a symbiotic melding of man and nature.  This month is officially the wettest ever on record in the history of Dallas.  Manhole covers are bursting all over and rising up like miniature fountains.  It has been fascinating to watch.  I took a picture of the spillway almost a week ago as we stopped along the bridge to watch the pod of pelicans hanging out and looking for fish.  Several days later I took the bottom shot and it was like a miniature Niagara Falls.  A giant river rolled in waves, the bridge swayed with the force of the water running under it, and foam sprayed rising at least twelve feet in the air.  One of my favorite songs about rain is from the Eurythmics’ — “Here Comes the Rain Again”.  A lighter song I love is Luke Bryan’s “Rain Is a Good Thing”.  Pulitzer Prize winner John Updike said that “Rain is grace; rain is the sky descending to the earth; without rain, there would be no life.”  So here’s to the pouring down of God’s blessings in each of our lives.

Having grown up in an apartment, I did not get to experience the joys of planting, although both of my parents knew how. Daddy had a great knowledge of vegetables and Mama, flowers.  And so I have been trying my hand (or green thumb) at both in the eight years since I have been married and lucky enough to own a home.  It took me until a couple of months ago to muster the courage to try planting an organic, raised bed for tomatoes, basil and onions.  We had a little ceremony and all planted them as a family.  Frankly I had no hope of anything really appearing despite my research on sun and planting positions, regions, time of year, and companion plants.  The other day Burk came in and excitedly announced we had our first tomato.  “What?” I said in disbelief.  “Mommy let’s go see!”  Lo and behold, in all its glory was a tiny, orange tomato about the size of a quarter.  But it was perfect — and we grew it!  I am embarrassed to be so far removed from how food is cultivated and I want our daughter to learn along with us.  I reached up to touch the little thing and it plopped to the ground.  But she seems to have some bigger cousins coming in that are still green.  And so we wait and watch with hope and wonder to see what the fruits of our small labor will yield.  I found this quote by the English poet Alfred Austin which I really liked:

“The glory of gardening:  hands in the dirt, head in the sun, heart with nature.  To nurture a garden is to feed not just on the body, but the soul.”

One thing my husband has gotten me into trying to make a habit of is taking a daily walk.  We live around a wooded area with a creek and it is always glorious.  In the early mornings you can still hear crickets; at night the occasional hooting of an owl.  We have two wolf hybrids who need the exercise and crave the walks.  When we had a baby it really became our little family time.  An agreed upon rule is no use of electronic devices (except I track our miles on Runkeeper from my iPhone and I like to get my heart rate up on my Apple Watch.)  But we talk to each other.  Sometimes we plan about the day ahead; others we reflect on what we did.  And so the seasons change, and with them our little girl is learning what that feels like and smells like and sounds like.  She knows summer is over when the cicadas stop their song.  Autumn is my favorite season and so short in Texas.  Mostly it’s pizza oven hot.  But each day holds its treasures.  And I have never regretted my husband coaxing us all out for a walk.

“There is pleasure in the pathless woods, there is rapture in the lonely shore, there is society where none intrudes, by the deep sea, and music in its roar; I love not Man the less, but Nature more.” ~ English poet Lord Byron