A legacy for today?

Legacy, legacy? … yes, legacy! What does it mean when we hear or say the word? It was a word that really first captured my attention during the final days of Obama’s presidency. It was then when talking heads on the tube were thrashing and tossing words around with opinions of what his legacy might be.

Whoa. The above paragraph was written a couple of weeks ago and this ‘cuff was going to be about the many meanings of the word legacy. Let’s leave it there and go on to a brighter topic: spring. I’ll bet a quarter every person in Westside Eagle Observer country enjoys watching how the trees leaf out … and even are ready to get out those lawnmowers. Miracles do happen.

Spring. Spring? Spring! Isn’t it a melody of expectancy as we watch the annual rebirth of our surroundings even though it’s also the time for that annual spring house cleaning job which can go on and on and … until it’s midsummer and the Fourth of July. (Remember to fly your flag.) Do I stretch it a bit? I’m thinking about air conditioner repairs, about dusty, dirty roads and gardens that just won’t respond to watering like they do to a midsummer spring-like shower.

That brings us up to the last ‘cuff report on the wash away of radish and lettuce seeds into a muddy mess. Rain, rain and more rain, just like last year. But this spring was supposed to be different until rain, rain and more rain splattered during those supposedly planing days. Well … here goes: a few radish and lettuce plants are going strong (don’t forget, I exaggerate). There may be a few red radishes and a small mess of wilted lettuce … if there isn’t another gully washer or a mess of little hailstones. Get the picture? Are your gardens growing? I’d bet another quarter your radishes can be pulled and your lettuce is ready for wilting. I hope so.

Isn’t it time for mushroom (morel) hunting? I saw those fake (really, they are called “false”) morels pictured in last week’s Eagle Observer and my mouth watered until I realized they were too good to be true; just like those robocalls … do you know what I mean? Last year, daughter Kelly, who had heard me say many times I was going to order some morel spawn, showed up with little bags of spawn she had ordered from someplace in California.

I followed the directions as best as possible. Since the compost spot had been abandoned several years ago, some of the stuff (spawn) was sprinkled there, under trees, in the

shade, and even some in the sun. Some went around a decaying stump of a sycamore tree that had been cut down just before the big ice storm a few years ago. Was that 2007?

As an aside, Sycamore trees are so much like sweet gum trees (this won’t take long).

They are fast-growing, great shade trees and they do create an exercising regime, constantly picking up small — and big — branches as well as ping-pong size seed balls.

We miss some shade but the backs are better.

Back to morels … during recent warm days, I’ve walked around the lawn religiously, head down and thinking, “There’s gotta be one here someplace” where I had scattered that spawn stuff. That stroll two or three times a day has been good exercise but … you guessed it, no morels. So far, at least, a few little toadstools have popped their heads. I wonder if they originated somewhere out west?

Morel hunting used to be an every-spring outing, but those locations disappeared years ago as the land has been settled or the land has been posted.

I still have a yen for a morel but wishing is not finding. I’ll bet another quarter there are others who used to find them in the good old days.

By the way, did you read Susan Holland’s good story with pictures in last week’s Eagle Observer about morels? She dug out some good info about real morels and about those fake/false morels.

It cured my mouth watering for those huge false fakes.

Another column in the paper every week is by Bill.

Now that’s real reading, especially for cattle farmers and farmers’ opinions about real-life which are transferred to the grands.

After reading Bill many years, I’ve often wondered how I would fit on a ranch or a farm. But Bill’s words work wonders of reality and you who know me know the rest of that wonder.

A final bit about the misery that is overflowing our nation during this Smith-Corona virus thing. (Yes, this old portable had a fit last week and it took some mighty hard work with patience to get her working again.)

It is taking patience by all of us to come through this crisis with a return to those good-old-days or last year.

Isn’t it time to ignore the negativism the talking heads babble on and on 24-7 after every newscast? News is news but babbling is … well, it’s something else. Isn’t it time for every person we meet, instead of frowning, for us to smile and give a happy “hello” or “good to see you”? Even behind a mask such a greeting can be interpreted and sensed like the words in an old war song (Was it the first World War?) that goes something like this: Time “can turn a dark cloud inside out.”

Perhaps a small smile can be a small legacy we can give each other. Time does seem to move faster when we take time to smile.