The Munger field in full bloom.
I should be out weeding the vegetable garden or picking Russian berries.
It’s five o’clock in the morning. I have the day off from my job as a judge and I am still up, sipping coffee, pondering my “to do” list, way too early for anyone with a modicum of sanity to their name. I’m sitting here, at my iMac, working on Facebook posts, emails, and other tasks all related to the forthcoming release of my latest self-published novel, Sukulaiset: The Kindred. As I type, a small hawk (I don’t know what kind) swoops over the yellow, white, orange, and red flowers of the hayfield surrounding my place on the Cloquet River. The raptor searches for mice and voles and shrews and assorted rodents as it sets its wings and glides only a few feet above beauty. My wife remains tucked into the cozy warmth of our marital bed upstairs, oblivious to my departure or my commerce or the gliding hawk. A rooster at the Holte farm across the river crows. Red wing blackbirds call each other before meeting at the bird feeders in our backyard for breakfast. A mourning dove coos as it joins the smaller blackbirds for a meal of sunflower seeds and millet.
After a long day at work involving angry folks unhappy with my decisions from the bench and the circumstances that brought them to court, I came home last evening and tilled the vegetable garden and finished up with the mowing and the trimming in anticipation of Rene’s sister and brother-in-law and their two kids coming to visit for the 4th. We used to gather at Rene’s brother’s place for this holiday. We ate too much, talked too loud, argued about politics some, watched fireworks over Island Lake, and fought off bugs for the better part of 25 years. But Greg no longer sponsors an annual picnic so the last two years we’ve invited the Schostags and other family members to share the beauty of our farm for Independence Day. Anyway, the mowing and the tilling and the trimming did a number on my neck, shoulder, and low back. I ended the evening watching West Wing on DVD with an ice pack and Tylenol for comfort. The mosquitoes, ubiquitous and obnoxious after all the rain we’ve had, made me give up any notion of weeding the garden or harvesting berries.
Maybe Sunday.
KUMD plays in the background as I catch up on emails to the Bookstore at Fitger’s and other vendors and folks who will be promoting the sale of my latest attempt at Grisham-like fame. My kids, of course, have it right.
“Why don’t you write something folks want to read like Krueger or Patterson, or Flynn, or Grisham?”
Mmm. I thought I had.
Anyway, the sky is devoid of clouds. Songbirds chirp and twitter and call across the flowerly fields surrounding our home. It’s the 4th. It’s a day off. I’m done working on my dream (and the garden) for the moment. It’s time to join my wife for breakfast and await the coming of family.
Here’s hoping all of you have a great Independence Day. As you celebrate family, and food, and friends, and your loved ones, don’t forget our men and women under arms, in harms’ way, across the world, protecting the freedom we often take for granted.
Peace.
Mark
