Marvelous mentor...

 When I was a young teen, I had the good fortune to become acquainted with a woman who profoundly impacted the direction of my life. She was the mother of my first boyfriend, a teacher, and an artist. I needed some extra mothering and guidance during those years, and she generously gave me both.  In her kitchen, I learned to cook everything from hearty casseroles to yeast bread, "If you can read, you can cook," she told me. She taught me to knit, sew, and make quilts and instilled a love of gardening. She was the first person to put a dog grooming clipper in my hand and teach me to care for my first dog's coat, "Brush from the skin out!"  she'd remind me. Little did we know that I would go on to make pet grooming a lifelong career. 

Although the boyfriend and I were destined to share our lives with others, our friendship, and that with his mom, have continued. 

She turns ninety next month, and her younger son kindly invited me to join friends and family in celebrating this milestone on a chartered boat ride in Essex, Massachusetts, yesterday. I had not had the opportunity to see her in several years, and though it meant a six-hour round-trip drive in heavy rain (and a tornado watch!)  I didn't want to miss the chance to thank her once again. 

I dashed off an Ode in her honor and read it after the cake was cut. She gave me a huge hug and said, "Those were happy years." They were, indeed. And the years that have followed have been happy for me, largely because of her influence. 

When I tally up my gratitude's, having a marvelous mentor is always on my list. 

 

The Bush Man...

 When I was growing up in the then-wee town of Boxford in Massachusetts, we had frequent delivery visits. One of my earliest memories was of the man who collected dirty diapers (mine!) and dropped off snowy piles of clean ones. I'd hide behind my mother's woolen skirt as they made the exchange. 

Mr. Kelloway delivered milk and eggs from his van. He wore blue and white pinstriped overalls and a train conductor-style cap. He strode on long legs from his van to our front porch, where he would tuck glass bottles of milk and a dozen or two fresh eggs in the cool box left there for him. He always had a smile and some kind words and was a welcome sight. 

The most exciting delivery man to me was one my parents called The Bush Man. He came in the spring and would open the trunk of his big sedan and lift out a variety of ornamental bushes. Bridal Wreath (Spirea), Azaleas, Mountain Laurel, Rhododendron and more. He would wax poetic, telling my mother about the colors of blossoms each shrub would boast once they were established, and she would get a dreamy look in her eye, imagining their glory. 

Every year, she'd buy a few plants, taking the money for them out of her leather wallet and carrying the burlap-wrapped things to a shady spot until my father would have time to plant them. It was my job to give each one a cool drink, and I still remember the spicy smell of the foliage and the warm, familiar smell of dirt. 

Our lot was wooded and shady. My parents would walk around in the evening, choosing where each plant would be placed to its best advantage. By the time I left home to find a spot to spread my own roots, those once-small shrubs were well-grown. In the spring, they put forth a rainbow hue of blossoms, the glowing white of the Spirea, the shades of pink from palest blush to deep, almost-red of the Azaleas and "Rhoadies," (as my parents dubbed them) made many a rainbow bouquet to be carried in and placed proudly in a vintage vase. Each year, more bushes were tucked here and there, on either side of the driveway, in beds in front of the house, and deep in the woods to be discovered on a walk; they flourished. 

I never knew The Bush Man's name; he must be long gone now. My parents, too, of course. My sister and her husband live in the house we grew up in, surrounded in spring by the flowers planted long ago, the woods dappled in splashes of color once described by a man with dirt under his nails to a pretty woman surrounded by kids and trees, envisioning the future. 

(Thanks to Shara Salmon for the lovely photo!) 

Charmed...

 Sometimes, I reflect upon the fact that I live a charmed existence. Today was one of those times. 

Happy the Goat had a romantic interlude with a buck five months ago. Today was her due date, and she obliged by delivering two healthy, robust kids precisely on schedule. I was in the house and heard her bleat loudly twice. I rushed outside and found a just-born buckling who had not taken his first breath yet. I helped his mama dry him off a little. He was standing within moments and nursing seconds later. I knew another kid was coming, so I settled on an overturned bucket to watch the magic happening. It was a beautiful day, warm with a soft wind. I settled down and watched Mama Goat cleaning her baby, chuckling the soft call that mother goats use to converse with their kids. After about twenty minutes, Happy bleated in discomfort again. I turned my video camera on and caught her giving one mighty push and delivering a perfect little doeling. 

Before she was dried off or standing, she crawled on her bent front legs to begin nursing, vocalizing all the way. She's tiny and chatty and wears four black boots. 

After the first kid was born, the other two adult goats in the herd raced, danced, and celebrated in the most delightful caprine manner. Then, they returned to watch what was happening inside the Cozy with great fascination. 

                                         

As if all of this were not wonderful enough, Chris cooked giant lobsters for supper.

 A friend joined us, and we feasted at the picnic table, surrounded by cows grazing in the pasture, birds stitching through the sky, and trees whispering as breezes made music through the leaves. A fire snapped and popped in the fire ring. After dinner, our friend rocked back in her chair and sighed, "It's a good life, isn't it?" It is. I'd even say it's charmed. 

Farmlette events...

 Three weeks ago, two of our goats, Grace and Glory, went to live at a friend's house. Her elderly goats had passed and she missed them. Grace was here as a dairy goat but hated being milked. My friend wanted goats for pets, not milking, so this seemed a good fit. Since goats are herd creatures, I didn't want her to be alone, so I sent her daughter Glory with her. They are very bonded, and I thought they would be happy in this new place. 

Livestock can be unpredictable, and Grace was startled the first morning at her new place. Then she found a weak spot in the fence and busted out. Instead of staying close to her daughter, who was still in the pasture, she headed down the driveway. Her new owner followed. A few houses down, the goat saw some cows and approached them. They chased her into the woods and disappeared. Her new owner, her neighbors, Chris, and I searched for her daily. She was seen from time to time, just 100 yards from where she should have been, but no one could catch her. The story goes on, with lots of emotional ups and downs but there is a happy ending. A talented neighbor caught her, and Grace is now safe in her new home and reunited with her daughter. She's a little thinner and seems a bit confused, but she is eating and drinking, and all the humans who have worried, fretted, and searched feel a big sense of relief. 

Meanwhile, about 20 days ago, one of my lavender Orpington hens went broody. This means she was feeling in a family way and wanted to incubate some eggs. For about 18 days, she sat on the nest, only leaving for a few moments a day to eat, drink, and eliminate. She was a dedicated mother-to-be. Then another chicken decided to go broody, too and wedged into the first chicken's nest.  I tried to discourage this but failed. A few days later, two eggs hatched. The hen who had carefully tended and warmed those eggs claimed the adorable chicks as her own. So did the hen that only dedicated two days to their care. 

When it is time to eat, both hens call the chicks. Both hens pick up morsels of food and hold it so the chicks can grab it. And when it's time to rest... 

both hens snuggle in a nest box, wing to wing. The chicks burrow under their warm feathers to rest in safety. It makes me chuckle to think our new chicks have two mommies. 

"And what is so fair as a day in June..?"

 We have had stunning weather the past few days—the kind of weather we dream about in January when the temperature plummets, snow falls, and the wind howls. I spent the day puttering in the yard, planting annuals, weeding, and running the weed whacker. Chris mowed and did some repair work on the deck. We find we take more frequent breaks than we did when we were younger, but we still get a lot done. 

These irises come from some that once grew in my grandfather's garden. My cousin Christin kindly shared them with me. It is even more special when the flowers in my beds tell a story or trigger a memory.

The cats were happy to be with me and monitored my actions carefully. 

Cheryl brought three cows over to graze the pasture for a few months. Moxie has been here for the past two summers and feels right at home. Miriam (lying on the left) and Espresso (on the right) are new but have settled in nicely. They make excellent eye candy out grazing in the meadow. 

The bantam Cochin hen and rooster have a clutch of 6 chicks that are also delightful to watch. Mama and Papa hen talk to them in special voices, calling them when they find a fat grub or juicy moth to share. The chicks follow Mama everywhere, and when they are tired, she plops down, and they all snuggle under her ample feathers. There is nothing cuter than seeing little heads pop out from under her wings and chest, peering about with bright eyes. 

The laying hens have also hatched two wee chicks and are sitting on more eggs, so our poultry population should be increasing nicely. 

Yesterday, Rachel and I took the grandgirls to the Fiber Frolic in Windsor. We have been every year for around the last 8, and it is such fun. Fiber artists set up booths, selling yarn and kits and amazing crafted items. There are always interesting food trucks, too, and herding demonstrations, things for kids to do, and even some livestock. The Owlet was tickled to see rabbits and sheep. It was a delightful way to spend the day. 

The sign for my business was damaged in a wind storm last year. I bought an old claw foot bathtub and put it at the end of the driveway instead. I plant flowers in it during the growing season, and in the winter stuff it full of greens. It needed something more, but I wasn't quite sure what that "more" was. Then, last week, Rachel triumphantly brought me the gold leaf scissors that embellished the sign at Yankee Clipper, the business I worked for during our first eleven years in Maine. I loved that job and the friends I made there, and I always had a thing for those scissors. When the building was sold, the sign remained, then eventually was removed. The scissors were left lying by the side of the road. I was too cowardly to scoop them up. Rachel knew I wanted them, and knocked on the door and asked if she could take them. She was given permission, and now they adorn my whimsical bathtub planter. They are not in great shape, but I will enjoy them while I can. 

We ended this weekend with something sweet. Ice cream from the local stand. Chris suggested it, and I said no. Then I had second thoughts. Life is short, and summer is fleeting. I enjoyed every bite.