Artie

The house is hollow without Biscuit.  I couldn't be there either.  Artie bolted out the door when I arrived and hopped into the car. We went for our usual walk and thought about him without saying so.  We saw hawks along the way, beautiful hawks. This road was one of his favorites.

The hard part is going back.  Biscuit would shuffle behind me as I prepared the kibble, barking Hurry up, Hurry up as I would fill his bowl.  Sparkling eyes looking to mine.  Biscuit-bliss. He guzzled his dinner so loudly we would have to giggle.  When he finished, he would wait patiently while she finished hers and then as if we weren't noticing, he would sashay over to her bowl and lap up the tidbits she faithfully left for him. But tonight was different. While I was making her dinner, Artie shot from room to room to room, crying, looking, looking...

As I put her bowl down, it clunked into the awkward silence of Biscuit's absence. I used to think that an absence such as this created an echo--that each movement through a fixed routine would recall some small vibration of what was missing.  There would be something familiar in that.  Something reassuring.  A sense of I still hear you. But tonight, each step through our routine called forth nothing-ness, an awkward void of absence.

I had to leave quickly.  I couldn't help her.  She'll figure it out.  I bolted from the house to my car.  I looked up and saw clouds, and the hawks.  Concord grapes still scent the air.  The road home was soft, beautiful.  I passed the orchard on the hill where the three of us used to run.  I looked at it awhile, and kept looking more.  It was one of his favorites...

Henry Revisited

Henry is still in the driveway.  I can hardly believe it.  As we were taking our Sunday morning walk after the September wedding, there he was, as unassuming as ever.  I noticed he was having a yard sale this time and so we stopped to once again say hello.  He didn't have much to say, but that's so Henry.  He works very hard, you know.


I first met Henry in May 2010 when he was perched in this very same driveway doing his very same driveway thing.  At the time, I was immediately captivated by his Zelig-like relationship to the driveway. It appeared that the driveway was an extension of his being, that it grew  right out of his legs and body. Henry's apparent Oneness with his Driveway gave me goose bumps, a few chuckles, and a blog post.  I was instantly smitten with him and I've wondered about him many times since that day in May.

I was delighted to have the chance to see him again in action, this time overseeing a fabulous end-of-season yard sale. His partner says that even though Henry refuses to retire from his Oneness work, his back legs are giving out, and at fifteen years old, age is truly taking its toll. 

As we were leaving, he assumed his usual spot in the center of the driveway.  I looked back one more time.  He was perfect in every way. I hope I see him again but then again, knowing Henry and his Oneness powers,  I'm not so sure I'll know it if I do.

Biscuit

Dear sweet Old Man,

You did such a good job.

I will never forget you.

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? ; )