Summer Rules #4--Gather and Be Gathered

As a corollary to rule #3: eat outside as often as you can, we've been eating an awful lot of food that we picked, grew or otherwise harvested ourselves. For awhile cucumbers were the abundant crop, and we had sliced cucumbers at every meal, along with cucumber juice--so refreshing on those hot days!--and even cucumber sorbet. Then we moved on to green beans--and I tell you, there is nothing like hunting for green beans from inside the teepee to turn your children into green bean fiends (unless it's the honey mustard dip served alongside). And now--it's all tomatoes, all the time. We still haven't convinced either child to actually like eating them, even when spread with mayo, which we thought would surely do the job. But fortunately that doesn't hinder their love of picking them, which is good because I've got big canning plans.

And more than once this summer, while outside harvesting, or tending, or picking off Japanese beetles, or simply trying to understand this particular plot of land and its soil and its sunshine, we've experienced another great gift of living in this place, close to both I-80 and I-90--the gift of being on the way. You see, people drive through here. And when people are driving, they need food. And beds. It hasn't always been convenient, and we sometimes had to shuffle things a bit, but this is when we become so thankful for our daughter's (middle) namesake, Ruth, and what she taught us about hospitality and generosity and remembering what is important. It's a great gift, to be on the way, even when we're not the ones going anywhere. We don't always get it right, and sometimes I may grumble a bit that I had plans, plans to do something important. But lucky for us, the people come anyway, and there is food and laughter and stories and as we gather, we are gathered. We are gathered into the great heart of God, a heart that is ever-loving, ever-serving, ever-open. "He is before all things, and in him all things hold together." Colossians 1:17.

Summer Rules #1: Seek the Water

Well, once again, here's my annual end-of-summer "Gosh I didn't post much" and "I hope I remember my log in" blog post. (See here, here, and here). And it really does feel like the end of summer, though there are still eight days of August left, and ten days until Labor Day. Ten days--that's plenty of time to soak up a bit more summer goodness before turning our hearts towards all the glories of fall. So here's the deal. There are some principles we followed this summer that made our travels and adventures particularly good, and I'm hoping to keep those principles alive even while settling into normal routines here at home. I'll post them sporadically over the next few days, hopefully finishing before Labor Day. Deal? Deal.

Summer Rules #1--Seek the Water.
Water--in any and all forms possible: watering pitchers, hoses, sprinklers, swimming pools, and lakes. Our close-to-home, affectionately-named Mud Lake, the pounding and cold Lake Erie, the even more pounding and cold Lake Superior, the quiet, suburban Prior Lake and back-roads-Wisconsin Lake Prinel. In a summer where much of the country experienced drought, we felt lucky to have so much water in our lives, and lucky that our kids love it so much. It was wonderful to watch a non-swimmer become comfortable going under, jumping in, diving down, gliding and almost--almost!--floating. And it was scary to watch a much younger non-swimmer attempt to do everything her brother did, notwithstanding the size differences between them!
Water-life--such a natural part of summer--and as such, a daily reminder of our calling to live "wet": to live as one who is baptized, one who has been "plunged into the entire Biblical story" of God's gracious love and redemption (Daniel Erlander, Let the Children Come). Let us seek the water.

planting time!

Actually, it's been planting time for about a month now ... and it's almost harvest time for some of the first things we planted! I've been mentally working on this post for several weeks, but as we know, plants don't stand still and so things are very different now than they were.

Last night, I was out enjoying the long twilight and weeding the basil bed when some walkers stopped to chat and admire the garden. It's been one of our favorite things about this adventure so far--being out there, working, makes us available and around and we've met far more neighbors the last few weeks than we had all year. Anyway, this particular man was admiring our bean teepee (truly, a work of art for which I can take no credit) and asking how one goes about building one. My totally serious response is that you just have to have the good fortune of great next door neighbors. Neighbors who, in this particular case, like to build, tinker, and grow things.

Which means that while we contributed a little of the financial resources, we simply watched out our window as raised beds were built, the school brought by compost to fill the beds, a bean teepee was constructed, and then slowly, plants were added. And even though we started our own seeds, some of which did well and are now in those beds, when half of them failed to thrive, we just piggybacked (again) off the abundance of seeds started next door. Need more soil for potted plants? Just look in the buckets outside their door. Need a hose? They've got an extra. Truly, I'm beginning to think of them as my own personal lawn and garden supply.

So yes, we owe a lot to others for the existence and beauty of our vegetable plots. But the labels? We're all over those. This was Finn's idea, after seeing something similar in a book.  I wrote, he drew, we laminated, then we planted, along with the first seeds to go in--radish, spinach and carrot. And today, 4 weeks later, radishes are ready, spinach is coming along, and carrots have sprouted.

So far, it has been an absolute joy, although I am learning about new levels of dirty in my kids. We've also decided we need a little child's bed, where they can dig all they want. We know that there are plenty of predators out there, ready to get a taste of our yummies, and we know that we don't know anything, really, about preventing diseases or insects. So it's possible that the vegetable harvest might not be all we hope for. But that's ok--the harvest of memories and knowledge and relaxation and family fun has already begun.  

 

happiness is ...

...a boy newly confident on his scooter ...

...who will hop off said scooter at the sight of flowers...

...and then carefully pick and arrange those flowers into a bouquet...

...a bouquet not for his mama, but for his scooter.

crazy days

Last Wednesday at 10:09 am:

Last Wednesday at 5:56 pm:

I know this isn't really abnormal for spring in the midwest, or many parts of the US, for that matter. It was more fun than anything--waking up to snow, rushing through breakfast in order to get out before it melted, warning my son that there wasn't enough snow for a snowman, being proved wrong. And then, of course, coming out into the blessed sunshine after naps, taking a walk in the suddenly mild weather.
But the day still called to mind one of my favorite compline prayers, a prayer for those of us who live where not only the weather can turn in an instant, but our lives can too.

Be present, O merciful God, and protect us through the hours of this night, so that we who are wearied by the changes and chances of this life may rest in your eternal changelessness; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

And that is my prayer this day, knowing that many of my friends (and us too) are facing changes both good and bad: new jobs, new homes, new babies, new classes--but also knowing that even good changes can be wearying. May we rest in God's changelessness, friends, knowing we are not alone. May it be so for us. 

right now

Right now, I am :

:: remembering Easter a year ago, spent atop Doi Suthep, a magnificently gold temple outside of Chiang Mai, Thailand, and the fun and beauty we found in clanging the long row of prayer bells.

:: remembering also the Easters of our first married years, spent at a church in Pittsburgh, and particularly the tradition of bringing a bell to the service. These bells were muffled and quiet until after the Easter proclamation, and then were rung with abandon during the first hymn. Especially after the long vigil service, with its readings and darkness and quiet, the wild ringing was such a visceral way to experience Easter, exploding the sanctuary with joy.

:: refraining from stopping my boy from clanging the Easter cookie cutters I hung from the mantel, remembering that he, too, needs tangible ways to express joy and excitement.

:: hoping that our friends do indeed make it onto their flight from South Africa to visit us this week.

:: yearning occasionally for the lightness of our Hong Kong life, a lightness that didn't come from HK as much as from our transience, and a lightness that left more room and time in our lives for experiences, since there was so much less stuff.

:: thankful for the ways our life here is stabilizing and deepening: the little projects around the house, the growth of friendships, the occasional sighting of someone we know around town.

:: dreaming of, and planning for, a garden this summer! full of food to can and otherwise put away for next winter: tomatoes, cabbage, potatoes, carrots, onions, garlic. And a bean tent for fun. And chickens!

:: delighting in the sunshine of this Easter weekend, even if the temperatures didn't quite match the sunshine, and the colors surrounding me everywhere I look.

:: looking forward to leftover grilled lamb sandwiches for lunch.

:: listening to my boy sing sweet, made up lullabies to a new stuffed bunny.

:: wishing a happy Easter Monday to you all!

we could go for a hike

I was standing in the kitchen, furiously wiping the counter and listing off all the tasks I had yet to complete that day: bake a cake, take a shower, go to the store, clean the bathrooms, and about twenty more I can't even remember, that's how non-essential they were.
Matt listened, then calmly said, "Well, we could go for a hike."
And after I finished laughing and muttering something sarcastic about how helpful that was, I realized he was completely serious. And that he had already started packing a bag and putting together a picnic.

So with more than a few misgivings, I went. I went, knowing that philosophically speaking, this was a good thing. After all, I believe in going for hikes even when there's a lot to do. I believe in getting outside. And I definitely believe that we should look back at spring break remembering more than how many tasks got done. But I didn't really want to go until my feet actually hit the ground and fresh air hit my nose.

And it was great. Of course it was: scrambling over rocks, climbing on fallen logs, navigating new terrain. When Finn was a baby he didn't cry a lot. But when he did, if we had any trouble soothing him, we took him outside. Something about the fresh air just calmed him right down, and it still works today, for him, for all of us.

Here I am now, Sunday night, just a few precious hours of break left. I'm thankful for all we did over these last few weeks--visited grandparents, celebrated Finn's birthday with cousins, saw lots of old friends, hosted new friends in our home. And yes, lots of tasks got done too. But mostly, I'm thankful for the time outside: the hikes, playing in the sandbox, running around my parents' backyard, planting radish and spinach seeds. I'm thankful for the sun on our faces, for the dirt on our fingers, for the sand in the hair. I'm thankful for the treasures that come home with us, for Finn's newfound love of foraging edibles, and Willa's newfound love of pockets. I'm thankful for the way that physical space seems to give us emotional space too--breathing space--and how this can help tricky relationships be just a bit easier. Thanks be for this beautiful world, and all that it gives us. And thanks be for those people who help us remember to get out there and enjoy it.