Memorial day is here, and the days are perfect, sun-dappled and sprinkled with the scent of purple – lilacs and money plant in full bloom. But at the same time as the lilacs Mr. Atwoods comes, with cords of hard-wood, cut and split and ready to move in to the basement. The lawns chairs sit empty, and instead we toss wood around. Mr. Atwood tells me as we unload his pick-up that the average piece of wood is moved eight times before it makes its way into he fire. This seems about right, I think, as I heave the wood of the back of the truck and into the cellar door, knowing it has at least two more moves before it is consumed by our Vermont Castings “Defiant” this winter. By then it will have had a summer of seasoning. He tells me as we unload that it has been a good year for wild leeks, springing up along his maple line that shoots west from his sugarhouse. I resolve to try these culinary exotics, but he warns me that there string scent makes your breath unbearable. “my mom would tell my dad – you’ve been in the wild leeks again, your sleeping on the couch tonight.” They can be little worse than the baby garlics I have been weeding from the garden and putting into almost every dish that makes its way to the table.
It is also, of course, garage sale season. I delighted Lizzie by bringing home an old “Western Chief” scooter. It appears to have been manufactured in the fifties, it is painted in powder blue and white with a red pin stripe on the wheel. She is happy to have a scooter that is “at last her size” and in the evenings long shadows the girls make their way up and down the road in front of the house – Zoe on her big scooter, and Lizzie on her Western Chief.
23/05: Spring wood
Memorial day is here, and the days are perfect, sun-dappled and sprinkled with the scent of purple – lilacs and money plant in full bloom. But at the same time as the lilacs Mr. Atwoods comes, with cords of hard-wood, cut and split and ready to move in to the basement. The lawns chairs sit empty, and instead we toss wood around. Mr. Atwood tells me as we unload his pick-up that the average piece of wood is moved eight times before it makes its way into he fire. This seems about right, I think, as I heave the wood of the back of the truck and into the cellar door, knowing it has at least two more moves before it is consumed by our Vermont Castings “Defiant” this winter. By then it will have had a summer of seasoning. He tells me as we unload that it has been a good year for wild leeks, springing up along his maple line that shoots west from his sugarhouse. I resolve to try these culinary exotics, but he warns me that there string scent makes your breath unbearable. “my mom would tell my dad – you’ve been in the wild leeks again, your sleeping on the couch tonight.” They can be little worse than the baby garlics I have been weeding from the garden and putting into almost every dish that makes its way to the table.It is also, of course, garage sale season. I delighted Lizzie by bringing home an old “Western Chief” scooter. It appears to have been manufactured in the fifties, it is painted in powder blue and white with a red pin stripe on the wheel. She is happy to have a scooter that is “at last her size” and in the evenings long shadows the girls make their way up and down the road in front of the house – Zoe on her big scooter, and Lizzie on her Western Chief.