March, I hate you

airing out the quilt after a month of sickness:

the first clothesline photo of the season!

March in Maine is not my favorite. In fact, I consider it the armpit of the year, with very little to recommend it. It can be cruel and demoralizing to live in Maine in March: the warmth and light return, and just when you begin to let yourself hope for spring, you are soundly walloped by a snap of cold or sleety rain. There's a sense of looking over my shoulder nervously, waiting for the smack.

"But what about November?" you ask. Well. November is elegant in its bleakness. The study in grays and blacks and browns feels like a painting. The clouds and sunsets are complex purpley gray worlds. There is the anticipation of snow. November is a class act.

What we have now, March, is pretty ugly. The snow has mostly melted, but there are a few patches left: dirty and mangy and ill-tempered like a dog you'd secretly like to kick, if you weren't an animal-lover. We have mud. Sometimes icy mud. Sticks and rocks all over the lawn. Thawing chicken poop in the yard. We have sodden snowpants and mittens heavy with their wetness and about ten pounds of dirt. Wet, odoriferous boots.

organic oranges. eating sunshine.

We also have illness. Illness which has morphed from and into new and amazing types of germs in our family. No one has vomited, but I think we have run the gamut of most other symptoms from mild to high fevers to pack-a-day coughing fits to strep throat. And lots of other things in between.

Do you have the picture yet?

Here is the one thing March has going for it: maple syrup making time. (Grudgingly offered.)

Thankfully, I do have friends.

The best kind of friends, who see a pair of bright red rubber gloves with little chicken embellishments and think of me. Let me tell you, the package doesn't lie: "Caution: Use of this product has been known to cause laughter. Guaranteed to class up your day." Wearing these gloves could also inspire an outfit-change. Heels might have to be dug out of the far reaches of my closet. And apron will most definitely be worn, and in fact, perhaps I need an apron designed specially to coordinate with these gloves.

And a friend who can't make just one pie. Or leave it undecorated. Beautiful apple pie with whole wheat pastry crust delivered to my door one morning. Really, the best.

We are also blessed by live music in the house. Even when it sometimes feels like just another chore to practice.

More Eggs

I can tell Spring is coming. We have sap on the woodstove. And more than the Occasional Egg appearing in our henhouse. (Wouldn't Occasional Egg be a great blog name? Free for the taking if you want it.)

The Time Change of Saturday has completely devastated the rhythm of one of our boys. It is hard to see him in such a fragile place, out of sorts with sleep, going to bed later and waking up tired, needing more cuddles, sad and mad and REALLY mad about things that seem small to me. But clearly they are Big to him. With his growing skills and talents, it is a hard thing to still find himself in a child's body with adults telling him that he can't just eat bread for supper or that Calvin and Hobbes is not really a bedtime story.

The only things I have control over, now that both my boys are in school for most of their waking hours are: serving healthy food at mealtimes, providing a gentle rhythm that is predictable, and being an anchor adult who is also *mostly* predictable herself. That's it.
March in Maine is a pretty intense time for everyone. We can see the light is coming back, we can feel the growing strength of the sun on our faces, but each and every year I feel a bit devastated by the winter-spring fluctuations. You can't tell your heart not to feel hopeful, but when the next snowstorm comes, or you drop the full bucket of maple sap on your bare toe, your heart is broken anyway. Maybe this is part of what is going on for my boy.

And just so I don't have to end on such a bleak note: Check out Annie's blog Artichokes and Asparagus for some great tips on No-Knead sourdough breads and the care and feeding of your sourdough starter. And she is offering some of her own starter to readers of her blog, from a 100 year-old organism, which is just so cool. Annie is a captain and chef on one of our local schooners---a great way to experience Maine from the water---and she does all of this amazing cooking (homemade breads and sweets, wonderful gourmet meals, etc.) from a wood-fired cookstove on her boat all summer, for you know, like 30 people. Thanks, Annie, you've got me thinking of summer now!