en vélo

I'm not a very athletic person. Actually, scratch that, I'm not at all an athletic person.  I hate sports. Watching them, playing them, listening to them. And  I really hate doing them. I'm the girl sitting in a corner reading a book during the Superbowl. Even then, I'd rather not even be in the same room. So it's been a little bit of a shock to find that I love to bicycle.

It's not that I've never bicycled before. I've had a bike almost all of my life. And it shouldn't come as that big of a surprise. I biked all the time as a kid. Around the neighborhood, in the snow, to school and back again.  My first bike was a purple monster of a thing with a long white banana seat that my parents found at the church rummage sale where I think it had once belonged to a succession of minister's children. It took me a long time to learn to ride it. In fact, I was so chicken of falling off of it that I traded it for a little while to a friend who loaned me her smaller (read: lower to the ground) bike until I was ready for the big dog. But once I had it mastered, I flew. It was a source of freedom, a way to go beyond the walkable limits of the invisible boundary that marked the difference between the known and the unknown. I rode it like a demon to my school one day to tell the parent of a teenager who had wrecked her car in front of my house what had happened (she was fine and I felt like a super hero). I fell off it trying to ride without hands and jammed my thumb so badly that I can still pop it in and out of joint on command. And when I outgrew it I got a shiny red 10-speed for Christmas which is probably second only to my cat old Nicholas in the category of Best Christmas Present Ever.

I rode my bike a little in college, and then later here and there in my adult life. But somehow I lost that love of biking. I'm going to say it has to do with that lack of athleticism I mentioned earlier. I don't like to get all hot and sweaty with exercise. I wish I did, but I don't. So the hills and heat and ice of the various places we've lived have turned me off to biking up to this point

But now I remember. I remember that old feeling of freedom. I know most people get that when they learn to drive but I hate driving. Even as a teenager I didn't like it. It feels like a chore rather than an escape. But on a bike?

I can ride here. Everywhere. Portland is a bike town and although I knew that, I never really got that before. Bikes are everywhere, and in so many different and weird combinations you almost can't call some of them bikes. It's not flat, not totally. But it's doable. Oh sure, I thought I was going to die of exhaustion the first time I rode up the hill to our house from school. It still takes my breath away, but I'm getting better. And even with the work, the fun of riding is worth it. I've ridden in the glorious spring sun and the typical Oregon rain and I'm sure the summer heat will make it harder but I plan to keep on biking. I see the city in a way I never did in a car. I see the stars and the bridges and the bright houses with their Tibetan prayer flags on the porch. Last night I rode down a street lined with blooming plums, so many that the scent was almost dizzying. When I have to get back into the car to drive somewhere further than I'm ready to bike (yet) I find that I'm grumpy and irritable. Who wants to be in a car? Give me back my bike. Beast-like, heavy as hell and (once again) purple, it's cheap and the gears suck and at some point I should get a *real* bike, but it has a basket on the front for my yarn and my book and it takes me where I want to go, or at least as far as my legs will carry me. Bike On.

digging in

Oh the garden. It seems like it's been a looooong time in coming. And it's still not done. Not that it will ever really be done. Or big enough. But I mean done enough to plant. We've got plants and sets to go in and I think we are past our frost date. I think. I hope.

Because we've got so many things that need to be done in the spring- grass to plant, flowers to put in, trees to chop down, firewood to get in and stack, chickens to chicken dance with, the garden will be smaller than I'd like this year an the paths are just hard ground with patches of mulch here and there where we filled low places. But still, there's soil and walls to keep it (sort of) in. So we are almost there. Ready to plant.

Since we've got a lot (a LOT) of fallen rotted wood and leaf mulch laying around, we are trying something new this year. Hugelkultur, which I found while puttering around Pinterest looking at woodland gardens. The idea, as I understand it, is to fill the bed up mostly with rotted wood and then composted leaf mulch and then soil on the top. The plan being that the wood both rots into nice, mulch soil eventually and in the meantime it hold water from the rain, releasing it to the plants as needed. At least that's the plan. We'll see if it actually works once we have all the soil in and the plants planted.

Where are you in your garden plans for the summer?

green green mountains

It happened all of a sudden. For so long it's been everything but green. Reds and yellows and ambers in fall. And then the brown of stick season and the white of winter. And the yuck of mud. It felt like the green would never come back and then one weekend, it was. Green, green as far as you can see. Every drive is breathtaking. Every view is beautiful. Zipping down the highway puts me in awe, once again, that I get to live here. Green is my favorite color and this week I have been remembering how enchanted I was with all it's shade when we first moved here. It hasn't worn off. In fact, I think it's only gotten worse.

prepping

Thank goodness spring evenings are long. Time enough between dinner - which has lately been eaten hurridly on the porch instead of at the table, the better to get it doen quickly and get outside - and bedtime to have a few precious hours of time in the yard. I won't say garden, because it isn't, yet, but we're getting there. There are so many things I want to do to the yard, too many. Landscaping and grass for playing and tree thinning here and planting there and the vegetable garden and the bee yard and the chicken yarn and a place to sit and eat and laze the summer days away. Too many to realiztically get it done this year. I keep reminding myself that there will be other springs and summers to turn our little bit of neglected woods into the something we have in mind.

Right now we are focusing on the impending needs. Seedlings that need to go into the ground in the next week, bees that will arrive in a matter of days, chickens that need to be bought before it becomes too hard to find what we want. So it's a few beds, instead of many. And if the coop is unpainted for a while, well, so be it. There is no pretty path to the bee yard, just an area wide enough to walk where the blackberries have (I hope) been whacked back into oblivion (the rest have been left alone because...well...blackberry honey sounds pretty good, doesn't it?) There is a lot of bare earth where the bread oven or the flower beds or the grill or the grass will go, when we get to it. In time. I just have to keep chanting that. All in good time.

lake days

We spent the evening at the lake, for the first time since early fall. Hauling fishing poles and knitting baskets and digging buckets and blankets and dinner down to the shore. It's funny, its such a small lake, almost a big pond really. If we wanted we could drive to Lake Champlain or the Green Mountain Reservoir, bigger, fancier lakes. But we don't, at least not often. We come here. To this little lake we love.

Briton, who has a hard time sitting still for much of anything, can fish for hours, standing silently on the edge of the water, watching his bobber for the slightest twitch. He and Will wander down the paths, through the tall grass, to the quite spots they know the fish like. I sit on the bank, knitting, reading, watching the ducks and geese and hawks. Evelyn traipses back and forth between. Fishing for a moment, and then back to the beachy edge to look for tadpoles. Last night she discovered a rock just a few feet into the water, just the right size for her feet and nothing else. It wasn't there last summer. It might not be there next week. Who knows. She waded out to it ans stood there, watching the waves, dancing, singing her new favorite song - "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" It looked a little like she was standing on water. My little nymph.

For a long time we were the only ones there, which is my favorite way to find our lake. Quiet and still. The kids like it when there is a crowd. Dogs and kids and canoes and people. But I love it when it's just us. It feels like the most beautiful place in the world. The lake. The sky. The tress. The four of us.

warm enough

It's warm enough to play outside. For hours and hours and hours. To wade in the creek and catch the first baby minnows. To tromp down the bike path and find hidden treasures. Flowers we didn't know were there, wild strawberry plants, the fairy house porch with little plants growing in the flowerpots after the long winter. To play catch (away from the windows please!) and eat dinner on the front steps and come inside for the night exhausted and filthy and happy.

Glorious, wonderful spring.

well hello old friend

We have only been down to the resting log once since the snow started falling in earnest. The path down is a little steep and precarious at the best of times, and covered with ice and snow was downright dangerous. But the last of the snow has officially gone, even from the little shady spots where it seemed like it would last forever. So down to the creek we went.

The water is still icy cold. Too cold to stand in while you dig new channels or search for that perfect rock. But there is plenty of bank to play on, and flat stones to try to skip across the water. And the resting log is still there, waiting for us to stop and sit and stay awhile. Maybe not as long as we will this summer. The wind whips along the little ravine and we end up chilly after a short stop, ready to head home for hot chocolate. But it's nice to see our old friend the resting log again.

sunlight

I had forgotten, though the long winter months of watery sunshine, how intense the sun can be here. I'm not sure if it's the altitude or the latitude or the lack of pollution, or perhaps a combination of the three, but the sun, even on a day with still chilly temperatures, can seem scalding. It's deceptive because the temperature gauge on the wall might still be hovering in the forties but sweaters and hats are quickly shed and put back again as we move from sunshine to shade. Friday it was warm enough even for flip flops and sundresses. Bare skin that hadn't seen the sunshine for months was bared, shoulders got a little tan, shorts came out of the bottoms of drawers.

We spent most of yesterday outside digging the beginnings of a bioswale to help (we hope) make next mud season a little less....muddy...in front of our house. This is what comes of being married to an urban designer with sustainable leanings. Weekends spent on storm water management projects. We dug and shifted and played in the woods and felt almost hot. Glorious.

As long as it doesn't get too hot. That's why we live in Vermont after all.

walking through spring

Today it will be 72 degrees. I'm going to ignore the fact that we are still in for some below freezing evenings in the upcoming days and just focus on that gloriously warm number on the forecast for today. The kids went off to school is shorts and skirts and NO TIGHTS and sandals and I realized that I have needed to wear all three of these pairs of shoes this week. Snow, rain and sun. All together in a span of a few days. I suppose that's spring, though. Changeable. But still, I put the snowboots in the basement and I hope they stay there till next fall. I'll be ready to put them on again by then but for now....I'm ready for the sun.
Have a lovely, WARM weekend!

spring dash

We are a little bit overrun with sap at the moment. I collected it throughout the week last week for a weekend boil which got pushed to Monday. And by that time the buckets were overflowing again on the trees. The sap that I had from earlier in the week came out of the trees dark and boiled down to an almost molasses brown maple syrup. Today I'm boiling again, this time the sap is clear again so I'll be curious to see what we end up with. Delicious whatever the color though. I love the smell of the house when the syrup is finishing off, intensely mapley and sweet.

It is officially spring here. The beech trees are starting to bud out and the days are alternatly sunny and drizzly. April showers, which I hope will bring May flowers. Although we don't really ahve many flowers planted here yet. The snow receeds more and more each day, which is good for the garden but unfortunate if you are ten and like to spend yoru afternoon hours pretending that your backyard is the Hoth Rebel base. He's going to have to switch from TonTons to Ewoks (we are heavily into Star Wars at the moment).

Although it seems like it's been forever in coming, it also seems to have turned to spring overnight. The woodstove hasn't been lit in days, the kids try to sneak out the door in shorts and short sleeves. When the sun is out it's a bright yellow, not the white light of winter and the sky is blue blue. I remember being kind of fascinated by the blue of the spring sky when we came to visit before moving here. So blue. So clear.