The branches bend down, heavy with growing fruit, but also tempting me in.

Ducking and twisting to the center of the tree, I see a smaller view of the clear summer blue sky.

Hidden beneath the intricate tangle of branches is solitude and quiet.

Each branch is packed with fruit, with little room to spare even for a leaf or two.

The sticks and twigs arch down to almost meet the ground, creating a hidden house of fragrant sweetness and calm.

The outer protection of each slowly growing peach is thicker, and perhaps softer even, than the fuzz spread across the nape and crown of new born babies.

Grasping the twig of branch with even smaller twig of the stem,

the fruit clings, together.

A gentle pull from beneath, on just the right fruit, rewards me.

Miniature and soft,

I fill my bag, and dare a taste.

The sun warmed, thick fuzz was hiding the juicy, golden, softness of heavenly peace.

This, this will sustain me through my many chores of gardening, and mothering, and striving for lofty goals. This warm summer moment of golden, heavenly, quiet peaches, beckoning us toward peace.


Chilly October morning

Slowly the orange ball of fire called the sun is peeking over the black silhouette of beach, elm and black walnut trees that create my back yard. It is a crisp fall morning, and we have yet to turn on the furnace or clean the chimney. My bed feels warm and cozy, especially when I compair it to the chill I will find in the kitchen. I do not want to get up. But I must make lunches and hang out today’s laundry, and feed the chickens.

Pulling on my purple velour robe and slipping into my red fleece slippers, I emerge from my cave of warmth into the bright kitchen. I can here him in the laundry room, emptying his suitcase from his latest trip. He will have filled the white basket with the wet clothes, washed over night, and it will be waiting for me by the door. The green tea kettle, that he bought for me before we were married, is just beginning to rattle and whistle. On the counter by the stove, sits a single plate, with an egg sandwich, untouched. While in the prep cutting board is a half eaten similar egg sandwich.

It is especially in these moments, that I pause and am thankful for my teammate, my partner, my friend, my love.

The chill I expected to feel is gone. I pour the now boiling water over my waiting coffee beans and begin my Wednesday, happy. Balanced. In love.

Hoping your day also has tidbits and moments of happiness and joy. May you give as well as receive such feelings! What goes around comes around!

In preparing to write this morning, I also found this similar piece. It is from my first attempt at blogging and was written four and a half years ago, (when my eldest daughter was the age of my youngest daughter now.) At first, I thought to simply reblog my own piece. But as I stumbled from my bed, I was met with this scene, and fell head over heals in love again. Thanks to the blogging world, and my many friends for restarting my love of writing and sharing!

On display, by Busy Bee Momma…first published 2/19/2013

Ramblings of a mother on Friday.

Today is Friday the 13th. I woke up late. The littlest was in my bed all night, having had nightmares. I forgot to make the cinnamon buns for breakfast, (that I took the time to prep last night). My oldest almost missed the bus, because she asked for double French braids seven minutes before the bus comes. My husband leaves for another weekend trip today. Our bank account is lower than I anticipated for the weekend, again. And I forgot to hang the wet laundry out on the line before we all left for the day.

This morning I dreamed of snow covering my tomatoes and nobody helping me quickly harvest them. It is true that they have been on my mind. Along with the potatoes that need to be harvested. And of course the whole garden, really, needs to be put to bed and raked out of grass and leaves and plant supporting debris. But there never does seem to be enough time. (Perhaps I need to cultivate more Thyme.)

Tonight we have yet another soccer game. And somehow, somewhere, a basketball practice. Plus one is asking for a sleep over somewhere. And then, tomorrow is two more soccer games and a spaghetti dinner/book fair for the littles school. Then Sunday is more basketball, and dance and figuring out how to get the eldest back from a Saturday night’s sleep over. Not to mention finding time for the Halloween costumes they are asking for me to help them finish on the sewing machine.


Full of life. Full of love. Full of crazies.

So, after the morning chores of getting everybody out the door. I sat down to catch my breath. I took a moment to be still. To breath. True, this moment was in the entrance hallway to the elementary school, with many children, and parents, as well as various school staff bustling by me. But I took a just a moment, a deep breath and then another. Before I continued on to my paying job and busy busy Friday.

TGIF. Friday the 13th. Just another day, a moment in time, soon to be replaced by another moment in time. Make it as good as you can and remember to breath.

The journey

The first steps into the night,

Guided by years of traipsing

These hand formed stairs.

Grass and cedar hold back the hill

As flowers tumbleAnd weeds intermix.

Starless warm skies,

A sense of endless time,

A traveler lost in moments,

(Or could it be hours or years?)

My boots are drenched with dew,

The damp darkness has settled

Into every nook and blade of grass.

Loosening the hinges of reality.

Ah! But the night reveals a door!

Guarded by stretching rose bushes

And overgrown shrubs.

An old summer cottage,

Overgrown by fall.

The light and sound within:

An aproned grandmother,

Cleaning up the last of her dishes.

Or an ought to be abandoned shed,

Filled with bickering children

And lit by flickering candles’ glow.

Inner reality is blurry, obscured by dust

And a half fallen curtain.

No candles glow.

No grandmotherly figures wiping up crumbs.

A strange disorderly order

Of objects pressing together,

Jostling for space or attention,

Demanding a closer look…

What oddness abounds!

Greeted by fluff and feathers

And attitudes all around…

“How dare you disturb my night!

Have you never heard of privacy!

A moment to gather my senses

And find my evening bonnet!”

I pause, to allow the dust to settle,

And then begin my evening chores.

All chickens accounted for

All foxes shut out for the night.

Food and water filled for morning.

All have settled down

And are ready to turn out the light.

I re-traipse my wet footprints,

Back up the overgrown stairs.

Awaiting me at the top,

My own cozy cottage

With children happily giggling

And a husband washing the dishes.

All is well and quiet and good.

Good night.

Three cheers

Today is a beautiful new day. It may be cloudy and the kids (as well as a friend) are all home this weekday. The car does need a rather important part fixed, and the house is certainly a mess. But today I am going to choose to see the good and the beauty. So here goes!

The bountiful harvest from my little ‘micro farm’! Being a very ‘Busy Bee’ I don’t find much time to work in my own vegetable garden. But I am certainly able to grow some easy to care for zucchini, cucumbers and delicata squash. These simply require watching out for the occasional bugs and perhaps a bit of watering and feeding. The heirloom tomatoes I grow in raised beds of tires, to warm up their roots and hopefully get tomatoes before the early Maine frost. These are my babies that I do indeed tend most days. The quiet moments of feeding or watering while looking closely for the tiny white or grey eggs of tomato horn worms is both calming and satisfying. These days my daily trip to the garden I come in with the lovely earthy smell of tomato plants on my hands and shirt and my hands over flowing with Green Zebra, Prudence Purple, and Roma tomatoes. The smell of the earth and the pleasure of growing my own food grounds me.

Last weekend’s four hour hike with the whole family, in a local state park. Not only did we get to see the last of the green leaves and the beginning of the beautiful colors of fall, but we also ALL went together. With lots of snacks, water bottles and sweaters too, we hiked up and down and along a beautiful ridge. It was a comfortably warm fall day that will be remembered as the days and nights get colder. Perhaps we may be inspired to try another local family hike, if the stars align to give us another day off together before snow flies. Time spent with family fills me with love.

Summer hair styles by the ocean. Seeing myself through the eyes of my children I am most often amazed at the beauty and strength. When they are bored, or needing to connect with me, all three of my children will braid, brush or style my hair. While I usually see all the split ends and gray hairs, they create four piece braids, French twists, Victorian updos and princess crowns. This particular creation was by my nine year old, while her sisters played in the chilly afternoon mid-tide at our local boat launch. Just the four of us, pausing in the midst of a busy day of errands and work for then to dip into the ocean. Each child is so happy, so independent, and so different; I stopped to breathe and acknowledge their summer love of any body of water. This frozen moment in time, reminds me to slow down, be gentle and enjoy the waves of life.

Three cheers for grounded, love, and life itself. Three cheers for cloudy days of reflection and writing. Three cheers for you as well my friends!

🍀 Lucky

Lying awake at 3 am. My nose begins to run, not a cold, not allergies, Worry. I am worried about something, but I don’t really know what. I try to ignore it (impossible). I try to reach the tissues by the bed without opening my eyes (impossible).

My stomach rumbles. Hungry, yes, but also Worry. It is that strange feeling of maybe you over ate, maybe you have a sour stomach, maybe you want some food. Also impossible to ignore.

But lying next to me, rolling over to rub my back, and ask if I am okay, is my partner, my husband, my rock. Not judging or annoyed at being awoken. Just there, if and when I need him. He is there to hug, to listen, to hear.

Today, I am lucky. I am loved.

I am loved. I am important. I am worthy. I am me, and that is wonderful.

I do not fall back asleep, but run through my mind stopping at odd spots, like my first day of fifth grade, when I realized I was not something special. Or perhaps the beginning of anxiety in fourth grade when I did a presentation on Ireland, but the cassette tape had been put in the player with the wrong side up, and it didn’t play the wonderful Irish music to go with the Irish soda bread I had made the night before.

But at each turn and stop in my head, I know that it is okay. I am loved. I am lucky.

Tomorrow (really today) is a new day and I will try again. This is not my ‘normal’ middle of the night wake up. This is calm and contemplative. A bummer to not be asleep, but such a deep and profound sense of love and acceptance that I am almost brought to tears.

À Présent

When the simplest of tasks brings you to tears…

Overwhelmed by my opportunity of a day alone, I try to start by writing out the lists swirling in my head. It all starts fine with lots of spaces between the chores, lots of room for wiggling. But as I continue, my mind keeps whirring and adding till it seems every inch of paper has a job, a need, a demand. And no longer are the chores marching in line, staying in order, moving fully from one room to the next. Now they are jumbled together, standing on each other’s shoulders, pushing against the edges. Like three-year-olds jockeying for a spot in the ice cream line, manic and boisterous and whining for attention. Perhaps I need another cup of coffee, or breakfast, or to go back to bed…

In a whisper, in my head, I hear my own voice trying to help one of my overwhelmed children (let’s just pick one thing and accomplish the moment in smaller bites). And then I also hear my own small voice growing in strength – crying, sobbing, unable to choose JUST ONE. There is no prioritizing the list; everything MUST be done NOW, RIGHT NOW!!!!!

And there, there is where I hear their laughter, and remember the feeling of happiness. There is the memory of teaching her French this past week and loving and laughing as I pretend to hurry her “maintenant, maintenant, maintenant!” The rolling on the floor, belly cramping laughter. The good feeling flowing over my aching heart like chocolate over strawberries; filling the seeds of doubt and sadness, with smooth sweetness and love. There I feel forgiveness.

The wave has passed. I can see this moment gently flowing to the next and can let go of the expectations and demands and make a choice. I can be happy, for these few moments at least, with the choices I make and the outcomes that result. I can be present for myself.