More Than Enough
Been awhile. Forgive me.
At my kitchen counter this morning, I hear the dryer murmuring as it tumbles sheets, warm and bleach smelling. Birds sing in the sun and shadows outside the open windows. Leaves dance in a sweet summer breeze. I can see the cows, savoring their morning siestas under the pines. Mabel, having just turned one last week, finding her own cool spot; ears flicking the flies away.
Herbs are drying in front of the dining room windows. Won't be long until the oregano is dry enough to grind. As the breeze flows in against the basil and parsley I am tempted to make a pot of sauce. Flowers on the counter, fresh cut from the garden just yesterday where I picked beans and tomatoes and a couple cucumbers. Most of the tomatoes don't make the trip to the house but are eaten while weeding; a reward for the effort.
I hear the rooster crow, proclaiming his territory to all the world. We are eager, and yet not, for him to find a new home.
A pair of orioles stop by the feeder out back. We still have enough jelly in the cabinet to keep them coming at least until the grapes are ready in the fall.
Charlotte calls from the porch. After a night of hunting, she is ready to come in for love and a comfy nap spot. A lap will do just fine for her. Trudy comes to check her out, smelling her to make sure she is the same cat that left early this morning. Trudy too, welcomes some love and would love a nap on a lap. If only she were small enough.
It is July, the month between school ending and beginning yet again. My days are filled only as I want them to be. Chores rarely feel as such; even weeding takes on a cathartic tone this time of year, giving me a quiet, calm sense of accomplishment I seldom feel in the classroom. I spend too much time with the chickens these days. My "crazy eight" make me laugh, make me marvel and make me breathe. Slowly.
To sit and shell peas or snap beans in the yard, surrounded by a flock of feathered supervisors, listening to chicken chatter is as close to heaven as July can bring. I am sure of it.
Days like today are a gift. I know that. I relish that. But every cherishable moment I have in July isn't because of the profession I chose, or the money I have saved, or the town I live in. Every thing that brings me joy, that fills these moments are because of the man I married. Our home, our farm, our creatures, our comforts, our whole life is joyful because we are together. Sitting on the porch is wonderful, but when The Mister is next to me, it is serene. It is cathartic. It is healing.
Yesterday, I was sitting with my "girls," taking pictures of the birds and being otherwise completely unproductive. The Mister sat with me for a while, but then went to the barn to check on this or that, stopped by the neighbors to talk about a thing and returned back to find I hadn't moved; my to-do list remained undone. He wandered off from where I was sitting and I watched him, trying to figure out what he was thinking, what item on his list he was itching to scratch off. He kicked the ground a few times, scuffing the dirt. He looked around, seemingly deep in thought. He walked past the tree line and into the leaves and scrub and looked around and eventually bent down to pick something up.
A worm. He had gone off to find a worm simply to feed to the chickens. My man. My man.
He wondered aloud the other day what his "legacy" might be when he leaves this earth. It was on his mind, bothering his heart and he presented it to me as a concern with heavy weight. Later, he quietly said, "Maybe, if people just wished for reincarnation, hoping they might return as one of the animals I cared for...that would be enough."
I can tell you, as someone he cares for, that is not just enough. It is everything.
At my kitchen counter this morning, I hear the dryer murmuring as it tumbles sheets, warm and bleach smelling. Birds sing in the sun and shadows outside the open windows. Leaves dance in a sweet summer breeze. I can see the cows, savoring their morning siestas under the pines. Mabel, having just turned one last week, finding her own cool spot; ears flicking the flies away.
I hear the rooster crow, proclaiming his territory to all the world. We are eager, and yet not, for him to find a new home.
A pair of orioles stop by the feeder out back. We still have enough jelly in the cabinet to keep them coming at least until the grapes are ready in the fall.
Charlotte calls from the porch. After a night of hunting, she is ready to come in for love and a comfy nap spot. A lap will do just fine for her. Trudy comes to check her out, smelling her to make sure she is the same cat that left early this morning. Trudy too, welcomes some love and would love a nap on a lap. If only she were small enough.
It is July, the month between school ending and beginning yet again. My days are filled only as I want them to be. Chores rarely feel as such; even weeding takes on a cathartic tone this time of year, giving me a quiet, calm sense of accomplishment I seldom feel in the classroom. I spend too much time with the chickens these days. My "crazy eight" make me laugh, make me marvel and make me breathe. Slowly.
To sit and shell peas or snap beans in the yard, surrounded by a flock of feathered supervisors, listening to chicken chatter is as close to heaven as July can bring. I am sure of it.
Days like today are a gift. I know that. I relish that. But every cherishable moment I have in July isn't because of the profession I chose, or the money I have saved, or the town I live in. Every thing that brings me joy, that fills these moments are because of the man I married. Our home, our farm, our creatures, our comforts, our whole life is joyful because we are together. Sitting on the porch is wonderful, but when The Mister is next to me, it is serene. It is cathartic. It is healing.
Yesterday, I was sitting with my "girls," taking pictures of the birds and being otherwise completely unproductive. The Mister sat with me for a while, but then went to the barn to check on this or that, stopped by the neighbors to talk about a thing and returned back to find I hadn't moved; my to-do list remained undone. He wandered off from where I was sitting and I watched him, trying to figure out what he was thinking, what item on his list he was itching to scratch off. He kicked the ground a few times, scuffing the dirt. He looked around, seemingly deep in thought. He walked past the tree line and into the leaves and scrub and looked around and eventually bent down to pick something up.
A worm. He had gone off to find a worm simply to feed to the chickens. My man. My man.
He wondered aloud the other day what his "legacy" might be when he leaves this earth. It was on his mind, bothering his heart and he presented it to me as a concern with heavy weight. Later, he quietly said, "Maybe, if people just wished for reincarnation, hoping they might return as one of the animals I cared for...that would be enough."
I can tell you, as someone he cares for, that is not just enough. It is everything.
Comments