Pig and farm report
Welcome to the Sunday edition of the pig and farm report. It is bloody cold out here on the island 41° this morning. My lilacs refuse to open my herb garden looks like the saddest bit of vegetable you find in the bottom of your refrigerator bin in autumn and forget about planting tomatoes those ruby beating hearts. Still it is unbearably beautiful when the sun shines and the rain makes my yard smell like the most intense lovely day you can imagine from camp in utter girlhood. Bunnies are still hopping about deer still play statue in the yard and the rhododendrons that grow everywhere in my yard carry on voracious and bright. Spring continues in spite of wool trousers cashmere sweaters heavy blankets and the propane fire blazing from dawn until bedtime not to mention snuggly cats.
Today is difficult for me. The echo of mother precious mother that is everywhere today strikes my ear as vinegar my mother being the sort of person to prove that just because you can procreate doesn’t mean you should. I guess that’s all I have to say about it but those who know know and those who don’t carry on believing that we all had brilliant loving parents. I did go to the grocery this morning and the smell of flowers and guilt for sale at every cash register was palpable. I listened to John Lennon wailing on my car radio on the way home. Maybe all my dials really have flown off.
That’s it for today. Look how beautiful my front yard is blazing in frozen sunlight.
posted by Radish King at 1:03 PM
6 Comments:
MOTHER, you left me. But I never left you.
God. John.
A scream, a cry, a question, an answer.
I do know.
I love you so much.
Yes, those of us that know-know. Love your yard. It is snowing now in my Montana city.
I just realized that I didn't think of my own mother yesterday. Not even once. She died in 2001. I think of her still, I look like her. But time is fading her.
I wish we could cut our mothers out and step through the holes entirely free of them.
I'm so glad your house is all a snuggle with cats and blankets and hottest gassy heat and that the outside is bated with promise.
I have always loved you and the swarming current of you that drags me under then tosses me up so high. Like the water. And that is love.
You will finally exorcise her out.
Rebecca, the lesser.
Yes, those of us that know, know. Much love and hope your lilacs open very soon.
Xoxo
Barbara
I had a good not perfect mother, I am a lucky one, and yet mother's day still feels pinched and mean to me, the insistence that mother's be perfect, when no such thing is possible.
But oh, Rebecca, what beautiful woods you walk through.
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