W is for Weeds, Wildflowers

Me, alone. Life after loss.

I learn more about God

From weeds than from roses

Resilience springing

Through the smallest chink of hope

In the absolute of concrete ~ Phillip Pulfrey

For many years the seeds of these weeds lay in wait under the dry earth and when the rains came, well, there you are. They cover the ground from my gate, through my field, to the house and then on each side of the house. To the east, they cover where we like to walk and also some of the hills. Some of them are waist-high on me and I'm tall; Faith disappears in them. The tractor guy will take care of it soon. I hope nothing goes wrong with that.

Then there are many tiny ones, like these. They grow in my road. Nothing but sandy dirt.

I admire their resilience. 

California poppies now cover the steep sides of Sugarloaf mountain and 

pretty blue wildflowers grow everywhere. It has been a gorgeous spring here in the mountains.

Because Mary and I went looking for wildflowers so early, and further down the mountain, it's been such a long and wonderful season. It's hard to believe that we took this trip on February 25.

Those orange flowers are poppies also.

A field below the mountains in early March.

This is the closest I have ever come to pogonip, the ice particles that form on trees at the higher elevations after a dense winter fog. Rachael, Mary and I went to visit the monastery a few weeks ago. It's located at around 5,000 ft, and the picture is of the mountains above. The Swedish word for this, I believe, is Rimfrost. Anyway, I was delighted as I find it both beautiful and fascinating. 

To tie this into my life after the loss of Errol: This gorgeous spring, after four dry years, has made me happy to be alive, to be able to experience it all. I have never seen anything like it in the eleven years I have lived here. 

A patch of clover in the nuns' garden.

The exceptional beauty of this wildflower season makes me forgive the weeds for blooming right along with the prettier versions of themselves. 

The tractor man cometh.....

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P.S.

I left replies to many of your comments on yesterday's post. Let me just say here, that I have told several doctors to: "Sit, Stay," in the same tone I use for my dogs. It always works and they do listen to my questions. The endo doctor, kept telling me how intelligent I was so many times that it began to sound like an insult. Mary is now teasing me, so I have to live that down. But the doctor didn't really answer my questions. 

Her husband shooed me out of his office with the phone next to his ear and me in shock, so I just left. I will get both of them, don't worry. 

Bakersfield is a strange place. It has the worst air in the US, the most obese people, so there are an awful lot of sick people there, many probably not as sophisticated as I, so I'm sure these doctors get very bad habits and just process them. 

I have excellent health insurance and don't need any referrals, but UCLA is 107 miles away vs. Bakersfield's 50 miles. A huge difference at my age. Driving a Jeep with a soft top, in the desert winds.

Finally, my eyes are really bad. I can't drive with sunglasses or at night. I can't read street names and signs along the road. I can't read books, magazines, etc. Thanks Amazon for the Kindle Fire! The doctor barely approved me to drive last November, so I must have it done before next November or no more driver's license. I had an appointment, but the heart must come first. 

Sorry about this lengthy explanation, but I know you, my long time followers, do care and I wanted to explain. You never ever have to worry about me speaking up and taking care of myself.