Little Eli

Meet Eli.  He's five months old and I walked him today.  He's so cute that I can't look away. 

He makes my eyes water.

Wedding Gift

Dear Mark and Genilson and Everyone who was there,

Well, a week has gone by and I still cry when I think about you.  So does Mom.  I've thought all week about what I might say to you and how I might thank you but my thoughts inevitably carry me back to your garden and that magnificent blue sky above you, leaving me short on words that capture my thoughts.

Every detail was exquisite and reflected your extraordinary thoughtfulness.  Though I was not the least bit surprised by it, I was deeply moved by all the ways you cared for us. I have many favorite memories--the pink buggy, the pails of blue and white flowers, your clever photographs, Ed and Randy so carefully tending to the garden, Timmy's popcorn with truffle oil and truffle salt (oh. my. God.), your menus of music, Sara's poem and Matthew's very profound words, Michael's toast and Andre's charming antics, chatting with Anulak and Mark, Julia's daughters--Julia(!), the town crier, the priceless cell phone moment, waking each morning to the glow of a Provincetown sunrise, dancing with Rachel and Wendy...There were so many wonderful moments I will happily remember for years to come.

But the one detail I cherish most was as invisible as it was obvious.  At the moment we gathered together, you said your vows to each other.  And as we grew quiet and stood there with you, we witnessed not only how right it is that you marry each other, but also how right your marriage is for all of us who know you.  To stand in unison with those who love you as I do--and who are so easily and generously loved back by you--is a gift I will never forget, or let go.   Your love married us all to you...and to each other.  I am so happy that I could be part of such love.

Thank you for joining us together. Your love and marriage is truly a gift to us all.

Love always,
A.

Photos by Richard and Anulak

Why I Love Springdell Farm

A Basket of Summer

Springdell Farm is a treasure.  I drive by the stand almost everyday and if I don't stop, I always give a little nod. It's a small roadside stand--no grocery carts, no sliding glass doors, no freezing cold air conditioning, no strawberries in October or zucchini in March, and positively no indifference to the land, their animals, their customers, or to the quality of their offerings. Chickens greet customers, and Farmer Joe, the old Corgi, is always snoozing nearby. And they learn their customers by name...

I've been a regular for many years and like many others, I know that the very essence of New England's summer can be tasted right here. This is a basket of heart and soul--a legacy of the sun, the soil, the rains, and many pairs of hands and hooves, and many generations...all culminating in the soft juicy peach, and the sweet crisp corn. What I love most is the way the family of Springdell Farm cares for what they do.  You can see that in they way they label their baskets of fruits and vegetables, and in the way nothing goes to waste.  You can hear it in the way they greet customers, and in the tones of their voices. And you can taste their dedication in each bite--simple, fleshy, fresh, and clean.

After a weekend of schlepping the last girl to her new Amherst apartment (no more drive to Ithaca!), I was pooped. Though it was fun, in less than 24 hours I had made two round trips, and assembled a bed, a computer desk, a computer chair, a bureau, a night table, and a book case. Coming home to a transitory-inspired house and too lacking in energy to re-settle it, I headed for Springdell to collect some things for my dinner.

In my bleary stupor, my eyes had fixed on pink gladiolus.  So stunning.  A rooster was wandering around the car.  Jamie was sorting vegetables for the day and shouted a cheerful hello.  The counters had been stocked with freshly harvested fruits, vegetables and flowers.  There was a basket of their own wool and some pretty photographs. Meats, eggs, butter and cheese were in coolers.  Joe was asleep against a back wall.  Everything was in its place.  It was like standing in the middle of home--not my house-home, but the home of our world--our seasons and our rhythms, our summer, our New England.

To my surprise and delight, Jamie offered me this beautiful basket of fruits and vegetables.  Someone had neglected to take the order and the yield represented too much goodness to go to waste.  I was only too happy to oblige.  Her kindness brought tears to my eyes as I drove home.  She works so hard.  They all do.  I believe they move us forward by bringing us all back to the simple earth and the heart of it all.  This is what I love so much about Springdell Farm.

antecipacao...

hey m and ge...

while i was running around town on errands today, i got your email with the last minute details.  i stopped everything i was doing to read it. my favorite part--the part that made me cry--was every single word you wrote.   each word had its own little heartbeat that came from you.  and your happiness....well, my eyes--joytears.

i think of the thousands of miles you've traveled to get to here, and i think of the thousands of miles we've all traveled to join you in this very spot--and this three-week moment begins the best part of the very best part.  i'm savoring your anticipation, our anticipation.

i know you're both probably busy running around town on errands, but i wanted to stop all that for a minute to tell you that we're all right here with you, every last step of the way... and yes, ecstatic.

much love back,
a.
ps.  mind if i use your pictures? ; )

Riley Came Home!

The very best of news from Terry, late last night... 

"Riley was found tonight by some very nice people off of Martins Pond Rd. He was within 1/4 mile of where he went missing. He is home with now and none for the worse for wear, many brambles and needs a bath. The person who recognized him did so from the may flyers we put up all over town and especially on the rail trail. He ripped my phone number off the bottom of the flyer and used it to call me tonight. His family and a friend were able to surround the truck Riley was hiding under while he called us and met us at the end of lost lake and took us up to his barn where the truck was. As soon as he heard Janet's voice calling him he came out and into her arms. He was one happy Sheltie. I picked him up and put him in the car and drove him home.  Janet and I wish to thank all the people whom have supported us in our search for Riley. They are so many that if I tried to name them I would surely forget some one, so once again Janet and I thank all of you from the bottom of our heart!

Terry & Janet"

Happy beyond belief.

Riley, Come Home!

Dear Friends,

Please please please keep your eyes open for Riley, a sweet little three year old Sheltie who is on the loose somewhere in the Groton area.  He was last seen on the Rail Trail. His owners, Terry and Janet, appreciate your help in finding him.  Call the number on the poster if you see him.  The more people who look, the better the chances that he gets found. I'm told that he likes treats!

He's such a sweet looking boy.

Come home soon, fella...

xoxo

A Goodbye

It's been two years--already.

Two years since I started Verging my day to day.

A beginning that started at an ending, the Verge has given me great comfort, friends, and joy.  The Verge has been my tree house of words and observations--a place to climb to and whisper, or to lay back and watch the wind sway the trunk against a firm blue sky.  Verging has marked the rest stops along the way and provided me with mile markers, each one pointing out what's Right Here, and Right Now.

But last night...

Last night I had a vivid dream and you were in it.  We happily spoke. So happily. I was  grateful-joyful about that chance.  It had been two years since your sudden departure.  I knew this in the dream--and so did you.  In this bizarre chance meeting, you told me about your life since then, and I told you about mine.  I was happy for you--you were happy for me.  No knots.

When I woke, I was crying, my face damp with silent and urgent tears.  I was startled by it.  Startled, again. It's as if they were nudging me to say so.  To say these things. To write these things....

...to tell you.

We never really said goodbye.  It happened so fast and abruptly.  You didn't want to prolong the ending--and I just wanted one more conversation.  I just wanted to catch my breath, to think, to talk, to understand...to grasp it. But at your wish, our parting was absolute.  Final.  One shot, a clean cut. To a large extent, you were right.  It might have dragged on, yes.  I can see that.  And you were always the wiser about hard things. But then you vanished into the commuter crowd as you boarded the train--suddenly absorbed into a memory--forever. And I stood near the platform unable to breathe.

As you can see (and I don't even know if you know about the Verge), life has gone on here.  And very well.  I couldn't have a more beautiful life today.  I don't say that in a ha-ha-ha way..but more as a sort of Aha. An aha to myself. Life has gone on. The girls--amazing.  My family, close.  I love (adore) my job and my friends.  I have a dog now.  I still meditate.  And knit.

But there is a little piece of me still standing on the train platform, waiting.

Waiting for what, I didn't know. Until last night.  My dream....

My dream was no accident.  When I woke this morning, I checked--it was two years ago to the day.  It has been two years of silence.  Two years of letting go.  Two years of never hearing your voice again. Two years of silently saying goodbye to you alone in my head, morning (mourning) after morning (mourning)...after morning (mourning).

It's not that I have regrets or miss you.  But I miss that we never spoke again. If we had just been able to talk through our ending as thoughtfully as we had talked through our beginning, I would have acknowledged my shortcomings. I would have asked to light a candle and to share a poem. I would have asked for a more gentle landing--a compassionate farewell, and I would have said thank you.  I would have held your hand and said goodbye, but slowly.  And bravely. Do you still have pain?  I hope you don't.  How is your mother?  Are you healthy? Do you still pray before breakfast?  Are you happy?

I had planned to wrap up the Verge for good after two years.  I've said that out loud several times to several people.  My life is wonderfully and chaotically routine.  Sometimes I think putting words to it diminishes the preciousness of my experience.  But two years is long enough.

So here it is.  It's time.  With this post I have reached a conclusion. I've said all that I needed to say here.
I am letting you go, finally, on my terms, as I've needed to do for so long. I've needed to say these words out loud. I've needed to put the period at the end of your sentence.

But The Verge will go on.  I have new things to write about. Plus, I love writing. I have a home in this virtual tree house. But instead of writing my way from that train platform, I will be writing my way forward, a bit freer, a bit more settled.  Two years is indeed long enough.  Period.

Buckle your seat belt, Mercy.  We're going for a ride.