Community

He comes nearly every day, sometimes every-other day, sometimes twice a day. It really depends on the weather and how lonely he gets. But rarely does he come without bringing something for me or the children, and always asking about my dear husband. Those two like to sit and drink coffee together.

White hair tossed about, he adjusts his hearing-aid as he grips the rail on the side porch. There is a shy look about him as he knocks on the window. I leave dishes and running water, motion for him to come on in.

He notices the pears laid out on the counter, the ones he picked from his tree yesterday, and reminds me again about how his mama made the best pear tarts and pear preserves.... Silently, I remember the summer Ms. Lishman taught me to make pear honey....

Today Neighbor-man stretches a bundle of roses my way and I carry on about how beautiful they look. Sweet Pea crawls over, getting her foot caught in her dress again, and streches up pretending to smell them. I gather her and the flowers up and her eyes brighten as we fill another mason jar of water. Cool, velvety petals of all colors meet her fingertips as she and I arrange them just-so.

Black-coffee warmed over suits him fine; "I never turn down a cup of coffee" he says as he leans back to enjoy a taste of Community.

After the Rain

Morning dew has lifted, and the children need to be aired out for a little while. The very idea of a story-time picnic cheers us all up, as we have been kept in most of the week by unusually heavy rains.
We set out together and find a clear spot under the small pines above the pond. Firstborn and Right-hand man follow along as I read Little Owl Indian. After the last page is turned, they set off to go hunting while little Sweet Pea nurses and reads her book, God Loves Me.
The birds flutter overhead. She and I listen and look. We notice that we are not the only ones out on this hillside....a turtle comes up from behind and nibbles on a large mushroom.

He peeks his head out and watches us watch him. The boys gather little sticks to poke into the top of the mushroom, like candles on a birthday cake. And so we celebrate. Joy is written here on our faces.

Wait and Hope

Firstborn son has his hand on hope-egg. And so we wait. Twenty-one days we will watch over these little ones, turning them twice daily. Waiting twenty-one days for new-life is not long at all. My Right-hand little man, our second born, expected these chicks to hatch today. But that's not how life works. Not how mystery unfolds. Not usually, anyway. We must be patient. We must wait and hope. Wait and hope.
In the meantime, they rest silently in the old-bathtub, where the incubator will not be disturbed. This is the same bathtub where our firstborn had his first bath nearly five years ago, the same tub ninety-two year-old Mr. Allbritton installed when this farm house was updated with running water.

First Day

This is the first Thursday after the Autumnal equinox, and so this week shall mark the beginning of a new season, as well as a new blog.
This morning the boys brought in eighteen eggs from the chicken coop.