In the eyes of the beholder

My garden is much like my life.

I want to do so much, learn lots, and eat really good food, but there is not always enough time.

Sometimes I get plants in ground when intended. Sometimes I get time to weed. We always eat and sometimes really well from the garden.

I think this years garden is beautiful. My first chicken manure compost made a few plants extra healthy and beautiful and maybe a bit chaotic. To some I think it looks like a mess. 

This bothers me not. I say to myself it is "all in the eyes of the beholder" = my littles and I.

Foraging First of 2014

The first foraging of 2014 brought 1 cup of mulberries and a pint of elder flowers once de stemmed.

My father's father

I come from story tellers.  On both sides of my heritage stories were shared around the holiday table, at the reunion, in the back room, and often while cozy tucked on a lap.
A little one usually hears and remembers the parts with feeling or animals.
Lately, I started to think about details shared with me by the storytellers who have passed.
I have the gist of many stories but I can't quite retell them for lack of clarity.

So this weekend when one of my favorite storytellers sat beside me I saw an opportunity for details.  My dear Great Uncle always brings pictures to the reunion. As we were reviewing, he pointed to my grandfather (my father's father) in a picture I hadn't seen before.  I was intrigued. He looked content, holding a niece on his lap, seated near his father-in-law (the well-loved Pap Stull).  A moment captured in time and it pulled on my heart.

I asked my great uncle if he could share a story of the grandfather I never knew. My father has so few memories of him.  Actually the few stories shared were passed down with unclear feelings.  I wondered as I looked at the photograph, did he have a good heart.  Were memories distorted by the way he choose to take his life.

My Great Uncle understood. He is intuitive, thoughtful, sharp, and wonderful.  He shared with me feelings for my Grandfather that had not been passed to me.  Oh, these feelings, they are so powerful.  And then he slept on it and he shared more.  I hugged him when he finished and through a few shed tears I felt the sadness, love and deep feelings felt for him. 

My interpretation of what he passed down:
Pap hired my grandfather and his brother to help on the farm.  He and my grandmother took quite a strong liking to each other.  They ran around together; My Great Uncle, Grandmother, and Grandfather. They went to the movies together, they carpooled to the brass factory together, they enjoyed each others company.  He was not in the habit of using vulgar language and he was well loved by his father-in-law (Pap, who is very well revered by everyone who knew him).
He went to the war late. He was not is combat, he was part of the peacekeeping effort. He was away from his family for a chunk of time.
When he came back my great uncle was away in college and he saw him less.
Things changed between my grandparents and jealously and anger seemed to take over.

I'm going to derail here a bit:
I never met my grandfather but I knew my grandmother quite well.  After a few pints in Dublin, Ireland, my sister and I sat with my Grandmother and she shared with us many things, including the story of the end of my grandfather's life. I feel I understand her side of the story well.  I just wish I had more stories of him.

With these pieces together: (My Great Uncles and my Grandmothers)  I can see a little more.
My grandmother said what she thought and didn't really care how it made the people around her feel.  She felt strongly and she could be maddening.   I can very clearly see a Love/ Hate relationship with her because a few times I had one.  I loved her dearly but there were times I couldn't get out of the house quick enough because something she said made me so mad.  I loved my grandmother in her later years, my childhood and young adulthood.  My grandfather loved her in her teens and 20's, when she wore her tall up dos and her "tight titty sweaters" (her term).  I can't even imagine her demeanor backed by the passion of youth!

After all of that, Here is how I choose to keep my grandfather's memory in my heart:

He was an equal match for my grandmother.  He was someone who felt deeply and loved so much that it maddened him. He was a good friend to my Great Uncle.  He was loved by Pap Stull.

And most of all he helped to create my father and aunt.

My father carries pieces of those that came before him.  He is someone who cares deeply (like his father), is well-loved (like his grandfather), loves to share a good story (like his uncle) and has the perfect balance of heart mixed with words that can madden (like his mother).

Oh, I love him so, and all of the people who made him into the father he is to me.

That is my father with most eyes on him.

In the garden 2014

My little helper

We have 3 gardens this year.  Our first garden in the front yard is the annual flower garden.  The second garden has raised beds and a fertile spot from leaf compost.  The third garden is new this year.  Centered around the chickens.  The first chicken compost will be used and the chickens have a tunnel to walk all around the garden to eat bugs and keep weeds and grass down.

Earliest tomatoes in.

Eldest with chicken tunnel

Fava Beans emerging

radish, carrots, beets

The new garden with chicken tunnel all around

The old compost area

Snapping turtle found in side yard

one of many toad companions

Sloppy pay it forward

On another 2 .5 hour trip we visited the same Starbucks drive through in which a month ago my coffee was paid for by the car in front of me.

I tell my little guys we are paying for the car behind us this time.
We pull in and I order an iced coffee, a chocolate chip cookie, and an ice water.

No one is behind us at this point...

As I pull up to the window the very same friendly young gentlemen from last month is ready to hand me my items.
Two cars have now pulled up behind us.
When he brings my change, I ask the total for the car behind me. He is holding $15 and some change to give back to me and answers $6.40.  I say, can you take the $10 dollar bill and change to cover it...

Just then this strong gust of wind blows the $10 bill from his hand, out the window, and directly in front of my car.  My youngest boy is sound asleep, my eldest watching the exchange.   I pull the car up, turn it off, and get out.

Of course as soon as I get to the bill it flies a little further again and again, farther and farther away from my car, my children....
Thoughts go through my head:
I thought I could be suave for once..

I grasp the bill in my fingers and another gust removes it again.
Thinking again:

Maybe this wasn't meant to be...
Why am I chasing a paper bill....
How many people are watching me?....

I am stooped over with my eyes on the bill not really realizing I am in a rather busy parking lot.  I run out in front of a red jeep.  Fortunately he was paying attention and did not run over me (the silly fool in front of him).  I pounce and have the bill.

I run back to the window and hand it to the gentleman.  He is apologetic, but really neither one of us know whether to laugh hysterically or hide under a rock.

Exchange finished, I rush off, glimpsing in the mirror to see 4-5 cars behind me that had to wait through my suave pursuit....

Later, I laughed a lot.  The car behind me probably thought I bought their coffee because they had to wait on me....
I tried, but realized I am much better at unplanned pay it forwards....

When retelling the story to my parents upon arrival, my eldest explained, 'Mama ran right in front of a red jeep to get a dollar bill, but he stopped before he hit her!".....

Dirty Feet

On a regular Tuesday afternoon I took my boys to our local library.  We thought we were going for story time but it turns out they are taking a break from story time.  I was happy that I remembered and got there on time to find the place nearly empty and only the grouchy librarian within sight.  She informed me rather curtly that story time will resume in June.
My boys didn't really mind.  They would really rather play on the train and with the puppets.  Sweet Henri went over to the train, took off his Crocs, and climbed up into the upholstered seats of the train.  Joel began to play with the puppets.  I searched for audio books and more Raffi Cd's which my boys can't seem to get enough of.
I am going to completely derail here and tell you about the life of my sons shoes and often the life of my own.  They are dirty.  Really dirty.  There is a good chance they have been through sand, a myriad of animal manure in our own backyard or on a farm we have visited recently, street salt, garden soil, and definitely mud.  I ingrain in them to take their shoes off at the door.  I have been known to say with some urgency rather boldly, "Take those dirty manure boots right back to that door sir!".  I love for my boys to play in these things.  I am not really bothered at all by mud, sand, and even manure.  But I do not want it on my kitchen floor or furniture.

Back to the library:
My 3 year old Henri left the train and joined his brother at the puppets.  I said, "Henri where are your shoes?" He answered, "Beside the train". I thought I'll go get them in a minute and went back to perusing the Cd's.
Maybe 2 minutes later, grouchy librarian arrives with shoes, and says, "Whose shoes are these?  This is a public place and it is the law to have shoes on."  This was said in a quiet but very grouchy tone.  My little guy diligently put his shoes back on and my heart hurt.  He had sadness in his eyes.  He was just trying to keep the train seats clean and got in trouble for it.  I said out loud in as friendly of a manner as possible, "I am pretty sure his feet are cleaner than his shoes. " I realize this was inappropriate.  I should stay quiet, but it just came out and it was the nicest thing I could think of at the time.

Amongst rain sprinkles tonight my 80 year old neighbor was talking about her weekly visit to the library with her granddaughter.  I told her the story.  She had a completely different reaction than my own.  She said, "Oh yeah, feet are so dirty, all kinds of diseases...that's why you have to wear them in grocery stores...". I smiled thinking am I really ignorant.

As I sat in the rocking chair between the beds of my little guys tonight, I thought of their feet.  One asked me to rub his feet another his hand.  While caressing their little beautiful feet, I thought, "Really... What can they spread or get from going barefooted."

Not much.

I googled "Foot diseases passed by walking barefoot".

Wiki has an interesting read on the many things you can do barefooted, sand volleyball, swim, water sports, martial arts, gymnastics.  It also states the two things you can pass or contract, Athletes foot if you have feet that are overly moist and week crevices in your feet from wearing socks and shoes all the time and hook worm if you walk in the human excrement of another person infected with hookworm.

So why the fear?  Really?  I really want to know.  This is the kind of thing that infuriates me.
Sure I should teach my children to follow the rules.  I am more than happy to, but I will make sure they think for themselves as well.
I want to know why people think feet are so dirty... dirtier than their shoes...

Mama friends

When I began the journey to motherhood I had a few good mentor mothers, a supportive mother and mother in law, and several friends in the Waldorf community who were mothers of grade school children.

Then we moved a 1/2 hour away from the Waldorf a School and I felt a little alone. It was not as easy to find time to talk and be with my mentors and it was really hard to make new friends.

As soon as my oldest was 18 months we enrolled in a parent child class at the Waldorf school. Looking back I realize I was anxious, almost desperate, to talk to mothers with the same age of children. I knew I needed more social time as well as my children.

My family helped me create a play space in our basement and then I invited others to come to Waldorf inspired play group. This evolved, I met new friends and was invited to join outdoor playgroups in the area.  Then a group of mothers and children of the same age came together.

I also craved time alone with just the mothers.  We started stitching and sipping one Monday a month.  This was at a time when I never left my boys at night.  I often fell asleep with them or let bedtime go a little longer than it needed to.  My nursling also awoke a few times a night wanting more breast milk. 

But I left.  I went out.  We made  bedtime a little more efficient.  If my boys awoke while I was gone my husband cuddled or patted them back to sleep.  And they were OK!  Maybe better because I was better.

I realized my other Mama friends went through the same thing.
Sometimes we count the hours till stitching and sipping together.  Sometimes we are very late due to a difficult day or bedtime.  But always I feel settled and blessed by these mama friends as we come together.

We changed it to every week.  Sometimes we drink tea.  Sometimes we drink wine.  But we always gather when we are well and the camaraderie makes us strong.

My boys and I are currently enrolled in another Parent Child Class, our 3rd spring session.  This past week I watched how I have grown.  I can be present in the class.  I help clean up or quietly sew.  I am there for my children and do not feel that I must talk the whole time.  This is because of my time with other Mamas.  My heart is content.

We have given each other the opportunity to share and be heard.  To ask how one deals with this or that and to know that if we have a bad day, the others understand.

To my Mama friends:  You know who you are.
Thank you for sharing and caring and for your positive energy and thoughtful presence.
I am blessed by you!