Station Master-book (excerpt)

Christmas Garden (Introduction)

 

Comes then, the subtleness, tranquil, like floating fluttering fluffy white upon a landscape stark in frigid blending shadows intent on definition to any curious eye, providing shelter for the furry creatures tiny; wary prey, observant notice of the predator hunter stalking near. To ebb slightly into each full-born day from the season just escaped and evade the telling harbinger of where the flow shall note its admission. Each season been and surely present in the now and to some coming future-time, slowly evolves to notice not the chameleon-like delicate change of its inevitable chase across the seasons. To each, its own, in its own time; such, Mother Nature is.

Spring promises renewal birth-of-life with freshness green in forest wood, raining moisture nourishment to tender growth in soft caressing showers. Sometimes its early effort must succumb to Winter’s cold and bitter wind, one last fling to let them know, unkind reminder though it be, that warming days might just win, but the north holds reluctant-tight and offers hint to ride again.

Days’ lengthened path signals that concert harmony dances perfectly to the maestro’s baton waving magic-air as nature calls the tune and all minions must obey; no choice in this, have they.

Slips almost quietly to summer like a ship upon the ocean current sailing in a circle to touch each point of the wide-world compass; the seasons four shall be not denied. Warm days to hot with thunderstorms, oft-times clamorous, they come to cleanse and freshen fragrant with life sustaining gifts gratefully accepted by the needy flora and her creatures there. To the cooling sky of shortened light where flowers fade to hints of crimson-gold still hidden just beyond horizon yonder waiting now its turn to set the world ablaze in myriad palette-colors awesome. Indeed!

A ferrule securely holds the bristles full to overrunning with brilliant hues spoon-splashed among vast varied wildness shapes and textures of the Autumnal fall kaleidoscope expectant. Calm mornings reflect the beauty held in mirror-surfaced lakes until a rising mid-day breeze flutters glass into an ever changing range of mixed and blended intense vibrant. Then, before the eye explodes the myriad tints resplendent like Springs’ remembered flower treasure trove.

Roasted turkey, browned to a culinary magazine’s perfect photo advertisement, with all the trimmings perfect-prepared and Love-presented, Oh! just so, may introduce with that auspicious celebration---What?...an early surprise snow to delight the children, young and old. Into the hustle holiday time where nature goes unheeded, taking unknown notice to all the challenges encountered which it seems, can never be fully accomplished but manages to sustain admiration-appreciation harmony in melody. She remains un-insulted and waits, quite so patiently.

Then, at last, the painted forest relinquishes her beauty-bonnet, save, of course, those pin oak leaves which rattle through the frigid freeze like a bugle harbinger of coming attractions, next. Winter-fun for children with whiteness comes, aplenty. For young-at-heart the cold wind blows excited thrills awaiting all who dare accept the chilly challenge; tender nights for hugging close before a crackling cedar fire, delightful loving to the humming moan in vacant eaves on high.

Before the final ice has melted out upon the lake, green moss on warming southern slopes announces proud the coming Spring. As it begins once more, dear Lord, let me taste of nature’s virtue. The only sin in Providence’s scheme might just be that, precluded, I could not partake.

 

 

 

 

 

Alabaster-pale Full Moon Refrain!

 

Alabaster-pale full moon bright

Creating shadows grey and white

Blends surreal sweetness in delight

 

Image in old looking glass reflects time-traveled horizon-trace afar

Yet! Amazing site to  tired eyes, more beautiful than ever, still thou are

 

Instants, days, on into years, in lightning flash it’s all just soon been

To count the dead, to fear the next, to miss the now, commits dire sin

 

Once infant crawled, unsteady walked, ran like a fresh, sailed fair wind

Too quickly surf kissed sandy beach, found passing time not be dear friend

 

Alabaster-pale full moon bright    

Creating shadows grey and white

Blends surreal sweetness in delight

 

Fulfill dear nature-mother’s way---Always! Thy kingdom come!

Blatant-subtle instant-eon, each day-long most treasured awesome

 

Alabaster-pale full moon bright

Creating shadows grey and white

Blends surreal sweetness in delight

 

Spring Beauty-virgin Sweetness-maiden caresses dawn softly the east

Adonis-handsome tender embrace locked-hearts in lasting loving-feast

 

Southern statue subtle slowly slips on sojourn wind, nearly a silent whisper

Spawned summer storms begot of futile search for just one tempting mister

 

 

Placid western monument imperceptibly has paid pained-dues

Lake color bright kaleidoscope reflects Autumnal splendor hues

 

Sculpted marble icy-cold purviews spouse handiwork now frozen frigid

Daguerreotype slight shadowed black on white hints softly contrast rigid

 

Alabaster-pale full moon bright

Creating shadows grey and white

Blends surreal sweetness in delight

 

All transfixed quietness even in exploded temper ’ere nature goes

Each combination different, yet still same, in gentle ebb and flow

 

Offered there true love gone holding hands in heaven’s garden upon His earth

Live statues bathed in alabaster-white refrain to value-virtue sweet pure worth

 

Alabaster-pale full moon bright

Creating shadows grey and white

Blends surreal sweetness in delight

 

Lazy “∞” upon yon dream-bed to symbolize that one forever infinity

Body life? A soul. Its own? Spirit true. Replete, to emulate divinity

 

Alabaster-pale full moon light confesses not an illuminated single solitary faux sorrow

Faith! Family! Freedom! Trinity---hope born new dawn upon the promised ’morrow

 

Alabaster-pale full moon bright

Creating shadows grey and white

Blends surreal sweetness in delight

Shadowed Graces wraithlike-night

Passionate reality, purchase-tight

Upon soft wind sacred Deity sight

Touch yonder sky to mountain height

“V”-wedge geese in migrant flight

A sin? To miss…true life! It might!

 

Amen!

 

Christmas Garden!

 

Again, they sat contented, enjoying a rhythmic to and fro of the glass-encased gazebo swing.

Finally, when moisture trapped in one of the cedar logs boiled to eruption, sending an exploding red fireworks rocket shower of sparks ascending the stone chimney, he broke the silence of the tender moment to answer her initial query.

“A Christmas Garden!” He began, now suddenly excited to tell the tale as she waited, expectantly. Nanny knew that look in his eyes; this was going to be good. She just knew it.

“The little girls actually came up with the idea. Well! Let’s say that they planted the seed and “A funny thing,” the old man thought, aloud. “A Christmas Garden!” He shook his head at the very incongruity of such imagined fantasy. An “oxymoron” in the modern lexicon within a world of “hip” and “in”; the “sophisticated” inhabitants. Even, at that, he laughed audibly at his own self-chastisement of supposed convicted ineptitude where the “younger” generation, now marked by one of the latter alphabet symbols, was concerned.

“What are they going to do when they run out of letters?” he wondered. “‘Z’ would denote the very next generation. Then, What? Generation---‘AA’?” He laughed, aloud. “Like the battery bunny, I guess. It just keeps going and going and going!”

“Bapa! Bapa!” Came Nanny’s exasperated admonition. “You date yourself, terribly, my husband. That commercial last ran in the eighties; that, old-Son! was a long time ago.”

“I do believe, dear wife of mine, that it was decidedly, the nineties! If you so please,” he teasingly interrupted by way of hopeful correction; never purposely undermining her privilege.

Unflustered at his attempted override, more through repetitive numbing habit than any concentrated concerted focus, she was quite used to his antics and anomalies, she quipped, “And, perhaps you make a point. Perhaps? But, for sure, the ‘hip’ and ‘in’ of which you speak quite so casually, is now, in the modern exacerbated text, ‘Cool!’” She gave him a curt nod.

“Well! Now.” He smiled. “So, at last, we come to the very issue, do we not?” He teased, good naturedly. “That triteness, “Cool!’ I do recall belonged exclusively to the---‘Sixties!’”

He gave a protracted nod of his own making and embellished the word with an exclamation.

“Touché!” he proclaimed, meaning to put an end to the good humor which seemed to threaten his very authority on the matter; at least, in his own eyes.

“What’s old is new, again.” Nanny finished as a courtesy to his domain. She smiled, but did not look at him.

He mulled that over, a bit. Then, “Did you just get the best of me?” He queried.

“Me…?” came the reply, her tone appalled that he might even think such a possibility.

At that seemed acquiescence; Bapa smiled.

When she whispered a hushed, “…Again!” He frowned, but wisely let it drop.

Softly, he squeezed her hand and said, “I love you!”

Leaning over to kiss his cheek, she returned his tenderness in echoed, “I love you, too.”

They sat quietly, then. Moving slowly to the rhythmic charm of the porch swing which Bapa had brought into the gazebo at mid-October for their winter enjoyment. There were days, to be sure, when the temperature and apportioned sunshine made utilization of the adornment when hung on the front porch, pleasant enough for the cold season, but, bringing it into the enclosed yard decoration provided many more opportunities for enjoyment. Floor to ceiling windows and a wood-burning stove within the enclosure made for a snug and romantic venue on a cold season’s night; one just such as this. Thanksgiving was in the offing and a chill nip greeted the quiet autumn evening purple-promise of peaceful darkness-rest upon the frozen calm.

After a while, Nanny broached the question, the point of which had raised her curiosity but had been lost in the good humored banter over colloquialisms between the couple.

“What was that were you mumbling about a ‘Christmas Garden’?” she prodded.

He released her hand and put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close.

“Oh! I guess I was just thinking out loud. You know. I have been accurately accused of that annoying penchant, before,” he teased, poking her gently in the side; she giggled like a school girl flirting with her beau. “I love when you laugh,” he offered and nudged her ribs, again.

“Bapa! Stop!” she murmured, demurely inviting more. “What will the neighbors think.”

He looked around in amazement. “Neighbors?!” he mocked, stymied. “Nearest human is a mile to the road and another four to town.” He shook his head. Then, he laughed. “Oh! You must mean the dogs or the cat, maybe the horses. Perhaps the deer or coyotes?”

At that, she lovingly slapped his knee.

“Hey! Now! Dear lady,” he grudged, frowning playfully. “You do that again and I’ll give those pesky, nosy neighbors something to write home about.” Then, he kissed her gently.

Now that fantasy had germinated and promised to grow to fruition in a full-fledged imagined design-apparition, he had his captive audience interested in his developing plan.

“We could take this gazebo and make it the centerpiece of the garden. Oh! It’ll have to be expanded, improved. This original part will be the center; I’ll move the fireplace to the middle, make a circular firebox, vent it through the apex of the roof.

“I figure the finished structure might be about three times its present size; maybe a bit more.”

He was getting excited. Nanny could see him constructing the building in his mind’s eye, improvising, both in the telling to her and in the magical reality building inside his head, adding embellishments as he went along. That proclivity, to live on the edge, take on all challenges, improvise, persevere, conquer, succeed, never fear, see only the good, these characteristics she dearly loved in her husband’s personality. He could always fathom a clear design and commit to reality what others feared even to dream. “All things are possible!” summed-up as his motto.

“Your summer vegetable garden is directly east of where we now sit. The heavy woods behind it offers afternoon shade for the plants in the heat of summer until late day when the intensity of the sun relinquishes. There is room between here and the garden for a reflecting pool. Oh! nothing ostentatious. Or outrageous. A concrete floor enclosure, rectangular; maybe just a foot or so deep so we can plant water lilies and other aquatic vegetation.

“I’ll raise the foundation of the new gazebo so that the pool water reflection of the garden and woods takes full advantage. It’ll be just beautiful”

He paused and reached for his cup of hot tea on the side table. She waited, infatuated by the intensity of his focus on the matter at hand; she could capture the detail of his vivid presentation.

Swallowing a mouthful of the delectable hot liquid, he was anxious to continue, but caught himself. Not meaning to be impolite or show disrespect in his enthusiasm, he paused.

“Oh! Sorry, Nanny. I didn’t mean to get so carried away.” He looked down, sheepishly. “I guess I’m still like a kid in a candy shop when I get started on something good; all eyes and an insatiable appetite. If you have any suggestions, just chime right in.” He meant it as an apology.

Nanny laughed. “Oh! Don’t you worry, none, Bapa! I already have some ideas. Like cattails in and around part of the reflecting pool and flowers to compliment the vegetable garden and flowering shrubs and some red bud trees, blue spruce and Japanese miniature red maples and dogwood, both pink and white, to grow close together so that the colors intermingle in spring bloom. Maybe a yard swing, you know, one with a canopy and seats facing each other.”

She paused to catch her breath, smiling brightly, like a girl getting her first formal gown.

Now, it was Bapa’s turn to laugh, enjoying her girlish exuberance; they made a fine couple.

“I’m sure you haven’t run out of ideas. Just keep thinking and they’ll continue to come to you.

“But, I’ve only just begun, too. The girls and I have talked about these ideas for some time; you’ve heard them mention some of it, I’m sure.” He waited for her affirmation.

“Yes. Of course.” She seemed somewhat confused, unsure of the truth of it.

“Nanny! None of this could be that much of surprise. They talk about it all the time.”

“Well. I guess I just thought they were playing their perpetual fantasy game; the way they make up fire breathing dragons and princes and princesses and magic dust and flying horses.”

In an effort to sooth her feeling, if indeed, they had been injured, he plodded on.

“I have to admit, I have a lot of trouble keeping up with those three, myself. Much less ever getting ahead of them. But, they are so cute that I just can’t ever say: ‘No!’”

“They are precious,” she admitted. “I best start paying closer attention.” At that, she laughed.

Feeling that he had over stepped his bounds, perhaps that he had plotted with the children around Nanny, or, at the very least, that she had interpreted it that way, he thought better of going on with his narrative. As a compromise he tendered an offer and she could decide.

“Anyway. I’ve yammered on long enough for tonight; it’s getting pretty late. Next time the little girls come to visit, maybe for an overnight stay, we’ll all sit down and talk about it.”

She gave him a look of half-apology, half-expectation and squeezed his hand, affectionately.

“Oh! No! Bapa. I’m not offended in the least. But, you can bet I will be if you don’t finish.”

He laughed. “Okay, Nan. Of course, most of this I’m ad-libbing as we go along; you know that. It all came together as an idea we could make happen through the fantasy playing whenever the girls would let their fairy dust fly and I happen to be nearby and hear their plots and plans. I guess I get more than a modicum of their fantasy ‘magic dust’ one me, from time to time.”

Nanny chuckled at that. “Yes! Indeed!” she half-whispered, then, laughed aloud.

“Anyway,” he steadfastly continued, choosing to ignore her light chastisement, “That east side will be our representation of Spring in the garden. We can add to and change some of the ideas when we actually do the construction. We’ll need a life-size statue of a fair young maiden to stand on a pedestal in the middle of the reflecting pool. She’ll be the innocent virgin version of a fertile matronly Mother Nature giving birth and life to the garden.”

“You will remember the tender age of our girls when you unveil this chapter?” she teased.

“Not to worry,” he mused, patting her hand, gently. “I’m always a gentleman around ladies.”

She gave him a questioning glance but thought better of pursuing the matter; he read her mind as to the impending curiosity and appreciated her letting it pass between them. He smiled.

“To the south,” he continued, “will be the summer goddess garden and we’ll find a marble statue to place there, too. Maybe a young mother-type radiant with life, fashioned in fine female features, strong, refined shoulders to carry her burdens, a slim waist and long, shapely legs.”

Nanny interrupted. “Are you describing the little girls’ idea here, or is that wistful look indicative of your personal desires; you seem almost…anxious.”

Like the proverbial cat, Bapa not only always landed on his feet, he was quick of reaction, and, luckily, of wit, too. Good thing! That blessing was.

“Actually, dear Lady, I had a picture of you in mind when I described that fair beauty.”

“Umm! Hmm!” she breathed, feigning coquettishness. Then, “I return your---‘Touché!’”

Pressing forward with the telling, he decided discretion was, indeed, the better part of valor.

“The lake is there and we’ll set her in front of it on a pedestal for all to see. She’ll be the siren of the South and will represent Summer. With the pasture in the foreground and horses, cattle and sheep grazing, that portal will be the fulfillment of Spring’s promise of nature’s bounty. Maybe every other year, or so, I’ll plant winter wheat in that pasture so it’ll be winter-green, then gold right up to harvest in late June or early July. I’ll over seed it with red clover in February and let it lay fallow until the fall when I’ll sew it in rye so it will be green most of the time. For beauty, even in the winter time. The hills in the background reflect in the lake and especially in the fall, with the green carpet and autumn reds and golds finery, it’ll be absolutely gorgeous.”

“On the west we’ll landscape around a sundial; to the north, a statue of the god, Anemoi.”

Nanny could picture it all in her mind; Bapa painted a beautiful solitude. Bucolic! Serenity!

Details would refine the impromptu-design and, together, they would construct the fantasy-dream. Pleasant memories permeate life-complete. All such manner begins with---Love!