white apples . a blog

the things we make

Candlemas

Dozens of unwritten blog posts have been piling up in my head. Things left unshared and unsaid. But since today is about looking ahead, anticipating the return of light and the lengthening of days, I'm letting go of all those things and starting anew.

Our Candlemas day was cold and clear and gray. We lit kid-made candles and snuggled under patchwork blankets and drank warm mugs of vanilla bean white hot chocolate. Warmth in small things.

visions of sugarplums

oh, october.

I look forward to October all year long - those spiced cider days brimming with golden light and leafy gusts that make your heart race and your arms reach out. Everything is full and bright and balanced on the edge. September's heat and bugs are gone. November's dusty decline is still almost a dream. October is my touchstone.

But this October was here and then it was gone - trips and weddings and busyness. Life took over and we tumble-jumbled through my favorite month. With all the push and pull of work and travel, I hurried us through our days, raising my voice much too often, directing the where and when with too much authority and too little grace and gentleness. Frustration was our constant house guest - mostly mine, sometimes hers. And now, as our days get shorter and our rhythms are returning, I hope for the calm and the quiet of the season, simplicity over excess and gratitude over obligation.

There were moments though, this crazy whirlwind October, when we left dinner unmade and turned our backs on the clutter, when all the to-do's and should-have-done's fell away. We stayed outside for hours, crunching in leaves and looking at clouds, our pockets full of acorns and seeds and forgotten things. We dug through the remnants of the vegetable garden and the withering flowerbeds and watched cardinals fight over space on the birdfeeder. There were moments, though far too few, when we drank in the season and felt full and bright and balanced on the edge.

pinafores and baby dolls

I just came across these photos of my little elfin girl from back in May. She was picking lavender and dancing around in the driveway (princess dancing, of course). Now she is two months older. And so much older. I don't know why she's wearing a wool hat in May, but chances are, if she's wearing a hat, he'll have one as well.

I love pinafore-style dresses and tops. This one is the Sandpiper Top by Clever Charlotte (fabric from the Feather n Stitch collection by Sarah Watts). I also made a baby set a while ago using the Mayah Reversible Pinafore pattern by Sew Sweet Patterns. Pinafores for everyone!

I haven't done a wonderful job taking photos of all my recent handmades, but I couldn't resist snapping these of Juni snuggling the dolls I made for some new little babies that joined us this spring. Her pretty felted crown was made by her teacher for her special "half-birthday" celebration at school (since she wasn't enrolled in school yet on her actual birthday).

weekending

she kept saying, this MUST be summer!

and it felt like summer, bright and warm and lazy

splashing in the backyard, digging in the garden, trying on as many princess hats as we could find (in fact, all hats are princess hats)

we baked whole wheat chocolate chip cookies (from this gorgeous book) and stuck raspberries on our fingertips and ate marshmallows in our pyjamas

we made things and read things and laughed and fell asleep exhausted at the end of the day

weekends as they should be

(joining Amanda for weekending)

fly through my window

Our first Spring in this house, I put a birdhouse in our backyard. A silly little thing, decorated with ceramic chickadees, it hung right outside our sunroom window, not three feet above the ground. I assumed it would be decorative. What bird would build its nest right next to our busy birdfeeder, with a handful of garden gnomes keeping watch and deer tromping by every day? What bird would feel safe so low to the ground, with loud little-kid-hands busy in the garden all afternoon?

But within an hour, a black-capped chickadee settled right in. And it has been the same every April. Small, speckled white eggs. Mama bird coming and going. Juni can’t stay away. She is overflowing with curiosity about the mama and the babies. She wants to know what the nest looks like and the eggs. She is constantly peering into the tiny entrance. Following her lead, Owen grabs the birdhouse to get a better look. The whole thing swings wildly on its hook and I cringe to think of delicate eggs bumping around in there. I run up to grab little hands and admonish, to explain how helpless and fragile those eggs are when the mama is away.

Every afternoon, she lets them inspect her house and her babies. They peer and giggle and stand on tippy-toes, jostling and whispering their loud little-kid-whispers.

That is, until I walk up and she flies away.

If I were the poet I once thought I’d be, before I knew anything at all, I would write a poem for what this says about them and her and me, about trust and fear and motherhood.

Instead I take their hands and walk away slowly.

I explain to my girl that even though mama-bird has left, she is never far away. See how she always comes back.

I remind my boy to be gentle with the world and amazed.

I remind myself to keep noticing these things and remember. 

spring training

bunny days

Juniper and I have seen the Easter bunny in our backyard all week long, hopping in and out of the treeline, munching on our grass, and looking out for little nooks and crannies to hide his eggs.

"Mommy, why does the easter bunny have eggs? I thought so chickens have eggs."

He is large and plump and brown and very impressed with the Swiss chard in our garden bed. So impressed, apparently, that he was particularly generous with us this Easter morning.

"Look at all these wonderful Easter suprises! It's finally Easter!"

Juni has been looking forward to Easter for weeks. She has been talking about eggs and picnics and bunnies and Spring. And chocolate.

"I have to go find my basket! And we need to get the picnic blanket for outside! I think so we have to go on an egg hunt!"

Before I had children, holidays were important, of course - times for reflection or reverance or just good old celebration. But now they are particularly meaningful milestones -  sweet little pauses here and there in these days that tumble away. I remember last Easter as clearly as she does. Like today, it was warm and bright. Seedlings were just beginning to sprout. The finches had started their nest on our front porch. Owen was all giggly, joyful baby chubs. Rolling and sitting were new and exciting adventures. And Juni, she still had some baby in her as well, the little girl still hatching. Now he is lean and fast and full of words. And she is tall and confident and brimming with excitement about everything, with curiosity and opinion and certainty.

Always, they are growing and changing. And so I'm grateful for these special days, these touchstones in the calendar, that help me to remember that our years circle around and around, even as they run away.

"This sure was the very best Easter party I've ever seen, don't you think so, mommy?."

Sure it was.

the things we make