Today, as we made our way home from the playground and the library,* Elder Girleen stooped to the sidewalk. — Look, she whispered as I pushed the stroller with its freight of sleeping younger sister up to her, holding her palm out flat for me to see. A butterfly’s wing. She gave it a secondContinue reading “Summer Snippets”
How much grist for the mill can one person get out of this particular topic? Can’t this crazy woman stop talking about… squirrels in her garden? Short answer: Nope. We’re not done with ’em yet. In fact, even as I write this, the aluminum pie plate tied to the front yard apple tree three weeksContinue reading “What the Squirrels Left Us, Part II”
May I direct your attention to the three (count ’em!) blueberries at the forefront? Elder Girleen pronounced the cucumber (the thing that looks like a lemon) the best she ever had.
I admit it: much of what I know about growing food (as opposed to the much less trendy purchase of it at the grocery store) was gleaned from reading Laura Ingalls Wilder books (You know, Little House on the Prairie) during my formative years. On the one hand, you have those charming Garth Williams illustrationsContinue reading “The Shank of Summer”
The sunflowers Elder Girleen planted along our side fence have grown as high as an elephant’s eye.* The fig that was a mere sprout two years ago now obscures one of the dining room windows, creating a curtain that only lets in filtered green vegetable light. If the squirrels don’t best us, we willContinue reading “Cloudy Weather”
First day of summer — our summer, which is defined not by equinoxes nor the wax and wane of the moon nor extended daylight but by the APS (that’s Atlanta Public Schools to the uninitiated) calendar. It’s an odd construct, that calendar: it has little to do with the natural world, and more toContinue reading “Going Slow”
We are at the age: Elder Girleen has left princesses and their overly-sweet attendant glitter and frills far far behind, putting them aside as childish things. We are at the age: she’s become all arched feathery eyebrows and long strong scraped-up legs, and mind that works and works and works, so quickly that it takesContinue reading “Clap Your Hands if You Believe”
The more common variant of the saying being like pigs in clover — but let’s not go that far. But if I had some magic elixir bottled up that could whisk me back to childhood, it would consist of a distillation, an inhalation of the following: …The scent of the pinpoint-sized white flowers of aContinue reading “Rolling in Clover; or Luck, and Where to Find it”