There are a few days each spring that are so glittery green that you feel as though the air itself is tinged with color, and you feel that if you blink, it might disappear. It’s the same time that the bleeding hearts and pansies show off their best, all the tiny crinkled leaves are unfolding by the minute like origami in a massive installation, and the birds are totally uninhibited in their courtship songs and rituals. I marvel, hold my breath, try to take in the miracle, and then my eyes can’t stay open anymore. When I wake up, it looks like summer. It is my favorite, favorite thing, what I long for every winter. And it always comes, as promised.
This year was astonishingly early here. No frost for the whole month of May? Yes, please! I know it’s not over yet, but there is no freeze in the forecast and with no full moon for another week, we boldly planted out tomatoes and peppers last week. I have covers and sheets ready for any hint of chill, because I also listen to old-timers, but I cannot quite hold myself back.
Gabriel gave me a wonderful gift in the form of an act of service that took a few days: he edged and placed borders of rocks/logs around my gardens to keep the grass from constantly growing into the planting areas. It all needed to be squared up with the patio and driveway, since my initial method of unrolling old hay bales was pretty much seat-of-the-pants, eye-it-to-look-good. The driveway got changed and fixed last year, so we now have a curb and a solid reference to go by. Every day I look out the windows and rejoice!
Big things have been happening. There is a post and beam pavilion being set up, also designed and built by my husband, who can do pretty much anything he sets his mind to. (Given enough time…let’s be realistic.)
Alex has been here for a few weeks, and he took on the task of edging and mulching all the fruit trees and other landscaping. He also tilled the garden for me, and helped spread horse “by-products” onto it. Half of the garden is planted, and the other half will be quite soon. It has been so wonderful to have him here, available to help when he doesn’t have part-time work.
Normally I revel in these springtime tasks, but this year found me so anemic that I had to sit and rest after digging a hole in the garden. “Looks like the beef liver isn’t cutting it,” said my nurse husband when he saw my labs. He also said,” This is the level where people get transfusions and we should probably just go to the ER and take care of it.” So we did, and it helped a lot, but it will be a while before I get back to normal. I hadn’t realized how much I was compensating for my low hemoglobin until I started feeling better. I hadn’t noticed how much energy was going into staying upright, and how little was actually getting to my brain. Ha. (Very mirthless ha.)
This is too public a forum for details, but I can assure you that I am under good medical care and there is a plan to get to the root of the problem. Should be fun. Sarcasm aside, I am so very grateful for options and help. How often I have thought of the woman who stooped to touch the hem of Jesus’ robe, and that moment when she felt His strength coursing through her! A friend recently told me she thinks that lady touched the bottom of His robe because she was so weak that she was down on the ground. I agree with her. It is a great comfort that He is accessible to those who are completely flattened by life.
I moved all the houseplants onto the back deck this week, so the house feels more open. We don’t need green therapy inside for some months, hallelujah! We have also been clearing out some holes with shamefully large deposits of things that don’t have a home. Springtime is the time to let it go, dig down through the strata in the closets, and assign the stuff a place or a donation box. “The thing is,” Olivia said, “we like stuff,” and she hit the nail on the head with that observation. We like making stuff and having it, thrifting for it and restoring it. I don’t see a problem as long as we share our stuff and don’t let it take over our lives, do you?
We have been to homes where there is no clutter, no rugs to catch dust, nothing slightly imperfect or mismatched or chipped, no real flowers or plants, and the minimalism is impressive indeed. It would be so easy to clean this place, I think. “That’s like an Air B and B,” the kids said, “it’s too sterile.” So in the interest of coziness, we embrace having stuff around and taking care of it. We even embrace dust and strata in closets, up to a point. I have limits, and I am sure you do too. I’d love to hear where you draw the line in your home. Do you keep things that you haven’t used for a year, for example? How do you figure out what to store, in case you need it? What makes something a keepsake?
Every spring there is my birthday and Mother’s Day, which are only a week apart (unfortunately, because I love celebrations and I wish my family weren’t still tired from figuring out one before another one shows up, to be honest). Gabriel surprised me by inviting friends for a cookout on my birthday, and it cheered me right out of a funk of surprising ickiness where I was feeling like my birthday was lame and not fun. I told you that my brain has not been getting enough blood flow, right? Sometimes I remind myself of what my older friend Ellen says, “When you feel down and depressed, you have to know you aren’t thinking right. You have to get your head straight about how good God is, and start thanking Him, and that takes care of it.” It’s very good advice, and she lives it. Maybe by the time I am seventy-five, I will have learned this lesson.
Anyway, Mother’s Day was special in a different way. Gabriel was at work three hours away, and the rest of us woke not feeling great. Addy and I both had swollen eyes and I think I sneezed a hundred times that morning. Olivia and Greg had no voices. Only Rita was fit to go to church, so Greg dropped her off. I was going to listen to the sermon online, but the website was down, so that didn’t work. I sat like a bump in my chair and napped when I wasn’t busy sneezing. Olivia had assembled a lasagna for lunch and was fixing some side dishes to go with it when Greg left to pick Rita up again after church. He told Rita that there isn’t any lunch at home (because obviously, Mom was sitting in her chair and nothing happens that way) and they were hungry, so they went to KFC for chicken nuggets. Meanwhile the girls at home finished the meal and set the table pretty and we waited and waited. At last we called, and they were finishing up their nuggets, oblivious to the awful faux pas of having missed lunch with their mom on Mother’s Day. They felt really bad about it, but I bet it will make the family archives of funny stories.
I have been thinking a lot about parenting, about the long-term proposition it is, about the way we are asked to give up ourselves and give lavishly and never give up, either. So much giving. This spring I found myself fresh out of oomph, feeling like a hoarder. I need to save my strength. I don’t want to be inconvenienced. I don’t feel like sharing.Could you all just leave me alone and not need anything for awhile? What do I think I am saving my strength for in those moments? What is a hoarded power bank going to do for me in ten years if now is the time that my child needs my love and attention? What good will it do me in a lonely world of the future if I have kept myself well-preserved but inaccessible? I know, there are boundaries, but many times “boundaries” are just a way to make me feel good about being selfish. It’s a buzzword in the current therapy speak, and I don’t see it in Jesus’ life anywhere at all. I think of the Kingdom principle in Matthew 10:8, “Freely you have received, freely give.”
That’s plenty for me to chew on today, for sure. I truly believe God does not waste anything we give to Him, but I no longer expect to see short term rewards. Not to say that that wouldn’t be gratifying sometimes, but it seems as if it is more like planting trees. You shovel and fertilize and stake and prune and water and hope. It’s a very long-term situation. And here’s the thing: the end result is all grace. It is all out of our hands anyway. It is His business, what He does with what we give Him.
I remind myself of this again and again, because being human means feeling like I deserve things or don’t deserve things. Sometimes I just need to shut up my feelings and get my head straight about how good God is.
Every spring the miracle happens, just as He promised. I have seen forty-seven of them now, so I know. He is good.
…and almost gone, I thought it might be appropriate to send out a bit of an update. It’s a little silly. I pay for this web domain, and I don’t even use it much anymore. I find myself at a loss as to how to close up this sort of chapter, but I do feel like the world has moved along since I started blogging and I am hopelessly out of touch. I asked a computer nerd recently if he has any advice for monetizing a blog, outside of plastering it with ads, and he said no, he doesn’t know any other way. I am thinking about moving to Sub-stack, but that is all. Thinking is a far cry from doing.
Mondays are my days to catch up with the stuff I pushed off for a week. I had to spend some time to find an actual person to cancel my monthly Chat-books subscription today, since the app literally did not have a button to finalize the cancellation. I know this, because I tried to cancel in the end of March and didn’t follow through with the last step, which is one option only, “A team member will credit your account $10 and give you any assistance. Stay subscribed.” That’s a little shifty, I think. Anyway. I wanted to see what the minis are like, and they are cute, but I hardly take 60 photos in a month, and certainly not all worthy of printing into a booklet. I should have done these while the children were little. My best advice is this: if you try Chat-books, don’t bother with captions. They are very time consuming to put into the app, and the photos are much smaller. You can easily use a fine point Sharpie and write your captions on the white margins after you get the booklet.
I had to handle 20 mugs that have been waiting over the weekend, and then I mowed the yard until I got a flat tire. I know how to run an air compressor, but taking out a tube and fixing a leak… not so much. The grass got out of hand with the recent rain, so Olivia finished with the push mower. The girls ate leftovers from the weekend, and I did a bunch of messaging that I have been neglecting. I have caught up with my clerical duties, even posting receipts in the budget. Hallelujah!
So here I am, thinking about April and that Gabe will get back from work tomorrow, after five days, and then we will feast and be merry because he will be home for a week.
I kept feeling an urge to pinch myself while I was mowing. “We made it,” I thought, “all the way through winter. I am actually smelling cut grass and feeling hot sunshine on my face and my feet and my arms where I rolled up my sleeves. We are pale as potato sprouts, but we made it!” Speaking of potato sprouts, we planted our wrinkly leftover potatoes last week. There was a bit of smugness in the air, because for the first time ever I grew a potato crop that lasted longer than the winter. I also planted pea seeds that I saved, and lettuces. I have a lot to learn yet in the seed saving department, but it is a start.
The ornamental trees we planted two years ago are blooming, and so are the tiny fruit trees we set out last spring. (It’s a thing Peights do: plant trees. We planted over 50 at our first property over the course of 18 years. We’re at 25 here, in 4 years, but we also cut down about 10 or 12 trees, so it’s all going to even out.)
I drove past our former orchard a few weeks ago, and was astonished at how big the trees were, how prolific the blooms. The year we moved (2020) was the first that there were going to be apples. So someone else gets to harvest what we planted. That’s the thing about planting a tree. It is very possible that you are planting for others, and that is a compelling reason to plant them, I think.
Who does more tree planting for the next generation than parents? Metaphorically speaking, I have entire food forests that have been planted for me, and I am so grateful.
Last weekend my parents came up and we got to celebrate my dad’s 71st birthday on Sunday. Rachel’s family sneaked in while he was napping that afternoon and surprised him mid-snore. Good times!
The girls are finishing up their last school projects. Rita is earnestly wishing she had not chosen Ghengis Khan and the Mongol Empire for her history report, but here we are, too deep into the research to about-face now. “It’s character building to push through hard things,” I say. She wants character, so what can she say? Addy did final exams today, and we are so close to packing away the textbooks and just rounding out the portfolios with projects. I don’t recall ever getting done in April, but they did not take many holidays, and now it feels really great!
Sometimes I wake at night and can’t fall back asleep. Anybody else have that happen to them? Weird, isn’t it? It seems such an unnecessary problem to have. I keep earbuds on my nightstand, and I set my audiobook timer to 30 minutes. I usually fall asleep before the time is up, unless it is a very riveting listen. Then the next time, I go back about ten minutes and find the spot where I lost consciousness. It’s a two steps forward, one step back situation, but it works. Currently I am listening to Surprised by Joy, (It happens to be an Audible free listen if you have prime membership. You’re welcome.) and have gotten to the teen years of my friend Clive Staples, the era where he lost his faith. I store in my heart these testaments to the grace of God pursuing and wooing his children, and I know that He is still the same God today, full of love and kindness; full of pity, like a father, ready to help every one of us.
Occasionally listening to the audiobook doesn’t appeal to me. I have another prop. I lie in bed and put on the whole armor of God, from the helmet to the shoes, piece by piece. By the time I get to the end, I find that there isn’t much of a crack for the intrusive thoughts of the enemy to get inside my mind.
If the armor feels cumbersome at 3 AM, which is prime time for worst-case-scenarios, have you noticed?.. I visualize the secret place of the Most High, and I creep in and lay my head down in that quiet safety. Jesus never did get to be middle-aged, but I am sure He understands sleeplessness and 3 o’clock in the morning messes that we cannot carry anyway. So He offers rest. Sleep is wonderful, but rest is amazing.
And yes, there is melatonin, but it is faulty. So is chamomile tea, because while it may lull you to sleep at bedtime, it will urgently awaken you a few hours later. It is kind of funny, the more you think about it. As with so many other minor ailments in life, humor just might be the best medicine.
I’ll close with a smattering of photos of the trees and the double tulips that have given me joy this week. Blessings and a happy spring to you!
In contrast to January, which is a long month that can’t quite quit, February has been a very speedy month. We hunkered down and survived, if you can call smearing cream cheese on a toasted bagel a “survival challenge”. We feel the sap rising at the end of February, as we lift dry, trembly limbs to the stronger rays of sunshine. Our children think it was the Lamest Winter Ever, Worse Than Last Year. (Interpreted to mean not enough snow and ice.) We had a few gloriously pristine snows, but not many, so it was a slate grey world, full of mud. It was about as bleak as it can get. For a person who struggles every winter to stay grounded and out of the pits, I am wondering why I am feeling so cheerful this year?
There was a matter of a conversation with God last fall, “Honestly, why do I live somewhere so bleak for so much of the year? Is there something You are trying to teach me?” (I know, duh.)
I love Pennsylvania. I just don’t love November through April in Pennsylvania. That’s half the year, and when I thought about it, it seemed like kind of a lot. I am a cheerful person, in general, but I realized that I am giving myself a pass on complaining about the weather.
“You know, it isn’t My will that you fuss about the overcast sky and the brown and the ugliness.” Oof. It wasn’t a long conversation, but it was pointed. I am not saying I had a transformation just then, and embraced mud season, but I made a commitment to stop letting my mouth complain. Sometimes the words just slipped right out without me even thinking, and then I would have to reframe. “Isn’t is interesting how we live under a mushroom cloud? Look, you can see the edges of it on the horizon when we drive south. I wonder what wind currents are causing that?” Sounds a little whiny still, I know. When the you have an agreement with the Lord, He is very kind in reminding you when you forget it.
Anyway, that’s point 1 for my flourishing in less than ideal situations. Don’t be a fuss pot. C.S. Lewis learned to love rough and stormy weather so much, he considered people who complained and stayed holed up to be missing an elemental gusto. (Get it?) Note to self: Be like Clive Staples.
Point 2 is Take Your Supplements. I did not skip the vitamin D and B. This year I bought a seven-day pill organizer for A.M and P.M. and now I am officially weirdly old.
Point 3 is a luxury that I have not always had: Sleep. I did not set my alarm unless we had an appointment somewhere in the morning. Homeschooling requires a lot of effort and investment, but we have hit the sweet spot where I realize that not everything is lost if we don’t start at the crack of dawn same time every morning.
Point 4 is related to calming down. Avoid Caffeine. It occurred to me that there is something wrong with a lifestyle where I cannot survive without caffeine. So I kicked the habit. I drink decaf coffee, and now I sleep better and now I am weirdly old. Oh, maybe I mentioned that before. In the interest of transparency, there were a few diet Coke days. What a gross way to get a boot in the rear, but it does work.
Those are the four things that come to mind for what has changed in my life that may have helped me cope with the seasonal depression that normally afflicts me. I have a bonus for you, a word that is new to me. Fika, which in Sweden is the term for sitting down with family or friends to have a hot drink, often with something sweet on the side. You can use it as a verb or a noun. We fika a lot at our house! Come, join us!
We’ve been finishing a bedroom in the basement. The guys installed large windows, rewired it, drywalled the ceiling, put in can lights, and trimmed it. I painted it, and Greg and I went to Gabes to look for a rug, bedding, etc. He moved his stuff down there last week, so I filled about 20 nail holes and re-caulked the cracks in the paneling and trim in his old room. I love repainting and furnishing a room when there isn’t a time crunch. (The haste around our remodel/move still gives me the post-move willies, just remembering how we put our furniture in the centers of the rooms so that I could finish the painting.) For this room, I chose a color called lullaby. My family thought it would look like a nursery, but it doesn’t. It looks restful in a blue-grey sort of way. With the white chalk-painted furniture I am working on, it will be even better. I don’t overthink the colors I choose for my walls. I just pick what I like, and then it makes me happy. There you have it, home interiors by Dorcas. It’s a very uncomplicated recipe, but I stand by it.
I made a dress -coral colored with little white flowers- for Addy a few weeks ago. The first time around I made it with her outgrown pattern, size 10/12. It was pretty unbelievable for a while, but there was nothing to do except cut and sew another bodice, size 14. For once I had bought extra fabric, a great mercy. Addy has gotten so many hand-me-downs in her life that she is excessively grateful for new dresses, and it is a pleasure to provide them. She prefers brighter colors than the other girls. Her recipe is uncomplicated too.
We went to Hobby Lobby this week, our favorite store in the world. We needed cotton yarn, felt, and some paint. We came home with fabric for hoodies and throw pillows, cute containers for beads, gold calligraphy ink, and some picture frames. I teased Rita about having a hard time with self-control, and she said, “You have no idea how hard I was holding back!” Me too, girl, me too.
The girls slept in their camper last night, despite the chill. I bribed Rita so that I could share a paragraph she wrote about it.
“If you go down the trail on the left-hand side of our shop you will come to a cute little camper with a wooden porch and flower boxes. The outside is white and green. If you decide to peep in you will be confronted by a door that sticks like glue. Pull like a mule and it might open. Reluctantly. If you get the door open, step in quickly. (So as not to let any heat escape from the lazy little heater.) Don’t forget to wipe your feet! To the left is our reddish-purple couch\bed. On each side small windows look out to the woods beyond. On the wall straight in front of the door are my spice shelves. Woven carpets cover the ancient linoleum floor. To the right are shelves. One has the cooking appliances; hot plate, electric water boiler, waffle maker, and popcorn popper. The others hold anything from plates and cups to pans and mouse poo. Everything is artfully arranged to take up as little of the limited space as possible. If you ask politely I might make you a cup of tea.”
This is the view off the back deck this morning. It was a little crisp out there, but they danced in through the snow in high spirits.
That was the view off the deck yesterday. I stood out there in bare feet, not even shivering, and listening to the roaring of the creek after our night’s thunderstorms. Isn’t weather interesting?
… for the privilege to go “home” for Thanksgiving, even though I never lived in that house, to unpack in my parents’ guest bedroom, put my feet on their coffee table, and visit long and slow with them and my brother Nate’s family.
… that my husband, who was supposed to work Thanksgiving Day this year, had the choice to work the day before and the day after, so that he could join us for a beautiful feast on the actual holiday.
… that my son made it back in time from a harvest job out West, driving 14 hours so that we could all be together for a day.
… for shared memories and old jokes and photo albums full of snapshots of a funny childhood that wows our children and their cousins with its quaintness.
… for words: quirky, hilarious, perfectly descriptive words discovered in a game of Balderdash in the living room. And for the antics of the children we have produced who entertain us regularly with their almost-adult selves. Not to mention hearing them voice their own refreshing, occasionally startling opinions
… for colored glassware, and that the pieces I bought at a thrift store to decorate for Christmas did not quite all break when the box fell out of the back of an inexpertly packed Suburban when we opened it. At least one survived, and also the white pedestal bowl for fancy serving.
… for the meat sale I managed to hit while I was “home” for Thanksgiving, so that I could pick up cases of chicken at unbelievable prices just before we hit the road to come north again. Which, incidentally, is when the box of glassware fell out of the vehicle, along with a lot of other things that were not secured because we needed a space in the back for the meat, and our leaning tower of baggage did not have structural integrity when the hatch was opened.
… for a sense of humor because when I came through the parking lot with the trolley of meat, I texted my son to open the back, he complied, and everything spilled out. The space behind our vehicle looked as if a gypsy caravan had disgorged its contents: suitcases, baskets of dress-ups that the girls had sneaked along, boots collected and thrust in at the last minute, and a bag of vintage fabric scraps spilling out. Also the box of glassware. And I stood there and giggled helplessly while I tried to assist my son who was grimly reloading and muttering under his breath about his sisters who cannot pack lightly.
… for a pressure canner so that I could make short work of processing a lot of chicken for quick meals this winter.
… for having found a kiln repairman not terribly far away who replies to my questions and plans to come as soon as possible to check out what is wrong with my kiln that it keeps giving me grief at extremely inopportune times.
… for having had a premonition to not take any custom pottery orders, because if I had, I would be stressing about the Christmas deadline.
… for try before you buy, and cyber shopping because shopping in department stores gives me the actual heebie jeebies on Black Friday. But when you need boots, you need boots, and the sales right now really are phenomenal. And when your child has no boots either, you need to figure out something before the snow flies. Also flannel sheets, because it’s coming, oh yes, it is!
… for the amazing resources we have to have comfort and cheer. I feel gratitude every time I pull on wool socks, don a colorful cable-knit sweater, wrap my hands around a hot mug, light a candle, or turn up the heat.
… for knowing people who look and sound like Jesus, and inspire me to become more like them. This week a friend I have known since I was a tot lost her mom in a shockingly sudden way. “Linda’s mom” is how I think of Iva, who was unfailingly glad to see me and catch up with me, “Linda’s friend.” I remember a time in childhood when we were at their house, and the adults seemed a little stressed, possibly about church issues or maybe a business problem. Iva was pulling an amazing concoction of graham crackers, butter, and brown sugar out of the oven when we got there. I kept running in and out of the kitchen to sneak more bars until my mom saw me and reproved me because I was being a piggy. Iva just laughed and took my relish as a compliment. The impression I got was that they were so easy to make that she would be honored to make another panful of bars if I ate them all. Her whole life was characterized by giving freely and it was because she loved the One Who freely gave to her. There was never a question about her motivation to love, and I am grateful to have known her.
… that our house is south-facing so that every time there is even a stray ray of sunshine in the wintertime, I am aware of it, and so are the plants that line the windowsills. Like right now when I am sitting in an armchair in a puddle of golden light.
… for hope, and for goodness that is given in so many perfect gifts from Above. Graces that surround me and mine, mercies new every morning. Yesterday when we were getting close to home, I saw the solid cloud cover up ahead, compliments of our Lake Erie weather system. I took a picture, and I asked the Lord, “What would You like to teach me about this?” You may wonder at His answer, but He said quite clearly, “It’s a blanket. You can get under it. It’s safe.” And so I say, “Thank You.”
Last week was a summery one, hazy skies of smoke one day, glittery sunshine the next, warm breezes, earth so dry that driving in the lane raised a cloud of dust. We planned a camping trip with the cousins at a park between our houses. Gabe is currently working in Altoona, so he was going to meet us at the campground after his three shifts were finished for the week.
With that in mind, we made lists and gathered supplies for camping before he left for work. My contribution is always the food and the comforts, such as bug spray and sleeping bags and making sure everybody takes jackets and socks for the nights. I have a tote with just camping gear: old dishes and utensils, cracked mugs, lighter, ratty tea towels and dishcloths, soap, bucket, dishpan, plastic tablecloth, foil, salt and pepper, etc. But I always have to inspect the tote to be sure nothing has gone AWOL or been emptied.
I’m also in charge of provisions, and experience has taught me that starving people aren’t very fun to camp with, so the criteria for meals is simple and nutritious. I can only pull out the Ramen or the instant oatmeal so many times before there are problems with the protein intake. With that in mind, I planned to make my Saturday meal mostly on our Coleman stove: grilled chicken breast, fettucine with Alfredo sauce, and green beans. Actual vegetables toted into the wilderness. I lofted my nose into the air at the thought of using canned Alfredo and bought cream and parmesan instead. This should have been a red flag in my own head that something was not working properly in my brain, but apparently it didn’t flag insistently enough.
I had a huge distraction in my week, because I realized that I would have to put my Father’s Day mugs on Etsy quickly so that I could ship them before we left so that people would get them in time for gifts. It wasn’t very many, but it took brain space and a number of hours posting and packing them. Would you like to see how they turned out?
This spring I messed with underglaze transfers on mugs and I was pretty happy with the result, even if they were fiddly. Anyway, I got the mugs sold and packaged, took them to the P.O. and then went right to Aldi’s for the groceries for camping.
I was keeping a list of things in my mind that I hadn’t written on my list, always a risky thing to do, especially when planning to cook things like Alfredo sauce in the woods. The girls and I gathered everything together for Gregory to load on the fishing boat as soon as he got home from work. I kept thinking of last minute things like shoes, a mattress cover for the air mattress so it isn’t so chilly, towels for the showers. Seriously, camping in a civilized manner means so much to remember! We got everything loaded and strapped down, the huge tote of tents and sleeping bags in the boat, two kayaks on top of that, and our backpacks and food in the Sub.
Setting up camp is always a jolly thing. Gabriel is a master at putting up tents and figuring out where the best places are for each thing. He did notice that I had bought the wrong kind of fuel for our aging camp stove so he and Greg went on a ride to pick up camp wood and the right kind of fuel.
The girls have a small tent they can erect by themselves and so does Gregory. I put the bedding on our mattress and noticed that I forgot our pillows, but oh well, we can always wad up some jackets or something to put under our necks. We circled our camp chairs around the fire and chatted with the cousins. Good times. Deluxe hamburgers and strawberry pie for supper made by my sister-in-law, Ruby. Enormous trees arching overhead, foxes yipping in the woods, cool air swirling. Ahhh.
At some point I French-braided the whole row of girls in what we call a “three-day-hairdo” and they hit the woods swathed in tick and mosquito repellent. The play was dramatic and absorbing. Lady took on the role of sniffer dog. I heard one small girl say to the dog, “Go find them, Killer.” The fiercest thing about Lady was her vicious tail-wagging excitement at being involved in the game, but she obliged them by sniffing everywhere.
We discovered that the camp bathrooms were the grossest we have ever experienced at a campground, and we have seen dozens. A dip in a river or a lake would be preferable for cleanliness, but at least the water was hot and you could wear flip-flops in the shower.
Bedtime was late, and the pillow situation was more problematic in our middle age than it used to be in our youth. We coped, though, and settled onto our mattress. Our new, inflatable mattress, I might add, that fits just right in the tent because Gabe did his homework and got the right size. I shouldn’t have read the reviews, because I was skeptical from the start, but that mattress definitely seemed to be losing air, just like the reviews said. Gabe was sleeping before we hit the ground, and I tried to sleep for a few hours, but gave it up as a lost cause about the time the raccoons found the tin pie plates from the strawberry pie and rattled them around. We had neglected to stow the trash out of reach and they were ready for the party.
Astonishingly, Gabe slumbered on, so I decided to crawl out and find a zero gravity chair for a bed. That woke him, and he did some troubleshooting, discovering that the one inflation valve wasn’t properly shut. After he inflated the mattress again with the last gasps of battery in our air pump, I gave it another try. It was better and I slept a few hours before we hit the ground again. That time I did crawl out and find a chair to tilt back for sleeping.
I drank real coffee that morning after my daughter suggested that I may be a little grouchy. It helped to enliven my weary bones and we had a lovely day. As I was assembling my ingredients for supper, I noticed a conspicuous lack of garlic. If you have ever had Alfredo without garlic, you haven’t had Alfredo. The small town of Tionesta was nearby, so we ladies went questing for garlic and found a cute thrift store with tiny withered ladies presiding over it “for the church”. Most things cost less than a dollar. Books for 10 cents? Is that even a thing anymore? Gabriel texted me to check if they have any pillows there. I didn’t see any.
When we got back, I assembled my ingredients. Gabriel tried to start the stove a-burning, but it would not hold the pressure needed to ignite the burner. After much trying, we gave up and made a plan for cooking over the fire. First the sauce, then the green beans, then we grilled the chicken and lastly made a blazing fire to bring a pot of water to a rolling boil for the pasta. It took forever. By the time the noodles were cooked, the rest of the food had cooled considerably under its foil covers. But it was good anyway.
The girls had seen a recipe for making Mexican s’mores by putting mini marshmallows and chocolate chips on a smear of peanut butter inside a tortilla. You fry them to melt all the gooey things together, and they had their hearts set on that even though I also had the ingredients for doing strawberry cheesecake dessert tortillas. Guess what? I forgot the marshmallows. By this point, I was ready to admit that my head was somewhere else when I was packing. I am quite sure it was busily thinking, because I was with it, after all.
Gregory saved the day by driving to a ubiquitous Dollar General about a mile out of town. Which raises the question: are you even camping if you are that close to a D.G.? And the answer is yes. In our neck of the woods, you practically trip over them all over the countryside and they are very handy too. If only we had told Gregory to get pillows.
We inflated the mattress again with a recharged inflater, very full, and very hard. That night it held. We stayed suspended on a brick, four inches above the ground for the whole night. The raccoons didn’t show up either, so we slept.
It was a good time. Relaxing, visiting, eating, drinking tea, and washing dishes in tepid water with questionable floating things in it. Everything packed down nicely and we came home to run the washer and the shower and to scrub the blackened cooking pots.
I was sinking into our wonderful bed when I got the text from my mom that her brother, Paul Miller, had died suddenly while taking a walk. In an instant, their family is changed forever. The shock and sadness of it kept me awake for quite a while, thinking.
What did it matter about pillows and marshmallows? What does anything matter in the face of loss and death? And how is it so easy to forget that we are all marching along to our graves?
My uncle Paul loved Jesus and he loved people. He had a tender heart toward anybody who was hurting or lonely, spending hours on the phone to stay connected with loved ones. That will be the part of him that will live on: his kindness and love.
I was thinking about this, and about the indisputable fact that we have to keep living in the world, living well, even though it will all pass away in the end. We buy Pampers for the baby shower, make finger jello for the picnic, and pick flowers for the table, all while marching step by step toward the day when we meet God. We do impractical things like setting up housekeeping in the woods and letting our children get gloriously dirty, making memories with their friends, presumably because we love them and we have only a certain number of days with them.
We keep living and we keep loving because that is what we are supposed to do. We are given this one wildly precious life and the people around us to share it. We pour out our love with funny things like marshmallows and story hour and French braids. I do not know how God takes the raw ingredients of what we offer to Him and to our loved ones and makes them a beautiful thing.
We have had a beautiful spring that lasted about 11 days, and now we’re smack dab in summer. There hasn’t been any rain for almost 2 weeks, and with temperatures in the ’80s, we’re doing a lot of watering already. I was told by many people that northwestern PA is extremely wet, especially in spring. I did not expect to need drip hoses in my garden or watering cans on the daily for my potted plants. I am very grateful that we have plenty of water in our well and a creek where we can fill buckets for the baby apple trees we planted this spring.
I determined to finish planting every single thing by June 1st. At 6:00 tonight I was staring down the calla lilies my neighbor brought me, and the pink petunias I bought for the hummingbirds, and three packs of parsley, basil, and celery. I asked Rita, “Why did you let me buy this stuff?” I must stay away from greenhouses now, because I have an incurable urge to reach out and pick up plants when I see something new that I would like to try.
Happily I can say that I pushed through and 2 hours later I was watering and cleaning up. The garden is chock full, and the only seeds I didn’t plant were a few sunflowers that I decided we can live without this year. At this point I think I have planted every bit of space, but it remains to be seen what comes up. I can’t quite get used to waiting until after Memorial Day for a frost free date, but I learned my lesson last week when I got up one morning and saw actual ice crystals in my garden. I had to replant most of my tomatoes and peppers that I hadn’t covered because the forecast was a low of 40.
I repotted my house plants that are root bound and put them on the porches for the summertime. I like how it makes the house feel cleared out and the porches feel cozy.
I feel like I can take some deep breaths, just watch things grow, and pick herbs, and put bouquets in the house. It’s my favorite!
Rita has been mothering a baby robin that fell out of a nest very high in the tree. It had a small wound above its wing, and I was afraid it wouldn’t be able to fly. She has been very dedicated, feeding it worms and ground turkey and bits of bread (when she wants to give it a treat) every half hour for a week. Thankfully it sleeps all night, but it wakes up bright and chipper at 6:00 AM, gaping its little beak and begging for breakfast.
Tomorrow this girl turns 14, and she really wanted a parakeet. It has been over a year since hers died, and the pet shop in town didn’t have any when we checked for a replacement. Today when we stopped in, she found the yellow budgie of her dreams. I made a deal: the robin now lives on a low branch in the tree, not in the birdcage in the house. Everybody’s happy: me, the girl, the parakeet, even the robin.
This past week I saw a blurb someone had written about parenting. “My baby is growing so fast, we ought to get a one month leave from work every 6 months just so we can figure out how to parent for the next half year.” I understand what he was saying, but we don’t get to do that. I hate to break it to you, man, but you’re going to have to figure this out on the fly and that’s not all bad. I think about the bright little Amish children I see helping with their parents’ cottage industries, whole lines of them stair stepping. I can see how important they feel because they are helping the family and they know how to do things. It is a different sort of importance from what a child feels when his parents arrange their entire lives around his wishes and hopes. Pardon me, but I know which kind of child I prefer to spend time with.
I am at that stage of parenting where I am praying for grace to cover what I missed when my children were little, even as I continue to rely on grace for wisdom as they grow more independent. It’s all flying by and some day soon I’ll say, “It feels like it was about 11 days and then we hit another season.”
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I want to remember this season, of dependent yet independent children.
I want to remember how the girls sleep in their camper playhouse, or in the sun porch, or in tents, just anywhere is preferable to their bed in this freedom that is warm nights and no school schedule.
I want to remember them sitting at the table having a tea party with friends all proper, then running outside to the woods and cooking crayfish and snake steak over their fire for a snack.
I want to remember how it felt to have a yard sale and there were three cashiers that were not me, and yet they were still cute enough to sell iced tea and brownies.
I want to remember the lists I make for all this energy to be put to good purposes, and then the library runs, the reading breaks, and the easy, restful days because we have been diligent and the laundry is done and the dishes are washed and the floors are clean.
I want to remember and watch and be like Mary and keep things in my heart, and hope all things for them as they grow.
It feels a lot like gardening, and Jesus, please send rain.
I have a soft spot in my heart for older gentlemen who wear both suspenders and a belt. Whatever else may be falling apart, they will endeavor to keep their trousers up, and I appreciate that code of honor.
This week the girls are finishing up all their school lessons. When I made their last fifteen assignments, they got a gleam in their eyes and started working like mad to finish up long before the three weeks in which they were assigned. I didn’t care at all, but found myself caught short with the customary celebrations. We have been homeschooling for fifteen years, and I have never before forgotten to order books for each child to unwrap at our end-of-school party, but this year somebody hinted and I looked foolish for a minute before I admitted that I forgot the party too.
The girls were chill about it, but a little disappointed, so I quickly opened Amazon and got on the ball. Addy wanted a detailed coloring book, and she actually got to choose her own. Olivia wanted books to read, of course. Rita was more desirous of a new hot plate for her cooking experiments in the playhouse. I worry about what this world of two-day shipping gratification will do to our children, but I also appreciate it. The ease and endless resources on the internets fuel a constant tension: help or hindrance?
I read an article this morning called “Social Media is Attention Alcohol” and it gave me lots of food for thought and a prick of conscience about wasted time. I kissed Facebook good-bye years ago, although I haven’t closed out my account because I want to be able to look back at my timeline for reference and photos. I am sure there are many who use this platform for good, but it no longer blessed me, so it wasn’t that hard.
However, I love Instagram. I unfollow any accounts that start to smell fake, although realistically we probably all put our best foot forward on this platform. I refuse filters and try hard to keep myself sternly real. And I sell my pottery mostly to my Instagram following (Black Oak Ceramics (speaking of which: I promised to let you all know when I do an Etsy shop update and I plan to do that this weekend, in time for Mother’s Day) ). So Instagram is a free and simple marketing tool for me. Not only that, but I get a lot of creative ideas from following others. For a self-taught potter, inspiration often comes from seeing what is possible if I work long and hard, but it can also plunge me into despair because of how little I know.
I ask myself if this is an attention hog in my life, and yes, it is on some days. It feels exactly the same as falling into story grip with a book, not all bad until the undisciplined ways catch up with me and interfere with healthy life and relationships.
I have hinted at the wacky hormonal issues of mid-life that nobody really wants to know about, but these issues have a way of bossing me around that was unfathomable to my young and well-regulated self. (There, was that ambiguous enough?) Anyway, I found myself at the beginning of the year with a quality of life that really cramped my style. I was lethargic, anemic, sleeping poorly, and not able to take a flight of stairs without feeling short of breath. I wasn’t sure I would be able to garden or take hikes, etc. come summertime, and I needed help! The doctor had nothing for me except, “It’s to be expected and it will probably last for years.” Cold comfort. “Maybe take iron or eat organ meats, and go on birth control to regulate your hormones.” Eww. I always hated how iron upset my stomach when I was pregnant, and so I started drinking spinach smoothies and trying to summon the strength to eat liver and onions.
About this time my sister told me about a product she saw on social media. (Imagine that!) It’s a freeze-dried beef liver supplement that is much easier on the queasy than the fried version. I was desperate, and hopeful and skeptical all at the same time. If you read reviews, you know how confusing that can be. Well, I have been taking these little liver bits in capsules daily for three months, and it seems to have been exactly what I needed. I am so very grateful to have energy and stamina again, and a normal life. I wouldn’t have heard about this or had any idea where to buy beef liver capsules without the internet. Nor could I have shared with you out of the love in my heart to spread good things. If I read the delicate references in the comments correctly, I am not alone in my quest for equilibrium in this season. 😉
Meanwhile, if you feel a bit beleaguered by the ordinary troubles that beset you despite your best efforts, consider this cardinal mother-to-be. She built her nest in the lilac bush, snugly under the awning. In the last week the leaves have opened and in the days and days of rain, they weigh down the branch enough to swing it out into the weather, just where the rain drips off the awning without relief. I feel so sorry for her, but she is steadfast, unmovable, abounding in the work the Lord has given her. The nest is tipped at an awkward angle, but her 21 days are almost up and there will be babies soon. I wish I could tell her that tomorrow the sun is supposed to shine.
I am letting nature preach to me, loud and clear. This is what she says:
Keep on with the good work. Get that party planned for your children. Pull on your suspenders or take your beef liver capsules, whatever it takes. The world won’t stop turning if you cop out, but there will be glory missing that is supposed to be there.
… to eat marshmallow peeps at Easter because I like them.
… to have a flip flop collection, and to wear them in the snow when I get the mail. If there is any snow, that is.
… to hang a hammock in February and lie in it on every sunny day.
… to sleep on my husband’s side of the bed when he’s on night shift, just because it feels different than my side of the bed.
… to paint any room I want to paint.
… to throw away clothes that make me feel ugly.
… to dote on my chickens and buy them treats.
… to keep buying children’s books even though my children are not little anymore.
… to put as much cream in my decaf coffee as I want.
… to rearrange the furniture in my house when I need a fresh look, even if it’s the same furniture and the same house and other people think that’s funny.
… to decline politely when I don’t want to play a board game, specifically Monopoly or Life.
… to be a word nerd and make lists of good words and think about ways to put them together.
… to spend money on a writing course and take time to practice what I’m learning.
… to plant flowers everywhere in the garden, even in the vegetable rows.
… to laugh at my wobbly shopping cart wheel and show others how hilarious it is.
… to cry when I’m reading a book that touches my heart or singing a song that expresses my longings.
…to hide the Cadbury mini eggs and dole them out bit by bit so that they last for a while, because the Easter season has the best candy.
… to walk the two miles to the garage to pick up a vehicle that has now been fixed for the very last time, I hope.
My walking buddy
Last night one of our writing prompts was “I am allowed,” and that’s where my thoughts went. Are there things you’re allowed?..
I’ve been thinking a lot about surviving during the long, dark days of winter, even thriving. I have a short list of things that do NOT help, and the top of the list is
Aimlessness
Accumulated dirt
Staying housebound
Disorganized snow gear
Too much screen time
Strict dieting
Overwhelming projects
Navel-gazing about all the things that are wrong in my life
PollyAnna chirping, “I’m so glad I’m not being exposed to harmful UV rays”
At the end of the day, the weariness of winter is a thing, the brain fog is a thing, and the temptation to sin with my attitudes is a thing. Facing the challenge and admitting it is not a sin, however. When my mom gave me a stack of notepads from my Grandma’s stash, I found one with this poem on the back:
Grandma lived in Wisconsin and every year she faced this battle.
My list for coping skills is long and detailed, because I have given it much thought over the years, and probably written about it before. I have tried to condense it so I don’t fatigue you with my lofty thoughts.
Keep rhythms, but let them be slow
Plan fun things like tea parties and game nights
Put lights everywhere, twinklies, candles, full-spectrum bulbs
Eat sensibly; embrace comfort foods and bright flavors
Buy fresh herbs, vegetables, and fruits
Go to the library often
Make gardening plans and order seeds
Have spots of color around your house: quilts, throw pillows, pretty dishes
Wear cheerful clothes
Buy proper gear so that you can
Get out of the house every day and
Go skating or sledding or just walking in the fresh air
Simmer potpourri
Play upbeat music
Collect houseplants for your windowsills
Feed the birds, learn to identify them, keep lists
Make things with beautiful yarn or paints
Take supplements for the vitamins and minerals you lack
Spend unhurried time with friends
Bring home some tulips from the grocery store
Accept: this is a season and it will pass
That list is what rises to the top when I think about leaning into wintertime. It’s customized to our household. Not everybody is blessed by quilts and bright yellow teapots. I’m sure you have your own coping skills.
Often I don’t realize that my hands are hanging down and my knees are feeble until the slump has gotten hold of me (about the 75th cloudy day in January). It becomes a spiritual battle; I spread it before the Lord, and He graces me with ideas and resources to deal with what is here, this very day, in this place I am called to be. As a keeper of my home, I have choices. I can ooze into the mud or look for the light. And slowly the days get longer and hope rises.
wocket in my pocket 