109 :: 365


The first bouquet of the season.

Her little hands.  Not so little any more.

One of the most difficult parts of adding baby Wallace to our family has been telling her to “be quiet” so often.  I don’t like to tell her to be quiet.  I like her voice.  Even when it is loud — which it often is.  But babies sleep a lot.  And our baby is easily awoken by high-pitched squeals of delight or dismay.

There was a lot of waking up today.  And a lot of . . .

“Use a quiet voice.”

“Please talk softly.”



Oh, I don’t like to be a broken record, hushing my child again and again.  I want to hear her voice.  I want to hear her thoughts.

107 :: 365


For the past three years I’ve been fortunate enough to start our garden seedlings in a full-size greenhouse on an organic farm.  Our friend, the farmer, generously offered us space, and it had become my most treasured spring tradition: taking the girls to the greenhouse in late March (usually with lots of snow still on the ground), shedding our layers, and starting a new growing season enveloped in the warmth and humidity of baby plant heaven.  But our friend’s farm has grown (happily!) and his greenhouse is now full-to-bursting.  When he told me that he didn’t have room for us a few weeks ago, I wasn’t surprised but I almost cried.  What would we do?!  I started 800 plants in his greenhouse last year.

Well, Jeffrey and I talked and talked and then . . . he gave me the best birthday gift ever: our very own greenhouse!  Jeffrey spent most of yesterday putting it together, and I couldn’t be happier.  Today I started 100 more seedlings: celery, cilantro, chamomile, dill, marigolds, asters, larkspur, blue balloon flowers, cosmos, and sweet alyssum.  When the greenhouse is full, we hope to have about 1000 baby plants growing in here.

106 :: 365


Witch caves.  Fairy houses.  Piles of acorns, rocks, and juniper berries.  Gousty treasures.

The girls are barefoot for the first time this year.  And those toes have grown so much since the last time I saw them outside, kissed by the earth.


105 :: 365


Amabel is having her piano lesson.  Ellen, Wallace, and I are outside the white farmhouse, waiting.  I am noticing the evening light.  Ellen is noticing Wallace touching the grass with his curious fingers.  Grass!  A new discovery.  She tells him about it.  He is a captive audience.  He adores her.