After the week we had, a long afternoon walk at Stone Barns was the perfect antidote on Sunday. We went with friends, and let the kids go where they wanted to go. Followed them down the path to the pigs, over to the compost windrows (had to work that beautiful word in), where they played tag (compost tag? will it be the next rage?), back up to the chicken coops, where they played catch and release, until it seemed a reasonable hour to go home and start eating and drinking.

We called Callie over in the middle of their game, and asked what she would have said if I had told her they were going to spend the afternoon playing on the compost pile. She said she would have worn a different shirt. This made us laugh.

Earlier in the day, Callie had prepared single-handedly (well, she used both of her hands, but she did it alone, I mean to say) ten pounds of brisket for our pot-luck dinner that night. I think this was a turning point for both of us. I need help. The kids can do all sorts of things, given some guidance, time, and encouragement. (In this case, encouragement is not a euphemism for money. Although in the case of cleaning out the basement, perhaps so.)

Sometimes when I have my camera with me, I feel it gets in the way. I don't actually see what is going on around me, I only see what is caught in my lens. This has been a problem in some instances, where I sort of shut myself off, and disappear behind the camera.

Sometimes, the opposite occurs. On a long walk in the woods, for instance, it helps me to stop and focus on things I may have missed. Walking along, I of course notice the sky and the changing trees, but then through the lens I see how they look in relation to the chicken coops. And I think the shadows of the branches behind the walls of the pigsty are even more beautiful than just the branches, themselves.

And in every picture I took of the kids and our friends yesterday, the light seemed to softly glow around them.

That's just the way I'm going to remember the day.

More tomorrow. Thanks for reading.
tt

Into the woods

It's all cold rain and wind today, perfect for staying inside, making cookies and soup, reading, playing games, and napping. It's a chance to live a bit of late-fall up here in Maine, where we've only known summer, before.

The last day all of us were together here was hot and sunny and perfect, and we took a long walk to a path through the woods, at the end of which lay the spectacular expanse of the sea.

Having reached my limit of near-death experiences for one vacation, I quickly ushered us all away from the cliff and back into the woods, where the kids commenced making fairie houses.




It's a hard and fast truth of life that if we had planned to have the kids spend a happy two hours in the woods building structures out of sticks and moss, it probably would have collapsed into a whine-fest. But when they fall into an activity organically, they get into a rhythm of their own making; they laugh more, complain and criticize less, encourage and collaborate with each other.




It's a beautiful thing. And when it happens, I'm grateful for every minute of it. I know right then that this is what we'll all remember.

These are the days. Thanks for reading.
tt

Have you ever been really scared?

We went for an aimless drive. We wandered and got lost, and ended up at a place we've been before. So far from home. What are the odds?

We walked to the lake, we walked over the falls, we stood on a dock which juts out over water.

I was really scared. I don't do well with heights. Nor water. Height over water equals scared.

I held her hand like crazy. I think she was picking up my scared. That's bad.

There was still ice on this lake. That's how far we had driven.

We got back safely, though. Of course. We are all extremely safe in our lives.

Tonight we watched a film made by a man who barely knew his famous father. He was on a journey to find out the truth. To try to get to know his father, his past, his self, through stories people might tell about this man.

It was wrenching for me, for I have a touch of this in my own life. I haven't talked about it here, but I did talk about it, here.

In the middle of this film was an aerial shot of Manhattan in the seventies, the Twin Towers fearlessly pointing the way towards the sky.

I found myself in quick, stinging tears.

There was a day that I was really scared. And, frankly, not a day has passed that I've truly felt the same.

Like height over water.

More tomorrow. Thanks for reading.

tt

Run ahead, lag behind, carry me.

A walk is never a linear progression with a three-year-old in tow. But I doubt we would stop and examine everything, even the mud, quite as much without her.

::

One thing I don't talk about here nearly as much as I think about: food. You may or may not have picked up on it, but I'm fairly obsessed. All across the spectrum: food sources, food shopping, cooking food, reading about food, the politics of food, looking at food and pictures of food. Eating food. And most of all, feeding the ones I care about.

{I'm going to interject here, that what I am not interested in, at all, is food science. By that I mean, someone telling me about how marination breaks down the whatsit in the meat, or the gluten content of such and such contradicts the starch in so in so. Bored by it. Don't care, I'll see it with my own eyes & taste it and figure it out. Leave me alone. Just saying.}

Some might say that my...ahem...fixation...on food is not healthy, as intense focus on one thing often is not. Of course, that's nonsense. It is, exactly, healthy. Everything else can wane: Social life? Pretty limited. Ability to travel widely and freely? Ditto. Energy and time to develop new hobbies? Working on it. But no. Disposable income? Fresh out.

But, around here? We eat. And well, if I may say so.

I thought I might tell you about it, a little. So tomorrow, I'm going to start in on breakfast tales, and then lunch, and then...well...you get the picture.

For now, I'm going to leave you with this:

At the end of the day, if I've fed them all well, if I've enjoyed a few moments myself where I've sat still, and savored a good something or other to eat, if they've said please and thank you, kissed me before running off, or, in the case of the man of the house, held my hand in between bites, and mmmm-ed and ahhh-ed; I'm pretty much pleased as punch.

More tomorrow. Thanks for reading.

tt

Maybe the last of winter.

Maybe. And maybe I needed to be reminded how beautiful it is, even still.

Maybe, I needed to be driving home from errands with Anna, and look over at the fields of the Preserve. Notice the way the largest of bare-limbed trees made the most perfect shadow on the expanse of white.

Maybe, I needed to pull the car over and park awkwardly, pull Anna (unready, but willing) out of her car seat, and hike over the embankment to take a picture or two. Feel the crunch underfoot of what I'd been hoping to have seen the last of.

Maybe, I needed to lose my fingers to cold, one more time. Watch Anna throw herself upon the snow and wriggle around wildly, one more time. Notice the creek frozen, but moving underneath. Look up at the sky, marvel that it can be beach-day blue above all that winter.

Maybe, I just needed to get out there and "exchange some oxygen", as Tim might say.

It sure beat the heck out of the errands.

Maybe spring will come soon. Thanks for reading.
tt

Buckets of Love

Happy Birthday to my sweet girl. You have always been my little one, even long after you weren't. I guess it's time for me to see you as the incredible ten year old you've become, and let you show me where you want to go.

If you want me,
honey baby, I'll be there.

I love you more than you'll ever understand. Until, one day, you do.

Happy Birthday, Linds. Thanks for reading.
tt

Monday Morning :: Random bits and pieces

::Coughs and sore throats all around here, today. A little lemon ginger concoction is just the thing.

::And some beans simmering, already, to make this incredibly comforting white bean gratin, from Alice Waters.

::A whole stack of New York and The New Yorker magazines to get through, from Tim's mom. We've never even looked into getting our own subscription. She sends them to us, without fail, when she's done. Complete with little sticky papers attached about which articles were most interesting, or some small note so we don't miss something good. It's like having our own reader's guide. We think it's hilarious to read similar pieces in each magazine and then trade; always two completely different takes on the same topic.

::We're two thirds of the way through the Three Colors trilogy, and I have to say, I'm a little baffled by White. I've got great hopes for Red, though. Blue was slow, but engrossing, mostly because I could watch Juliette Binoche read the phone book for two hours. In French.

::Next Friday, if someone would remind me why a sleepover party for ten year old girls is a good idea, I'd appreciate it.

And now, I have to get the remaining healthy child off to nursery school. Tim and I had promised each other to walk together every Monday-the gallery is closed and the kids, in theory, are all in school. I don't see that happening, now. It's so hard to keep these little rituals going in the middle of life's swirling business. But I think it's worth trying.

More tomorrow. Thanks for reading.
tt

Tuesday :: completely random words + pictures

I don't know the chicken very well, but the angel we got to take home, cook an omelet for her, and put her to bed.




In lieu of anything much to say, here are two photos from our walk at Stone Barns on Sunday. There are lots more, I was crazy with the camera...I'll save them for other days short on words and pictures.

In the meantime, I want to direct your attention to a new project which two stellar bloggers have begun this new year. Words and pictures.

And thus, a pattern develops today, after all.

More tomorrow. Thanks for reading.

tt

Friday Happiness

This weekend I'm looking forward to:

getting our tree...not that we need a large living object looming in the corner of our dining room. But it will be beautiful, and I love the ritual of decorating it, as much as having it there for the next few weeks.

finding a few perfect presents, and crossing some more names off my list. I'm trying to avoid the panic that results in buying the overpriced last minute gift.

taking a long walk in the Preserve. It's been a couple of weekends now since our last one, for various reasons, and I find I need it: both the connection to nature, and the connection we make with each other when we are out there with nothing to distract but the trees and the path.

Uncle Nick will be here!

sleeping in as much as motherly possible.

starting one new knitting project and finishing one long standing one.

snow.

On another note:

I've mentioned our January show a few times now, and am excited to let you know more about it. We're set to put on what seems inevitably called The Obama Show, a group exhibit of work inspired in some way by the hope and promise of our new President.
We plan to open the show on January 20th, and look forward to celebrating the inauguration with a reception in the gallery.

I'm thrilled that Jennifer Judd-Mcgee, the talented artist from Portland whose name you may recognize from all of those Swallowfield references here, will be a part of our show. We've admired her work for a while now, and are honored to have her involved with our gallery.

More about this in the upcoming weeks.

Enjoy your weekend, too! Thanks for reading.
tt

Keeping track of the moon

Back when we had Labradors - first my Sam, and then our Sam- we were beholden to the routine of at least twice a day taking a walk. Of course the dogs would always get way more time running and sniffing and chasing...but at least twice a day, we would leash them up and take them out purposefully, to...well, you know.

Tim and I lived in a carriage house with the girls for two years, that we all across the board refer to as The Cottage. Our nightly walk was up to the road, and down a now defunct driveway of what once was a private school, which opened up into acres of empty land with huge old trees and little else.

There are a bunch of bignewhouses there, where we used to walk the dogs, where I once played and made-believe with my childhood friends. When we first moved to The Cottage, it was just as it was when I was young.

Every night Tim and I would walk up, walk over, and look skyward. Note what was going on with the moon. Kiss. And turn around and turn in.

I miss lots of things about having Labradors. I miss lots of things about The Cottage. But most of all, I miss keeping track of the moon.

In between dogs. Thanks for reading.

tt

Blue

This weather won't quit, and who's complaining?
Not me.

Blue at the park, Friday afternoon:


Blue skies on Saturday, one of the most perfect days, in a most idyllic setting, on a rare, relaxing, girls-only twenty four hours away (thank you, my friends):

More walking on Sunday, another blue, breezy day:

And then home, to little miss blue-eyes. Thanks for reading.
tt

I don't wear plaid, but if I did...

I might definitely wear one of these jackets at Pretty Funny.


See, I went to Catholic School for several years, which I really don't want to talk about, other than to say that I clocked more hours in plaid than I feel necessary, and so, no more plaid for me. However, my public-schooled daughter does not share this aversion with me, and she is quite a stylish girl. So, I did buy this fabulous plaid jacket for her to wear around town this fall.



Imagine how proud I was to then see that Stephanie Leggio was featuring those tres chic vintage coats at the store, which certainly must be the predecessors of my girl's retro one.

Now that I've broached the subject, I can gush a minute or two about Pretty Funny, one of my favorite stores, period. I covet so many items in the shop at any given time. I've wanted this pink plant stand, for instance, for a while, and might try to talk to Stephanie about hiding it somewhere in the store so it doesn't sell before I can afford to buy it.



Stephanie is one of those people born with style and creativity you can not learn. The things she buys for the store, the way she stages the store, the way she writes her newsletter...heck, her handwriting, all speak to an innate sense of style.


I loved the store when it was teeny-tiny on Main Street, but now, of course, Stephanie, and her goods, really have room to show their stuff.


And in case you didn't know, that's a trailhead for the Old Croton Aqueduct in the parking lot.


So take a walk someday down the OCA and stop at the big yellow house with all the great stuff outside. But hands off the pink plant stand, ok?

Not wearing knee-socks anymore either. Thanks for reading.
tt

If you're quiet you can see the animals

Last night was movie night, and it was really fun but the pictures weren't so good. So instead I have these from our walk today, and it got me thinking.

When I was little and my brothers were in high school they would take me for walks with them and their girlfriends in the cemetery. I know, it sounds like a weird date, but this is how I'm remembering it. They would go running in what is now the Preserve, only then it wasn't so officially open to the public. They would take off from home or drive & park on Old Sleepy Hollow Road-where everybody parks now, only then you had to just know about it. I thought it was so cool how they knew this secret way to get into the woods; then again, I probably thought everything they did was so cool. Later on, when I was in high school, we would sneak in, too, there and other spots, and hang out...but that's a whole other story.

Anyway, we didn't go for walks on the trails so much as I remember going for walks in the cemetery. I can even picture us having a picnic on the bank of the Pocantico River and swimming in the deeper pools made from the water rushing over the rocks. I don't have so many clear memories of being a kid-I don't dwell on my childhood often, the way (ahem) some people do- but when we were walking today I could summon up almost the exact feeling of being there with my brothers, probably at just about Lindsey's age.

So, I got to thinking. What will my kids remember? About this walk today and a thousand other days and things? Will they remember how the light was; what they found on the trail? Or how I kept bugging them to stop kicking up the dust, stop throwing rocks? Will they remember me holding their hand?

For a minute or two on today's walk we had all slowed down, stopped talking, and the deer came out. They looked right at us, then started towards us, slowly, keeping their eyes on us but just going about their business. The fawn kept trying to nurse and the mommy deer would nudge its nose away. It was really something to watch.

If you're quiet, you can see the animals.

Walking through. Thanks for reading.tt