Tonight at the grocery store I saw some pussy willow branches in the floral department, and they reminded me, as they always do, of Josh. He couldn't have been more than 7 or 8 when visiting us one spring. It was early in the morning of his first day here and I was in the kitchen making breakfast when he came downstairs. He had been sleepy the night before when he arrived with his mom, and she had put him right to bed. Now he was sitting on the couch waiting for some waffles when I heard him softly say, "What are those things?" his nasal drawl filled with wonder.
I thought a moment about what he might be talking about, and I remembered the pussy willow branches that had come with our farm share a couple of days before. As I stepped into the room to explain, I saw Josh reaching out to touch the velvety flowers, which were standing in all their fuzzy glory in a pewter pitcher by the fireplace, amid a few curly willow and slim forsythia cuttings. I'll never forget the look of enchantment on his face.
I know that had to be 20 years ago, although it sure doesn't feel that long. And that means that we've been getting that farm share for at least 20 years, which also seems impossible. Oh, Time! You are such a trickster.
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