Two

dear august,

you are two now. i don't know how this happened. something about days turning into years, and so many kisses blurring together. all i know is it feels like the first snowfall every time I look at you. and if i close my eyes real tight, i can still see you on the day you were born... our eyes meeting for the first time... tears of joy running down my face.

i love you,

mama

"The days tumble with meanings. The corners heap up with poetry."
Annie Dillard, Teaching a Stone to Talk


I think spring must be that much more beautiful for those of us who endure the long winter. I don't think June has ever looked so good. May Lilacs, Rhubarb, Peonies, little feet running through the grass, my usual spring "nesting" projects around the house. I have been writing songs, and August is talking more. His voice is so sweet... I will often wake to hear him first thing in the morning singing in his crib. My little songbird.

Daily Bread

There are days that seem to just drag on and on, and it is so easy to get stuck in a rut... precious moments escaping into the monotony (webster defines it as "tedious sameness") of daily life. Winter is long, and August and I are trying to carve out moments that matter. We are turning up the music, and dancing more. Turns out the dancing helps.

I started baking Honey Whole-Wheat bread... nothing fancy, just a good old fashioned daily bread, the kind my mom and grandma used to make (one of these days I'll share Grandma Verlie's bread recipe). I love the ritual of mixing and kneading while August is busy "helping" in the kitchen. I love the waiting... while the dough is rising in a warm spot. I don't know what it is about waiting that makes me want to be more intentional about really living in the moment... but, when I'm baking bread, it feels like I am living the life I want to live. And, an added bonus is that the house smells amazing, and we get to enjoy a slice fresh from the oven. August seems pretty pleased about it as well!

Honey Whole-Wheat Bread (Makes 2 Loaves

2 packages (5 teaspoons) active dry yeast

2 cups (16 fl oz) whole milk, heated to warm (105-115 degrees F)

1/4 cup honey

2 large eggs

6 cups whole-wheat flour, plus extra for kneading and topping the loaves

2 tsp sea salt

6 tablespoons unsalted butter, at room temperature

In a large bowl, dissolve the yeast in the milk and let stand until foamy, about 5 minutes. Using a wire whisk, stir in the honey, and eggs. Add the flour, salt, and butter and stir with a wooden spoon until a rough mass forms.

Scrape the dough out of the bowl onto a lightly floured work surface. Knead until it is smooth and elastic, dusting the work surface with only enough flour to keep dough from sticking, 5-7 minutes.

Form dough into ball and transfer it to a lightly oiled bowl. Cover the bowl with plastic wrap (or dish towel) and let the dough rise in a warm, draft-free spot until it doubles in bulk. (1 1/2 -2 hours)

Butter 2 9x5 inch loaf pans.

Punch down the dough and scrape it onto a clean work surface. Cut the dough in half and shape into loaves. Place seam side down into loaf pans and let rise (covered) until double in size, 45-60 minutes.

Position a rack in the middle of the oven, and preheat to 375 degrees F.

Dust top of loaves with whole wheat flour. Bake until they are honey brown and sound hollow when tapped (35-40 minutes). Be Careful not to overbake this bread or it will be dry. Carefully remove loaves from the pans and let cool completely on wire racks before slicing.

note: I like to throw in a good handful of rolled oats into the dough before kneading, and after the second rise, I butter the tops of the loaves and sprinkle them with oats before putting them in the oven. I find that the loaves keep best stored in the fridge, but a bread box would work well too.

Bright As Yellow

And you live your life with your arms stretched out.
Eye to eye when speaking.
Enter rooms with great joy shouts,
happy to be meeting.

And bright,
bright,
bright as yellow,
warm as yellow.

-the innocence mission

The sun seems to be the brightest on the coldest winter days. Today is one of those days, and I can feel myself lightened by the yellow sunlight filtering in through the windows. There is a warm glow that is beginning to fill all the corners of the house. A vase of yellow roses on the dining room table... I take one out and hand it to August, his tiny hands holding the flower, offering it back to me. My heart melts. We turn on some music and dance around the room.

I am wearing my new yellow sweater that I bought for ten dollars on an impossibly grey day, and the locket Steve gave to me for my birthday.

Sometimes it's the simplest things that can turn me around, make me smile... restore hope. I am prone to feeling blue lately, and grey too as winter drags on... but, today I want to be bright as yellow.

I can't remember a time when it wasn't winter

"It is the middle of January"... A friend recently said to me when I mentioned that I have spring fever. As if to say "good luck with that honey, spring is a long way off", and to jolt me right back to the reality of the harsh Minnesota winters. I have always been above all else a dreamer, but no amount of dreaming is going to make the flowers bloom. So... here I am right in the middle of the bleak mid-winter, and I have decided to give in to it... let it buy me a drink, maybe we'll dance the two- step around the room. Why not, what else is there to do. Let's face it, the winter is long and hard in Minnesota... the days are dark and I am trying to find the light. I'm searching for inspiration... a love letter, tracks in the snow that will point me toward home, and a little bit of hope for my weary winter soul.

Today I stumbled across just the winter inspiration I needed. Photographs by Alicia Bock on her blog Bloom-Grow-Love.

A Merry Little Christmas

Owl Party

My baby is one... I don't know how this happened. Well, I do, but it's still a little hard to accept... the passing of time... my sweet little baby saying "night night" and walking across the room. November 3rd was full of remembering the bliss of those first moments together as a family... a new life, those little hands, the first snow fall on the day we brought him home from the hospital. Our lives changed forever, more full than we could have ever imagined.
And, so we celebrated... for him, and for ourselves. August is 1!

August

It is the end of August. I stare at the calender... I blink and another month has gone by. A lost song I once wrote comes into focus "You turn your head and summers gone, Autumn leaves are turning gold". I swear I heard the leaves crunch under my feet today when I took August out for a walk.
August is so full... I feel it might just burst at the seams. I went to the farm with my friend Amanda the other day to pick basil for pesto and cucumbers to make dill pickles. It is breathtaking there... sunflowers.bright.yellow. hanging their heads as if to pray. it is holy there. tomatoes green and red on the vine. I remember last year about this time. We were at the farm picking tomatoes for canning. My belly swollen and stretched to hold my baby. Bending to pick the tomatoes. I kept thinking it was like cutting the cord. I kept thinking about my child as a beautiful ripe tomato.
August is here. I'm trying to breathe it in. I want to can it and open it sometime in the dead of winter. The smell of summer, the green of basil, the hope of harvest. The love I have for my son August right now. I am bursting at the seams.

summertime

Here are a couple photos I took of August at six months old (in May).  

Dear August

Dear August,

Today is a rainy, grey day... a little chilly so we stayed in bed under the warm blankets, just a little longer today. Morning is my favorite time with you, when the day is new and you are all smiles. We took a walk downtown to the coffee shop, and Frances decided to follow us halfway before we walked her back home.  It must have looked funny, to see us walking down the street with our cat close behind. You love going on walks and looking up at all the new leaves on the trees.  Now, we are home, and you are sleeping in your room, warm and cozy in the crib your papa built for you.  I remember the night he brought it home, and we sat in your nursery and tried so hard to imagine the little soul who would come to live with us.  That night I told Papa..."I think this baby is coming soon"...and, sure enough, my water broke a couple of hours later, and we drove into the night to meet you.  

I love you, my darling boy.

Love,

Mama

More than I can hold

The air smells like lilacs... sweet perfume.  I can't get enough. I bring them inside by the armful, and arrange them in vases... lilacs are everywhere... we are breathing lilac air. I remember going to my grandparents home as a child in the spring. Grandpa Alvin would always cut me a big bunch of lilacs to take home...lavender and white and plum colored... more than I could hold.  

There are moments when I don't know if my heart can contain all this love... love for my son and my husband, love for my grandfather, the beauty of family, the fragrance of spring.  It's more than I can hold.