Winter Changes

Welcome back, everyone!

Modeling Scott's (literal) birthday suit

...And welcome home to me! After three months of travel, Mr. Yates and I are finally back from our first major jaunt together across the country - no small feat! After flying from California (where it finally stopped raining) back to the Frozen Northlands (where it hasn't stopped snowing), we're enjoying some quiet catch-up time with the godkids & company, as I've christened our adopted clan.
Today was a good day for it, too. It was so cold - 24 degrees below zero - that the girls had the day off from school because the school buses couldn't start. Seriously. Needless to say, they were completely heart-broken. :) As for me, I experienced not a one of the usual Vermont urges to put off my writing and go outside to play, and so was remarkably productive. In fact, the only procrastinating I did was to avoid going outside, where we have yet to finish pushing my car out of the snow-bank it was buried in. I didn't mind the wait. It's already taken us two days just to dig a path for it, and I'd rather be covered in kids than ice.

Speaking of the not-so-wee ones, today's gem of a kid comment came from Ms. S, who was listening to one of her sisters and their other nanny talking about foreign phrases they enjoy.
"Ooh, schadenfreude," suggested the nanny. "One of my favorite German words!"
"That's German?" Ms. S wrinkled her nose.
"Sure it is!" Her sister was all too pleased to explain. "It means taking pleasure from someone else's pain."
"I'll have to remember that," murmered Ms. S thoughtfully, and turned away. As she walked by, I heard her repeating her new phrase softly to herself:
"Shot in Florida, Shot in Florida, Shot in Florida..."

This one almost tops one of her younger sister's comments the other day while actually in Florida, where she was vacationing with her moms.
"Why is the water so much warmer here than it is up North?" quizzed her mom, who never misses an opportunity for homeschooling. "They're both part of the Atlantic."
"Mo-om," replied Madame H incredulously, in that particular way she has. "We learned this already. It's because it's closer to Ecuador. Duhh!"
While technically right...

In other (less hilarious) news, I've finally come up with my New Year's resolutions: enroll in aromatherapy school (and thus, stay in one place long enough to help the kids and plants grow), pay off some debts, and actually use some of those products I'm always giving away and selling - now that's a novel idea, huh? Physician, heal thyself (or at least pamper the bejeezus out of thy skin)!

Speaking of herbs, the blog is finally back in action with a few new pages (hooray!), and I'd love any feedback on the new layout. Okee-dokie, pokies - time for this blackbird's daughter to hit the nest. 

Sweet dreams,

Jessica

Summer Products List

Woohoo! Check out the products page for a partial list of available products. Please contact me for custom blends, pricing, etc.... more to follow!

As an aside note, I start my first day at Bloomfield Farm tomorrow, followed by my brother's graduation, so I'll be out of the internet ethers for a few days.

And, in other news, I dried an entire basketful of wisteria blossoms in the dehydrator with the help of my favorite eight-year-old.
"Eight-and-a-half-almost-nine," she corrects me.
"Oh, excuse me," I reply, entirely straight faced. Eightandahalfalmostnine. It is one word, the way she says it; an entirely logical way of describing the liminal and absolutely separate stage that one exists in in the several months preceding an Important Day such as The Day One Finally Turns Nine. Duly noted.
Regarding the wisteria: they came out wonderfully. The scent is a delicate version of the intensely sweet, floral smell of the fresh blossoms (the way Concord grapes taste, I always think), and the color is brilliant; a tad more blue than the fresh blossoms, but with a depth that matches the scent. Lovely.

Wish me luck tomorrow...

South Burlington, VT

I love the view from the office windows, particularly the one to the right of the computer: perfectly framed by the wooden trim, a stately locust holds its own amidst a gloriously swaying and bobbing yard of wild flowers. Wild grape, thistle (the one open bloom closest to the building is absolutely magenta right now), goldenrod and yellow wild indigo, the ocher seed-spike of a curly dock, at least 5 different kinds of tall grasses, and of course the creamy open blossoms and witchy, tumble-weed heads of Queen Anne's Lace, which all the children know as wild carrot, and vigorously uprooted to show to me every time we went on nature walks at the beginning of summer. And I mean every, single time.
"Look, wild carrot!" (rip!).
"Hey, wild carrot!" (rip!).
"Here, smell - wild carrot!" (rip!).
Did we actually cook any of this wild carrot, even once, this whole summer? Nope. Too busy harvesting St. John's Wort and plantain and cooking up mint tea and clover fritters and steamed day lily buds with butter.
Luckily, all of this wanton admiration has done nothing but enhance the Queen Anne's Lace population, disturbing the ground and leaving room for new plants to take hold. (I didn't tell them this, of course. If I had, I think they'd have torn out every taproot they could grab, in the hopes of an even better harvest. If there're two things kids excel at, its over-the-top optimism and vigorous destruction).

Right now, the five o'clock sunlight is shining through the grape leaves and illuminating everything that isn't bathed in sighing, tender shadow. Every so often, milkweed seeds float by with a silly, up-and-down motion, and when the wind gusts, everybody else dances and scuttles around like boats at the end of their moorings or dogs on a leash, testing the strength of their tethers.
They remind me of adolescents; literally rooted in summer's bounty, yet so attuned to the season's upcoming change that they can't help but test their limits with every breeze.
Soak it up now, kiddos!

The Lover of Earth Cannot Help Herself, by Mary Oliver

In summer,
through the fields
of wild mustard,
then goldenrod,
I walk brushing
the wicks
of their bodies
and the bright hair
of their heads-
and in fact
I lie down
that the little weightless
pieces of gold
may float over me,
shining in the air,
falling in my hair,
touching my face-
ah, sweet-smelling,
glossy and
colorful world,
I say,
even as I begin
to feel
my left eye then the right eye
begin to burn
and twitch
and grow very large-
even as I begin
to weep,
to sneeze
in this irrepressible
seizure
of summerlove.

(Hmm, Mary Oliver, maybe if you don't lie down in the ragweed...) I empathize though, really, I do.

South Burlington, VT

The end of another work-day, and I'm struck again by how incredibly blessed this little patch of land feels. The kids have all left, the counselors are gone, and as the cooling air traces patterns through the tall grasses and wraps itself around our building, the day feels - full. Gentle. Complete.

I feel complete.

All summer long, I've closed these doors with gratitude, sending up prayers of contentment and humility at the way the universe provided me with this time of respite. My days have been filled -sometimes overly so - with games and lessons, songs and gentle interventions, the small frustrations and gloriously spontaneous moments of ridiculous, absurd perfection that only children can create. It's hard to comprehend generosity of this magnitude; hard to imagine that taking on just one little role in such a seemingly small community can bring about such richness, or to believe that one smiling red-roofed building, ringed on all sides by ponds and plants and endless clouds, can be the hub of such a vital, vibrant web. But it does, and it is.

And so I spend my days teaching and tickling, and come evening, I turn out the lights and walk out into rich sunlight or the gentle, purple dusk. And each time, I feel my heart splay open anew with such intense humility and gratitude, it feels as though giant, magnificently gentle hands are sinking their fingers into my chest and pulling the hardened, weathered shell apart. And so I've walked through this summer, beating and exposed, with no recourse but to absorb all the beauty and grace and reality that I can see.

It's hard to imagine that a few days from now, all of this will be over, and I'll be leaving this job, this state, this simple, easy lifestyle, in favor of something so much less secure and ill-defined. From brunch bag to baby to the brass key I wear around my neck; this has been such a silly, sweet progression. I have been, and continue to be, so very blessed.

Truly, "my cup overfloweth..."

I am so grateful.