Drove to the General’s. Woods along the GW Parkway peppered with dogwood and redbud, white and purple seasoning sprinkled among the early spring green.
Two automotive events tried to thwart the trip: a flashing dashboard light pulled us over to top off antifreeze (Leaking? Gotta have it looked at.), and tough parking at Mt. Vernon, spring break guests’ cars jamming the lot. Funny, this darned invention, the car, supposed to speed things up, can slow life frustratingly sometimes.
Love having Mt. Vernon almost to ourselves during cold winter weather, but miss the green, the blossoms, the plants. Love the green, the blossoms, the plants, but don’t like sharing it with such large crowds. Never satisfied.
Estate’s gardens looked good. Too good: a bushel of overripe spinach and another of lettuce awaited picking. It better not go to waste. Admiration (of the large, healthy plants) and frustration (with the as-yet unused abundance) vie for my attention.
Noticed raised beds off to the side (have they been here before?) with an at-first-blush odd assortment of plants: violas, foxglove, horehound, lavender, calendula, elderberry, feverfew, lemon balm and more. Suddenly it dawns on me: these are medicinal herbs the Washingtons and everyone else in the late 18th century would have used. I scribble the names in my journal. (Note: look these up, what do they do? Some I already grow in my garden; could grow others.)
Most people here take pictures; I take notes.
We sat on a bench a distance from but facing Washington’s tomb. My wife: “If you die prematurely, I’d put a bench by your grave, too, and sit there often. Every day is such a gift.” A poignant sweet word on this vibrant spring day.
Tremendous wind and showers yesterday, but the air, the plants, the world seemed scrubbed and fresh now, like they’re ready for Easter this weekend.
Stopped at the store on the way home to go “fishing” for a tuna and a swordfish steak to grill, also an eggplant and a potato. For nearly thirty years married to this woman, grocery stores are almost romantic for us: a stolen kiss here, a surreptitious touch there.
A full grill: two eggplant halves, two zucchini halves, thin slices of a sweet and a Russet potato, plus the two fish steaks; an entertaining, colorful variety arrayed before me. With the constant tending, the heat and smoke, squeezing lemon, pouring olive oil, shaking seasoning, the cooking feeds me almost as much as the eating.
Transplanted tomatoes, basil, cilantro, a pepper into pots. Will plant some in the garden soon, maybe this weekend?
Slid between the covers early and tired and grateful.
