On the way up my hill heading for various places, I have instituted a weed-pulling program. I try to allow at least an hour’s time before my ride appears, to attend to this duty. I stash garden gloves along with snips in my “out-the-door gear”. This not only keeps the flowers in the yard happy, but it is also a good thing to mention to my GP as a beneficial exercise declaration.
Finishing up my weeding a little early last Thursday, I took a comfortable position on my cane chair. I was heading for Walmart to purchase my son’s Birthday Gift Card. I already had his gift from last month’s trip and I wanted to put it all in the mail.
On the hill above the street, a young man was mowing a front yard. He repeatedly had a problem with the mower stopping and I could tell his anger was rising by the number of off-color words he was using.
I said a silent prayer for him to have patience and looked back at my Rose of Sharron natural fence along the front of my yard. Knowing I could not mow my steep yard after slipping several times and injuring an ankle, I discovered the wonderful solution of planting flower areas.
In time I used paving stones to make steps up the hill. Tucked in among the flowers were tomato, pepper, oregano, and broccoli plants. A handrail followed with posts embedded in concrete. That was an industrious summer! The Rose of Sharron border kept Avenue drivers from knowing a lady farmer lived in the house below.
A red car pulled into the drive on the hill above and the young man had a conversation with the driver. He put the mower in the trunk and they drove off returning in a very short while. I supposed they swapped out the mower as he again began cutting the steep yard.
After the young man began mowing again, I noticed a dark cloud on the horizon to the south. Not expecting rain until later in the day, my only preparation for a s
Huddling under it as the rain and wind increased, I recalled how a lady from the apartments down below had stopped and invited me into her car during a previous storm.
I was contemplating on how glad I was that there was no lightening with this portion of the Gordon Hurricane aftermath when I saw a red pickup stop across the street.
I don’t know what he looked like as it all happened so fast. A gentleman shoved a large, open, black umbrella into my hand and folded up my little one.
“I just couldn’t see you sitting here with that small umbrella.” He said.
When I told him I did not want to take his umbrella, he said. ”I’m in the restaurant business, people leave them the time.”
A heavy gust of wind came up. He turned and hurried back to his truck and I called a surprised “Thank You!” to his back. Later on, it dawned on me that I did not even ask his name. So when I say “thank you” prayers, I call him, “Umbrella Angel”.
He left behind the Cadillac of Umbrellas that has a lining and reverse folds to serve also as a cane.
I wonder what adventure the next rainstorm will bring to my happy home. So far I have collected several angels along with a few summer tomatoes and the weather is still warm in Kentucky