Plague Journal, Running For The Roses
May 1st yesterday was the 147th running of the Kentucky Derby at Churchill Downs in Louisville, Kentucky. Our daughter and her partner lived in Louisville for many years. The celebration of Derby week is part of their heritage as former residents of Louisville. Therefore our household gathered in the living room to enjoy the coverage of the event; the preliminary races; views of the patrons dressed in finery for the occasion; interviews with owners, trainers, and jockeys. Then came the pageantry preceding the main event. I love the sounding of the horn call by the trumpet player attired 
in red. Then as the band plays the crowd gathered sings “My Old Kentucky Home.” The horses are positioned, one by one into the starting gate. When the last horse is secured into the gate, the race begins.
The spectacle and ceremony is interesting beyond words. Months of training, application of knowledge hard won by experience, the heart of a race horse, and the courage of a jockey is laid on the line for “a run for the roses,” the wreath of roses placed around the neck of the winning thoroughbred. This is nothing other than Nature and human nature in concert together. The moment in time is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, to join with the other racehorses and jockeys before thousands of onlookers…to cross the finish line first. I love it, every bit of the pageantry, and the race itself. In the future I hope to visit Kentucky in May to experience first hand all of that.
Finally, our grandchildren were on hand yesterday. My grandson, a six year old, is a champion bullfrog catcher. He asked for my assistance to visit the creek running long the backside of our yard, just in case bullfrogs were present. While examining the creek we encountered two females a bit older who also aimed at catching a bullfrog. I stood by the creek intent upon watching the children play. Standing next to a tree, I placed my hand upon the trunk to steady myself. I was unsure whether the tree trunk was swaying side to side in the gusting wind? Or was I the one swaying due to the effect of a tall glass, a Derby drink concocted with Kentucky bourbon… Almost certainly, the tree and I were swaying together.
