Isn't it self explanatory?
Every visit to the hive is a bit like opening a gift that I'm a little wary of. Not because I'm afraid of the bees, but because I'm afraid for them. After last year's disappointments, we're just never sure what we're going to see. Each time, we approach the hive with quiet excitement tinged with… Continue reading The Sunday buzz
The internet's serving up photos of crocuses and daffodils. I hear tell of apple and pear blossoms, kids and lambs, and Easter egg hunts. Around here, spring seems reluctant. There's tell-tale mud, to be sure. But there's still snow. And nothing is blooming. When I look up into the trees, they look as quiet and… Continue reading Hidden spring
It was long overdue, but none of us were ready for it earlier. So, into the basement and closets it all went: the treasures, the flotsam and jetsam of H's childhood. Until this week, when M pulled all the boxes into the living room and began to sort. Decks of cards (some still wrapped in… Continue reading Tick tock
A Sunday in late winter. Just at that point in the season where, if you put a certain album on the stereo, settle yourself into the chair by the window, tilt your face up to the strengthening sunlight, close your eyes and ignore the wind outside and the eight-foot pile of snow that's accumulated on… Continue reading Here and elsewhere
I've heard the reports. Negative abysmal temperatures again tonight. Let's just pretend, shall we? Let's say we're in that cottage by the ocean. You know the place. We've just unloaded the car and are hurriedly running around to see what's changed since last year, claiming bedrooms, putting the sheets we'd packed only hours ago onto… Continue reading Denial is an ocean
The buoy bell was a housewarming gift from M's family when we bought this little chunk of Vermont all those years ago. Back then, if you remember, the house was up near the road. Far down the slope of a yard stood some ancient apple trees. M took an old hank of rope, threaded it… Continue reading The bell behind our lives
Sunday morning, making waffles. You can't do this stealthily if you're going to use the egg whipper. And you can't make these waffles without the whipper. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ This is the first in a (probably irregular) series of posts that will include sounds and images recorded at the same time and location.
