At the Topsfield Fair yesterday we watched these dogs trying to jump the furthest distance into the water while chasing a toy-duck, or a ball, or some other chaseable throwable thing. They were so game, so eager, the epitome of life lived out loud. Dogs are just amazing creatures, these ones willing to dive into a pool of very cold water on a very cold evening, to the thrill and cheering of the appreciative crowd.
Tim and I both worked on the candle-making tables at the Fair last night, and between us was one my favourite beekeepers, Jane. She can charm a smile out of the sourest person. She is one of the warmest people I've ever met, just draws you in with her blend of sweetness and toughness. She has a loud school-marm's voice, and is not afraid of anyone. She quizzed young and old alike on what they had learned over at the observation hives before they came over to the candle-making tables, and if they could not remember a bee fact she told them one, then drilled it into them so that they would be sure never to forget it! She grew up the eldest of six children, so had responsibilities from a very young age. She also just has a natural way with people.
We are almost complete opposites. I was the youngest of three, the beloved baby by many years, with no responsibilities for younger siblings, and a relatively easy childhood spent doing mostly what I wanted to do. I have a soft voice, and am quite shy. I can be good with people but I am definitely not a natural at it.
Of course there is room and need in the world for both of us, for our different types of people. It is just so lovely to be included in that charisma for a few hours. I went home with a warm glow from sitting next to her.
Walking with Molly today we saw that a tree had fallen over into the road leading into the meadow. There is another ash tree which has been uprooted nearby but it landed on a dead branch of an old pine, and has stuck there, rather precariously, I suppose until the dead branch finally gives way. I had the selfish wish for many trees to fall into the road so that it becomes impassable, and the meadow becomes mine alone.
I saw a lone monarch butterfly, too late for migration, I expect, but flitting happily about, nevertheless. Where do the butterflies all go when it rains? There is not a butterfly, grasshopper or dragonfly to be seen in the rainy meadow. Sun comes out, and there they all are, as though nothing had happened, as though they had been there all along.
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