A Mid-February Outing

Living gives time for meditation.

I went to another estate sale after our Sunday services. I was looking to see if there might be something I could use or needed. I saw two things that might have been used for the planned craft activities here at my apartment complex, but after thinking it over, I changed my mind. I didn’t want to break my $20 bill.

I went out to the items in the back yard even though I knew I wouldn’t have any need of things there. I couldn’t do anything except for window gardening, and my windows were well filled already with plants I had brought or plants I had already started.

The garden area was well organized, with an even wire tunnel hoop for vine-type plants, from beans to cucumbers to tomatoes. They were old but still standing firm. I didn’t see any vines still clinging to them, so I assumed they had been cleaned, hoping for some spring to be able to hold vines of some seeds to be planted again. But I again remembered where I was. It was an estate sale, which means at least one person had recently passed away. The person passing away wouldn’t be in the garden this spring.

I recognized one, still standing, dead pepper plant. I didn’t know if it was last summer’s or older, still standing where it had been planted. There were mostly lower ground plants that had come up and were still living since this year’s frosts had not been hard enough to end their life.

The garden area was small, so an older couple could have been the planters and the reapers of the crops planted over many years. I looked at a pair of very soft velvety leather gloves for sale, but they were for a small hand, probably for the hand of the lady gardener.

There was an interesting small building on the porch, the size of a closet. It was homemade from leftover two-by-fours and older flat siding that could have been from a barn or other outbuilding, long since torn down. Years ago, it had been painted with leftover green paint, the old-time green paint even now losing its color to age. The door was easily unlocked because it had the hook-shaped screen door hook, known to the grandfathers and grandmothers reading this. (You could think of forwarding this to them for their enjoyment.)

The old tools, still for sale, were set side by side, waiting for someone to need them. All the newer ones had been sold, so only the ones full of history were left. How many snakes had been killed with one chop, alongwith the garden weeds between the rows of beans and carrots. How many snowfalls had the old, rusting, banged-up shovel been used on the front walks and driveway? It was now outdated and was left standing. No one had their eyes on it.

As I was edging away from the outdoor tools on the back porch area, I saw my first sign of spring on this February Fourteenth of 2026. There in the backyard, beside the house, protected from the cold, were two beautiful yellow blooming flowers. I’ll let you name them, since you know what they are.

I don’t know what I was doing out there, in the backyard. I wasn’t shopping. I had told this to a lady shopper who stood long enough for me to tell her, “I had gardened before but was now living in a small studio apartment, and my garden was on my windowsill.” It was filled with plants except where my cat sat to watch the birds come for the seed I placed just outside on a narrow carpeted area. I was able to gently open the screen two inches so the seed could rest on the carpeted area. It took a few days before the first bird came, but now each morning, a troop of small black-headed, hungry birds thinks they have found a treasure trove to their liking.

My cat is a smart cat. He knows the birds fly away when they see him sitting there watching them, so he jumps down on the floor just watching and listening for the return of the birds. Then, up he jumps to the ledge. (In his mind, he sees himself now being able to catch at least one for a meal, but he forgets about the screen and the window between them. I hope he doesn’t become psychotic or something worse.

I have stopped writing for a moment, because I was thinking about everything back inside the house. I never seem to know when to stop writing when things just seem to flow through my mind that make sense to me. The problem is, you can’t see what I saw, and sometimes words can’t paint the picture others see. The inside has too many rooms to visualize, and since people don’t always like to read long pieces, I choose to keep my thoughts of those to myself.

God bless you. I pray you have enjoyed my outing.

22/15/2026

Larry E. Whittington