First Monday In June

Glamma and I do not have wonderful stories to tell of our little ones and as wonderful as Murphy is we fear too much attention to her antics may make us look strange. So developing blog material is a challenge. But this morning I wish you all could have joined me for the beautiful tour I took through the garden on my way to work.

When I reached the bottom of the back stairs my feet instinctively turned South to the garage and the usual Monday Morning work day. But today my better angels guided my spirit North to the waterfall and beyond. Yes, I could concentrate on the thinning grass under the picnic table that suffers from lack of sunshine or I could moan about the freshly arrived flower pots filled with colorful annuals that magically appear whenever Glamma goes shopping, but today I just absorbed the beauties of the garden.

The sprinklers had just advanced to a new station so the aroma of Spring permeated every green surface. The Brigham City petunia bowls (16) are in fresh bloom and all the hill is green. There are patches of color from early spring plants and there is the lasting beauty of the flowers that miraculously survived the cold of winter, still in full bloom! The gentle breeze provided the energy for the shimmering leaves on the quakies and the yard was alive again.

There is no sound to invade the garden except the tranquility of the water fall and the distant song of the birds. Today the green stretches from our backyard up the hill to the spires of Mt. Olympus and beyond to the blue heaven.

Every inch of the garden holds a memory. The waterfall construction by Glamma, BC and all of Missy and Brad's friends just before their wedding, the nocternal liberation of rocks from Big Cottonwood Canyon, the iron trellesses and rose garden completed in late Summer for Mindy and Nate and of course the Jenny and Matt gazebo/bandstand.

Most of all the echos of Summer Sunday Birthday dinners and parties. Good friends, good food and laughs. How rich we are to see dogs chase and grand children tumble and roll down the hill. How many times have I walked out the front door to see a couple "watching the sunset" while snuggling on the front lawn. Or, the bitter sweet memory of laying in bed late at night to hear a daughter and boy friend "giggle" on the tramp. Often we laid there saying to each other "that should be us and Grandma and Grandpa Smith should be laying in bed listening to this!"

I never hear the road noise eminating from the busy highway. Somehow the memories and beauty of a place called home distract me.