The Fountain

     It was Christmas morning 1998. The fire was roaring. The snow was falling. The gifts had been opened. Breakfast had been eaten. All was well in the world. And then the husband asked me to join him in the barn. The barn? I was hoping for a small blue box out of a bathrobe pocket- if ‘ya know what I mean.
     We suited up (boots, coats, gloves) and traversed 3 feet deep of the white stuff down the porch steps, down the un-shoveled stone stairs, across the driveway to the barn. This had better be good- like, new car good.
     Doors slid open, a hush fell, and there before me towered the most beautiful solid cast garden fountain I had ever seen- except I had. The week before. In an estate dealers shop where I had asked if she could do any better on the price. Answer- no. Oh well. 
     The husband had gone back and worked a little man magic (yes, they have it too).
     Believe it, or not (you can ask our landscaper Joey V), I had it installed that week in the snow, in the freezing water of the pond, in the few hours of available sun that is a Northeast Ohio winter day, and this fountain has been traveling with me, from home to home, ever since. 
     It now sends it’s sweet water trill, seated in a reproduction sugar kettle, in our more private back courtyard and is enjoyed by all of our inhabitants- including Larry, Curly, and Mo, the three giant comets that keep the cats entertained. 

Sometimes little blue boxes are over-rated. 

The kettle is actually over 3ft deep.
It sits on top of the brick floor and is built up
by a dry-stack brick edge planted with boxwood.

My friend the cherub.
Earl trying to fish

Willie pretending to take a drink.
He’s actually trying to act ‘not interested’  so the comets come to the top. 

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