The ape...

The super-hot days of our high desert are here—the July and August summer days. 

Summer enters your soul through your skin and it sits there wanting for you to worship it.  

Nothing feels nor looks anything like with on those lovely days of June.  Around here it is just heat and perspiration and a fluttering of the heart.  The sun shines so bright, that it almost dims the light that shines from within you…

Grasses have started to turn yellow everywhere you look and sunshine in the morning doesn’t feel like powdered gold over the grassy side of the garden.  My little sanctuary doesn’t smell of roses either.  The garden hasn’t been graced by an abundant amount of roses after the infestation that took over it, but at least I was able to collect a posy of the loveliest of little roses to bring inside…

These darling roses are from my Boscobel rose bush—a meager of roses I should say, for what this beautiful bush is supposed to give.  Needless to say, I am happy for this… and won’t complain.

Neither of the two David Austin roses I brought home the spring of 2019—the Boscobel and Abraham Darby, have put ‘real’ roses yet… and I say ‘real’ because all I have gotten from them are but small, unhealthy representations of what these roses ought to be.  What disappointment they’ve been thus far. 

I supposed, these roses are still taking their time to adjust to the garden; to adjust to this new place and new soil to them… but whatever reasons there may be for this ‘delay’, they haven’t been given much.  Actually, they haven’t given anything.  And as of today, this is all I’ve been able to bring in from those bushes. 

It’s been said that summertime is a season, and a song.  And I wonder if it also a growl?  Really! A growl!

We were having breakfast outside in the garden this past Sunday when all of a sudden a most disturbing growl was heard above the gentleness of the morning… ending the beauty and quietness surrounding us.    

It wasn’t a dog’s growl, or a bark, or any other sound made by an animal we could identified.  In fact, we had never heard anything like it before.  It was a frightening, diabolical sound that left us glued onto our sits and kept us very quiet for a while. 

The sound had come from the other side of the fence, across from where we were sitting. We listed for some movement, or another sound like it, but nothing.  Everything went back to the previous quietness.  I walked over to the fence and took a peek onto the other side, to see if there was anyone there, but found nothing.  No one was there, no animal no nothing.  All quiet, all ‘normal’.

We figured that if the sound had come from an animal, naturally there should had been more of it; like what happens with bullfrogs at the peak of the breeding season, or when a wolf howls to claim territory.  If it was someone coughing, there should had been more coughing.  But that was not the case.  This had been just a sudden, terrifying sound, emitted only once, and that was it.   

I remember, how I used to spend my mornings working out in the garden on those days before I started my new job, and how, from time to time, I would hear an odd sound coming from that same house; a shrieking or a sound like a wolf howling, but believing that it had to be the owner of that house spying on me and trying to be funny, or trying to scare me, I didn’t pay much attention to it back then. 

Whatever it was this time, however, it was really disturbing, and we still don’t know what it could had been. 

The Fisherman sweetly mentioned that, perhaps, it could had been that same ape I spied on the rooftops of our neighborhood two Christmas ago? 

So I run inside the house as fast as I could and at sunset time, when the sun was setting in the horizon and the sky was turning to a light, dusky purple, and my soul yearned to go out and wait for the tiny silver stars to appear, I tried to go outside… but I couldn’t. 

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I went outside to watch the sun come down, but instead I saw this nuckle-walking think up above the roofs moving very fast... As you can imagine I was agasp with doubts, and shock, and pondered if I was really seeing what I was seeing. King Kong? Then I realized it must have been someone working on their Christmas lights... right? Or not? But look at those disproportionately long arms for one's body... ape arms for sure, and the way he was moving... you tell me! . #apes #monkeyontheroof #monkey #monkeyman #sundown #endofday #mysteries #unknown #kingkong #kingkongmovie #apeontheroof #inexplicable #inexplicablethings #sunlight #puestadelsol #gorila #gorilas #caughtoncamera

A post shared by @ gypsycielo on Dec 4, 2018 at 4:15pm PST

In the heat of summer

I worked in the garden or four hours last Sunday—under the heat of July, a carpet of green grass under my feet majestic, the music of birds soothing and perfect… and it was fire pressed against my skin and sweat on my lips… and I remembered that I hadn't filled the birdfeeders in a long, long time, and I remembered that hummingbirds had been also missing their sugary water and I must hurry and make some soon…

 

 

Because the infestation that had been affecting my roses was so bad, most of them had to be pruned down almost to the ground.  Even if I had sworn to myself not to be annoyed by this and let it be, I couldn’t stand it any longer.  And I closed my eyes and followed my heart, and I cut… and while I was cutting my thoughts floated onto another tomorrow—onto better days and splendid blooms, and I kept cutting and perspiring some more while hoping for the best...

I later watered each rose bush deeply and tried to remove as much of the yellow leaves still left on branches by hose.  What else could one had done?  The Fisherman insisted that spraying the roses with insecticide; which he did (he did), had been more than enough, and he insisted that I acted unwisely and destroyed what took a year to mature and I just closed my eyes and kept working… under the sun, the marvelous sun of July, which I will remember it later, and wish I could be out under its heat when cold days are here, and skies turn bluesish-black and my soul old and cold.

 

I’ve been freezing watermelons.  I use an ice-cream scoop to scoop out the fruit and then I place the watermelon balls in plastic bags and freeze them.  Watermelons are definitely the epiphany of ‘summer’ to me.  Refreshing like no other fruit, enticingly beautiful to the eye and sweet to the taste buds and I am sure I will never get tired of eating frozen watermelon on scorching hot summer days in the garden, when birds are singing and white fluffy clouds above your head swim the open blue sky like fishes in the lake. 

Watermelon, the sound of sprinklers, flipflops, roses and mourning doves songs.  I love summer.  I love summer!  Can you hear emotions in words?

  

July

Can you believe the month is almost over?  Truly, in just a few more days.  

Ah July—you came unexpectedly upon our days and now I see you already getting ready to depart; to never again come back to us.  You will be remembered down in history as another month of uncertainties and despair to many around the world.  You united us and divided us and here we are awaiting another you, another July and another ‘what would be next?’. 

I’m keeping my faith up and my thoughts together.  Hard times are ahead of us all, but our hearts are aglow in the hope we have believed.  We Christians are watching and gathering signs.  We watch, we see, and we wait.

And the garden?  Something pretty awful had happened to my roses; and I can’t tell if the damage was caused by nature itself or perhaps by me.  For upon seeing the mildew infestation on some of the bushes I proceeded to fumigate, and I might had put too much insecticide in the bottle and burned them all…

I tend to do that, thinking that more is better I would usually overact and the usual results are more damage than good.  In my defense, thought, I still have to doubt if I’m really the one to blamed for the damage.  For those yellow leaves on rose bushes don’t seem burned, and it looks more like an infestation of some kind, or some fungus decease than anything.  But who knows! 

I should cut them low—I should cut down every bush, but I don’t have the guts, and what a waste that would be.  Thus, I am leaving them untouched.  That’s what I’m doing.

 

 

I was looking at my self in the mirror this afternoon and for a moment my eyes were mom’s eyes and I was looking at myself and at her and she was looking at me and I was her, until tears filled both of our eyes, blurring the vision on the mirror.

The yarrow had flowered, and the Shasta daisy is taking over.  It is summer after all, and all the little faces in the garden are smiling and pondering if the sun adores them.

Camping at the “Lilac trees” campground, as I call this place...

I still remember last year’s penuries, the intense heat of July, the amount of people, their loud music and the particularly barrenness of the campground the Fisherman had chosen... I swore I never wanted to come back here again, if it wasn’t at that time of the year in early April when the lilac trees are in bloom and the intoxicating scent of its flowers pervades the campsite for miles around.  But this year the Fisherman chose right, and we got a place up on the higher grounds, outlooking the lake, were a small grove of trees and pines gives campers and gypsies their much-needed respite from the sun...

Campers were fewer this year too; with just the right amount of boats on the lake and children swimming in the afternoon, and birds seem to be everywhere this year, knowing perhaps that they have more liberty now with less people around, you find them flying from tree to tree everywhere, and the better part of it is, you can hear the too... their songs filling the airs and soothing your soul. 

I loved it here this year; and I’m so thankful—loved being able to sit outside under the shade of trees and just look down at the lake and at the boats going by and youth screaming with joy as boats race hauling them in their floating devices...

After our late lunch, we put our chairs out and brought our books, then I started my computer and wrote and wrote... and how peaceful it felt, and how I loved pouring out my heart into words for hours without end... until all of a sudden we noticed that the sun was coming down and that the people next to us were busy working on their dinner, and the Fisherman stood up and started making dinner too.  

We went for a walk around the campground right after dinner, and although it was still somewhat hot, I had energy enough to feel happy doing so...

When we came back to our camp we sat down again and again I wrote some more while the Fisherman read his new book... It was beautiful at this time of the day. Sunshine on the water made little twinkling stars and they shined and twinkle and the entire surface of the lake seem like a sky of glass.

...until the sun plunged behind those tall mountains in front of us and as soon as it did, temperatures plunged down as well, and it got a bit chilly... so sudden, that it was almost hard to believe... ah the power of the sun!

It was beautiful outside at this time of the day. 

We went inside and made sure our windows were all drown and that the gypsy caravan felt comfortable and cozy and then we read some more under the lights of lamps, before falling asleep.

I am feeling so much energetic these days, and I am so thankful for that... for a while now, my levels of energy had been slowly decreasing, and I have to wonder if this new energy had something to do with the vitamins 12 I started taking, and the spirulina, although I think it must probably has something to do with the inflammation medication that I’m also taking, which it is acting marvelous on my joins and movements.

So, by 6:30 am I was up, got dressed, and went outside to prepare our breakfast... it felt so good being able to do the things I used to and not having the Fisherman do them for me...

It was such a beautiful morning too, clear and with a wonderful blue sky above our heads.  We decided it was the perfect time for a little hike, and thus we hiked to the top of the hill, to where a small overlook stands and one can view the entire campground from there as campers start making there breakfast and the day wakes up. 

The hills were covered in wildflowers and it felt peaceful and quiet and I thought of how fortunate we were to still have peace in our midst and be able to enjoy the little things in life, which are really the big things in life, when others can’t or won’t.

Later that morning we droved down to the peer so that the Fisherman could fish.  We took our chairs and I read while the Fisherman fished or killed fish.  For he did.  He was too slow in removing the hook out on one fish, and although we tried saving the little thing, we couldn’t and I felt terribly bad for it...

We drove around the other side of the campground to take a look at future prospect sites and to see people’s motorhomes and campers and then came back to another cup of cinnamon coffee and toasts.  Ah, those awesome flavors of that ‘cinnamon’ coffee, which I have kept in our gypsy camper and only use when camping—every time I drink this coffee, I’m taken back to Cartagena, Colombia in memories, where we bought it last year in June when we visited Colombia for our nephew’s Alex’s wedding. 

It was such a beautiful place, and such beautiful morning that day, and every time I drink it every memory comes back...

I let the Fisherman cook our lunch; he likes doing that, so although I’m mostly vegetarian he made chicken fajitas... 

Then another night...

...and another beautiful morning...