Archive - Staff Blog
August 23rd, 2016
“Mommy, is that a tick?” my seven-year-old daughter asks. She’s looking in the bathroom mirror, pointing to a small black speck under her chin.
Our family’s move earlier this month from the woods to the fields has not only entailed a change in scenery, but also a change in the pests that plague us: We’ve moved from Mosquitoland to Tickville.
Our family moved last week.
In fact, it would be more accurate to say that our family has been moving for the past year.
It all began with a dream: What if we lived with a little less house, on a little more land? What if we grew and raised more of what we eat?
Last week -- the week when Alton Sterling was fatally shot by police in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, and Philando Castile was fatally shot by police in Falcon Heights, Minnesota -- I had my monthly book club meeting.
“Why did I have to be born so tasty?!?” my daughter wailed, raking her fingernails across her shins. “I hate summer!”
The summer of 2016 may hereafter be referred to by our family as: “The Summer of Patience.”
I don’t know what possesses me
to ask the order of your family
love. Children, dog, your loving
husband? Save that picture
in its frame that says I love my dog.
His perked-up ears. His over-biting
jaw. Displayed to look at me
to keep my eyes from wandering,
beyond your mirror’s frame.
Where we small talk to each other,
each time I come in. You ask me
“Can we march in the Memorial Day parade again this year?”
Out of nowhere, one of my daughters popped this question during breakfast on a morning in mid-April. Memorial Day was over a month away. We were all the way across the country from Vermont, on sabbatical in Berkeley, California. And I hadn’t even finished my first cup of coffee of the day.
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