Certainly: Ramblings

I had so much fun at my cello lesson today!  This, two days after my instructor's recital.  She has a PhD in cello performance, so she is way up there on the scale of good cello-ing, as opposed to me.  I learned so much just from having sat a mere 2 pews' length from her cello and her, on Sunday.  So today she and I had a recital "debriefing", when I asked her all sorts of questions about Schumann, Mendelssohn, Poulenc, and her performance.  A fun lesson for this grasshopper.

That Spouse o' Mine and I, last fall, decided to grow lavender out in our horse-less pasture.  But last night, he suggested another venue for the lavender I have been propagating for the past seven months: Mount Paul.

Mount Paul.  It's a huge mound of dirt out in our back yard. When I say back yard, I am saying...out in the north 1/3 of the back yard of maybe two acres of our entire yard.  (The rest of the 15 acres...pasture and creek and a bit of wheat or something.)  So - Mount Paul is easily identifiable.  And how it came about? Huh.  By a wife's somewhat near-stubborn submission to her husband.  There must be a Biblical verse on which to call me out, but let's let it go...

When we were putting the addition on to this ca. 1887 Civil War soldier's home, the contractor approached me one evening and said "We need to know where you and Paul want the excavated dirt to go, by morning."  (Every move and decision was : "by morning".)  When that Spouse o' Mine got home that evening, I relayed the message to him.  Where should we put the dirt?  I had a good idea (north of the barn.)  But that Spouse o' Mine said, " Have them put it here."  (Here, being smack dab in the middle of what ever "back yard" we had.  I questioned him, not once, not twice, not thrice. Was it REALLY a good place to put a whole lot of dirt?  He ascertained, it would be a good place to put a whole lot of dirt. And so...

...the next morning, the builders DID put a whole lot of dirt right where that Spouse o' Mine dedicated.  A WHOLE LOT OF DIRT.  So much dirt, in fact, that he (that Spouse o' Mine) could have reached up and touched the high-line wires overhead, had he summited the top of the mound of dirt.  It was huge.

I was not happy.

That night when that Spouse o' Mine got home, he got out of his car, looked at the mound of dirt, and calmly commented, "I didn't think it would be that tall."


And from that evening forward, that mound of dirt became Mt. Paul.

So, fast-forward years later, and that Spouse o' Mine has an idea:  Plant the lavender on Mt. Paul (his words, mind you), in undulating rows.

He's a good artist, after all...

More to come in this growing season...