Serving Clovis, Portales and the Surrounding Communities
Serving Clovis, Portales and the Surrounding Communities
And just like that, the orb weavers are back.
Maybe it wouldn’t have been such an unpleasant … surprise … if there had been some sort of warning. A little “you hoo, I’m here” or a glittery message woven into the webs. But no. I found out they’re back from their summer break by walking into one of the elaborate webs.
That was my cardio for the day. I’m not sure who was more surprised, me or the spider. Maybe the neighbors from my shrieks.
Once my heart rate was back to normal and I’d gotten the sticky web bits off my face, I got back to the work of deadheading the dahlias. Orb weavers seem to love stringing their webs between the different sections of dahlias. We have that in common; they’re one of my favorite flowers.
As I got back to my work, it struck me that in a few short weeks, we’d start winterizing our different garden areas. It happened so quickly. The first part of the season, I impatiently waited for the 80-plus dahlia bulbs to bloom. Like a child at Christmas, I wanted to rush time along just to see the brilliant blossoms.
Now standing in the midst of glorious flashes of color (with a watchful eye for orb weavers), I feel a bit of sadness with each snip of the clippers, removing dead bits from the flowers. Soon, it’ll be time to start prepping the different garden areas for their winter’s nap.
Where did the time go?
As a kid, I remember time going at a snail’s pace. It took for-ev-er for summer to arrive, and then even longer for Christmas. Now, I blink and I’m at the threshold of a new season.
I remember living to play and be outdoors. After school, we’d do homework and then grab our bikes, or play hockey (I was the goalie) or ball (I was awful) and stay outside until the streetlights came on; that was the universal sign for dinner. We were outside more than not. No video games, no cell phones (thankfully, my antics weren’t recorded for posterity), no computers. On bad weather days, we were inside with books. Oh, the trips to the library. We’d make the mile-trek with empty bookbags, and then gleefully scour the shelves looking for new adventures.
Those were the days.
Fast forward a million years, and I find myself on the other side, now wishing time would slow down a bit. Silently snipping and shaping the dahlias, I stroll through my garden of memories. My parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles, scads of cousins and assorted other relatives. Moves across country (many times over). Sand Hill Cove Beach. Too many schools to remember. Making new friends, saying goodbye to old friends. So many memories slipping through my fingers like pearls.
Time slows in the garden, and while the dahlias dance on the breeze, I’m grateful for the “visits” from family who’ve passed from this life. I’m grateful to sift through the decades and look back on those experiences, good and bad, because they all helped me to arrive at this place, this current season.
Memories, like warm hugs, linger. As I walk from one season to the next, I visualize the loved ones from my memories, walking with me. The footprints that I leave behind me are really my steps falling into the footprints of all those who came before me. Never alone; walking in love.
Patti Dobson writes about faith for The Eastern New Mexico News. Contact her at:
