April 18th, 2003


Walk to Rivendell - Mile 37

It feels so good to just be able to lope for a good half hour at a stretch and not feel thrashed afterwards, breathing was easy, the knee is finally not troubling me all that much, and all that even with a pretty good-sized hill in the midst of the walk.

The knee still aches in this spring thunderstorms, but that's to be expected.

I found a stream today, clear, bright, and talkative. It appeared suddenly, with the spring rains, amid a sere plain with dry, crunchy growth from last year. Everything was brown but for the pale, new green of the grass growing by the chattering brook. It was nice to run by, too, as the ground was relatively even by the stream itself, and the constant talk of life was comforting after the cold, darkness of the past winter. There were even a few, jewel-colored mallards swimming and bathing in the run off.

I walked the last half a mile with John, just talking about the day's events, and we swam a while, afterwards, with Jet. I don't count the swimming hole times, as they're just good relaxation after the hike of the day, and it's a lot of fun just chasing Jet around the place, as he has so much fun in the water.

Mmm... plants

The tomatoes are doing wonderfully. Every single basil seed's come up. My herbs are all pushing green through the earth, and it's funny thinking through my pepper plant. It'll be interesting to see what survives while we're all away for our July vacation. I'm probably going to gift all the tomato plants to someone for the month. They should be producing before then.

My mom got a masters in Horticulture, she raises orchids for fun, breeds her own African violets, and has a whole collection of plants that she does amazing things with, so, in our family, she was the plant grower. She planned the vegetable garden, though we all worked in it to some extent. Kathy has mini roses, which are pretty tough to take care of. So the whole family has something of a green thumb.

But Mom was always kind of considered the be-all and end-all of plants, and when she pronounced that pepper plants always die indoors it was the voice of doom. It lost all its leaves while John and I were on our cruise while Mom was taking care of it. But, perversely, I took as good a care of the remaining stick as I could even when it 'should' have died, and the fact that it's now about two feet tall, bushy, green and leafy has somehow become a reflection of the fact that I am my own person.

Growing and healthy despite pronounciations of doom.
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