Bird's Back West

Head East down Atlantic
(towards the sea), you will pass
13, 14, 15, and then 16 pause:
3 units, top to bottom,
two couples, two babies
and three (sometimes four)
single girls making too much noise
on the second floor: laughing and cooking
and crying and cleaning.

You know, it's funny: when I
remember the space at Atlantic
I picture one small bean
and one tall bean, suffering through
the cold trials of new
adulthood with you
in an apartment in Beverly, Ma.

One rides a bike, strong
and without fear, over the water
into Salem beginning her day with cookies,
soups, vegetables and pre-made entrees.
The smaller bean is waking up,
taking a walk through the living room
to start with coffee and a few lines
of truth - scooting off soon
to the grocer in the next town over,
and starting on those cookies
and soups and pre-made entrees.

And now there you are:
writing it all down in a warehouse
coffee shop far away
in Colorado, feeling the loss of it all -
without regret, but full of understanding

because you cried too much
and too often

because you could not begin
to understand just what it all meant
at the time

because it seemed like you
were destined to start drinking
coffee in the morning
and a cappuccino later in the day

because you moved away
from dirt on your hands

because you just didn't know.

I am heading East on Atlantic.
I will stop at 16 and be glad
for you - the ocean and the trees
and the streets of Beverly are all
glad for you.

Do you want to see how the light's changed?

This is the first week back from holiday jaunts and travels to California and back, to Annapolis and back again, and the winter blues are creeping and threatening already. Home was wonderful (but isn't it always?). My little sister, Emma, and I have not been in the same place since last Christmas - a whole year apart and with no sister snuggles makes for a hard year indeed. Together, we welcomed baby Evangeline to the world and to our family and had lots of chill time. Too short, indeed. I had a few days back in beverly before driving down to Annapolis to welcome in the new year with my love. Hou and I spent the weekend bird watching, coffee drinking, and playing lots of games. Both trips made it hard to say goodbye. I am not ready to start this year here, far away from Mom and Dad,  sisters and brother, from Houston, and in this below-sero weather nonetheless. SO: this morning I've chosen to stay in my pajamas 'til the afternoon, write letters to my adventurous friends, consider the snow, and pray hard about the seasons to come. I am not re-starting this blog because I am starting on a new adventure, or opening a new chapter. Right now there's not a lot of newness in my life at all, just cold and snow and my thoughts. So here's to documenting small moments, sharing small victories, and reveling in small joys. Happy New Year, y'all!

It's Me

And I'm here to try again. Which is good, because I need inspiration and I'm feeling it. Through mountains and coffee and a little place by the sea. Yippee!

Thankful for roads to travel

I am sitting on an old couch next to a window with a cup of Rwandan tea near. It is morning and from the kitchen I hear tunes from Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band and Dave, a new friend, singing along. He is making blueberry pancakes at the suggestion of his lovely wife, Caren, to pair with their homemade maple syrup. It is the last day of my adventure of farm hopping and I am pleased to find myself in no rush to move on from this place, but instead have the leisure to wander to the garden in the country and pick blueberries one last time.

I'm glad for this time - glad for spaces to name questions, spaces to doubt, struggle, and learn. Yesterday, Dave and I were conversing about vocabulary. I wondered if it made a difference and after a while he concluded that what matters is gratitude: being thankful for where we are and the steps that have led us there despite what we may believe about how we got there or who may have guided us there. I think he might be right.

And so: I am grateful - grateful for the conversation that happened three years ago about community gardens and just living, for the Food Project, for dear friends, for books and documentaries, for suggestions, for a car, and roads to travel.

I am grateful to be seated on this couch next to the window with a cup of Rwandan tea and a friend in the kitchen making blueberry pancakes and singing along to Sergeant Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band.

Jeremiah 29:5,7

"seek the peace of the city where I have lead you into exile...and pray to the LORD on its behalf, for in it's peace you will find your peace."

June is for berries

This marks the final week in my adventure, and like all good adventures, it seems I'll be leaving with more questions than answers to my original questions (plus a giant reading list). And it seems that my last few days will be the hottest yet! Triple digits in the forecast for both tomorrow and Saturday. Wooooh! But it's berry season and there's nothing better than feasting straight from the bush!

Tomatoes love basil

This morning was wet, very wet, and my soaking rain coat can attest to that. I am in a small city near Philadelphia, working the various gardens throughout the neighborhoods. At 7, I learned to tie tomatoes and spent the morning cutting fabric to fasten around the vine and spike. I love the rain - I always have. And so I was thankful to spend that time in the garden, alone with the tomatoes and the basil. The pungent scent of the two plants has given me perspective: I like urban gardening. I like the idea of green, living things amongst the bricks and cement of the city. I like that it provides children an opportunity to know where their food is coming from. Beyond that, I like that children can learn the process of growing food. Reflecting on this, I've realized that I eat too hastily. It has come to my attention that I must slow down- food must be eaten slowly. It must taste good and it must be enjoyed. Have you ever thought about the wheat in your whole-wheat breaded sandwich? Not only must the farmer plant he seed, but he also must weed the bed, transport the germinated seed, keep it safe from hungry bugs via companion plants or other things, and then harvest when it is ready. This is a process that occurs over a few months. Once the wheat is harvested, someone must then ground the wheat to a dust in order to provide the flour that goes into your delicious bread. So let's consume with the farmer's labor aching in our bones, and let us enjoy the fruits of the earth in all of their delicious diversity.