Merry & Mod at home

share a glimpse

A few years ago, my sister-in-law planned a surprise birthday party for my brother-in-law at our house. While my husband took his younger brother out for beers, she snuck over to my kitchen and together with a friend we made roll after roll of homemade sushi. I decorated the windows with strings of paper cranes that I had folded here and there from the same stash of origami paper I've had for decades. 

(In middle school I read a book about a young Japanese girl dying of luekemia after the atomic bomb attacks of World War II. She attempted to fold a thousand paper cranes. After her death, her classmates organized to create the Children's Peace Statue to honor her and other children who were victims of the Hiroshima bombing. The story resonated with me. I taught myself how to fold cranes, began collecting origami paper, and folded baskets upon baskets of the fragile birds.) 

This week, I found the strings of decorative cranes and taped them up over our story corner in the boys room. They add more color to a room that is already bursting. 

As I stepped carefully over board games, Legos, and toys to snap these photos, I realized how often my blog (unintentionally) perpetuates an idealized image of my life. I choose to focus on the positive in this space - you probably have enough negativity in your life without me adding a litany of gripes and complaints. But our home is rarely spotless and we are not perfect. 

So I stepped back for a wider angle, to share a glimpse of real life here. 

 

 

 

a bit of a miracle

It may be contrived, but it's true that each new season brings small pleasures and unexpected happiness. Spring always seems to be a bit of a miracle. As the days lengthen and the sun shines brighter, I tour our yard and note the buds and blossoms. Which plants have survived, which are thriving. I enthusiastically share these details with my family: there are two buds on the tiny apricot tree; we'll have plenty of mint again; the hops are coming up crazy; our rhubarb is booming; we have a daffodil! 

And nothing says Spring quite as sucintly as a cardboard box full of chicks in the garage. With their fluffy bums and tiny cheeps and the promise of eggs, eggs, eggs! they remind me to clean out the coop, order the garden soil, and prepare for planting. Spring is here and the growing season is coming right around the bend. 

I love this time of year.

 

 

the magic carpet flies again

Years ago, in a previous chapter of our lives, my husband and I traveled to Belize. We floated underground river caves, dived along green walls rich with coral deep under the ocean, slept in a shack on a tiny island. We returned, deliciously relaxed, with a rainbow striped hammock, a maxed out credit card, and a tiny new life growing in my belly. It was a dramatic end to the first chapter of our married life.

The hammock was hung on the deck of third-floor apartment, consuming all the outdoor space we could boast. I rocked there, sipping virgin pina coladas, dreaming of our vacation, and watched my tummy grow. Months later, my new baby and I swayed together.

Eventually I went back to work. Got pregnant again. Prepared to move to Oregon and start yet another chapter of family life. We pulled the hammock out of retirement to discover the red section had faded to orange and been eaten through by a very industrious mouse that had moved into the balcony. 

This summer, I spent several days sitting on the back patio, weaving a new stripe into our old, loved hammock. Over under, over under, breathing and weaving, I attaching the yellow and blue with a vibrant red. I wondered who made the hammock in the first place, I remembered the rejuvenating vacation and the whirlwind of change that ensued.

We have come full circle, and the life we dreamed of under palm trees in Belize, in California, is a reality. We swing under the juniper, the sun and the stars, on our own tiny island of home. 

 

 

Ella Bella laid an egg.

I have a chicken and she laid an egg. That's a fairly mundane announcement - chickens are bred to lay, after all. But for our family, discovering a tiny, pale brown, perfectly shaped egg in the nest box was nothing short of miraculous. All the waiting, tending, and building came to fruition and each of us experienced a thrill of delight.

There was a brief discussion over how to taste this first egg. Scrambled? Poached? Then my oldest requested a classic preparation: sunny side up. I heated a pat of butter and some oil in a skillet, waited until it bubbled, then cracked the shell on the side of the pan and dropped it's contents into the fat. The little egg sat up high and firm - the freshest I've ever experienced. We gathered around one plate with four forks and cut into it. The yolk ran deep orange: proof of her healthy diet, fresh air, happy existence.

 

 

basket of light

Everyday I spend a bit of time in the yard, regardless of the damp, wet, or chill.  Summer is coming and I intend to be ready - despite the growing chore list.  Wildflower seeds are sprouting, bringing promises of color and bees.  The chickens are in the coop.  One evening last week, after the children were in bed, I filled a basket with solar powered lights and walked around out back.  Lighting the way, hoping for new growth, waiting for the warmth.  It is coming.  

a welcome surprise

Before the Spring rains came, we enjoyed a few warm days.  We took advantage of the sunshine to accomplish a lot of work in our yard and to introduce the chicks to the world outside their brooder box.  

We have owned this home for less than two years. The list of projects to make it truly ours is long. When we moved in the yard was an unfenced plot of dirt, weeds and overgrown junipers. Now, we have grass, swings, a garden. This weekend I planted twenty five feet of raspberries and a big batch of hops. The radish and lettuce seeds are sprouting. In a few days I'll sow wildflowers.  

As I turn new soil into our beds, I notice how the lavender gives off it's heady aroma when I brush against it, even though the flowers have yet to blossom. I discover tiny leaves on plants I didn't think survived the winter. The chickens have snacked on the tender shoots of the hostas.  

It is a welcome surprise to discover that I enjoy working in my little piece of earth. I find immense satisfaction in tending tiny seedlings, caring for what grows here, while listening to the laughter of my children and the peeping of our chickens. The plants awaken from their long Winter sleep and unfurl their tiny leaves. I anticipate a putting up healthy crop of rhubarb. I welcome the rain.

Next year, I'll turn rich homegrown compost into our soil. Next year, we'll build more garden beds. Next year, there will be less dirt and more flowers. We have shared a common vision of our yard from the start. Now it begins to take shape. I accept that Winter in the High Desert is long and cold and Summer will be here and gone in a few months. I will savor the sweetness of it's brevity.  

 

 

a brood of my own

Yesterday, I brought home a peeping, cheeping box of fluff from the farm store.  This moment was the realization of a dream I've held for years.  Introducing, from left to right, my chicks: Bonnie, a Welsummer; Lulu, an Australorp; Ella Bella, a Silver Laced Wyandotte; and Sophie, an Ameraucauna who will lay blue eggs.

(Though I question the wisdom of naming these girls, it was unavoidable.  After all, I had two great lists of girl names that went unused when my boys were born!)   

 

 
Dear readers, forgive me if over the course of Spring and Summer I begin to sound as though I - with my small raised bed garden, rhubarb patch, worm farm, and chicken coop - have discovered urban homesteading.  The sun is shining, leaves are budding from the lilac, and there is a box of chicks in the garage.  I cannot contain my enthusiasm - and I don't want to, either.  

 

counting

 

It's been quiet in this little space recently.  I try to keep my silence when I don't have anything to share, lest I venture into insipidity.  So I will simply state a few truths:  I am blessed to be so well loved, and to love so deeply.  

a welcome visitor

A few weeks ago we noticed a new bird visiting our back yard.  With his crimson capped head and graphic white and black feathers, he created a dramatic contrast against the scrub jays, flickers, and robins that frequent our feeders.  E looked through his bird books and we identified our visitor as an acorn woodpecker.  

After consulting with a colleague, who is also a seasoned birder, we learned that there are only four previous documented sightings of acorn woodpeckers east of the Cascades - and two of those only stayed in the area for a day or so.  We are tickled that this avian pioneer of sorts has chosen our back yard as his new hangout.  

This particular woodpecker appears perfectly content in our neighborhood.  I've noticed him flying from tree to tree in the cul de sac among the neighbors' homes.  And he's been rather industrious pecking a hole into one of our numerous juniper and feasting on the bird feeders.    

I've enjoyed observing him so much, I find myself wishing he'd bring some friends over the mountains to join him.  

childhood home

 

Recently, I walked through my childhood home, for the last time.  As I reflected on all the memories I take with me, I also wondered what future celebrations will take place at the new house. 

 

My nostalgia was tempered by my excitement for my parents. 

 

You can go home again, I think.  It's just that home is always changing.  Trees come down, rooms are remodeled, patios are rebuilt. 

 

The bedroom of my girlhood, a refuge for so many fanciful daydreams, is now where my children sleep during our visits.  The stuffed animals, Daddies posters, journals and beads are long gone. 

 

People make memories together.  Any place will do.