An English In Kentucky


















April 26th  2011    Tim Candler

    Maybe tomorrow I can plant Beans and maybe tomorrow girl Barn Swallows will arrive.  Then Emergency Alert yells in the middle of the night, winds howl and it rains again and again and again.

    If you are a boy gardener, you stare at your trowel or put it to work on the bucket loads of drier soil that for some undetermined reason has accumulated under the house.  And you wonder where it all came from.  It might have flown there as loess.  But mostly you wonder whether it might have been  put there deliberately, perhaps to prevent the house from blowing away.

     If you are a boy Barn Swallow, you stare at your tail or put it to work on flashing about chasing insects, of which there are more than enough because May is almost now.  But mostly you wonder whether the absence of girl Barn Swallows is a reflection upon the length of your tail.  The girls like a longer tail feather, so when taking shelter in the barn you sidle closer to the other boy Barn Swallow in a search for comparison.

     Certainly there should be plenty of time, but not time enough if this year's Blue Lake Bush Beans again choose to climb.

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