We walked for 40 minutes through the woods and on back roads to go to a barn party. There were hot dogs with relish, tiki torches, peanut butter bars, and huge snappers swimming in the pond. Someone started playing guitar after the bonfire was lit. We climbed in the barn rafters. We walked home late and Cedar fell asleep in the wagon.
Thursday, April 23
Saturday, April 11
The chicken coop got delivered by an Amish man named Reuben two days ago. The chickens are now moved out of the upstairs bathroom which is coated in a sort of dust from their weeks of growing in adolescent feathers, and out into a little grassy, fresh air paradise of their own. They are the sweetest girls (I'm sure 2 are roosters so we are down to 8 potential egg-layers).
In a few days I go to visit a friend on the coast of Massachusetts.
I have been trundling wheelbarrow-fulls of leaf mulch-turned-soil to the raised bed (soon to be plural), needing to get the strawberry plants my mom gave me in the ground. Cedar and I planted raspberry and blueberry bushes this week, and a peach tree.
Tomorrow the dahlia and crocus bulbs, the other peach tree, a pear tree, 3 more blueberry bushes, and possibly the asparagus get planted, after I get home from work.
Today we drove down to have lunch with Tim, as one day a weekend he sleeps at his mom's house near the hospital where he works in order to save on time driving. We went to the Japanese Cherry Blossom Festival at Morris Arboretum. The parts of trees in color were like balm. I'm over winter. I'm over being cold.
The bluebells were out.
Inspiration is elusive. So often I am driving, or happily laying in bed, or on a walk and I think of some clear, important thing I want to share. To write about. I think, I surely won't forget that. I make a mental note. I look forward to exploring that idea. And then when the time comes when I can write, it is gone.
It's okay. In my twenties I used to journal desperately, chronicling something each day as if my existence depended on it. Like I would disappear without proof. Last night I was watching Interstellar and there was a line in it that I've been thinking over, When you become a parent you're the ghost of your child's future. Your whole perspective on life changes as you watch your child change on a daily basis. Almost before you know what you had, it is gone, changed into something else. Soon you will be gone too, only a memory for the loved ones left behind, just like our grandparents and great-grandparents are or will be. Whole lives lived of family I never knew, perhaps whom I resemble strongly without knowing. It could be depressing but instead makes me feel a little lighter. We all do the best we can, we all strive towards our beliefs and ideals and in the end, it matters, even if no one remembers. It was just as hard and confusing and joyous for them.
Where did all that living go? Is it still around us somehow, permeating the air, steeped in our body and genetic memories, inspiring us and guiding us although we don't realize it?
I hope so.
Everyone has had a childhood. I know the effort that takes now, to make sure he has a good one. It breaks my heart to know that so many kids right now are having awful ones.
After having Cedar I feel overlapped with women far, far away, women I don't even know, maybe just see in a picture, or in a window, and women from the pasts of all cultures. Civilizations rose and fell and we mothers just went on loving, giving, trying.
Saturday, March 28
Being a mom right now is putting me in another state of mind. I don't have many words. They just don't seem necessary.
There is a little sign up over on the right side of my blog if you want to have new posts sent to your email. I'll be writing again every so often.
I am posting a lot on Instagram, which is simple and satisfying. I haven't used my digital camera in weeks although I do use my polaroid and film cameras every so often.
Life is busy. Tree guys came and cleared what will be a sunny meadow for us for the veggie garden, goats, and perhaps an alpaca.
We got 10 baby chicks. They are currently in an upstairs bathroom under a heat lamp. I think one is a rooster.
Plans are in the works for an outdoor kitchen.
There is a lot of wood to cut up leftover from the tree guys. I think some of the long trunks may become our raised beds. We will have to put a deer fence up because those stinkers are munching on the dogwood buds already.
We got a fishtank. I love feeding those fish; they are real personalities.
Cedar is talking up a storm. Not napping so often these days and we are working on that. He is a thoughtful, sweet fellow and is a joy to be with. I wish I had more patience, more peacefulness. I struggle with strong and at times overwhelming angers and resentments and I know they are leftover from my own childhood. Children are sponges. I want to be a good model for Cedar, and it can be disheartening to face the depth of my own struggles. I try, and he loves me, but I wish I was a better person.
We are waiting for Spring.
She is almost here. I can feel her breath.