fairysockmother

On March 1st, the gnomes disappeared from my family room. I allowed them to stay through February because it was still winter but, in my mind at least, March should be spring. In spring, gnomes should be banished and mine were but I’m thinking it was premature. The house cats are still huddled in front of the fire in the kitchen and I curl up with a hot drink and a blanket every time I sit down to read. I am freezing when I work at the computer. My hands are like ice. The furnace turns on constantly. This is not spring!

I did see one lone daffodil spike sticking out of the soil when I got the mail yesterday. I was encouraged but oh, the wind was wicked! The sun had lured me out with nothing but a hooded sweatshirt on and I soon saw that was a mistake. The spruces were whipping back and forth and leaves skittered across the front walk. Two climbing rose tendrils grabbed me as I passed the arbor, and they followed me halfway down the stone steps, embedded in my hood.

The angle of the sun has changed. It’s setting later and that extra golden light is deceptive. It used to be dark when I finished work by 5. Now it’s still light enough to retrieve the mail at 6:15 but that doesn’t mean it’s warm. Last night, it started to snow as I was coming up from the mailbox. My mother always said that March snow doesn’t last because of the angle of the sun but that’s cold comfort!

The barn cats swarm by the kitchen door waiting for dinner. With no horses, the barn isn’t as warm as it used to be. They arrive for meals covered in hay. My cats sleep in piles, like the beasts in Where the Wild Things Are. Numbers bring comfort and protection, and promote fights over the food bowl! In this kind of weather, I have to refill their water multiple times a day because it keeps freezing. I’m longing for those summer evenings when I fed the cats on the porch and sat in a wicker chair for an hour just watching them eat and play. Then, there were always one or two on my knee, languid and furry. I could just relax, pat kitties, and smell the roses on the trellis. Now I can’t wait to go inside after patting each fluffy head. The cats can’t wait to head for the barn either before the sun has set and any remaining warmth seeps out of the day.

I’m thinking I have done the gnomes a disservice. They are just on the top shelf of the cupboard. It will only take a minute to get them out. I’m thinking, at this point, maybe March is more winter than spring and I’ve been fostering an illusion!

The front door of my farmhouse faces directly east, with an additional door opening in each of the other directions: north, south, and west. It is the sole remaining building of a large farm and acreage that wound its way between layers of limestone down to the infamous Slippery Rock Creek.

The barn, that met its end before my parents purchased the property in 1940, was built of stone. Though a few remnants of its former construction can be found under the twists and tangles of knee high grass across the road, the majority of the stone was used to build extensive walls around the house. A high stone wall supports the front yard, making two 45 degree turns to accommodate wide stone steps that lead down to the road where our rural mailbox stands.

The driveway is lined with stone walls which have been adjusted many times over the years as cars have become wider. Currently a pile of extra stone lies at the foot of the driveway in a heap around al Maple tree. My husband had always intended to ring the tree to make me another flower bed. I may still ask his cousin to do it.

The left wall of the driveway wraps around and follows the back walk. It rises almost 3 feet and is the home to chipmunks, mice, voles, moles, and the occasional snake. It too, hosts lovely stone steps and terminates in the rock garden where my mother tended her wildflowers for years.

The one step into our family room is a huge foundation stone. I fell and broke my kneecap on it once but that never dimmed it’s beauty for me. The step up onto the front walk through the arbor of trumpet vine is a lintel from the old barn. It is a gorgeous old relic and I feel like patting it whenever I go by.

Each of these stones is living a second life – not the one they were (literally) cut out for. They no longer house horses and cows feeling their moist breath misting the walls in winter. Nor do they hold the sweet smell of newly baled hay in summer. Now they lie in the summer sun, a fine furry moss dusting their angles. They are no less valuable, no less beautiful. Were they crushed for gravel, they would still be useful and I have no doubt that children would fill their pockets with the most beautiful specimens. We could never be so placid among life’s changes but then rocks don’t have feelings. Or do they?

Photo by Burst on Pexels.com

After a sizzling summer in Western Pennsylvania, September has entered in with enough rain to drench us to the core. I feel guilty complaining when others are dealing with hurricanes but this has been a year of overabundance – just too much of everything. I find I haven’t used my porch much at all because it was too hot. The fabric for new porch furniture cushions is in a bag by the sewing machine. Maybe next year I will make them.

I feel I have left a long list of unfinished chores this year. I was going to paint the wicker chairs and couch, also the black metal table. I had a tall cupboard I was going to antique, closets to declutter, and a whole lot of writing to do. Unfortunately, none of it has been done.
Today, I had no appointments so I sat myself down and spent the afternoon writing. I wrote 1000 words on a Work in Progress and I’m catching up on my blog. I’ve decided that maybe things aren’t accomplished in great swathes of time. (As when my dear brother, sister-in-law, and sister took a week of their summer to help me get my grounds in order since I no longer have my husband to help me.) Maybe, just maybe, some things can be done in 15 minutes or half an hour. Maybe, a pillow can be cut out, not sewn, or stuffed, just cut after dinner. Maybe some editing can happen in half an hour, or three shirts folded and put in a box for Goodwill.
I know God made the world in 6 days but I think he had much better organizational skills than I do. I’m tired when I get home from work. I have a huge amount of reading to do but I think I can find 15 minutes or half an hour every day to accomplish something on my list. And I think it will make me feel better about myself if I do! I’m going to try anyway. I’ll let you know how it’s going.