Men with Machines

BackhoeToday the men are coming, and they are bringing their machines. The big diggers and claws and shovels and saws will take care of 50 years of brush piles, fallen trees, wild honeysuckle, deadstands, and brambles, revealing wild cherry and strawberry and apple and hickory nut already (and that’s just before 9am). I’ve never seen a more beautiful sight. They might as well put this backhoe in a centerfold.

Weather Stick

DavisHillWeathersStickSweetheart’s Mama gave me this for my birthday maybe three years ago when we were still living full time in Brooklyn. The Davis Hill Weather Stick. A short wizenedy looking stick with a tag on it that proclaims:

Weather Sticks will tell you what the weather is doing. With good weather they will point to the sky; and when things aren’t so pleasant they will point to the ground. We don’t know why, but the Old Timers had faith in them and that’s good enough for us.

This little missive was followed by instructions to mount the stick outdoors, nail side up, under an eave or window frame, somewhere you can see it from inside. Now, Sweetheart’s Mama is an awesome lady. She saw this strange and ancient meteorological thang and thought “I know just the almanac-reading girl who would like a funny old fashioned item of use and beauty such as this”. She might not have realized, though, that the weather stick was a tiny call to action. In our sweet old Brooklyn brownstone basement we didn’t have an eave, our windows had bars, and the only thing we could see from inside was other people’s legs as they walked by on the sidewalk. Hardly a place for a natural barometer, hardly a place where the coming of rain means nothing much but a proliferation of guys selling cheap umbrellas outside of the belching mouths of the subways. So I’ve been carrying this stick around for, literally, years, it lived on the dashboard of my car for a while (a wanderlust call to arms) until I finally hung it last week. Outdoors, nail side up, under the eave of the shed with the sunflowers painted on it, where I can see it from inside. And this morning, as it is quiet and grayly raining, it points down. And tomorrow, when the sun will shine, it will point up. Just as it should. DavisHillWeatherStick

Gold Dust Rainyday Women

A much-needed rainy day after the sweet melee of this past whirlwind has us watching our sprouts take off (with little twinges of worry like Brooklyn parents- is there such thing as too much water??), hearing the rain on the tin roof, drinking lots of coffee, getting work done, listening to this.

On Friendship

NarcissusDaffodil

I’ve spent the morning listening to The Talking Heads, getting ready (right on the heels of last weekend’s 18 person slumber party) to host yet another full house for my dear dear Meags’ wedding, aaaand, because those cases of champagne don’t buy themselves, tackling a work project on friendship. Really thinking about friendship in the abstract, reading page after page of sappy typographic pinterest quotes, I swear almost started crying. My heart was full. How lucky we are, my friends, to have built an arsenal of fiercely loyal, unconditionally understanding, and completely brilliant people who multiply each others joy and divide each others sorrow? How true a thing, how honest, how beautiful, how kind. Bless you my friends who I will see tonight, who I saw last week, who I’ll see this month, and those who I will never see again. I love you so.