It’s been a funny & fast month, where everything I was looking forward to happened in very quick succession, out here on the porch and my feet are in rainwater that puddled on the steps, this morning walking out it was cold, and the breeze found you under your clothes,

and the other day a friend showed up with his trailer while we were drinking coffee sleepily on the morning porch, and they left to get vinyl flooring, and when they came back there were dogs in the yard and he had these big fat tomatoes they’d bought, and of course the flooring, and I hugged him and said I was so glad to see him, and recently I have been in tears a lot, at least more often than usual, so when he asked how life was I turned away trying not to cry and said, fine, fine,

Which leads me to the story this month, a little list of all of the good or strange things in the world that I get to live in today:

• we looked up and there was a Mississippi Kite hanging motionless in the storm wind, they are this soft and storm cloud grey, framed in the ash leaves,

• later he was standing in the yard trying to cajole one to land on his forearm like a falconer, while the dog is in the background picking up antique teacups and offering to chew on them, the Kites watching from dead limbs and unafraid,

• The little prairie we let grow up is all johnson grass and yellow, white, pink, purple, reminds me we were at the supper table and they were talking about rice fields, he said that man used to walk his rice fields on horseback and you know how Johnson grass will cut you? Rice will do that, too, I have this photograph of a horse wearing pants they fixed up and rigged so his legs wouldn’t get cut out in the rice fields just like that,

• It’s been so easy to save seeds, I wonder why I had never done it before, except for when overwinter the mice took the small and silly little ears of blue corn that wasn’t eaten by raccoons, and they chewed them all away. Planting again saved zinnias and they look truly plush, like a duvet out in the garden, lasted all through the winter to live again.

• It’s hard not to smile at the turtles in the pond, they float motionless in the muddied water, looking an awful lot like the world’s most peaceful fleet, gathering in fives and tens, waiting, watching.

• A snake in the garden climbing to the heat of black weed barrier,

• A snake not even a foot away, waiting to see if I see him before he takes any drastic action, and I see him, he’s a king snake, one of of my favorites, and so like a child I try to catch him with a stick in hand, he escapes,

• Lillies growing and glowing all across the land, hidden then framed by the greenery; cypress, willow, asparagus, persimmon, they reflect across the pond underneath the mimosa and it’s too sweet to ever really tell right.

• The yellow dog splashing joyfully into each and every body of water she comes across, if Wilbur’s on the road and running, she’s in the ditch and splashing directly parallel, the other day into the bayou behind the house and I watch her stop, she looks at something circling around her legs in the water, I see the bubbles, she charges out, bayou creature remains unknown,

  

• A puppy showed up across the street, he lived under the church and chewed apart some of the bright red fake flowers they line the front with, his ears fold over onto his head and he has a big fat jowl and big fat feet, and he followed the neighbor’s grandson home, he comes over to our yard and doesn’t understand a word we say to him. When I say Go Home he lays down. When I say Please Go Home he presents his belly.

• The garden, the garden, how grateful to have a garden, the sunflowers and tomatoes match each other in their growth and the okra has it’s first little okra and blossoms, and the peas have grown the trellis, and the squash is rushing towards the road, and I guess that’s the great miracle about the seasons is that we forget how good and beautiful and surprising they are every year, maybe we’ll be lucky enough to be overrun with cucumbers and tomatoes and all of the things we have planted again, I’m hopeful, I’m already tasting cantaloupe when I look at the first blossom,

• so we had a big party to start out the month and I’d be remiss to not be grateful for every inch of that; it seemed like everyone said they’d show up with bells on, but it turned out that they really did, she called and wanted to know if we could use flowers, and then she loaded us up, and he promised he’d bring food, and it turned out he catered, and he showed up and did two days of photography, in the rain, and the wind, and the slow pass of time, and she showed up with repaired clothes and symbolism, my mom is really amazing because you can point her in any direction and she will conquer it, the original all-knowing, and my dad is the same way, between the two of them, all questions will be answered, all problems will be solved, quickly, but more importantly, smilingly, grinningly, listeningly, where I’ll get to hear about it later, too.

• it was good enough to find two big fat worms under a piece of wood near where I missed that copperhead with the shotgun, when the mud rained down on the tin roof and I left a hole in the ditch, and it was good enough to have a fishing pole prepared for the job, and he had told me a long time ago it was good luck to spit on the worm before you casted, and someone else said he preferred to drown the worm at home to prevent wasting all of the time not catching anything. It was good enough to sit out on the dock and watch a dragonfly turn amber in the setting sunlight, to watch the spiders walk on water, to watch the turtles in their patient fleet, the racing, harmless, curious snakes, the whole world in their own constant motion, he said, I’m going across the street to feed the dog, and I asked if I could go with him. An hour of fishing and barely a bite, I left the pole on the bank with it’s second worm in the water and went to find the puppy. Coming back, sure enough, a little bass on the end of the line, and I got overcome again, in the pursuit of peace I drowned two worms and injured a fish that wasn’t really big enough to clean, he unhooked it for me and I guessed I wouldn’t be fishing again any time soon,

• two evenings of sunsets with rainbows, double rainbows, evenings of magnificent clouds,

• He said something like, fog is just clouds on the ground, its where they get born.

• There were two cherries on the cherry tree after all, bright red and thumbnail sized, just like he said they would be,

• The puppy came over and tried to eat my phone but now he’s lying behind me snuffling while I write.

• She said they called her because they had shut in this bobcat that had eaten most of their chickens, and by the time her son got there with a gun, the bobcat had escaped. He ate the next neighbor’s chickens the following night. She explained that they don’t own guns, don’t believe in shedding blood, if they have to kill something they’ll go drown it.

• She explained that her daddy always had a horse to ride in the summertime, and she remembers this big fat wide mare that never accelerated past plodding, her and her two cousins would ride the mare to the library and tie her up in the parking lot. She said she grew up on both sides, as an only child, she learned from her father and her mother. She said for three years after she got married they tried farming peanuts, and she got so sick of peanuts she couldn’t stand the smell of peanut butter for a long time. Not to mention how many snakes they shipped off to Georgia along with all of the peanuts every year. “No one told us that when the peanut blossoms it sends a message right to the plant to start making peanuts, immediately,”

• Out at Walmart in another incredibly long line, this woman comes over and I almost couldn’t believe how Faulknerian it was, she was quoting scripture, she sounded just as gravel and southern and country and sour like she had been instantaneously whisked there from Jefferson, and wishing that God would strike people down, each and every one, and we didn’t act like that at the store when I was growing up, and then the two boys behind me in their puppy fat, much like the puppy snoring behind me now, talking about gatorade and the one boy, you could hear it, genuinely asking – what is your favorite flavor? And the other genuinely responding not in flavor names but in colors,

And so I didn’t really accomplish anything with this new format except that I didn’t need to poorly stitch it together like usual. The lesson this month was that community, that friends, family, are really remarkable creatures, better than gold, we don’t have much or expect very much out here, and I don’t think when it came to the party, that we asked for very much – meaning we didn’t ask – everyone just wanted to help – everyone gave and gave; people played music, listened, shared, so much so I am still dwelling, will still be dwelling, for awhile. The other lesson this month, it’s a cliche for sure, but I was waiting in line to get my oil changed for like twenty-five minutes, and I am so grateful for patience, and I am so grateful to be reminded that everyone is in their own reality, their own universe, and all you can do is witness, and be gentle, be gentle, be gentle. In my not so new state of always ready to burst into tears, if the woman from Jefferson had looked at me in the eyes and curdled a wish for God to smite me, I would’ve melted into a puddle, absolutely.

Hoping, wishing, your garden is green, the squash beetles or borers don’t find you, your world is vibrant, the rain comforting, there is someone – a dog, cat, friend, family member, there to always have a moment to wish you love, acceptance, reassurance. Amen.

Many, many, thanks to everyone that took the time to make the trip out to Bozarts Gallery in Water Valley, Mississippi. The show Folk Art Twice, It’s All Right! will be up through May 31st.

The next show is Rural Virtues at The Gallery at 2265, which is located on the third floor at 2265 Market Street in Wheeling, West Virginia. The show will open Thursday, July 31st, from 4 to 6 pm. It’ll be up through September. Show cards will be made in the next few weeks and if you’re on the mailing list, expect to see one. If you’re not on the snail mail list, you can sign up here: the link. The gallery is on instagram and facebook, too – here’s the instagram: the link.

Last month i mentioned i had read about haikus, and i had hyperlinked it in the body of the text but upon reflection that wasn’t really the best way to credit the author, so here is the link to Haik Drawing by Ray Zimmerman: the link.

In June i’ll be bringing more work to Orleans Gallery at 603 Julia Street in New Orleans. The work isn’t online yet, but it’s worth stopping by the gallery to Witness it in person, boy, howdy, from the bathroom to the courtyard Cayman said we are going big! and we are not going home!

Also new work is probably due at Revelry in Nashville in June as well – you can check it out virtually here.

If you asked for sunflower seeds last month, i’m pretty sure i got everybody, but if not, please holler and i’ll mail some more. Planted some around the yard out here and it looks like they’ve all come up – hoping the same for you.

Seems like June will bring an early-yearly instagram break, so if you’d like to be in touch, you can send a letter to: po box 13, alligator, ms, 38720.

well it’s Sister Gertrude Morgan, she had a field of four leaf clovers in front of her house-church, she lived in New Orleans, she made art until she decided it was taking away from her ministry, hear my cry, hear my call, with her tambourine and her heart, she Made a Record, through the storm, through the night, at the river i stand, guide my feet, take my hand,

Church Goin Mule