Leaving Snyder’s Church Road and turning onto Meadow Maddie and I pass numerous old properties with their various farm structures. I imagined a corn crib as an aviary . . .
or a silo as a time capsule. What would one want to share with future generations about this moment in time?
I had hoped the sheep would be out and about. We will need to wait for a future walk. As we continue up the hill an old piece of farm machinery looks more like a sculpture than a rusting tractor.
I begin to look once more for those emerging spring blossoms. I find I am not disappointed. Growing on the hillside are Coltsfoot flowers looking like lemon drops among the brittle decaying leaves.
A mass of scillas and grape hyacinths form a carpet of blue under leafless trees. They escaped from a garden that once was.
I picture the gardener, spade in hand, planting those first small bulbs. I wonder if she could have envisioned what she had co-created with the earth.
Will any of my handy work outlive me?
ENJOY . . .