A meditative morning
cleaning out a garden bed,
getting ready for garlic.
Pulling out the old growth
to make room.
Letting in the light,
just before the rain.
There is so much color here —
so much joy in the seeding and growing,
planting and transplanting.
Watching, waiting, watering.
But there is sorrow, too.
Sorrow in letting it all go,
pulling it out —
even as I know that I must let it go
to make space for what is to come.
We spent some of the glorious weekend weather playing on the great dunes with family . . . where the rest of the world feels both so close and yet so far away.
Little toddler buddies at sunset — in awe of the big girls dancing around them.
In the greenhouse. Repotting plants and then lingering, soaking up the morning light.
I haven’t spent much time in here since spring.
The tiny black onion seeds we placed into trays filled with soil in March . . . have grown and flourished and now the glowing bulbs are drying in the warmth of the October sun, back here where their little green shoots of life began.
The sun nourished the onion plants all summer; their bulbs will nourish us all winter.
And then into the basement for some serious work with Papa’s tools!
This is our home-away-from-homeschool one day a week.
I spend a lot of time on Wednesdays in this classroom at our homeschool partnership where I teach a Writer’s Workshop to middle schoolers and a French class to elementary-age students.
The girls take classes too and help watch Wallace while I teach!
When all the details were coming together this summer, I was excited about the “idea” of teaching. But I didn’t know how much I would like it in real time. But I sure do. I love having a space dedicated to bringing children together to learn. I love listening to all the things they say and ask — and watching their faces light up when we read and have conversations and work on projects. It is all kinds of wonderful.
Questions about poetry versus prose.
The girls brought Willa home from the Fiber Festival. She was made by a wonderful friend and artist. Handmade dolls carry so much life with them.
Teaching him how to jump!
I couldn’t clean up.
She brought me flowers.
This boy isn’t looking so “baby” any more. . .