Tis the Season of Yellow

Hi Everyone,

It’s Arrowleaf season in the Okanagan. Every spring these gorgeous blossoms burst out on the hillsides around where I live. Some people think of them as nothing but a nice version of dandelions, while others call them the Okanagan Sunflower. For me, they are the happy plant because their appearance means spring is really here.

Spring is a busy time, with so many good things to think about, like gardens, sunshine, and outdoor activities, as well as other things perhaps not so pleasant, like taxes and spring cleaning. This week, my to-do list was so long that I felt a bit stymied. What to do first? I couldn’t decide, so I set my list aside and went for a walk, first on my trail and then into town, where I wandered around my new hometown of Kelowna (we’ve been here just over three years now). I like downtown on weekday mornings when it’s not busy. Along the waterfront, there’s a wildlife sanctuary.

Having promised myself I wouldn’t keep track of time on this walkabout, I lingered in the sanctuary. And I was glad I did, because I looked up and saw this guy (below). I wasn’t alone. A small crowd gathered to watch him sit, but the nesting Osprey wasn’t the least bit bothered by us.

Then I crossed a footbridge, heading for a lunchtime cafe, and found a host of tulips.

Next, I passed by the Kelowna Art Gallery and one of my favourite installations of public art in the Okanagan. Created by sculptor Jed Lind, it features seven stacked car bodies, each one increasingly abstract as it rises into the blue.

I would normally make a visit inside the art gallery, but by this time, my stomach was demanding refreshments. Good timing, because a block away, I saw this sign. It was past coffee time and I don’t have a dog, but I know they have good eats too.

I like the words on this sign because they’re succinct. They have a simple purpose and they achieve it with rhythm. The last word sends the reader back up to the first. It’s a poem.

More than a decade ago, I won a prize in a poetry contest. I still think it was a fluke. I wasn’t a published poet and had no poetic track record, but this was a small provincial contest so I decided to be audacious and enter. I was delighted when the organizers sent me a congratulatory letter and a cheque for third prize: $15.

I never cashed that cheque. Instead, I thumbtacked it to my bulletin board above my computer as motivation. The best part of that experience was that my poem was published in a small anthology. When I got home from my morning of meandering this week, I dug out that old anthology and re-read my poem. I remembered the morning I wrote it. The character was fully-formed in my head when I woke up and by noon it was written.

After it was published, the character stayed with me. A few years later, I decided to go back to him. I re-wrote the poem as a short story. After a few months of working on it, I submitted the story to several journals. None of them took it. I have since revised it a number of times and tried again with the same result. Today, the story that came from my third-place poem remains dormant in my “in-progress” file. Going back to the original version made me realize that I still like this piece as a poem. Maybe it’s not a short story—maybe it was meant to stay a poem.

I share it with you here (yes, I gave it a few new tweaks) along with an old photo I made in Jasper around about the same time as I wrote the poem. Two oldies that still have life. I hope you enjoy them both. And happy spring.

The Front Porch

Hello new neighbour with envelopes in hand, come on up and sit a bit,

step right over my furry friend there, he’ll be leaving soon,

he walks himself these days, I just slow him down.

Set yourself down, the chair looks fragile but it’s stronger than both of us.

Look at that, a Baltimore Oriole, Icterus Galbula,

used to be plenty of them around here, ah yes the days of the golden birds.

Don’t worry about mailing those letters, wait for Harold,

he’ll take them for you, he’ll be along any minute now.

There goes Louie Chen, right on time, give him a wave.

He owns the restaurant on Main Street

makes the best Chicken Chow Mein in the province.

Louie’s in his kitchen just after dawn every morning,

then back home before the lunch, same routine for dinner,

I don’t know when he sleeps.

Here comes Harold now, he always has time to share a word or two,

that is, if the sun’s shining and his bag’s not too full,

he’s no spring chicken but I can’t imagine anyone else doing the post,

his boots know the way on their own, and his nature’s not too nosy.

Nothing for me this morning, Harold?

That’s okay, I still have yesterday’s stack to sort through.

What’s that? You say you’re behind today?

Don’t let us keep you, take these letters from my new friend

and watch your step at the end of the street,

don’t trip on that broken curb, don’t know why the town can’t fix that.

So, neighbour, how do you like the old Johnson place?

Does the fourth step on the stairs still creak?

Martin Junior tried to repair it so he could sneak out at night,

young fella did a good job too, but Martin Senior unfixed it right away,

got to know what time that kid gets home, he told me on the sly.

I still miss Martin. Bess tried to stay on after he was gone

but said the house felt haunted, don’t be startled,

if it is, he’s a friendly ghost

We got to keep our voices down.

My Mary’s still sleeping after a bad night of shifting from hip to hip,

she’s on a waiting list, but then again, aren’t we all.

It’s just us two now, our boy’s a big-time accountant in the city,

I could use his help with our taxes, but I don’t want to bother him.

His sister Suzy turned herself into a doctor, smart as a stinging nettle that one,

she’s out on the coast, in neurology, too bad she’s not here, in geriatrics.

We don’t see enough of them or the grandkids,

but life is good as long as I can make it out to this chair every day,

I wouldn’t want to miss the mail, you know.

Speaking of haunted, that old green house on the corner has a story to tell . . .

Thanks for reading Me Who Writes. If you enjoyed this issue, please share it with a friend.