F said that first. She knows more words than I can keep track of, and is eloquent between her frequent moments of belligerence. I taught her “tendrils”; they seemed to go well with “unfolding”, and they distracted her from using her new favorite word, “nauseating”. The smell in the Ottoman Garden was a bit nauseating, but we chalked it up to rich, organic matter spread amongst the burgeoning tulips. I’ll take “nauseating” over the alternatives any day. I’ll take language over anything. We force feed her words at every pause in our day in the hopes that she’ll have the ones she needs at her disposal to describe the tempests, or calm them on occasion.
“The garden is unfolding,” she boldly announces as she crosses the threshold, and that is enough to carry me through our walk while dodging her walking-stick-turned-metal-detector that she has threaded into the end of her scarf and has now turned into a bow and arrow. She tests me as she wields this weapon through the Wednesday morning walkers. They are not amused, except for one. That lady sees it too. The garden is unfolding, and the observant can see it, and the poets can name it, and the walking sticks are plentiful, covered in spent magnolia and pungent earth.
Sorry for the radio silence for almost two weeks now. The first week we were knee deep in our work and our bathroom project and trip planning, and we just got back from six days in NYC over spring break. I’m hoping to go through my photos soon and post a trip recap here, but we’re still getting our bearings at home in the evenings. It was a great trip, but we’re pretty worn out. And our washer is broken, so there’s the whole handwashing-the-necessities thing going on. Lovely.
I promise I’ll be back soon, with travel stories and project stories, and plenty of updates on the house and family and life in general.
Posted in general
Yesterday the temperatures climbed into the mid-eighties. Last night, the winds rushed in, cooling things back off again to more seasonal levels. This morning was brisk and chilly, and we were a bit underdressed. Our hands were tingling when we left, but it was worth it. The changes in the garden this past week were incredible; signs of new growth everywhere. She asked me what was on the horizon, and I said hundreds and hundreds of things, but also tulips. She was determined to find an early bird among the magnolia blossoms, and she did! Pink. Pink like the carpet of petals on the lawn, pink like the spent blossoms she picked up and carried back to school to share. Pink like her jacket, winding ahead of me, and sometimes behind. Pink like our cheeks and our fingers and the brick walks and the apple we split on our drive there. Pink like spring.