Thawing

Over the weekend we hosted a quinceanera for Madeleine. Her great-grandmother and grandparents were there and her teenage friends helped the smaller children break the world's sturdiest pinata. It was full of sweets and the babies raked them up and carried them in their shirt tails and skirts. The renovated theater where we played was lit with twinkle lights and spotlights and Latin music and my daughter wore polka dot Converse with her dress.

Over the weekend Madeleine and many of her friends also danced in the incomparable local Rhythm and Blues Revue. My baby danced the mambo in a flirty purple dress. She tapped to live jazz music and danced to live singing -- one of our favorite playwright's -- a rendition of "It's Not Unusual."

It was full of sweets.

Over the month Madeleine and Sarah have begun evening rehearsals for "Fiddler on the Roof" while Sarah and Grace started rehearsing a children's "Pinocchio." I have been moved to tears by the rehearsals, people. My girls will tell you I cry easily and this is true.

I cried this morning in the grocery store line (I hope it wasn't noticeable) while the young, very young, couple and their infant in front of me bought a peanut butter chocolate cake and a bouquet of flowers for a friend's wedding. I cried (pretty noticeably) when Laura unearthed video of my wedding and we watched babies of 21 years ago scraping up candy from the fluffy pinata at the reception.

It was full of sweets.

Winter is coming to an end at the Suite farm. The daffodils are barely yellow in bud but the violets of one hundred years of homesteading are spread all the way to the creek. It took a while for that proliferation to be sure. I am so grateful after the icy winter we had that it is time to put in the peas. My raised beds are not even properly cleaned as I was taken by surprise by the first hard frost but we are still harvesting leeks and chard.

The tractor transmission, rebuilt last year, encountered a rock it couldn't conquer and so we may hire the tilling of the rows. We moved one horse into the barn with short turn out times but everyone else has grown fuzzy and fat with winter grain. A sure sign of spring is when the fence posts are covered with their shedding and the birds flock to steal tufts for lining nests.

We have a new family member! I can't believe I forgot to mention Charlie the Cocker Spaniel.

He's no stranger to us as we've been his dogsitter for a couple of years. Now he is officially our house dog on the farm. Murphy, our behemoth Bernese Mountain Dog, doesn't like to come inside. He prefers to romp the pastures and plunge in the pond in even frozen weather. He waits for Charlie to come outside and they run, big and little, companion and protector, each with their jobs on the farm.

Still raising kids and vegetables and a ruckus.

Full of sweets.

Jet lag anyone?

Last weekend we walked across the lane to a little-known international airport.

A few dozen neighbors and family members joined us on our flight.

Head stewardess Madeleine announced that we needed to keep our trays and seats in the upright position because we were to expect a whilwind tour of what took the girls months to absorb and repackage into a travel brochure come to life.

Sweet friend Lyndsey set up her German souvenir shop while Grace, Sarah and Madeleine did the same for their respective countries of study: France, India and Mexico.

The Brementown Musicians performed.

Lady Liberty recited. Ghandi spoke too. Beethoven played. Geronimo was on hand to tell tales of war. Marcel Marceau performed a riveting mime.

A trip to the Palais de Fines Artes in Mexico City was a treat, where we witnessed some spirited dancing as well.


All the countries we visited had traditional dancing, even with some "tourist" participation. Papa and Grandma danced. Friends Cameron and Quinn and cousin Maiya danced and took part in a quirky French "fashion" show. The girls acted as tour guides and I have never enjoyed a trip around the world quite so much.




In India the snake charmer was a big hit while the air sitar played and Sarah shared some facts about ancient spice trading.

But the big hit of the day, not surprisingly, was the international food court.

The girls' and my favorite part of their end-of-year cultural program was the food, and more specifically, the desserts. Sopapillas (Mexican pillow pastries), gateau au chocolate (French chocolate cake), lassi (Indian sweet yogurt), chai tea, stollen (German braided bread with fruit and cardamom) and more exotic choices that I frankly can't spell weighed down the cafe tables while family and friends feasted after the performance.

There weren't very many leftovers.


But we were certainly left with fun memories.

I always say that the only thing I miss about traditional school is the chance to see my children perform in programs. I love the moments of stage nerves. I love the rehearsals and the messy prop creation. I love the camaraderie and the confidence gained. And now I know that just because we homeschool we needn't miss out.

(I also know those teachers at traditional schools are grossly underpaid and overworked when it comes to such events. Because people? I'm tired. And I'm now storing several lovingly transformed appliance boxes that somewhat resemble an elephant, an Austrian cottage inside and out, the Eiffel tower and some cactii. Sans prickles, thank goodness.)

Thanks for joining us! I hope to be all rested and returning to your regularly scheduled hodgepodge of farmgirl philosophy and crafty goodness very, very soon.

Happy campers return

Gracie said she didn't miss them. And it's true that while Madeleine, 11, and Sarah, 10, were gone to camp Grace, 6, was princessa numero uno of the household. She happily took over chicken and kitty cat duties while I was in charge of horses and rabbits and the big girls' gardening chores in addition to whatever else I could squeeze in between Salvador's nonstop nursing nonschedule.

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That boy will weigh 10 pounds at his one-month check in today. You heard it here first.

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I missed the big girls so much, and not just when I was stalking them. I mean delivering care packages to camp. I recognized, not for the first time, how much they do at our mini farm and I appreciate even more who they are as fantastic individuals. My favorite part of picking kids up from camp is the chattering that goes on from the moment they disembark the bus. Sarah didn't stop talking for 36 hours and Madeleine corrected every single story she told. It's wonderful and hilarious, this stage of girlhood. How did I get so lucky?

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Since returning home tan and exhausted they have suffered through their chores once again so I have even more time for feeding the unfillable newborn. They've returned to their art notebooks with a vengeance. Madeleine's got a short story going on but I'm not supposed to know about it. The neighbor children have all been over for a run through the sprinkler and our children have all trekked down the road to those neighbors' new pool. Exciting times in the boondocks.

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We were planning a big blueberry outing with friends this morning but we have to take Salvador in for his appointment this afternoon and I am finding myself still a little handicapped in the multi-event day category so we're home instead. Let's just say there are no triathlons in my summer schedule. In fact we're calling it a banner day when we're fully dressed. (There's an embarrassing story in there about my famous drop-in house and being braless in the afternoon, but I'll not cause you to suffer through.)

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So that's all the news that's fit to blog around the Suite place. How are you passing your summer?

More summer loving

Laura said it's time to come in!

But the big girls didn't want to come in... because they were enjoying KL's homemade ice cream, delivered into the water just like our rural version of a swim-up bar.



Meanwhile Salvador slept in his basket.

And the junior lifeguards went back to their duties.

While Gracie denied being tired. Or hot. Or anything but quiet.


Someone was always ready to pick up the baby.

And ice cream lured Grace and Cameron back out of afternoon exhaustion.

Sweet friend Emily turned out to be a baby whisperer.

And food. Oh, the food! Pulled pork sandwiches, pesto pasta salad, watermelon and berry salad.

We hated it to be over. And that's why you have to suffer through two posts about the big birthday bash at the lake.

After the water adventures the big girls returned home with us to attempt to stay up late in our glamper (Glamorous camper? Glamper? Anyone?) with movies and snacks.

They slept like puppies in a pile and woke to homemade waffles and more blueberries. Also to the little girls clamoring to join them.

Don't you just love summer?

What are your traditions that let you know it's summertime for sure?

It must be the mud

(Photos by the girls' friend Katie. Thanks, Katie, for the evidence.)

The horses come in from the paddocks each evening.

They rub their crusty, muddy selves all over the barn.

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They further shed mud on the girls.

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The girls help the process along with curry combs and, on warm afternoons, with water hoses and sometimes with my kitchen towels. (Hah. They thought I didn't notice?

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Then my daughters bring the mud in to my laundry room. It's not an intentional transfer of property, but it seems to me that they're moving an awful lot of soil. Possibly they could find a way to put that directly on the garden on their way back to the house?

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The next morning the horses go back out and roll themselves in mud like it's a spa treatment. They graze in the sun, moving along with it all day until the mud bath is cracked and caked like a facial.

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As the sun gets low in the sky and the maple trees cast long shadows, the girls call the horses in.

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They cluck over their charges and mildly chastise Dolly and Two Spot for their errant mud-seeking ways. As spring blooms, my girls inhale the essence, the best parts of my childhood: warm horses, hay-seed-dusted barn floor, saddle soap. It's odd how comforting those scents are to me today, even in the face of the laundry pile. Maybe especially in the face of the laundry pile.

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So the girls transfer the dirt from their horses and I transfer my girlhood joys to my daughters.

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Lather, rinse, repeat.

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Last night I was visiting with a mom from our community. She and her husband are raising three boys and a tiny daughter. Her days, she said, are full of footballs and wrestling gear. Calls to insurance agencies over sports injuries. Carpools for three sons in three sports apiece. (Her daughter, still a preschooler, has yet to assert any extracurricular interests.)

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I wonder whether our fifth child is a boy or a girl. I wonder whether this baby will love horses. Or books. Or ATVs or firefighting or something equally foreign to me. I wonder how this child will change our family in ways I can't imagine now. And I wonder what little parts of my childhood, and my husband's, we'll relive with this new life.

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(Before you decide I've lost myself with the pregnancy-mush-brain-sentimentality: I know it probably all involves mud. And laundry.)

I dunno, a flashback for some reason sounded good

You know when people tell you to enjoy the baby years because they go too quickly?

Those people are right.

As I was reflecting on our recent coast weekend I came across pictures from a similar trip of a few years ago.

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Madeleine and Sarah were still tiny enough to ride the individual ferris wheel at our favorite kitschy stop in Florence, Oregon. Sarah was finally big enough to climb the lighthouse stairs. (This is actually what got me started reminiscing about that trip: this year it was Grace who celebrated her graduation to stair climber.) Grace was a toddler not to be trusted on the shore. As a highlight in our waterfront cabin stay that year we flattened pennies on the railroad track. I think this is against the law. Don't tell anyone about our flagrant flaunting, pretty please.

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At that time we didn't yet know that Sarah is practically sightless without glasses. She would cry when Madeleine would point out whales spouting and she always missed them. At that time we didn't know how many more seats we'll eventually fill in a Suburban.

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And at that time we really didn't know what I hope we know now. It's fleeting. Before you know it those babies are reading A Swiftly Tilting Planet (with no sense of irony whatsoever for how swiftly my planet is tilting with their growth) and discussing it amongst themselves. They're campaigning for the rights to pierce ears, take a Red Cross class in babysitting and wear contacts.

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And I want to say: Just let me focus on these moments. I always miss them.

She makes me a proud mommy

That's my girl.

Yesterday she was 10.

And today she's 11.


With her friends...

...and her sisters

... and her horses

She is one outstanding girl on the very brink of growing up.

[I have to use an aside to say why there are never pictures of the girls on horseback. After the big break(s), I just feel better without the camera when they're riding. More able to drop everything and respond. And incidentally, you should click on that post. She was so brave and so little!]

She's sure to rise to great heights.

Because she's always willing to work hard.

And she remembers where she came from.

She makes me so proud to be her mommy.

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Happy Birthday, Madeleine.

Just Me And The Girls

Madeleine turns 10 next week. That obviously calls for A&W root beer and a Coney Dog ... ordered with a flipped switch and expertly hung on the car window.

It also called for a trip to the Sylvia Beach Hotel to revel in all-night Scrabble playing and learning to knit. Just me and the big girls.

Knitting and Scrabbling around in the E.B. White room of the greatest book-lovers hotel anywhere. Eating authentic Italian and walking on the beach. Finding tiny shells to bring home to the fairies.

I could easily flip the switch and order up a big side of angst over my oldest child turning double-digits. But for now I think I'll just be so so glad we did all that together.

For now I feel extraordinarily grateful (I know, I know, it's not even Thanksgiving anymore) that my daughters love to read and walk on the beach and play word games with me. How lucky can I get?

Oh! And there's more! I'm now a member of the Coney Dog Preservation Society. Who knew?

One Day At A Time

We had some rare fairy sightings at the farm this week.

I don't think fairies worry about the future much.

Napping in the kitchen sunlight is cure for whatever concerns they might have.

A few wings.

I think this will fly.

Fairies appreciate a little wardrobe help every once in a while. Grape and Big Leaf Maples are some favorite fall choices.

Ahoy there! We have discovered a likely scenario for the indoor fairy festival. Madeleine and her trusty sidekick Zoe discovered a PIRATE HEAD in Fairyland. The fairies evidently took care of the threat but then retreated in the farmhouse for good measure.

Just a little Laura telling the cats not to bother the fairies either.

That's right, shake a stick (leaf) at your problems.

That's where the fairies live most of the time. We were surprised by the visit, but so glad to be reminded of the fleeting magic that is all around us.

Who needs to worry about tomorrow?