The Color Purple

Jack Sprat could eat no fat
His wife could eat no lean
And so betwixt the two of them
They licked the platter clean

Jack ate all the lean,
Joan ate all the fat.
The bone they picked it clean,
Then gave it to the cat

Jack Sprat was wheeling,
His wife by the ditch.
The barrow turned over,
And in she did pitch.

Says Jack, "She'll be drowned!"
But Joan did reply,
"I don't think I shall,
For the ditch is quite dry."

Whenever I see a wisteria tree I think of my husband.

There is a little spot, a block from my house, that is one of my favorite places in Richmond. My neighborhood is old, my house over 100 years, and nearby there are several very old wisteria trees -- trees, not vines. Their trunks have become large and over the last 100 years they have grown and twisted themselves around other trees, and even a telephone pole, and their branches have spread so that when they are blooming they form a blanket of flowers. For several weeks in the spring when they open the sky is filled with fat purple and lavender blooms and the air is filled with their scent. The flowers meander across other trees, hang from branches, and twist around the pole. I walk my dog through here every day, and when they are in bloom I pause underneath, look up, and feel completely enveloped in purple. I can't just leave it at purple -- it is a lilac, or hydrangea blue (which isn't really a blue), a periwinkle, a bluish-violet -- a blanket of incredible, unbelievable color.

The blooms won't last if you cut them and put them in a vase so they have to be enjoyed right there, on the spot, for the week or so that they are blossoming.

My husband is, ironically, color blind. Bless his heart.  He can't fully enjoy the color show that this tree provides.  He prefers the wisteria later in the year, in autumn, when it isn't blooming flowers anymore. He discovered something else wonderful about the trees. Again, while walking the dog, he noticed something growing on one of the limbs:  oyster mushrooms.

My husband is a huge foodie, not as in huge, but a person extremely interested in food. He couldn't believe his eyes when he saw the mushrooms, and he even consulted a local mushroom grower to make sure they were the real thing. He thought foraging would involve a deep walk in a forest, at the very least, and not be as simple as leaning in.

So he has collected, and cooked with, about 10 pounds of these morels (so far) and could not be more thrilled that they are his for the taking, and not even a step off the sidewalk.  More irony: while my "daylong obsession, joy, and torment" (Monet) is color, and he remains color blind, his main interest is food, and I have Crohn's Disease. Thus, food is more often my enemy. Thus the Jack Sprat rhyme at the top.

Anyway, I saw an image of some beautiful wisteria the other day, and the image made me happy, and will suffice until the real ones begin to bloom in a few months. And thus was born another daily painting.