Saturday, April 3, 2010


My work is loving the world.
Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird —
equal seekers of sweetness.
Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums.
Here the clam deep in the speckled sand.

Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?
Am I no longer young, and still not half-perfect? Let me
keep my mind on what matters,
which is my work,

which is mostly standing still and learning to be
The phoebe, the delphinium.
The sheep in the pasture, and the pasture.
Which is mostly rejoicing, since all ingredients are here,

which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart
and these body-clothes,
a mouth with which to give shouts of joy
to the moth and the wren, to the sleepy dug-up clam,
telling them all, over and over, how it is
that we live forever.

~Mary Oliver~

Friday, April 2, 2010

dream homes

I will get better photos when the sun is shining and my girls aren't hiding inside.
It's been nearly two weeks. They've stopped laying.
I shall be patient. They were free range and had a coop of mansion proportions.
Now I must remember to move them around as much as possible so they have variety in bugs and greens. This was supposed to be a chicken tractor.
If it were about 250 lbs less I would call it such. Heheh.
We've had rain, rain and more rain. Oh and I don't let me forget to mention the rain.
At this rate, my veggies had better be 50 feet tall :)

My seedlings are growing like weeds (which some are haha)
If only I could unearth my sewing machines from the mountain of bins that came from my sewing room. No sewing room here, just a laundry room with a table.
I don't mind.

Here's a secret. The home we loved and wanted so badly.... It just came back on the market. "A personal issue" we were told as it's only been sold for a few months.
We toured it again with an agent and I helplessly find myself more in love with it than I was before.

It's walls were stripped down to the original paper and floors. Some floors were removed and many "upgrades" were torn out.
I believe the new owner had the same visions as I.
He removed all the same things I would have.
On the back door is an old bell.
Were it possible to fall in love with a home for the door ringer alone, I would surely have done so. This home as it did before, calls out to me.
It caresses my fingertips as I run my hand across the wall, cushions my feet as I gently tiptoe across the timeworn hardwood floors, whispers my name in a "whoosh" as I open yet another door.

As I stand and gaze from the window I feel as if I'd been there before, looking out the window in another time. The flow seems familiar as though I'd roamed the halls a hundred times before in the near darkness of dusk.

I seem to recall the light of dawn in the sunroom and I swear I can smell grass moist with dew.

Stepping down into the basement, in my minds eye I see rows of canned goods, shelves of vegetables and fruits, baskets hanging on the walls, tools, old furniture and oddly a wedding dress tattered and torn, tossed over an old chair as if it were held and examined again and again.
Focusing now on the chair, into my view comes a shapely arm and two curvy legs, a worn seat with tufts of horsehair falling from the side, a spring having worked it's way through the faded fabric, dusty pink, perhaps brilliant red at one time.

I hear children laughing and realize they are my own. They've found joy in the stairs. The stairs come down into the parlour as well as near the kitchen. You have a choice of where you want to end up. The house is three stories, four if you want to count the basement. There are nooks, crannies and built ins, hiding places in every room. It seems enchanted.

The living room is enormous with a fireplace and original carved mantel.
Our master bedroom above mirrors the living room.
There is a small butler pantry in the dining room and a small office near the study/library.

I won't continue to bore you with the details, unless of course by some miracle we are blessed with the home. Then you may here endless stories of house love.
It's a good day.