February Days

So much snow. So. Much. We had more this morning. More is coming. It's just going to be one of those Februarys, I guess. And I show you snow and the short-lived sunshine and eggs (so. many. eggs.) and what you don't see here are the conversations that begin at breakfast, that are sustained throughout the day, threads of which are picked up and wrapped with a variety of topics. You don't see the laughing or the yelling, because there's that, too, or the frustration or the fourth or fifth drafts of important letters written, the worry for friends, the tears that spring when we realize we're down to one guinea pig who has been receiving lots of extra devotion, or the cats who follow us, hoping we'll sit and cuddle with them for a spell. You won't see how wishes become concrete plans in a single photo, or even in words because my children's lives are their own. Our days are still as rich, full, intense, and hands-on as parents to two older teens as they were when our children were small. There's a self-reliance about our teens, though, that is different from when they were toddlers, of course. Our teens make meals, tend to the feeding and caring of animals, embark on projects, immerse themselves in media, books, music, and art. They extend themselves to friends. They make profound discoveries about themselves, realize inner truths. And they initiate plans that will take them years and miles beyond our kitchen table. And it's all astoundingly right and good.

Scenes From My Kitchen Door

All About Snow

This week was all about snow. Playing in it, preparing for it, experiencing it, and coping with it after. The day before storm Juno, the teens were out on skis, enjoying the brilliant January sun and cerulean sky. Alex put more roofing on the duck pen and wrapped what wasn't covered in poly to keep the ducks safe from the impending blizzard. We called our plow guy. The blizzard brought the wind and 24" of drifts, and with it, cancellations and delays.  The day after, I fed the birds on one of the bare spots created by the dramatic drifting the day before, and we were plowed out twice, and we shoveled paths. The chickens, grumpy about the little bit of snow that managed to blow into their run, refused to go out in it, but pecked at every last bit clumped to our boots. And today, we're back in it again, as a much calmer storm dumps another 10-inches on us. It's beautiful and a wonderland of white out there, just as it should be at the end of January in Maine.

Winter Light : Ordinary Days

On Not Hurrying: Yuletide : Day Eleven

Today started out both early and gray. We had our usual chores of feeding the chickens and ducks, guinea pigs and cats, and Alex started his Yule bread dough rising. We woke to some the mildest weather in weeks, and it's been so gray this entire month, so we were looking forward to the sun that was meant to show up in the afternoon. The kettle boiled and three of us sat to have cups of dark tea while carols played, and one of us slept in just a bit longer. Soon, all of us were together, eggs were scrambled, more tea was poured, and someone said we should do stockings. Oh, yes, of course, stockings! Then we sat at the kitchen table, opening our stocking gifts and drinking more tea, and we loved one another. Alex checked his dough, punched it down, and some of us went to brush teeth and properly dress for the day. Not one of us hurried.











The not hurrying turns out to be our favorite part of Yule and Santa Day in particular. There's no need to end the day by 9am, and we all relish the postponement of opening the gifts, wrapped so charmingly. The anticipation is sweet, and we wanted to savor it. Late morning, however, we all made our way to our tree, settled into our seats, and passed each other gifts. Olivia, as she did last year, had made us all something personal; hand-knit cowls for Alex and Adam in colors that bring out their eyes, and a darling felted portrait pin of a Speckled Sussex hen for me. For the family, to go with our felt Beatrice and Annabelle ornaments she made last year, she gave us a Claudia. Now we have a trio of guinea pigs to hang on our tree. Adam made us laugh with his attempts at reading German in the booklet that came with his new wood carving set. Olivia was so pleased with her wireless speaker, music lover that she is. Alex received his usual mixture of geekery and the practical, and this year it was Terry Pratchett and chainsaw gear. And then there was me, also as usual (I think my husband delights in finding the gift that will make me cry), sobbing over the gorgeous hand painted box with the soft sculpture Santa and Reindeer inside, made by our friend, Phoebe Wahl, and even more sobbing when Alex read her note, aloud. I adore her art and even more, the way she captures the magic that I so love about Yuletide in her so many of her works. These pieces will forever be a whimsical and charming part of our Yuletide tradition.



By noon, the sun was streaming in and we were down to the last box, which was long and narrow and leaned against the wall. It was for both Adam and Olivia.











We gave the kids cross-country skis, knowing they will be put to good use here on the farm. Of course, we will need snow. This day has turned bright and sunny, and oh so green, outside. Since we had quite a bit of snow in November, we weren't very disappointed not having a white Yuletide, and I'm quite certain snow will return.

There's no hurry, after all. Not this on this day, when everything feels good and magical and precious. Blessed Yule!