This morning the weather turned 60s-ish and very windy. I took my Justice League of America kite and 300 feet of string to nearby Glendover Park. I noted with great pride that my fledgling Mexican buckeye tree now sports not only tiny leaves, but also little pink flowers. The tree survived its first winter, and now is in bloom.
Even the Eve's necklace tree, which I thought had nearly departed, sported fresh Spring leaves.
The kite climbed from my hands into the sky and up to the end of its tether. Collin County, Texas must be the best place to fly a kite in America. I watched it dance and dangle for fifteen minutes, wheeling it around, before pulling the string back into grasp.
My wife continues to work hard on a contract project, so I hopped in my car and headed up to McKinney. I stopped at a place I'd been meaning to try called Pollo Allegre. Everyone watched the Mexican League soccer game as I entered the cafe. I ordered a flame-grilled half-chicken, and read my Gaskell novel.The TV announcer suddenly called out "Goal!Goal!Goal!", just the way that my junior high football coach might say "Go! Go! Go!", only in junior high, the coach would then say "Hit 'im, followed by the disparaging "Awww..you didn't WANT him" (devastating in its accuracy).
I drove over to Park Hill Prairie, stopping off at the bait stop with the big sign saying "Minnows" on my way, to buy Canadian crawlers. I thought about rescuing a special "red shiner" instead, but my aquarium is not set up. This may be the longest simple aquarium set-up in history. During my very productive Saturday, I did not get my yard sale aquarium table purchased. This is on the list for imminent solution, though. I did check Goodwill, but this one lacked used furniture. It had a collectible antique harmonica on silent auction, for which I absurdly bid 40 dollars. I don't even play harmonica, but it looked like something my friend Scott might enjoy. I need to get Scott over to record again, because my own sense of melody is nearly non-existent right now.
I drove out past Farmersville to Highway 36. Then I drove the eight miles to Park Hill Prairie. The first bluebonnets, the Texas state wildflower, coated some of the country home yards. In a few weeks, bluebonnets will carpet fields. I passed a field of goats as I headed down the country road off 36 which leads to the Prairie. The two small stock ponds there serve as my secret fishing paradise. I put on bream hooks and worms, and began to fish. By the time I switched to a small, top-directed bobber, I was pulling sunfish out about as often as I cast. I caught fourteen, orange and green, but only one to three were really "keepers". I threw them all back anyway. I had a solitary moment of deep sadness while I fished, arising from a delayed work stress, but the sounds of snapping turtles hopping into the pond and cattle lowing in the distance seemed to work a potion which cured these ills.
Four twelve year old boys came to fish, but they could not catch any bass with their casting spoons. My fishing paradise probably seems like a dry hole to them. I saw my first black swallowtail butterfly of the Spring on the walk to my car.
The wind was so brisk I decided to try out the mini-kite I bought for a dollar at a dollar store recently. It is something like 6 inches by 9 inches, and uses something not much thicker than thread for kite string. It features a Transformer on its cover, but Transformers are long after my time, so I do not know anything about them except they were a soupy toy and they got well parodied in the movie "Big". The mini-kite launched immediately, and went to its full height. Its tail must have been 30 feet long, and it needed all that stability.
I drove home down a country gravel road, where a roadrunner, sleek and brown and vaguely like a religious object on pottery, ran across the road. I came upon three black vultures doing carrion duty in the middle of the road, but as I could not wait for Death, they kindly moved aside for me. I saw a great blue heron flying at car height in a nearby field. I took a wrong turn into a Baptist Encampment, but turned from the path back onto the Path, and fantasized as I drove past a manufactured home community about a prefabricated chess club building.
When I was a kid, a Methodist encampment met each Summer near my home town. This was the Davidson Campground, which will meet for its 120th meeting this July. Many folks in my town went and camped, but my family never camped that way. We did go to a service or two. Methodists are not big on fire nor on brimstone, but the visiting ministers still found lots to talk about during the ten day revival. In ten days, one can find a fault or two with the human condition, even if one is inclined to be polite and redemptive. Camp meeting (or "camp") was an event that people would go to see even if they did not belong to the Methodist church. Now they even have a davidsoncampground.com, which plays the church bell which summons everyone to camp services, so that the whole world wide web can hear.I think I would have enjoyed staying in one of those 100 cabins for ten days, but we never did that. We did all sorts of other things, though, so my childhood was particularly fortunate.
I drove past the cormorants and seagulls on Lake Lavon, and then listened to a story on "Selected Shorts" about a man who phoned in false information about his own demise, in order to see the obituary. I felt a weariness when I got home,and answered an e mail from a business contact about a conference call tomorrow morning.