Three years ago we harvested honey from our resident honeybees. I was still very fragile from my stint in the hospital and cheered from the sidelines and took pictures.

Capitalizing on our lessons learned we set ourselves up to harvest the combs in the garage - away from curious buzzing stingers. Doing the honey harvest within the confined space gifted us a concentration of the million faceted smell complexity. Each frame would add its own layer of pollen rich perfume. It was a bouquet resplendent in flower complexity and sweetness.

In her book, Wait It Gets Worse, my sister wrote about the two of us splitting wood in 2013. We had borrowed a splitter from a friend and took turns maneuvering logs beneath the pressurized blade. We now own a splitting machine. Funny how these things work after you do the math of renting for a few years.

Wanting a clean slate of the most time consuming fall chore before school started - we split wood while the smalls were away. In years past we had waited for October - but getting it done now feels like a gift of kite flying in that month instead of chore twitching.

First thing in the morning before it gets too hot and then again at the end of the day before the mosquitoes take over.

It is so satisfying.

We pulled up to the bus stop as the rain pelted the top of the 4x4 - the windshield dappled gray from koalin clay patina and water drops.

Dragon piped up, “Momma, is rainwater safe?”

My mind immediately sent me pictures of melting gargoyles and the assembly when I was in grade school where the performers sang about “Acid Rain” to the tune of Prince’s “Purple Rain.”

What do I say?

“Ummm, it depends on where you are.”

Branches groan under soft tender flesh and hard pits

Can this be our life?

To wander rows, looking for a deeper color

Pick a peach warm from the tree

It has been many many moons since I posted a recipe.* However, times change.

The juggle of the school bus, after school activities, and my inner push to not feed by children denatured oatmeal in the form of cereal for breakfast or cheesy bread/pasta every night means that I have had to focus time and energy on weekend feasts that turn into leftovers (frozen or otherwise) during the week.**

One of my favorite breakfasts, snacks, and or desserts is banana bread. It took me a while to land on a recipe that is both sugar free and gluten free - but this one really works.

We pulled into the road. Three large metal contraptions faced us. Equipment I would have not been able to identify 10 years ago. Next to the tractor with the forklift front was a round baler and a rake.

The field was marked with the pattern from a mower. Thick threads of dark green wove between the stubbed brown of shorn stalks.

And rain fell onto the windshield.

Oh, you microscopic shards of glass,

staving off the caterpillar’s frass,

denuded leaves forever begone!

To thee I sing this humble song.

My grandfather used to tell a story of a professor he had in graduate school. This man loved painting his fence.* His excitement over slopping paint on wood confounded my grandfather - who considered this individual a paragon of intellect and academic achievement. So one day, my grandfather asked him why.

The professor’s response was along these lines. “There are very few projects in life where you know exactly what is needed to succeed. Not only that, but at any point in the project, I know exactly how far I have gone and have much further I need to go. That is why I like painting my fence.”

I feel that way about mulching.

Dearest Beloveds,

We started giving you two an allowance starting about a year ago to motivate table setting, dishwasher emptying, dog feeding, general chores, and collecting of eggs. This past summer the two of you purchased your first tokens of commerce at CVS.

“Really, you want to spend your money on that?”

“Momma, I love it!”

“You have a closet full of stuffies. It is made out of plastic which is poisoning the earth. It came from China on a big ship that pollutes the air and water. It is going to end up in a landfill and poison the earth more as it decomposes. Are you sure?”

On Mother's Day this year we had 7 baby chicks born to our rotating cast of three broody hens. (Certain mornings they almost seemed to be sitting on top of each other.)