I watch the rain forecast and the flood warnings carefully and in the end decide it is safe to drive my usual route past the dam and along the creek. The water is high below the damn, and the reservoir does not in any way resemble its December dry creek bed. It is a lake now, and close the the road where once there was sand. The creek is high and fast, but not unlike I have ever seen it. It is good to be in the quiet place, where I help my friend who is recovering from surgery. I want to be useful. I do not want to be the irresponsible and lazy 22 year old that once lived with her. We eat whole grain pasta with garlic scape pesto and beet greens and chard sauteed with garlic scapes with salt, pepper and a squeeze of lemon. I give her daughter a drop spindle and bag of roving she sets to work learning. I drink less than I usually do when I am here, she on pain medication, me determined to not spend the next 45 days of my life hungover.
In the morning the skies are grey, and I grab a rain coat and the dog and we begin the trek up the long hill. The song of the stream serenaded me in my sleep and I am well rested, windows wide and cool oxygen rich air deepened my slumber. As I walk fast up the steep hill, I immediately regret not bringing my hat, the black flies and mosquitoes are nearly nothing, it is the deer flies that pester us both, up and back. Soon I pick a piece of cedar and swing it over my head and along the back of the dog, keeping the flies at bay. He is slow on the way there and often looks back towards home, but I keep on until we get to the barn. I think, erroneously that the way down is easy and burns nothing, but my legs and lower back tell me otherwise, I can feel it in my muscles. This is good. I stop to take pictures of bladder campion and find a wild strawberry that I promptly eat. Delicious.
There is literally no deep and meaningful thought in this, only hope, potential, and wanting this summer to be special, and productive.