Watch those babies grow!
For the past few Easters I have make a tiny egg hunt for the mice and all the other little creatures that live in our house. And I realized this year that this mini hunt has become a beloved tradition for the girls. I try to pay attention to these things: the things they remember, the things they tell stories about, and especially the things they describe to Wallace. He takes it all in with such wonder and joy.
Wallace, surrounded by his cousins, at Gousty.
stepping out of the arctic air
into the greenhouse warmth
welcomed by our dear farmer friend
who put these three little people right to work
planting ginger mothers!
as she and I talked
about the changing seasons
I looked around,
thinking how the seeds of my wedding flowers
were seeded in this very space
by Jenny’s hands.
how grateful I am
for our long friendship
and for roots of love
that grow deep
at Meadowlark Farm.
I’m designing myself a graduate program in poetry.
I received an unexpected gift this year: a reawakening of my deep love for poetry. I’m following this love by consuming great quantities of poems and filling notebooks with words. I wish we lived close to a university so I could attend an actual graduate program. But for now, my mom, my dear friends, my professor brother, and the wonderful library are all keeping me supplied and inspired.
And, to tell you the truth, most days my graduate studies look something like this . . .