Little Red Hen

Little Red

The trouble with chickens is that sometimes they die, like all pets. Many of our girls have passed over the years, mostly just dying the quick chicken death that looks like this. One day I look at you and you are looking kind of piqued, your eye just doesn't look sparkly like it usually does, and then I see that you are not on your roost at night, but in the corner of the hen house on the floor. Then the next morning you have ascended the Rainbow Bridge into chicken heaven, which is probably full of green grassy lawns, teeming with worms, nice fluffy dust for your dustbaths, no fences, and no predators.

Because it was a daytime marauder who took the life of this beautiful chicken, our Little Red Hen (Reddie, for short). She was our Best Girl. Always friendly, curious, and happy to see us. And happy to take a bit of goodness right from our fingers or hand, ever so gently.

When I went to shut in our girls last night, I noticed the chicken yard full of her pretty red feathers. And no Reddie on the perch. A fox? A dog? We'll never know. We feel pretty sure it wasn't a hawk, because she was no lightweight. What I really don't like to think about is her last moments. So instead I think about the fact that she knew we loved her, she was well-cared for, and led a very happy chicken life.

Sylvan was sobbing this morning when he heard the news. He drew her a picture.

Easter day

Star of a Day

We had a brisk, Maine-style Easter day: whipping wind and temps in the mid-40s (F). Hats, runny noses, parkas, the whole shooting match. Did I mention Sugar was also present, as in White, Refined, and Completely Unhealthy?
The day was a success on many levels, and satisfied my party-loving 10 year-old's need for a festive gathering on his Favorite Holiday. But the most important one is this: No one came in personal contact with chicken poop. Because my dearest Love of a Husband scooped it all away in preparation.
Egg-peeling by Miss Z. (who was, in Sylvan's opinion, the very best part of the whole day---More than candy?!---Yes!!!), who liked using the step-on garbage lid-opener. Do I need to draw your attention to the adorable legs in tights and small shoes? Or is it obvious enough that I was nearly in a swoon while taking the photo?

I loved seeing our friends' eggs. So much more creative than ours, and in much greater quantity! Next year we'll have to try our hand with rubber bands, sticky tacky (that stuff that sticks posters to walls), and get a little more loose with our form. This one, below, is like the Universe Egg:

So beautiful.

At left, this was supposed to say OM in Sanskrit, but it's backwards, so we think it says MO. And since my boys love deviled eggs, why not, we'll get a couple dozen more eggs next year!

The Favorite Holiday

One more shot of my new favorite hankie,
already on the clothesline!
First day of hanging out the laundry!

A couple of years ago, Jonas told me (in utter disappointment on the actual day) that Easter was his most favorite holiday, and why had we not planned a party?!
Too late that year, but this year, Mama is on top of it. I think it's the excess that he appreciates, and thanks to Jenny, who has personally stuffed 72 eggs with a combination of candy, coins, and Easter jokes, I think he'll be all set. We will be having some brunch with a couple of families here at our house, and hopefully, an outdoor egg-hunt. One of our favorite 2 year-olds will be here, in some sort of festive adorableness, and my biggest fear is (not the testosterone-plagued 6-7 year-olds on SUGAR but) that Miss Z. will trip and come in personal contact with chicken poop.
This is always my biggest fear about anyone who comes to our house.

Tiny felted eggs in a hand-made basket by Ravenhill's Mom.

Above is the little package that I sent off to Miesmama for the Swap--CHOO; I am showing it to you because she told me it has arrived. Here's what she sent me. I chose the poem Litany by Billy Collins, one of my favorites. There was an ATC in there too, but it's hiding.
And finally, these amazing cookies from the latest issue of Cooks Illustrated, which really ARE worth the 400 times they spent trying to perfect the idea of chocolate chip cookie. The key: browned butter. Since receiving the new issue, I have already made these lovelies twice. Perfectly decadent, with that lovely toffee flavor of browned butter. And as Hannah says, why don't we use browned butter in everything, it is just SO great. I did make them smaller than Cooks told me to, because dang, they wanted them HUGE and they are just too rich for that size. I laughed out loud when I saw that Annie made these recently also and was raving about them on her blog!

The Hankies are Flying!

Guess what I got in the mail from Miesmama yesterday?
My Spring Hankie and other goodies from the Swap---CHOO! Big thanks, Miesmama! Don't you love that Kaffe Fassett in pink and orange? How did she know I have a crush on Kaffe?! AND his fabric?!!!
A poem on a hand-made card, in honor of National Poetry Month:

I think Miesmama could be ready for ATCs, don't you? I am seeing some real talent for visual combination here.

Don't you love to see handwriting?

What an incredible way to make "F" Miesmama has!

And a lovely handmade pin:
She blogged about it here, and I am restraining myself from posting a pic of the little package I sent to her, because it may come in her mailbox today! Miesmama has a lovely little etsy shop where she sells some kickin' upcycled bags, with lovely applique, made from felted men's sweaters.

These swaps are so great. I mean, not just that you get to have some lovely hand-made stuff, but that I have this new blog-friend, someone who also favors the movie My Neighbor Totoro (one of my family's all-time faves), who likes the soundtrack from the movie Amelie (another favorite of mine, but I wore out my family's ears on it), who is inspired by nature, and who takes care of our planet.

Check out Earth and Living's happy mail day when her hankie arrived, in this post. She has some great, green ideas on her blog, including reusable cloth pee-cloths! What an idea for us girls. I used cloth wipes for my babies and laundered them, so why not? We'll leave the boys to drip dry.

I expect more hankie posts to be popping up like the snow-drops in my garden.

Elegy for a House

In Maine, there's a lot of driving involved. So certain features on my commute are landmarks that feel like old friends. This house is one of them. A completely run-down, abandoned, asbestos-sided house upon which, in alternating years, bloomed the most amazing wisteria in festoons of purple. I never knew what it was, but as soon as I saw it I knew it was wisteria from descriptions I had read (this is also how I knew I was looking at a bluebird for the first time). Last year was a non-blooming year, so I was gearing up to show my blog-readers the wonder of the blooming this summer. The photo above is reproduced from a book, and doesn't hold a candle to the real deal.

When I drove by one day on the way to school and work, and saw that the old house was being bulldozed, I gasped, like someone had kicked me in the stomach. Each consecutive day, I watched the big equipment moving through, and big fires as they burned it. (Who gives permits to burn asbestos siding in Maine, I wonder?) In a week, it looked like this:
I still feel sad.
Joanie knew just how I felt; she noticed that beautiful old girl of a house also.
But because you don't come to this blog to get weepy, I will leave you with two happier photos. My early lunch with a friend at Boynton McKay, where people come up and talk to you if you're wearing cowboy boots, and you always know a few people, and the food is predictably delicious. Next time I will bring you some pics of the old apothecary shelves and pressed-tin ceiling. A good thing I was with my Healthy-Eating friend, or else I would have gone down the baked goods road...
Instead we shared this delicious breakfast burrito and each other's company.

Signs of life

Afternoon jumping. Leaping into spring?
Lilacs are budding.
Garden tools are re-discovered after losing their winter blanket of snow.
Then, in the purply dusk, the fog rolls in.

And sometimes, we get to go to the big city and be adults on a date for one whole night.

See, it's Maine, where you can be dressed up
AND wearing a polar fleece vest at the same time.

Eating delicious food (turnips glazed with a cider reduction sauce), and seeing one of our favorite essayists read in person, David Sedaris. (Here's a link to a Mother Jones interview with David.)
We laughed a lot.

Books and hankies will never go out of style

In library school we are always compelled to have the discussion about whether, in this digital age of Kindles and online books, real print books will become obsolete. Let me say right now that I have never used a Kindle and would happily try it with an open mind (I already know the reasons why people think they're cool and convenient) if someone tossed one my way, as a tool that has a specific purpose.
But my argument is always something like this: The more time we spend at our computers for work and play, will we really want more screen time at the end of the day, as we curl up in bed? Do we even know how screen-reading impacts our eyes, long-term? (The answer is no, we are the guinea pigs.) And finally, reading is forever a tactile experience that includes smell, texture, sound, and the physical weight of a book in our hands.
The thrill of holding this copy of Peter Pan in my hands, from 1911, with its thick pages, spotty brown in places, with broken spine and worn cover, is not even in the same universe as a digitized book.

Photoplay images? Come on, this is pre-talking in movies!

The Swap--CHOO update...Is that my hankie is almost ready to send off to my partner, and I know just which poem I will send her! I like to think about 16 ladies, as near as two miles away and as far as Norway and Italy, who are making rolled-hem hankies for an unknown person somewhere else in the world. Check out our Flickr group to see what's been posted.

Jonas drawing a dragon.
Wow.

Jonas spent the other afternoon after school copying a dragon from a book. Not tracing, mind you (which is also OK), but actually using his eyes to copy the image he was seeing. I love it that the art instruction at his school is integrated with everything, not just a class that comes once or twice a week. And what is at first implied (in grade one) and later (middle school) directly taught, is how to see something in the world and translate it mentally onto your page. That's what I learned in art school, much later than first grade.