There’s no place like home.

I’m coming off of 6 days in Florida with 500 strong, successful and supportive women. We gathered together to celebrate the bonds of sisterhood, to laugh and to cry, and encourage each other in so many ways. It was wonderful to sit down with my people and pick up where we left off, enjoying the easy flow of conversation that happens with those who really know you. I was sad to leave them, though I anticipate some visitors to Maine before long. Despite the melancholy of separation, I had such a sense of relief when my plane landed and I walked into our tiny terminal. Slow and small. I breathe more easily here.

Freed from the airport, I cruised up I-95, windows open to enjoy the fact that it was 25* cooler here than in Jacksonville, and a Bald Eagle swooped out of the marsh and across my lane with a fish in its talons.

The weekend before I left, we celebrated a fourth birthday with chocolate-frosted cupcakes and kite-flying on the beach. The next day, I squelched my inclination to plan, and Daddy led us on an expedition to eat brunch and then go fishing.

I came home from my trip to J’s family visiting for a couple of days, and bringing our headcount to five adults, one teen, and six kids ranging in age from 2 to 8. These kids can pack the food away, let me tell you!

I have no way to wrap this up succinctly, which I suppose is appropriate because nothing right now can be wrapped up in a neat little package, least of all my thoughts. I’m tired, and happy, and I think that’s good enough.

 

 

 

“Would you like some parsnip seeds?”

I was standing at the circulation desk in our tiny village library when she walked in with a brown paper shopping bag and a box of resealable sandwich baggies. She had come to share the wealth with the seed exchange that the library hosts, and stood at the central table to parcel them out. She gave me so many, I think that I’ll be sharing them as well.

The girls and I pulled in at 3:01 pm yesterday, thinking we’d be the first family in the door as they opened. I realized that was silly of me, following one car up into the half-filled lot with another coming in close behind us. When the library is open, the people come, and I am glad for it. If they are struggling to stay relevant, I am certainly struggling to see it as the library seems to be the epicenter of our little town. It’s the first place that I learned of our town newsletter last year, and one of our librarians kindly added me to the email distribution. Yesterday, I picked up the form for summer swimming lessons at the town beach so that we can get Swee registered. Our pumpkins are growing from seeds picked out of the library’s exchange, and it would appear we’re adding parsnips to the mix. The library is a vibrant and essential part of this community, and I am grateful for it.

This week we are:

– pulling chard from the garden in bunches, adding it to salads and feeding some to the chickens (if you’re local and want to barter, let me know – we have a lot)

– mending in the garden

– enjoying some new to us garden seating (and trying to choose a color for a facelift)

– surviving our first power outage in this rental – successfully!

Summer is almost upon us – what are you up to?

Ok, chicken people. I need some help.

We are total novices at this poultry game. Everything we know we’ve learned from books, blogs, or through J’s amazing Google fu. And really, for possessing no practical knowledge, things are going pretty well. We had no pasty behinds. We didn’t lose any chickies while they lived in our bathtub. I mistook Dottie’s umbilical cord for poop once when she was tiny, and made her bleed a little (and felt awful), but she survived with no ill effects. They eat like hogs, and learned to roost all on their own. So far, so good.

Our feathered friends are seven weeks old tomorrow, and look like actual chickens now. Gone is the gangly half feather/half fluff look they were rocking, and instead they’re starting to take on that chicken shape. They’ve been out in the coop for two and a half weeks now. It only took a day or so for them to find their roosts and snuggle in together under the heat lamp, which we’re using because they’re still young and it’s still cold at night. We blocked the nesting boxes so that they wouldn’t become accustomed to sleeping (and pooping) where they will eventually lay, and hadn’t let them out into the run until yesterday. And here comes my question.

My assumption, based on my reading, was that at dusk, they would return to their established home and prep for bedtime. It’s only been two nights, but they have not shown that initiative.

Several of the girls let me scoop them and put them inside. Easy peasy. Two have hidden under the coop where I cannot reach them and refused to come out until I bribed them with crumble, and then ambushed them. It took thirty minutes last night; forty-five tonight. This cannot continue, basically because by 8pm, I’ve used up the last of my patience on my human children and honestly, I just want to go to bed.

Am I rushing them? Trying to put them to bed too early? Did we let them into the run too soon? I’d love your thoughts.

Beyond that, our teeny homestead is coming together as nicely as I could hope for, being that it’s in the backyard of a rental. It’s shabby, but in the best way, and is quite comfortable. The grass is finally coming in, the veggies are growing, and we even set up an old woodstove as a firepit today. My friend Jocelyn shared a recipe for shrimp foil packets today as well, and I think our little redneck stove will be perfect for cooking them, maybe on J’s next day off. I’ll let you know how they turn out.

I went looking for a clean dishcloth tonight, and couldn’t find one. The kitchen drawer was empty, and there weren’t any in the basket of laundry waiting to be folded nor in the folded piles waiting to be put away. I can only surmise that they’re all dirty, but I have done so. much. laundry over the past seven days that I simply to refuse to believe that’s the case (dishes and laundry: the never-ending chores). Interestingly, my inclination was to pull out my knitting bag and cast on for another, because clearly we don’t have enough. And I realized that I must have come a long way if my first thought is to make one, and not to write dishcloth on the shopping list hanging on the fridge.

We have not been living as slowly as I’d like, though I’m still making the effort to live intentionally. I have the faint sense that we are close to finding our stride with this new schedule, the way we do at the end of each semester or the beginning of a new adventure. I’m looking forward to putting this frenzied pace back to sleep for another few months.

The quiet nights at home while J is at work are welcome, though still different for me. I find that when he’s here I don’t do much in the evenings, preferring instead to be in the same room with him. If he’s doing homework, I’ll read or knit, but it’s nice to just be together. Now that I’m getting used to the relative solitude, I’m tackling those little tasks that make our daytimes run more smoothly and comfortably, like dirtying those dishcloths to wash up the pots and pans that don’t go in the dishwasher. It’s nice to wake up to an empty sink and clean countertop.

Tonight when those dishes were done, I refreshed our supply of homemade taco seasoning. I’ve been mixing our own for a number of years now, and while the flavor isn’t as complex as some store bought packets, it tastes cleaner. I use two parts garlic powder, onion powder, chili powder and cumin, and one part red pepper flakes, usually in increments of a teaspoon until the jar is filled. It’s simple, and I’m sure I could kick it up a notch, but simple is the point. I hate DIY recipes that require a million ingredients you’ll never use for anything else; they defeat the purpose. These are standard spices, and won’t go to waste. I use a 4 ounce jelly jar that must have originally come to us as a gift, because I know I didn’t buy it, though I don’t remember what was in it to start. Most likely something homemade, and actually, a little jar of seasoning would make a nice gift.

I joked to J the other night that it must be summertime here in Vacationland, as our calendar is suddenly filling up with out-of-state visitors arriving and departing, back to back. I think it will be wonderful introducing our loved ones to this lovely place, and maybe we’ll recruit a few more transplants!

Though, visitors mean more dirty dishes. I suppose I better get to knitting that dishcloth.

 

The words “violently ill” have long seemed like hyperbole to me, but then I hadn’t truly been sick since I was very young, maybe six or seven years old. I remember laying on the couch next to a bucket, a towel folded over the cushion, wondering why my ginger ale had to be warm and why I couldn’t have more butter on my toast. It’s been a long time, and really, I’d rather it have been longer.

I was violently ill this past weekend, and it was dreadful.

My poor Swee woke me up around 2am on Friday as she crawled into my bed. Given the hour, I didn’t ask any questions and instead pulled her in for a snuggle. She soon woke me again, and I spent the rest of the night holding her skinny little self over the bucket. She seemed to rally on Saturday but things went up and down for her for a couple of days.

Gramma came Saturday evening and took care of everything. Babies, dinner, dishes, laundry, Candy Land, bedtime, all the way through J’s shift Sunday night when I was finally able to sit upright again. We made it out for the parade on Monday, but Swee relapsed and we went home to bed. She’s much better now, if a little tired, and I’m so glad she’s finally eating and getting back to her normal. And I’m glad she didn’t have it as badly as I wound up. J and Beans escaped unscathed, thankfully, and Beanie was able to gorge herself on cake Monday night as we celebrated her second birthday.

My Swee-girl and I are glad to be back. J has this weekend off, and there’s a lot of living to do. Welcome to summertime in Maine!