The chicken coop got delivered by an Amish man named Reuben two days ago. The chickens are now moved out of the upstairs bathroom which is coated in a sort of dust from their weeks of growing in adolescent feathers, and out into a little grassy, fresh air paradise of their own. They are the sweetest girls (I'm sure 2 are roosters so we are down to 8 potential egg-layers).
In a few days I go to visit a friend on the coast of Massachusetts.
I have been trundling wheelbarrow-fulls of leaf mulch-turned-soil to the raised bed (soon to be plural), needing to get the strawberry plants my mom gave me in the ground. Cedar and I planted raspberry and blueberry bushes this week, and a peach tree.
Tomorrow the dahlia and crocus bulbs, the other peach tree, a pear tree, 3 more blueberry bushes, and possibly the asparagus get planted, after I get home from work.
Today we drove down to have lunch with Tim, as one day a weekend he sleeps at his mom's house near the hospital where he works in order to save on time driving. We went to the Japanese Cherry Blossom Festival at Morris Arboretum. The parts of trees in color were like balm. I'm over winter. I'm over being cold.
The bluebells were out.
Inspiration is elusive. So often I am driving, or happily laying in bed, or on a walk and I think of some clear, important thing I want to share. To write about. I think, I surely won't forget that. I make a mental note. I look forward to exploring that idea. And then when the time comes when I can write, it is gone.
It's okay. In my twenties I used to journal desperately, chronicling something each day as if my existence depended on it. Like I would disappear without proof. Last night I was watching Interstellar and there was a line in it that I've been thinking over, When you become a parent you're the ghost of your child's future. Your whole perspective on life changes as you watch your child change on a daily basis. Almost before you know what you had, it is gone, changed into something else. Soon you will be gone too, only a memory for the loved ones left behind, just like our grandparents and great-grandparents are or will be. Whole lives lived of family I never knew, perhaps whom I resemble strongly without knowing. It could be depressing but instead makes me feel a little lighter. We all do the best we can, we all strive towards our beliefs and ideals and in the end, it matters, even if no one remembers. It was just as hard and confusing and joyous for them.
Where did all that living go? Is it still around us somehow, permeating the air, steeped in our body and genetic memories, inspiring us and guiding us although we don't realize it?
I hope so.
Everyone has had a childhood. I know the effort that takes now, to make sure he has a good one. It breaks my heart to know that so many kids right now are having awful ones.
After having Cedar I feel overlapped with women far, far away, women I don't even know, maybe just see in a picture, or in a window, and women from the pasts of all cultures. Civilizations rose and fell and we mothers just went on loving, giving, trying.