The Grandma

Many of us remember her from our childhood - that older woman who lived on our street who knew the names of all of the neighborhood kids. She may have baked cookies and handed them out now and then (back in the days before we had to forbid our children to take anything from anyone). She may have taken time to sit and listen to a child rattle on about a whole lot of not very much. Perhaps she had a little dog and would stop so you could pet it when she was out for a walk. She was nice, but she wouldn't hesitate to scold anyone who misbehaved, either.

Remember her? She was the Neighborhood Grandma.

I remember Mrs. Montgomery who lived across the street from us in a brick house. I am not sure how old she was, or if she was a grandma or a mother at all. She was my mom's friend and had known me my whole life. When I was twelve years and we moved away, she gave me a red wallet with the name of my hometown written on it.

Next door to Mrs. Montgomery, lived Mrs. Small. Mrs. Small also lived in a house made of bricks, but it was smaller than Mrs. Montomery's. Oddly enough, in my mind Mrs. Small herself was of a more diminutive stature than her neighbor as well. Hmmm.

It warms me to think of these grandmother-type women who knew me from the time I was born and who, in my mind, assumed the title of Neighborhood Grandma. I am sure that having these woman in the periphery of my life contributed to the sense of security and safety I felt in my neighborhood at all times.

This afternoon after work, I was out in the yard enjoying the unseasonably warm weather. I had geraniums to take out (we winter them), tulip and daffodil bulbs to plant, and winter pansies to put in the ground. They continue to warn us about a harsh winter ahead, but I am not thinking that far ahead. I'm enjoying the here and now.

After I got all of my gardening tools out, I set up the pen for Yorkies so they could enjoy the sunshine with me. No sooner had I deposited the dogs in the pen with a treat and one of their favorite chews, than a batch of children ran over to pet the dogs. One little one in particular caught my attention and made me smile.

Her name is Piper and she lives with her mommy and daddy and older siblings across the street from us. I have known her since she was born too. She's a sweet little one, just a touch older than my grandchildren, with a soft heart for my dogs.

Her mommy followed her across the street and we chatted while I showed Piper how to gently pet the dogs. Eventually, it was time for her to go home and as they walked back across the street I heard snippets of their conversation.

"The grandma let me pet her puppies!" said Piper.

The grandma! Oh I had to smile when I heard her say that!

And I thought, not for the first time, that I think Gerry and I are the oldest couple on the block. We are the neighborhood grandparents!  With this realization comes responsibility. I am going to have to make sure I learn the names of all the children on the street, and which house they belong to. I may even have to start baking cookies again!

The thought that one of these little ones might remember me as their Neighborhood Grandma one day made me smile. Life is like that, isn't it?

Circles within circles like ripples on a pond.

It's Not You; It's Me

Today I am sharing a post I wrote last year at this time with you. I hope you like it!

Before I start, let me just say that there's nothing wrong with you. You are beautiful in your own unique way and it's not your fault I don't appreciate you more.


When we first met a few months ago, I confess that I had a touch of spring fever. Who wouldn't after a long, dark and wet winter? I remember those first sunny weeks when it seemed like there was rebirth wherever I looked. I wanted to take in as much sunshine and fresh air as possible. It was glorious! And then one day, there you were.

I knew there was something different about you from the beginning. You stood out from the crowd, your appearance as distinct a your name. It was useless for me to try and resist your charms, I wanted to have you from the beginning. I was ready for a change.

I watched as you tried to fit in, but soon realized that something wasn't working. By the time I admitted to myself that I had made the wrong choice it was too late to do anything about it. When I look at pictures taken last year, when another was in the place you now occupy, I regret my impulsive decision.

Tidal Wave Silver Petunia, you just didn't turn out the way that I had expected. You've seemed a bit spindly from the beginning. Perhaps it's your color, or lack thereof, that makes you look like you've passed your prime. In another garden, in another flower pot, perhaps with different plants to accent your unique hue, I'm sure you would be beautiful. Just not in my garden.

I just should have stuck with my tried and true Tidal Wave Pink Petunia. Don't feel bad if I walk past you next spring as if I don't know you. Just remember: It's not you, it's me.

P.S. I did walk past the Tidal Wave Silver Petunia this year. Lesson learned!

A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood

Gerry and I went for a walk around the neighborhood yesterday capturing some photographs of the flowers in some gardens. What a beautiful area we live in!

Manderley - Part 2

We are honored the next morning to go to the home in town where the couple who own Manderley now live.  They welcome us into our home and talking with them feels like talking with old friends.  Gerry has brought questions about Manderley, and we spend a pleasant hour talking about life on the land with the Husband and Wife. 

Later we all meet at Manderley: Gerry and I, the Realtor, the Husband and Wife, and the Young Man who farms the quarter-section of land that makes up part of Manderley. The Wife and I naturally migrate toward the garden.  She shows me the hot bed where she would normally be starting lettuce at this time of year, I can tell that she will miss life on the farm.  

Gerry, the Realtor, the Husband and the Young Man move toward the quonset and the barn discussing, I assume, the land and the farming equipment stored in the massive silver structure.  I wish I could be with them at the same time as I am with the Wife.  I want to know everything about Manderley.

The Wife tells me about early life on the farm; she points out to me the location of the original house that has long since been torn down.  She tells me of the early years after she had married the Husband and come to live on the farm.  The history is almost palpable as I listen and drink in the prairie with my eyes.

Eventually the men join us and arrangements are made.  Gerry and I will stay at Manderley for a time longer, while everyone else returns to their day.  We want to walk the land; we need to talk and pray.

Manderley - Part 1

I feel at home when we arrive at Manderley.  Armed with a rough description of where the land is, and our memories of our last visit, Gerry and I set out to see if we can find it again.  We want some time to walk the land alone before we call the realtor.

The last time we were there the land was covered in snow and it was dead quiet.  This time, the snow is all gone and we are delighted to find that there is a marsh behind the garden area. 

The marsh and the trees nearby are alive with the sounds of birds, frogs, and ducks.  The quiet of the winter is a distant memory but the sounds of nature equally feed a part of my soul that has been hungering for something more than city life. 

The garden still bears subtle evidence of last year's harvest.  It waits -the promise of spring planting and a new bounty of produce ahead.

The weathered outbuildings still stand proud and speak of past generations; past years of toil on this land we are calling Manderley.  There is history here; we look forward to meeting the older couple who have retired from farming this land and moved into town.

I look out across the prairie to the trees that mark the edge of the property and I am reminded once again of something Gerry had said.  This is not property we are considering purchasing; this is land.  And more, for us it is a lifestyle.

The pace of city life has lost it's charm for me; things that once seemed to define success no longer seem important.  I am restless and feel a call toward home. 

The night before, I underlined a passage in a book by Sharon Butala called The Perfection of the Morning.  The book is a memoir of her own return to the Saskatchewan prairie.  "What I could remember about that natural world from which our family had been separated by so little was a combination of smells, the feel of the air, a sense of the presence of Nature as a living entity all around me.  All of that had been deeply imprinted in me, but more in the blood and bone and muscles - an instinctive memory - than a precise memory of events or people.  I remembered it with my body, or maybe I remembered it with another sense for which we have no name but is no less real for that."  (highlight mine).

Having walked the property we return to our vehicle.  I stand for a moment before climbing into the passenger seat and breathe deeply, feeding my soul. 

We set off across the dusty road toward town.

My day to be cranky

For no particular reason I woke up feeling cranky this morning. 

Perhaps it's because yesterday was the first day of spring and it was beautiful!  Then, last night, we woke to the sound of rain again. 

Here are some pictures I took in the yard yesterday.

Spring...come back.....!

The Land

I stand alone in the yard of the farm I've started calling Manderley and look and listen.  The morning is foggy; low cloud blankets the prairie like a soft cotton quilt.  The landscape looks cold because of the fog but it isn't really. I find it pleasant standing here.

I look to the west at some of the outbuildings.  They still stand strong after many years of service to the family that originally homesteaded this land, joined now by a silver quonset and a trio of silver granaries.

I turn toward the east and see the house; Gerry is inside looking around in the nooks and crannies at pipes and structural details that have little interest to me.  No one lives there now but it has not been completely cleaned out yet.  Earlier I saw little sign on the wall near the entry way that said something about fun happening at Grandma's house.

Then I turn my gaze toward the south where snow still covers the quarter-section of land.  In a few months wheat will be growing on that land that now looks so barren.


As I walk back toward the house I find myself breathing deeply as I take in the crisp morning air.  It feeds a part of me that has been starving for something lately. 

Behind the house is the area which is reserved for garden. A homemade greenhouse stands nearby just waiting for a fresh batch of seedlings to fill it's shelves.  An old outhouse, no longer used, adds character to the space.

As I hear the voice of the land whisper to me I realize that there is no other sound.  There is no other sound.  It is still and absolutely silent this morning, and it is that silence that allows me to hear the voice of the land. 

Everything Old is New Again

I remember going with my mother when I was a child to purchase fresh chickens from a local farm. We didn't always have a garden, but I when we visited my grandma we always went out to the farm and brought back fresh produce.  Mom made jams, preserves and pickles.  The shelves of our cellar were lined with jars filled with the fruit of her efforts.

Finances were tight when I was a young married woman and sometimes the only ingredients I had on hand to feed my family came from the garden. In the fall I froze the surplus to last through the winter. I also had an herb garden and spent a lot of time learning about the properties of various herbal remedies. I baked bread from scratch.

Then life changed, I became a career woman, and convenience reigned supreme. Gardening? Baking? Who had time?

I'm a grandma now and it would seem that live is coming full circle.  These days my focus is shifting to the quality and the source of the food that we eat.  I buy organic produce and absolutely will not buy the feed-lot meat that I used to buy.

It was a beautiful, warm, and sunny day here in the Pacific Northwest yesterday.  The perfect day for putting together the new compost and sowing some seeds.  I even spent some time outside digging in the dirt cleaning out flower beds.

Gratitude on a Spring Afternoon

Do you remember a hot summer day when you were a kid and your best friend gave you just a lick of a her orange Popsicle? Remember how sweet it tasted and how you wished you could have more?

That's how I felt today. The sun has been shining all day, there isn't a cloud in the sky, and the temperature is almost 60 degrees.

This afternoon I put on a pair of capri pants, dug out a pair of flip-flops, and took the girls for a walk around the neighborhood. As we walked I heard the drone of lawn mowers as the first cut of the year took place, I saw cherry blossoms beginning to bloom and women puttering around in their gardens.

I breathed deeply and slowly trying to take it all in - trying to get enough to satisfy me in case this was to be the last day like this for a while.  The weather man tells me that we will enjoy similar weather for the entire weekend but he's been known to be wrong.

When I got home I grabbed my camera to take a few pictures around the yard to share with you.  The crocus and daffodils are blooming!

The heather has been blooming for a while now - hardy creature that she is.

Even the clamatis I planted last summer is beginning to show signs of life.                                     

I took a broom and swept away cobwebs and stray dead leaves from my entry way.  It's all ready for pots of flowers now!

Meanwhile back in Baby Land where my heart truly is, Makiya was out for a walk with her Mommy!

So much to be thankful for....

Spring has Sprung!

It is a beautiful Valentine's Day!  I planted my flower seeds in their little peat pot homes today.  The sun is shining, flowers are blooming, and  I took my first barefoot walk of the year in the yard to take this picture!

I am a barefoot girl through and through. I loved the smushing feel of my feet sinking into the wet spongy lawn this afternoon.  That, perhaps more than anything else, speaks to me of spring on the horizon. 

It is the promise of many months free of the confines of socks and shoes treating myself to pedicures and ice cold Starbucks Frappachinos. 

It's not you, it's me.

Before I start, let me just say that there's nothing wrong with you. You are beautiful in your own unique way and it's not your fault I don't appreciate you more.

When we first met a few months ago, I confess that I had a touch of spring fever. Who wouldn't after a long, dark and wet winter? I remember those first sunny weeks when it seemed like there was rebirth wherever I looked. I wanted to take in as much sunshine and fresh air as possible. It was glorious! And then one day, there you were.

I knew there was something different about you from the beginning. You stood out from the crowd, your appearance as distinct a your name. It was useless for me to try and resist your charms, I wanted to have you from the beginning. I was ready for a change.

I watched as you tried to fit in, but soon realized that something wasn't working. By the time I admitted to myself that I had made the wrong choice it was too late to do anything about it. When I look at pictures taken last year, when another was in the place you now occupy, I regret my impulsive decision.

Tidal Wave Silver Petunia, you just didn't turn out the way that I had expected. You've seemed a bit spindly from the beginning. Perhaps it's your color, or lack thereof, that makes you look like you've passed your prime. In another garden, in another flower pot, perhaps with different plants to accent your unique hue, I'm sure you would be beautiful. Just not in my garden.

I just should have stuck with my tried and true Tidal Wave Pink Petunia. Don't feel bad if I walk past you next spring as if I don't know you. Just remember: It's not you, it's me.

Staycation

Gerry and I have been on a modified vacation this week. Yes, it's true we worked all day, but the vacation started on Saturday and has continued every day at about 5:30 pm. On the weekend I stocked up and prepared all kinds of salads, cold cuts, cheeses, fruits and vegetables so we would be ready.
We've been enjoying a record-breaking heat wave here in the Pacific Northwest. While many have been complaining about the heat, we are enjoying it to the fullest. We do have air conditioning in our home and I am profoundly thankful for it, but truth be told, we've really only been in the house to sleep.
We spent most of the weekend and every evening outside in our back yard in holiday mode. We moved our chairs and my lawn swing to the shady area of the grass, stocked up with books (in my case Kindle), snacks, cold drinks, magazines and we have just taken some down time.
Once in a while we've hopped into the hot tub (which isn't so hot at this time of year) to get wet and then dried off in the sunshine. It's been one of the most relaxing weeks I can remember.
I realized how little it takes to make me content. Good books, good conversation with my husband, my little dogs, homemade potato salad, a cool breeze, blue sky, a glass of cold Chardonnay, the sound of children playing in the distance, I could go on and on. As we head into the weekend I hope to keep the holiday mode going for as long as we can.
By the way, as I looked at the picture I posted here I was thinking about the taste of a tomato freshly picked and still warm from the sun. Oh my goodness....is there anything that tastes so good?! That first bite, when the flavor explodes in your mouth fills me with the taste of summers gone past. I'm reminded of tomato sandwiches, summer holidays, and gardens I tended long ago. So much nostalgia packed into a little red tomato.
Happy Friday all!