the sexiness of May

I think of Anita in May, because when the rhodos start to pop and the lilacs wave their frilly fronds and the tulips are standing at attention, she exclaims, usually with both hands up in delighted exasperation at the excess, “Vancouver is so slutty, slutty gorgeous, look at THAT just LOOK AT THAT!” I love Anita and I love her love of flowers.

I carted home a bunch of snap dragons marigolds and petunias in the back of my mini over to the island and found it to be a strangely erotic experience. The fecundity of the blossoms, the leather seats, the stick shift…both my car and my need for flowers are considered costly luxuries by my patient financially responsible husband. They are both things he just wouldn’t ever buy. He is more along the lines of hauling dirt and vegetable seed in the back of a truck and maximizing his crop yield and his mileage. But my dear Fellow is also wise. He knows that flowers and my luxury car make me feel sexy. At this age you have identify what makes you feel sexy and you have to protect the sexy.

Right now we have six guys over for our annual “boys week”. Friends of Scott and his step brother, Kevin, fly in from all over the country to work on our place, eat great food, play poker, smoke, and drink beer. My fellow and I can’t believe our luck.  We keep trying to get them out to play golf or hike instead but as Trevor put it, “We’ve come here to work, we want a good work out.”

So, they chopped up all the wood from the maple tree and stacked it and hauled dirt and put the living roof on the coop. They cleared out ferns and pulled weeds (thank you Glen!) and transplanted berries. They built stone steps down to the coop. Nick is a repair guy and fixed my oven and fridge handle. No more duct tape! They’re all big guys with big boots, big work gloves, a mountain of men’s work wear piled by the door when I call them in for dinner. They humour me by clasping hands as we say grace. It’s been a lot of mosquito bites, water bottles being filled through the kitchen windows, heaps of BBQ steaks and an assembly line of fruit pies. One of my favourite moments was when the newest member, asked to say grace on his final night. He said he was so thankful to work with his hands, to work the land. To break bread with good friends. Safe to say it hasn’t been an easy year for him and I was so glad to welcome him into our fold.

There is something to be said for a good old fashioned “barn raising”. This guy time. This getting shit done time. This sweat and dirt time. I stay out of their way mostly and dish out good food, hot coffee and loads of thanks.

This would be my Fellow’s kind of sexy. Damn straight I will protect it.

I can’t believe that just two weeks ago I was driving to work in the foggy drizzle of the blue hour. A man in a red raincoat stood at the foot of the huge East Van cross. Was he grimacing in emotional anguish looking up, or was he simply bracing against the raindrops falling into his eyes? The sky was offering up reverse tears effect. He moved me, his stillness, his smallness next to the massive Ken Lum crucifix. His bright red coat. As red as the geraniums I’m planting on the living roof of my chicken coop. I keep thinking of that stranger in the April rain. I hope he’s enjoying this gorgeous May now that the grey is through. Every adage about spring is true.