There is undeniably something therapeutic about planting a garden. I love the smell of the soil, digging a little hole and gently tucking the seedling in place; and then I love watching the tender plants grow, especially the tomato vines which climb up inside their cages and spill over the sides by the end of summer. It would also be nice if we could actually grow some tomatoes and enjoy them before they are defeated by slugs or blossom end rot. But perhaps merely planting and enjoying growth is enough. As Martin Luther once said, "Even if I knew that tomorrow the world would end, I would nonetheless plant my little apple tree today." That's an inspirational thought to have at a time like this.
This morning I went down to the garden to water the newly-planted tomatoes and I realized it was misting rain, enough that I had to turn on my windshield wipers on my way to Town. But by the time I had parked, it had stopped and there was merely fog. This is a phenomenon I have noticed many times in Highlands: during the climb of 1200 feet in elevation to Main Street, we rise into fog and clouds, above the condensation level. Sometimes the fog becomes bright, as if sunshine and blue sky are just a little higher over our heads. Once or twice I have climbed the additional 400 feet to the top of Big Bearpen and actually broken out into that clear sky, a sea of fog spread out below.
Last Wednesday, I had what I called in this blog an "epic run," meandering down seldom-traveled roads, far off the usual route. I had the same idea this morning, running up Chestnut and then onto Lower Lake Road, which circles the Highlands Biological Station property and lovely Ravenel Lake (which locals call Lindenwood Lake), which later in the summer will be floating pink water lilies. Climbing all the way to Horse Cove Road, I turned back toward Town, but then ran out Gibson Street, along the base of Sunset Mountain, and back eventually to our normal running route. Our running group refers to this as "Mary's Four Mile Run," because Mary used to run it from time to time. But Mary, busy with grandchildren and work, has not run at all in at least a year or two, and I sometimes wish I could appropriate that nice, secluded route and call it mine. I wanted to complete more than four miles today, so I turned down Spring Street and then a little way down the Franklin Road, and through the covered bridge to the Bascom, our very nice art center.
Eventually I found my way back to Main Street and to Founders Park, for a total of six miles. How wonderful it is to run in the fog! Around every corner, there seemed to be a brighter flower - rhododendron, azalea, irises along the road - and lights glowed gently as if behind curtains.
Martha had started later than I did, but I never saw her, although I found that her car was parked behind mine at the Park when I returned. When we compared notes over lunch, I discovered that she, too, had gone off the usual route, although a different one than mine. Now the fog has rolled away completely, and as I sit writing this blog the sun is pouring in my window, for now at least. And - Hallelujah! - the weather forecast this morning indicates that the longed-for warm weather is coming, day by day, over the next week.
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