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PatchWork by Joyce Whitis |
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PatchWork by Joyce Whitis |
We built this house in
"56, right after the dairy barn was completed. The tile wasn't even on the floors
when I looked out that window and saw a little baby
of a mesquite growing in the gravel about thirty feet from the kitchen door. Because there were no other trees that close to
the house at the time, we left it. From my
kitchen window, I watched that 18 inch lacy sprig grow into a tall strong tree until its
arms spread out making a cool umbrella for a little boy and girl to play under. They had a sand box
and soon they built roads carrying heavy traffic of cars, tractors, and
trucks. Plastic soldiers marched up and down
miniature hills beneath the tree and swings hung from a sturdy limb. Baby dolls had tea from china cups and then napped
on blankets spread out across the gravel. All of this I could watch and monitor while I
washed tomatoes, peeled onions, and washed dishes.
Squabbles
got my attention immediately and I was out the back door to do my duty as a mother. Other times I watched and ran for a camera to
record something that needed to be preserved forever.
Barn cats spent hours
beneath the tree with the children or sharpening their claws on the rough bark and several
dogs were always present for any childhood activity.
From my window I watched the children grow, the dogs and cats be replaced
with others and the tree ever expand. Beyond
the tree my husband came and went from the dairy barn. While I put a roast on to cook, I watched the cows
gathered in the holding pen ready to be milked or saw them amble out of the lot to rest
and graze in the coastal field.
Years passed and other
buildings materialized in front of my window. One
afternoon there was a playhouse to the left of the tree, it's pine walls stained red to
match the cedar siding on our house. From
the kitchen I could hear the ring of the phone the kids set up between the playhouse and a
treehouse in a live oak that was out of my
sight.
A corrugated metal covered holding pen made of pipe, replaced the
first pen made of wire. A barn to keep baby
calves warm came later after a smaller shed with a dirt floor became a shelter for the
milking herd. After the hay barn was built,
my view of our gorgeous winter sunsets was somewhat restricted but the barn was a necessity for the small bales
of hay we used back then.
One summer the kids outgrew
the tree and took interest in other things so we started a cactus garden on the side away from the playhouse that now became
storage for garden tools. Spring and summer
blooms in the garden soon provided pleasure from the kitchen window.
Dog runs between the tree
and the house made it easy to keep track of a litter of Harlequin Great Dane pups in the
same way I had once kept track of the children. Years
later the converted pens became a play yard for our monkey, Elvis and I could watch him
and talk to him through the open window.
There have been lots of
firsts observed from my window; the first time I saw our new boat hooked to the pickup and
ready for a trip to the lake; children riding their bikes without help; Bluejays in the
birdbath; Ole Stripped Mama Cat taking her kittens on a hunting trip; half-grown guineas
chasing and catching grasshoppers; our first registered heifer caressing her new heifer
calf; grandkids climbing up the Tree.
Often something I have seen
from my window has sent me running head- long into the back yard. Seeing a red rooster attacking my daughter was
one. Watching the milking herd escaping
through an open gate was another. One morning
I watched in horror as my old Dane, Atilla tried to get up only to fall down in agony. I raced to the yard where the gentle giant died in
my arms.
Just this past week what I
saw from my window, tugged at me to come outside. Standing
in the yard, with a less restricted view, the wonders of a pink and purple sunset brought
excitement to an otherwise dull day. Although
I have never seen a winter sunset that wasn't spectacular in its way, this one could most
certainly take a prize. Lumps of the deepest
pink cloud rode across the entire western sky and drifted toward the northwest. The pink clouds were followed by dark purple with shades
of color undergoing constant change.
Silently, I gave my thanks
for this sunset, and my thank you's for all
the other thousands of sunsets as well as the many, other blessings that have filtered
through my kitchen window. Some years ago the Tree began to die. I watched as every day the leaves fell and the
bare branches stretched up toward heaven. As
it died, my spirits plumpeted but then one day a tiny new growth appeared in the shadow of
the old tree. This young sapling was a
hackberry and it grew rapidly. Within a year
it was impressive. Today it stands taller than the mesquite's bare
skeleton and is home to many birds who dive from its branches into the birdbath.
The old Tree remains
lifeless. In the spring its lifeless limbs
will be covered in creeping ivy and the guineas will fly up to roost on its still sturdy
limbs. Above it towers the new tree, the
hackberry, and its branches support many spring nesting places and landing strips.
Life goes on outside my
kitchen window.