Farm Feet

My mom’s birthday was two days ago.  It was a blessing to have the whole family together, including my lovely Aunt Donna.  The family met my Cousin and I in Costa Rica after we finished volunteering on the farm in Nicaragua.

The morning began with a looooong breakfast (just the way I like it, you can't rush a good meal) - fresh fruit plate, followed by an omelet filled with spinach, olives, roasted red peppers and feta cheese, and the grand finale.. warm French toast.
Oh my, it was good.

Afterwards we all got pedicures.  Well not Dad, just the girls.  I refused to get one with Mom until I finished my time on the farm.  It just wouldn’t have been worth it.  For me it had been quite a long time  since I had been pampered like that.  

I loved the scrubs, the smell of mint, the cooling gel in between my toes, her soft hands made me doze off a bit too.  Afterwards I didn’t recognize my feet.  So clean and polished, as if they were brand new. 

I rubbed them and yup, smooth as a baby’s bottom.  I get it now, why people love this so much.  Though I have to admit I felt a tinge of sadness afterwards. 

I felt like a little kid who had spent all afternoon building a sand castle in the sun and then a big wave came, washing it all away.  The last remnants of the farm were gone. 
The stories, the heat, the soil, the sweat, the joy.  

That sweet woman, bless her heart, picked every speck of dirt from under my nails.  I watched her intently as she took the huge toothpick like tool and erased it all.  She scrubbed the sides, bottoms, and tops of my feet, even in-between my toes with the brush to remove callus.

Callus I had worked hard to acquire.
Callus that made the really hard days not so bad.

I thanked my feet in my head as she worked.
Thank you for being my support.
Thanks for getting me up and down every hill. 

Thanks for not slipping on muddy rocks during the rainy season.  Well, we fell a few times, didn't we?  Though we always got back up again. 
Thanks for jumping on and of buses, buses that were often still in motion.  

Thanks for hiking 4 hours up that volcano with me.  And thanks for bringing me back down.

Yesterday I took off my shoes to examine them once more and smiled to see that a bit of polish had rubbed off.

Ah yes, there you are.   Imperfect feet, it's nice to see you again.  

Works of Art

I like spring.  

I especially like how it creeps up on you after a long, cold winter. 

 The season doesn't seem to burst all at once- 

revealing all it's delight in just one day.

 Like a decadent dessert - it must be savored with one, slow bite at a time.  

This post is extremely late but I had to show off natures works of art.  

Wandering a greenhouse with my sister & two dear friends made for an afternoon of being utterly amazed by these beauties.   

How does the yellow distribute so evenly against the white petals?  

It's as if someone came along and painted it by hand.

This one might be one of my favorites, reminds me of tie dye.  Or a firework.  

I like how dainty these are.  

A flower to hold other flowers.

Falling slowly...

in the shelter of each other.

I am finding out more and more, life is best when shared.  

Especially when you share it with really good people.

People who make you laugh so much your belly hurts 

and when you are together, you feel as though you just might burst,

 because you are that happy.

People who love this journey called life just as much as you do

 and despite feeling hesitant and sometimes scared to take the next step- 

walk anyways

 because they believe in hope.    

People who will drive 12 hours to see you.  

I am forever thankful for meeting you two.  

Sunday Monday Funday

This weekend we decided to make a mess in the kitchen.  

I encourage you to do the same.  

You too can have Sunday Monday Funday.  

Just grab a few, really great friends who like food just as much as you do 

and simply delight in their company.  

A couple of our do's and don'ts.

Do make homemade pasta.  

Do get out your rolling pin & flour, you're gonna need it.  

Don't order a pizza.

Do slice up an onion and saute it on the stove to be used as a topping.

Do grade lots of cheese.  

Don't hold in your excitement when you take the pizza out of the oven 

but do wait for it to cool before digging in.

Don't forget to eat your greens.

Do make homemade bread & wait patiently for the dough to rise. 

Do decide to make an extra loaf, because it's that good.  

my list of lovely things.

I thought since Valentine's Day is right around the corner I'd write down just a few, of the many things I love.  Cliche?  Maybe.  Any excuse to act a little sweeter, hold hands a bit longer and ramble on about things you delight in, is just fine by me though.  
  
a list of things I love...


When a really good friend calls you and they are really excited about something that has just happened and you can feel their joy through the phone.  The joy feels so close that you forget the phone is between you two and suddenly they aren't far away anymore but they are right there, sitting beside you & their bliss is just so contagious you can't help and feel it too.  


this poem.


When mom mails you a package because you are in a funk or just don't sound like yourself.  You don't tell her to send you anything but she does, because she cares and deep down she knows that you'd really appreciate it.  The best part?  Inside the box are a few words written on a scrap piece of paper that says, "Hi Maeve, I made a cheap card!  Hope you are doing well- Stay off the whiskey.  Fix your side view mirror - and put a snow shovel in your car!  Love Mom & Dad.  Take care and God bless you."


Meeting eyes with someone you don't know and smiling & they smile back.


Planning a potluck for someone really great and asking everyone to bring a dish- any dish.  And deep down you worry that maybe you should have planned better and told people what to bring because it is quite possible everyone could walk in with the same dessert or a bottle of wine [which really wouldn't be so bad].  But somehow you end up with a table full of the most delicious food you could have ever hoped for: fresh baked bread, homemade cheesecake, bruschetta, quinoa salad, brisket, & dark chocolate candies.  


Making a goal and sticking to it.  Even if it may seem so trivial and simple, like not pressing the snooze button more than once or finishing the novel that has been sitting on your nightstand for months.  [I think once we accomplish some of the small stuff, then the big stuff- the stuff that scares us, tests us, changes us- seems a lot more possible.]


A really good line in a book you are reading, "He had a theory that you had to start out by giving stuff away- preferably big stuff, worth, he figured, about a thousand dollars.  At first, he said, people are discomfited by such a big gift.  They try to make it up to you, by giving you something big in return.  And then you give them something else, and they give you something else, and pretty soon nobody is keeping score.  There is simply a flow of things from the place of excess to the place of need.  It's personal, and it's satisfying, and everyone feels good about it."  The Dirty Life


When pandora gets your station just right


Slowly learning the quirks, annoyances, beauty & intricacies of another person.  And each time you meet you aren't starting over, or retracing your steps or just talking about the weather.  You are reading more of their story.  They invite you in and let you read and in return you let them read a little too.  

Our Story

I blame this photo for my new love & fascination for farming.  

The man in front is my Grandfather.
The man to the right, with a hat and hands folded behind his back, is my Grandma's father.
The little boy hard at work to the left, my dad [some things never change].
The scene is in Ireland, a place I've felt a deep, overwhelming connection to from my very first visit.
I am blessed to have a father who believes we should retrace our steps.
We should experience life, smell the air, see the place of those we call family.

I remember walking into the home my grandmother was raised in, looking out into the farm her siblings tended to, standing in the church my grandparents got married in, and feeling a sense of comfort and peace.  It was a feeling I had yet to experience before, yet it was familiar, all at the same time.

For some reason, I didn't feel as though I were simply experiencing the history of my family but rather the introduction to my own story.  A story that was being written long before I even got here.  Maybe this photo, my past, served as an overture- to the melody I would now hum along too.  Maybe this explains why I feel the true essence of community at a farmers' market.  Why I believe in the earth providing all we need and find that when we step back, allowing the seasons and rivers and sun to lead, the sweetest fruit is grown and the most nutritious vegetables dwell in the soil.

I can't help bite into a pear or slice open a grapefruit and be completely amazed.
How did this grow?  How did sweet, sour, bitter and juicy fuse into one and make this.  Who plucked this from a vine or off a tree or yanked it out of the ground so I could enjoy it.
And how can I thank you?

Despite my new [or always there, just waiting to break through] interest in farming I have much to learn in this arena.  I am so thankful for this year of being surrounded by food and growing patterns, for it has taught me so much.

Although I still fall short.
I have never farmed a day in my life [couldn't tell you the name of the tool my grandpa & father are holding]

I try my very hardest to eat in season & local but sometimes, often, I give in.
[That slice of pineapple on my burger last week certainly did not grow in Connecticut] 

I love flowers.  Sunflowers reign on my list of favorites.  Yet I have never had a garden of my own.

Some vegetables still confuse me.  I want to remain open & try each kind but fail.  Kohlrabi is delicious but looks bizarre.  Eggplant remains a challenge to cook.  I know it has possibilities but somehow I am always left with something that tastes rather dull.

I admit these things not to make myself feel bad but rather to let them go.  To release them & know that while I have a long way to go, I am overjoyed of the steps I have made.

It is rather exciting to know how layered we are & how our own self can surprise us.

This photo effortlessly demonstrates a beginning of plowing the ground and a paving the way for me to do my best in planting some seeds..

Where do veggies grow?

[Almost always, the creative dedicated minority has made the world better.]

Back to the basics.  Crayons & paper are all you need.

[Human progress is neither automatic nor inevitable... Every step toward the goal of justice requires sacrifice, suffering, and struggle; the tireless exertions and passionate concern of dedicated individuals.] 

Look at that lettuce grow!

Sarah and I rockin our veggie crowns at the Yale Peabody Museum for MLK Day.