School is out. The garden is young. Strawberries ripen daily. Warm nights filled with fire-flies are just beginning. Summer is here. The brown world of winter is just a memory, replaced by lush, green rolling hills and rippling waves of mountains. For now, summer stretches out before me like an invitation.
Hippocrates, the father of medicine, once said, “Let food be thy medicine and medicine be thy food.” Sadly, there are many industrial foods today that are far from medicinal. Processed foods in particular are full of additives that are just plain toxic. Moreover, buying food that has medicinal properties may seem impossible.
This weekend I’m speaking at a small health and nutrition seminar; my topic is healthy eating habits for children. By and large, children will eat only as healthy as their parents. I’m reminded of the film Field of Dreams starring Kevin Costner: “If you build it, they will come.” When it comes to children and food, a similar motto holds true: If you buy it, they will eat it.
Last weekend Jez Butterworth’s play The River, starring Hugh Jackman, closed on Broadway. On Saturday I took my 18-year-old son Tennyson to see it. That marked my third time seeing the show.
Two days after Christmas, one of my dear friends was killed by a drunk driver. This post is about her.
Last week I celebrated my 45th birthday by attending a Monday night football game. That morning dawned sunny and mild on the farm. As we loaded overnight bags in the car, the goats bleated at us from their nearby pasture and the roosters crowed. If it weren’t for the leaf-littered ground beneath mostly bare trees—the bright green grass looked deceptively like spring. I kissed the kids (not the goats) goodbye. (They were in great hands with their new tutor.) Then we headed north.
I never used to be a procrastinator. I got my school assignments done as soon as possible. I studied for tests weeks in advance. And my Christmas cards went out the day after Thanksgiving. Then I had children and moved to a farm. Now I am the caretaker of 20 acres in the Shenandoah Valley. When we bought it, the property was unkempt; no one had lived there in about ten years. Brush had overtaken much of the landscape. The bushes around the house were so big that it hid parts of the house. And poison ivy was growing up the house. Add to this work animals and gardens and the conviction to home school, and now instead of getting things done as soon as possible, I get them done as late as possible. Sometimes I don't get it done at all. I no longer consider procrastination substandard, but instead—necessary. Procrastination is a survival skill.
I had always dreamed of living in a big, white farmhouse with a veranda at the end of a long, tree-lined driveway. I pictured green meadows and rolling hills dotted with maples and oaks and perhaps an old red barn and a few farm animals. Perhaps that’s what attracted me to our home at the end of a half-mile dirt road—an ideal. Farm life is idyllic, or so it seems.
However, farm life is not for the faint-hearted. The work is dirty, back-breaking, exhausting, and never-ending. Kristin Kimball said it best in her book: The Dirty Life: On Farming, Food, and Love.
At my age, I don’t usually tell Jeff what I want for a present. But this year, I put in my request for Mother’s Day. Hugh Jackman was hosting the Tony Awards and I wanted to attend. I emailed Jeff, “You know people in the media. Now would be a great time to call in a favor.”
No more pencils, no more books
No more students’ dirty looks!
My children are not the only ones celebrating the end of the school year. I’m breathing a sigh of relief that I’ve survived another school year—though not without the help of my tutors. This year I had only two: Jamie Pinkston as math tutor and Georgi Smith as my life-saver.
