A day of scents

My day started off with rain. The gentle sound of rain on leaves and grass woke me before the harsh beep of my alarm. The smell of wet grass swept though the attic, cool and calm; gently releasing my sore muscles from sleep. I rest in bed for another hour, a well deserved day off. 13 hours of farm labor and to little water, makes for sore tendons and muscles. Buffalo gnats create red welts on my tan and freckled arms and legs. They itch and sting as I scratch and rub in the oatmeal and Shea butter lotion.

My breakfast, whole oats with maple syrup cinnamon and milk feels good to by body and spirit. My mind, worn from a semester of science and studies does not rests this summer. There will be no papers or exams but the acquisition of knowledge based in soil and chlorophyll with be my studies. The fields, my chalk board. My teacher, Thor and nature. The harvest, my tests and final.

I cook up my chicken. Olive oil, onions and garlic perforate the house as I clean the chicken. In go basil, parsley, cumin, salt, rosemary and thyme from the garden. Clean water from the fridge and 200 degrees on the burner. 2 hours later the house smells like a home rather than dust and I’m the proud owner of a bowl of perfect chicken and a gallon of chicken stock. Add home made mayonnaise; a little too much olive oil, some fresh spring onions and the rest of a box of penne make a pasta salad fit for royalty.

Today is laundry day for me. I take my clothes from the washer and hang them on the clothes line. My bandanna and underwear hang like prayer flags in the late spring breeze. The sun shines down on me and I am thankful. Carried in the air is the pungent scent of lilac and honeysuckle, both in full bloom. I offer corn meal to the spirits of air and water, to the plants and the earth, to the wind and the sun. I give to Sister Spring and myself. I bless this land. She has been broken but today is for healing though thanks.

The sky now clouds over and threatens with rain. I contemplate my next move. Grab the almost dry laundry off the line now or take a chance and wait till rain starts to fall and run out and gather dry clothes before the process needs to be repeated? A thunder head passes over all of Shelly and I feel the air shift. The quick updraft of wind pulls at my shirt and hair. The bandanna dance and twist around the line. I feel the fabric, it’s dry and soft. It smells of like lilacs. Wonderful! I take my t-shifts, tang-tops and headbands off the wire. As I’m folding my clothes a woman leisurely drives by and we exchange waves and smiles. The air is still and my damp pants hang there, limp. The once grass and dirt covered denim a faded dark blue. The earth, shadowed by clouds, I decided not to temp faith, less I be the middle of a project or the skies open up as if by a faucet, and take down the moist clothes as well.

As luck would have it, rain did not fall all day long. The sky lit up with lighting and thunder at night but the ground remained dry, unlike my pants.