Merry & Mod at home

the greening

Spring comes more slowly, more subtly to the High Desert. It's here, but you must know its signs to recognize its arrival. While the valley is awash in bulbs and leaves and wet, here there are tight buds of leaves, tender shoots of perennials, green blades of grass. 

Inside the house, however, Spring arrives with energy and heralds the return of warmer weather and long, lazy days. Daffodils - 30 stems for less than $4! - grace my table. It's far too early to plant outside - we anticipate frost for a few more months - but a few transplants and seedlings, gently cared for under a grow light, promise more dirty hands in the months to come. 

All winter I've been saving my fiber trimmings: tiny bits of thread, colorful scraps from the boys' art projects, the delicate ends from my crochet. I found the idea somewhere on Pinterest (of course!) and had to try. After the Vernal Equinox, I filled an empty suet container with the vibrant bits, hoping that the local birds would use them to build cozy, colorful nests. E saw a length of yarn was hanging out of our bird house for a few days. Too bad: I missed it; though the knowledge filled me with a small sense of triumph. However, I did see a small songbird stealing fluffy chicken feathers shed by our flock from the the coop - a cozy bit of down for her nest, and a highlight in my day. 

And: the egg. (Though these white ones for Easter - organic, to be sure! - came from the store.) With longer, warmer days, we have been grateful for an abundance of eggs. A symbol of renewal, rebirth, and beginnings. 

Slowly, we awake from our winter slumber. The old growth from last year is cleared away to provide sunlight for the new life pushing up, with determination and hope, towards the sunshine. 

 

All those boys

I created, organized, and decorated my studio with the intention of fashioning a creative haven for myself. A place of creativity, inspiration, and prolific making. At the time, I envisioned a place for me to be solitary in my creativity, though I did add a chair and a small desk for visitors. Truth be told, I spend more time in this space with company than I do alone. 

On my favorite chilly winter days, the boys and I find ourselves secluded there together. Mama, can we make something in your studio? We sort through pipe cleaners and a stack of gold paper I've had for 20 years, play with copious amounts of tape and glue, string beads, twist small bits of wire, experiment with adding salt and sugar to wet watercolors, share a pot of tea. I keep scissors for small hands and a scrap basket full of fabric they can use without ever having to ask. In this space, they have created suits of armor, numerous paper cranes, blankets for baby dolls, glow in the dark bracelets for stuffed tigers, gifts for loved ones, and various medieval weaponry. 

There is a sense of calm and companionship that infuses these peaceful hours. After a rough-and-tumble morning, this unscheduled creative time is restorative and so refreshing. I love to share this space I love with my loved ones. I love to witness the creative process of their young, open minds. It only takes a bit of tape or a length of yarn to get started. Often, my personal creativity can seem elusive or - even worse - forced. But my boys approach time in the studio with the same loaded for bear attitude they bring to everything else in life. Let's get started and see what happens. 

Eventually, E will wander upstairs to see what we're up to. He sits down, asks the boys what they're making, joins us. He frequently compliments the relaxed and peaceful atmosphere I've cultivated. All those boys, crowded into my little pink room, making things together. It's heartwarming and inspiring, even if it only lasts an hour. 

Then there are the evenings, after the boys are in bed and the house is quiet, that we are both in the studio. Sharing a glass of wine, listening to soothing music, each with our own project. I love those times, too. 

 

 

 

pink sunset and a full moon

This is the pink sunset and full moon rise I found upon returning home after spending Chritmas at my parent's. It felt very calm and quiet. Then life became rather hectic and now I'm searching for the calm and quiet again. To that end, I'm beginning a lazy day in the craft room with my two boys - all of us still in pajamas. The floor is strewn with bits and pieces of cloth from the scrap basket. As soon as the laptop is closed, the sewing machine will come out in an attempt to turn these random odds and ends into a blanket or two. 

I had quite a bit of creative mojo during autumn and the holiday season. If you'll forgive me a bit of anachronism, I'll be sharing my finished objects with you over the next few weeks. Meanwhile, I'll be searching for more pink sunsets. 

 

 

Garden Feasts

Our late Summer suppers celebrate the bounty of our harvest. Meals are spectacular, though very simple. A loaf home crusty homemade bread, a pile of Swiss chard tossed about in skillet with bacon, a humble plate of beans. This is peasant food at its most satisfying. And yet we feel like royalty, dining on our rich homegrown goodness.

Ahhh, Summer, don't leave me yet. 

 

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.