Memorial Day

Always in my life, Memorial Day weekend says it's summer. The danger of frost is gone, you can finally plant your tomatoes and everything else in the garden, bring out the yard furniture, and from now on stay outside after work in short sleeves and it will still be light. (I don't know if Memorial Day is an American holiday or an International one? I know I should know...)
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It's been an easy-going leisurely lovely weekend. The best part of working is appreciating these long weekends when time lets you run the show for a change. Here's a glimpse of my comings and goings:

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If you don't know already, I am not a country girl. The three years I've lived here is the only time in my life I've been around farms and small towns. I took this picture on a major road leading to the area mall. Repeat: this is not a back road or a small road. Traffic including me just waited until this tractor turned into the Bison farm. The Bison farm? That's another story.
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On Saturday I began a writing workshop that has already proved to be wonderful. I will learn about the craft of writing memoir. It wasn't that long ago that I would say, "I'm becoming a writer." But now I say I am a writer. I'm proud of that.

This is where I bought my inpatients, petunias, and marigolds for the yard and garden. The sign is made from a window shutter. I thought that was pretty cool.
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Ms. Stella has begun to enjoy her yard, meaning that for the first time she lies in the backyard grass and falls asleep. I can't tell you how happy I am that this dog has a good life. I can't imagine what she's been through, and it totally pisses me off to think that she had to endure whatever it was. But that was then. This is now.
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I have a favorite cemetery three miles up the road. It's small and sweet. Today there are flags everywhere, including on most of the graves. I have a funny relationship with the American flag. The conservative right wingers in America tend to use the flag as a symbol of their patriotism, and like to imply that liberal leaning folks are somehow less patriotic. It puzzles me how the flag came to symbolize anything but the solidarity of a nation. So let me say clearly, here and now, this is the flag of the United States of America--my flag--and I appreciate all the freedoms and opportunities it stands for.

Not even a mile from the cemetery a little town called Haydenville has this library, along with a post office and one small cafe. This library is as small as it looks.
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If I have my boundary skills right, Haydenville also has this Unitarian church.

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I'm almost home when I look to my left and see this scene. I notice the yellow strip in the middle of the road and I think it will make a great photo. My eye saw it better than the camera, but I still like it.

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And finally, Memorial Day is a time to honor those who have died. I thought about doing a post, actually, on the people I've lost, but it made me too sad to think about it. Still, this is a day I think about my father. People called him "Red" because of his red hair. He was a mason and bricklayer who with his stepbrother owned D & I Construction. It was just the two of them and together I think they built thirty or more houses. My father was damn proud of that. Here he is with his beloved granddaughter, my Jessica. I know the print quality and lighting is terrible, but I want you to see how this crusty burly man put down his cement mixer and bricks to love and laugh with a child he adored. I miss you Dad, every day. You are the best.

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