Rhythm and Routine

Written 10/1

"Too heavy. Daddy do it."

"No, you can do it. Come on, we need to get going."
"Time to feed cows?"

"Yep, they're getting hungry. Let's go, Mister."

Ryan climbs down from his tricycle and hurries over to where the two-litre sized bottle awaits him. He bends his knees and uses both arms to lift it, shifting his weight backwards to support the load.

"Gotta do chores, dad?"

"Yep, feed the cows. Then we'll get the eggs."

"Chicken eggs? Ryan do it! No, Ryan do it, Dad."

I watch from the front porch, listening in as their voices grow fainter from distance. Dad, his hand wide and strong enough to effortlessly carry the bottle, son, focusing all his attention on keeping the awkward item from dropping. Phil walks slowly next to his charge, explaining and discussing in simple terms, the gentle coaxing from earlier effectively switching him from goal-mode to dad-mode.

And isn't that what so much of parenting is, anyway? Willingness to slow down, explain, interact, enjoy. In the busy-ness of everything else it's so easy to miss these small opportunities which are so important to their growth and character.

"I did it, Mom!" the triumphant call of my son echoes minutes later. He ambles back to the house, arms piled high with empty calf bottles. "All done now!"

I can hear the hum of the fans blowing in the distance, drying out the corn or beans harvested just a tad bit early. The sun bounces off the fields in the distance, the landscape softened by endless rows of corn and the cordouroy of soybean fields. Waves of farmland stretching for miles and miles.

The emptiness of it can be so serene. And yet, these past few weeks I have found myself longing for water. Maybe it's the extended summer or simply that my Washington-born bones need some moisture, but the everlasting sun and the wide-open expanse leaves me longing for the security of tall evergreens and dense clouds.

Ryan, done with "chores" finds a stick three times his length and proceeds to run around in the front yard, almost to the road and back, the wide, steep ditch serving as bunker, slide, and cave. He loves it. Outside- so in his element- a fish in water.
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Written 4 Days Ago

Today for the first time in many, many days, we had rain. Beautiful, drizzly, curl up and read a book, start a fire and make some bread rain. Summer, with it's beaufiful days and cut-grass smell is finally giving way to crisp, cool, smoky autumn. I think I'm ready.

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Written Today

The past week has been a constant Washington-esque stream of weather. It feels like a nice, cozy hug. My element, if you will. I mentioned this to a friend at church, and she looked pointedly at me, and said "You might not want to mention that to the farmers out here." Indeed, this break from endless summer and my excuse to cozy up inside has hampered many a farmer from their harvest. A stressful time already, the rain is no friend of theirs.

Armed with this reminder, I keep quiet about my contentment regarding the weather, and have started supplying them with pumpkin bread. Hey, if you can't make money and have to worry, at least you can eat good food, right? I'm sure they see it that way - ha!

Monday night we visited some friends of ours who live about 20 miles away. They blessed us with two laundry baskets full (we don't measure in bushels) of pears. HUGE wonderful for canning pears. This bit of produce along with maybe one more batch of spiced apples will round out my canning season, which is really, really exciting for me.

The boys and I are settling down nicely into a routine. Or maybe that's too formal a word- but we are getting better together. My big kid is getting so "old" everyday, and my little one delights us as well with cooing and smiles. I find myself so full of delight with the both of them, and I can't wait for years to come.

One of Ryan's favorite games is bringing pretend drinks and food for me to try. Yesterday, he balanced a small foam basketball on top of a drinking glass. He walked into where I was, and announced that it was indeed ice cream. Cookie ice cream. And that I should take a bite. When I pretended to take a huge mouthful, he stood back, watched with particular glee, and said "Liddle Bites, MOM! Liddle bites!" "Oh, Sorry Ryan," I replied, and pursed my lips to take a mini-bite. Again he watched intently. Then, with a bit of mischief, squealed "Its Sour!!" Like, HA! I tricked you! This is not cookie ice cream after all! It's really sour ice cream, you silly lady! Squirm! Pucker! "Liddle Bite!"