Years ago, I spent a couple summer weeks scraping and painting an old barn for a co-worker for some extra cash to help pay for life. I was in college and had a part-time job for a video and audio production company and I operated their new digital audio and video editing bay. Richard was a producer and often used me out on the field as his key audio recorder, as well as main recording engineer for all of his voice-over talent for the CD-ROMS we were producing.
I would ride my old Honda 250-CM out to his place in the country. Scrape and paint for a few hours in the afternoons after class and work. Nights in the mid-west seem to last forever in the summer. Dusk would come around 9:45 or 10 PM most of the time.
Richard would come check on me. Offer me some lemonade or tea. Then disappear into his house. Only to re-appear as I was cleaning up the tools and putting things away for the night. He would always make sure I cleaned the brushes properly. "An artist always cares for his tools" he would say. Then we'd walk across his garden and he'd send me home with some fresh veggies and hot peppers grown from his garden.
He had an old golden retriever that I can't recall the name of anymore. It has been such a long time since I've thought about those days.
I remember seeing him helping out his elderly dog. Out the screen door, across the old wooden porch, down the worn wooden steps, and out into the yard to relieve himself. Bent over holding the weight of the rear legs and end of the old dog. Richard loved that dog, hated to see him lose his ability to walk. To stand. The dignity. But Richard wasn't ready to say goodbye and not ready to give up hope that the old dog still had a few good days left in him.
One evening, whilst walking across the garden towards my bike, Richard asked me what my favorite season was. I answered "fall". I love the bright reds and yellows and oranges against the late summer greens. The smell of fall. The pumpkins and approaching caramel apple season. Spiced ciders. The cool and bug free nights around a campfire. Finally relief from the heat and humidity of summer. The return of the trails in the woods from the rapid weed growth of summer.
Richard listened then said his favorite used to be fall as well. When he was younger that is. Now, now he looked forward to Spring. The flowers blooming. The return of the green from the brown and white of fall and winter. The birds. The blue skies. The early Spring rains. Spring had now become his favorite season.
Why, I asked. Because it is the return of hope. The return of life.
Spring is coming.
