Boreal Witch

Mom has a poem on her living room wall with all of our handprints on it. This picture captured the memory of making it and then seeing it hanging there, year after year. It's not really of a handprint, but I love it just the same.

The poem goes like this:

My Handprints
Sometimes I might upset you
Because I am so small
And always leave my fingerprints
On furniture and walls.

But everyday I grow a bit
And soon I'll be so tall
That all those little fingerprints
Will be so hard to recall.

So here's a special handprint
Just so that you can say
This is how my fingers looked
When I placed them here today.

Blessed be.

Balin has taken his first steps into a wider world.

He is now an avid roller.

He rolled once Friday, which I believed to be a fluke because he was on uneven ground. When he did it again Saturday, I realized he knew exactly what he was doing. By Sunday, Balin rolled from his tummy to his back without pausing at all...multiple times!

I marvel at how strong he's become. Last week, he'd lift his head up for a short period of time before putting it down again. Now, he keeps his head up for a while before rolling over. It's truly incredible how quickly these kids master their bodies and are able to manipulate the world around them. Soon he'll be crawling and then walking and talking. Then he'll start school. Then he'll be driving.

My, how it's bittersweet.

Blessed be.

My friend Seneca had her baby girl about a week ago. We made plans for Balin and I to come visit Saturday while the boys and Oldpa saw the new Winnie the Pooh movie. They dropped me off at Seneca's house.

But no one was there.

It wasn't surprising because she sent me an email saying that they were going on an outing, but hopefully would be back no later than 2pm. I sat on a folding chair, nursed Balin, and soaked in the silence.

It was glorious.

A younger me would have probably avoided the silence by breaking it. Now that I rarely get a moment to myself, I found the silence to be enlightening. I sat just feeling the flow of energy and life around me. The sun warmed my hair. The flowers' sweet perfume filled me with happy satisfaction. The light tinkle of the wind chimes gave me a smile.

Someday I will meditate frequently and soak up the silence. I am fully committed to making that happen.

Blessed be.

Oldpa came to visit us for a week. Arthur, who is always looking for more attention these days, loved having him here. We visited the museum and Chena Hot Springs, but we also hiked to Angel Rock which is something that Robinson and I, in our many years of Fairbanks living, haven't done.

The day was cool and we were bombarded by mosquitoes, but as we progressed up the trail, the winds picked up and they weren't such a bother. At the middle of the trail, we found a special surprise - blueberries - and stopped to pick some. We had been hearing rumors of ripe blueberries; apparently they were true. We picked a handful and gave them to Arthur. He gladly accepted.

The best part of the hike was the view of the valley from the rocks. Even with the overcast skies, it was a breathtaking sight. Oldpa and Robinson explored the area by climbing all over the rocks (an activity I have little doubt Balin and Arthur will be doing someday while I suffer through heart palpatations). Arthur ate applesauce and played in the sand. He wished that he had brought one of his trucks with him.

On the way up, I noticed a pentagram carved into a tree. I love finding these shapes in nature, but it's interesting to see where people leave their own marks. This graffiti may not have been intended to be spiritual, but I wondered if there were others like me who passed it on the way up and thought, "What a lovely affirmation of my faith." I breathed a little deeper and smiled to myself.

The rest of the week passed quickly. We made triple ginger ice cream and grilled pork ribs. Arthur and Oldpa played with trains. Oldpa played his harmonica for the kids and when he stopped Arthur asked, "Oldpa, will you turn your harmonica back on?"

It's been so lovely to have so many people visit us this summer. My family is planning on coming back a couple more times before fall. I hope my dad makes it while there's kohlrabi to be had!

Blessed be.

This year Robinson and I agreed that we wanted an amazing garden. Our past gardens have been okay, provided that the moose didn't devour it first. Last year, my friend Seneca had an incredible garden. I was (quite literally) green with envy. It was practically a jungle growing in her backyard. Robinson started doing research about gardening and came up with this little gem of an idea:

Aren't these amazing? They look like real greenhouses...and all it took was a little PVC pipe and plastic! I can't really take credit for these, they were all Robinson's idea.

It's been such a fun experiment. The moose have been kept away and we've gotten kohlrabi much earlier than usual. I'm sure the extra watering has been helping, too.

Here's Arthur in one of the greenhouses. I think he thinks it's a fort or hideout of some kind. He loves being in it but hates getting out of it. He's not the only one - it's a challenge for the most coordinated of adults. Even I have to bend into various yoga positions in order to get out of the greenhouses.

The height of the summer is such a wonderful time, don't you think? I love the sheer laziness of it, thoughts of nothing to do, and having all the time in the world. It's romantic, the calm before the storm of autumn canning, berry picking, and fishing.

I'm really glad that Balin was born in March. He's just a ball of baby to carry around. It's so easy to pick him up and take a hike or play outside with the two boys. I wonder how he'll do when we go berry picking...

Blessed be.

Upon returning to Fairbanks, I finally got around to washing these art shirts that we made for Arthur and Balin. My sister Blythe said they looked like rocker shirts. I agree wholeheartedly.

It's a pretty simple process: 1) spread Elmer's glue on shirt, 2) let dry, 3) water down acrylic paints, 4) paint on shirt in colors of your choosing, 5) let dry, and 6) wash well.

I think we'll be doing it again, but I doubt I'll be able to get pictures of Arthur in his shirt. I had to bribe him with an Otter Pop to get him to wear it this time.

Blessed be.

Fairbanks summers are so beautiful. Eighty degree temperatures, 22 hour days, and sun almost makes up for our chilly winters. Even though my family lives in Anchorage (just a 6 hour drive) it seems a shame to leave Fairbanks to visit a more temperate (albeit more civilized) location.

The kids and I flew down to Anchorage for my dad's birthday and stayed for a week. We got to see friends and family. We took portraits and played at parks. Arthur bossed his cousin Molly around and she didn't seem to mind a bit. Nana held Balin and I nearly finished all the blocks for a wedding quilt I've been working on (now to sew them together - I almost have two of the four quilts I wanted to complete this year finished!). My dad even convinced me to take on a portion of his stamp business. My friend Naomi gave me a fabulous new haircut and her in-laws lent us a few Terry Pratchett books.

Balin even learned a few new tricks, his favorite being finding his feet. This kid now spends almost every waking moment clutching something: his hands, feet, someone else's hands, or a toy. It's amazing how smitten people get with a baby around. He smiles and everyone coos. My father is absolutely convinced he's my grandmother reborn.

It was wonderful to be able to spend so much time with everyone. Next year we'll stay a while longer. Even though next summer is proving to be busier than I anticipate, I'd like to take the kids to Anchorage for a couple weeks, at least. Arthur continuously asks when we're going back to Anchorage. He loved all the attention from Nana and his aunties and loved playing with his cousins. It was nice being able to fly one way because the drive back was brutal with a 3 month old. Unlike his brother who would have loved having a pacifier fused to his mouth, Balin hates it and will spit it out as soon as it goes in. We did learn, however, that Balin will fall asleep in the car when he's dead tired from crying IF AND ONLY IF he is sung to. I wonder if someday he will be very musical like his Oldma and Daddy.

Guess what was awaited us when we got home? They were quickly peeled and devoured.

Blessed be.

Balin laughed today - all on his own, without me tickling him. His laughter made Arthur laugh, which made me laugh. He's got a magical laugh, very contagious.

Poor Robinson missed it. I encouraged Balin to laugh for him, but...nothing. Soon this kid will be able to tell jokes. My, how time flies.

Blessed be.

My parents have always had a lot of stuff. I'm not sure if this is because my parents both grew up on farms with their parents (Depression survivors) or because of our time in Barrow. Maybe it's a bit of both. Whatever the reason, stuff just seems to gravitate to my parents, which they happily pile in their house. Their house is so full of stuff that no one can enter the garage without carrying a satellite phone, a week's supply of food, and the jaws of life. That also applies for most of the other rooms in the house. My sisters still have stuff there. I might, in fact, still have some of my stuff there, but if I do, it's been swallowed by all the other stuff and will never be found. Since my marriage to Robinson, I've done a decent job of getting my stuff out of there.

Whenever I stay with my parents I can't help but look through some of Their Stuff. It's like a bad automobile accident. I feel compelled to gawk at Their Stuff.

Any attempt to remove Their Stuff is met with resistance. A typical conversation about Their Stuff usually goes like this:

Me: "Why, Mom? Why do you have all these stuffed animals?"

Mom: "Because you girls used to play with them. Incidentally, I found some of your old school work from Barrow. Do you want it?"

Me: "No, I don't want it. Chuck it. There's two old computer monitors here, do you really need two of them?"

Mom: "Don't touch those, those are your dad's. He might need them if his other monitor breaks."

Me: "Are you planning on his current monitor breaking?"

Mom: "Well, no, but we might need them someday. Are you sure you don't want that school work?"

By far, my sister Blythe has the most stuff at my parent's house, but any attempt to get rid of her stuff is also met with resistance. Surprisingly, not from Blythe. Part of the problem lies in that it's also Josh's stuff - mostly toys that he used to play with when he was two - and Mom can't seem to let go of any childhood object.

Their Stuff had gotten so wide spread that during my trip to Anchorage I spent a good part of the day rearranging half of the downstairs family room. Since my one-year-old niece Ella kept playing with some very fragile glass and ceramic objects, I was terrified she'd break something and a) get hurt, b) suffer the wrath of Mom, or c) get squished by the wobbling plastic shelving that these artifacts were housed on. I moved them with the help of my youngest sister Becky. I also moved the TV and put all the cords behind it, again because of safety.

This way not in the least bit okay with Mom who nearly had a fit when she came downstairs. I can't blame her because I wouldn't want someone to come to my house and rearrange all of my stuff either, but I felt pretty justified. The room looked so much better.

In fact, my anti-clutter brigade is slowly growing. Dad, Blythe, and Josh have all been trying to get rid of some of their excess junk out of my parent's house. Blythe's hoping that the next time we come down to visit, she'll have most of her stuff out of there. Becky's hopping aboard, too. She cleaned out Molly and Ella's closet.

I'm far from perfect and my home is far from clutter-free. Still, I pride myself in being able to keep the clutter at bay or at least hide one pile from another.

Because, you know, clutter is like bunnies.

Blessed be.