The Seed is in the Ground

The seed is in the ground.
Now may we rest in hope
While darkness does its work.

-Wendell Berry

A poem for when your losses press hard

A gracious Sabbath stood here while they stood
Who gave our rest a haven.
Now fallen, they are given
To labor and distress.
These times we know much evil, little good
To steady us in faith
And comfort when our losses press
Hard on us, and we choose,
In panic or despair or both,
To keep what we will lose.

For we are fallen like the trees, our peace
Broken, and so we must
Love where we cannot trust,
Trust where we cannot know,
And must await the wayward-coming grace
That joins living and dead,
Taking us where we would not go–
Into the boundless dark.
When what was made has been unmade
The Maker comes to His work.

by Wendell Berry, emphasis mine.

Today's weather

Warmer than yesterday:

It's springtime on the prairie.

Public Service Announcement

Posted on the bathroom door:

 

What does it mean that the adults in the house merely participated this affair, rather than doing something to remedy the problem?

Gardening in the snow

There is only one logical thing to do when it's springtime, but the garden is still frozen and the snow is still falling.

You plant seeds.  One seed for each cell of an empty egg carton: celery, tomatoes, Brussels sprouts, ground cherries, marigolds, eggplant.

We make a place for birds to sing/ in time to come -Wendell Berry

The Flesh is Weak

Mom said, "Kiddo, it's time to get dressed."

After Mom left the room, he mumbled, "No, I don't think I will."
Dad asked, "What did you say?"
"I wasn't talking to you.  I was just talking to my brain.  It's trying to tell me what to do, and I'm trying to tell it I don't want to."
"Oh? What was your brain telling you to do?"
"It was telling me that I should listen to my mom, but I'm trying to tell it I don't want to."
"Maybe your brain is trying to tell you that because it's a good idea."
"No, sometimes it just says weird things like that.  Like sometimes, when I'm playing on the little computer,* it tells me that it's too loud and it's hurting my ears, and I should turn the volume down.  But I'm afraid if I do that, then I wouldn't hear what Vee* was telling me to do, so I try to tell my brain that I'm not going to turn the volume down."
"Maybe sometimes you could try meet your brain halfway?"



*Our Kindle
*The talking street lamp from Chuggingtons

Goodbye, garden

Hello, root cellar?

Okay... I can't take credit for the popcorn. 

Okay, not quite.  First off, this room is much too warm and dry to be a true root cellar.  Furthermore, it wouldn't be prudent to store jars in a damp place.  However, with a few modifications, such as adding a second door, insulating the inside walls, scooting the shelves out a couple of inches, and installing an air-intake pipe for ventilation, this room would be well on it's way to becoming a root cellar.

Funny that I know this kind of stuff.  Seems I've recently become obsessed with root cellars after reading this book: 

 My husband says this obsession makes me weird. My father says I was born three generations too late. I'd probably agree with both of them.  But how cool would it be to fill this basement storage room with bushels of apples, pounds of potatoes, heads of cabbage, and crates of carrots? Or is it just me?