If not berries and bread,

How about berries and bugs?

Every summer, we watch the cicadas molt in our backyard. I remember the first one we saw, six summers ago, clinging to the wheel of Aidan's tricycle, shedding its baby skin, shaking out its brand new, still wet wings. That was the summer the kids learned the word "exoskeleton". Nothing like two and four year olds saying "exoskeleton".

Today I noticed several exoskeletons dotting the fence, and soon I expect to hear the call of cicadas. All I can hear right now is the patter of an unexpected summer rain storm. The smell wafting through the open windows is intoxicating. Nothing like the smell of warm, wet earth.

It's time for me to take my book out to the back porch, breathe deeply, ignore the rain soaked laundry which I hung to dry this morning, and settle into a story. The kids are hoping to hear peals of thunder, signaling the cancellation of synchronized swimming practice tonight. Can't say I'd mind that either.

I just finished reading A Discovery of Witches by Deborah Harkness this morning. Run, don't walk, to your local library and borrow a copy. I enjoyed every single page of it, and it took me only three days to read its 579 pages, a stark contrast to the three weeks it took me to finally finish reading Frankenstein. Not that I didn't enjoy Frankenstein, it's just that 19th century English is so painfully wordy (but as Aidan informed me, all books are wordy; they're full of words!). After following poor, doomed Dr. Frankenstein and his lonely, despicable creature around Europe for so long, my brain thoroughly enjoyed an escape into a 21st century tale full of vampires, witches, colleges, and castles. I couldn't wait to finish it, but I didn't want it to end. Now I'm patiently waiting for its sequel, publication date unknown. Love in the Time of Cholera will help me pass the time. Nothing like an epic romance on a rainy afternoon in June.

As for the crocheted strawberries giveaway, the Random Number Generator was kind enough to select Carrie of Rhubarb Sky! Congratulations Carrie! And a big thank you to all who commented and shared your encouraging words of support and agreement. Nothing like friends, near and abroad, who take time out of their day to write nice things on your blog.

One of these berries is not like the others

"Alas, I am simply one more woman blogging about homemade bread and fresh picked berries", wrote Lady Cordelia at the beginning of a post last month. I've been chuckling to myself about it ever since.

I am, however, simply one more woman blogging, and here I go blogging about berries. Freshly crocheted strawberries. The summer issue of Rhythm of the Home includes my amigurumi crocheted strawberry pattern. It's a pattern I came up with a few years ago when I gave Bridgeman Pottery berry bowls to all my sisters-in-law. I've been hanging onto the pattern, scrawled in pencil on a piece of notebook paper, thinking it would be the perfect little addition to the craft book I dream of writing one day. But after some thought about the craft book of my daydreams, I decided that Rhythm of the Home was a much better place to share my handiwork.

Is the universe not complete without my contribution to the craft section of major bookstores? Does the world really need my version of the ever popular craft book? Because here's the deal: I can make up patterns, I can create handmade items, I can wear the things I design and use the things I make, but I can't seem to create the opportunity to get pictures of me wearing or using these things, or sit down and write directions on how I made them. If I made the time to take these pictures and write these directions, I would not have the time to do all the things I want to do while wearing and using the items I've designed. And really, the reason I've designed and made these items is to enhance my life, not complicate it.

There are people among us who possess the skills to create, photograph, share, and publish it all in a book, and I'm going to leave them to it. Their body of work is a harmonious choir, singing the praises of a handmade life. I don't need to be up there singing along. I can be right here, listening and nodding my head in agreement. Amen. Anyways, I can't carry a tune in a bucket. My kids always shush me when I start singing. I'll take my husband's advice and keep my day job.

Funny thing is, my thoughts on the craft book idea really came together after reading an interview with a craft book writer. Grace of Uncommon Grace recently interviewed Meg McElwee about her new book, Growing Up Sew Liberated. I was especially impressed by Meg's admission, "Motherhood is a humbling experience, and right now I can't do all of the things I wrote about in my own book!"

Yes, yes, and yes again! I often wonder how to make all the things I want to make and be the mother I want to be. The equation rarely adds up in my experience. My kids do not play peacefully alongside me while I knit. They never have. When Avery was about three years old, she took the skein of yarn from which I was knitting a poncho and ran a loop around the house three times before I even realized what she was doing. A few years later, Aidan took a pair of scissors and snipped the yarn between the skein and the sock I was knitting. I took these events as a sign to put down my needles and pick up my children. I returned to crochet when my children were young simply because it was easier to stop mid row and put down my crochet, something I found difficult to do with my knitting.

Lo and behold, I discovered that I could create my own crochet patterns. My mind understands crochet in a way it does not understand knitting. I can follow a knitting pattern, but creating one seems completely beyond me. And while I prefer the look of knitted items over crocheted items, crochet has it's place. Strawberries, garlands, acorn caps, wire leaves - they certainly have a place in my home.

In celebration of shelving my dream of writing a craft book, and the publication of my stawberry pattern in Rhythm of the Home, I'd like to give away a pair of crocheted strawberries. Unlike the loose strawberry pictured above, these strawberries are connected by a thin green crochet chain, about 18 inches long. You can hang them from a hook (I've had a pair hanging from my inspiration board for years), use them to wrap a package, or stuff them in your junk drawer and wonder what in the heck to do with them. I've got drawers and cabinets full of such wonderful items. Yet another reason not to write a craft book. What does one do with so many handmade items anyways??? But that's another post.

Leave a comment and I will select one winner at random, to be announced on Monday, June 27th.

In the meantime, happy bread making and berry picking from the woman who can't stop posting pictures of her chickens.

I had more pressing things to get done this morning. Laundry, dishes, smog check, feed the chickens, bubble wash the biodiesel, pay some bills, sweep the porch. You know, same ol', same ol'.

But I certainly didn't have anything better to do this morning than finish a puzzle with Aidan. I guess you could say I accomplished 1000 things on my to-do list.

Earlier this week, as I was painting Aidan's bedroom, the kids begged me to take them to the water park. I responded, "There's enough time in the day to accomplish what we need to do and what we want to do."

Wishful thinking on my part. We made it to the water park the day after I finished painting. I can't accomplish everything in one day, but I'm going to make it a priority this summer to do the things we want to do.

Here's my list:

Listen to loud music

Fall asleep on the hammock

Eat fruit for dinner once a week

Snorkel down the river

Pick fruit with friends

Read adventure books with the kids

Ride my bike to the library

Design and sew clothes with Avery

Practice yoga outside

Draw and paint

Get a movie projector and watch movies in the backyard

Make a quilt

Always have a jigsaw puzzle in progress

Camp at the beach

By making my list public, I hope I'll be more inclined to make my list happen. I've got all summer to check it off - and add to it.

What's on your summer list?

These chickens bring a whole new meaning to the phrase "under my wing".

I don't always know what to bring to this space. Sometimes it's a struggle, so I don't bring anything at all. But this space, this blog, isn't the only space with which I struggle. I question what I bring to many spaces in my life, especially the social spaces I encounter when I venture out of my preferred space at home. Silence fills the space I don't know how to fill.

But this morning, as I sat at my sewing machine, feeling the gentle breeze through open windows, listening to the kids sling marbles across the yard, pondering the sweet emails I received from friends who missed me at Squam, I had an epiphany of sorts (though it might have been the sunny, 70 degree weather going to my head), and I had to rush to this space to tell you:

When I bring myself, I bring enough.

The same is true for you. When I visit your space, your presence is exactly what I'm looking for. I get so much from the little details you share. Don't underestimate what you bring to your space. You can inspire without even trying. Maybe especially when you don't try.

Months ago, Tara shared something about catching a glimpse of her own reflection in the window at night. Her post had nothing to do with window coverings, or the lack thereof, but I realized at once my blinds had to go. They inhibited my reflection. Just that one little detail about her space completely transformed my own space. My windows have been bare since February. It was my bare windows that led to my epiphany this morning.

There are certain parts of myself that I question - sometimes fear - bringing to this space and other social spaces. What if I'm not enough? What if I bring or say or, heaven forbid, wear the wrong thing? I'll bet some of you have similar reservations. Just like me, you put blinds on your windows. But when you can't see your own reflection, others can't see you either.

I want to bring more of myself to this space. The little details, and the big ones too. The things I believe, even if anonymous commenters tell me I'm wrong. I want to bring less of what I think you want to see, and more of the me I glimpse in my bare windows when the sun goes down.

Even if I'm interrupted 50 times during the 4 to 5 hours it takes me to post a few hundred words. I'll bet you know something about that too.

One week ago today, ten out of twelve fertile eggs placed under our brooding hens hatched. I'm happy to report there are still ten baby chicks scurrying about the chicken coop. The day we spent vermin-proofing the chicken run was well worth it.

We're feeling like successful chicken farmers, but the credit really goes to those patient, tender hens. Motherhood becomes them. Watching the chicks grow under their tutelage and care is oh so different than raising chicks under a heat lamp. It's simply amazing that three hens sat for 24 hours a day, for 21 days (that's over 1500 hours of combined sitting!), on eggs they did not lay themselves, to produce these precious peeps.

Ain't life grand?