Something happened thirty years ago today.
The plum tress blossomed, about two weeks early. We were getting dressed in our finest clothes. We were going to go out, on an occasion that required flowers. I saw the blossoms outside the kitchen window, a few quick snips and violá! Instant bouquet. We were meeting our friends at small building that had been made in Wisconsin in the 1800s by Pioneers, later disassembled and then reassembled in Minnesota. As we gathered outside the primitive structure, the day's earlier, faux-summer warmth faded and the chill added excitement to an already lively scene.
Once inside, the proceedings began. A fine orator spoke, a singer sang a beautiful song, we spoke with the orator, kissed each other and then everyone applauded. And of course, a baby cried throughout. Later, we went over to a friend's house and had refreshments and everybody had a jolly time. Then we went home. The plum trees have never blossomed as early as that since.
The Weaver and I are celebrating our 30th wedding anniversary today.