Coulda Woulda Maple Suga

Maple Syrup Making Also Boomed as a Pandemic Hobby the headline read. The article detailed how all the sugaring equipment has been bought-up and back-ordered. When the tree sap begins to flow, it's an official sign that spring has arrived, the governor of New Hampshire is said to have noted.

Immediately, I visualized myself with a mallet and and pocketful of spiles, tapping maples all over the neighborhood, filling my tin buckets, and setting up a turkey fryer to boil the sap down. Even a cup of amber syrup would be grade A to me, but

Dang it! 

My working from home ended a couple of months too soon.

The Work Cut Out for Me

I was unprepared.

What is poetry to you? I asked.

Just more writing.

Specific words that rhyme and are too fancy to understand

Poetry bores me.

Usually it is something confusing with some meaning people want us to decode though the lamp was white for normal reasons.

I don't have feelings for poetry.

I like poetry but not when it's in school.

I see poetry as another writing-ish unit.

 They said.

I'm so surprised! I told them. Do you like music? Songs?

Oh yes! They certainly did.

You know that's poetry, right? Words, rhythm, repetition, rhyme, feelings?

They were skeptical. So much so, that one of them wrote her haiku about it:

Though it may be true--

I will never admit it.

Songs are poems?

Just yesterday I was celebrating the arrival of National Poetry Month, but now? I see it could be a long month!

Fire to Light Our Tongues

April is National Poetry Month, and for me it's a bit like the flip side of October-- instead of chill air and ghost stories, every where I look is new life and, well, poetry. I spent the morning yesterday reading Naomi Shihab Nye, Marie Howe, and Dorianne Laux. The words just found their way onto my phone screen, so what could I do?

Tomorrow, I am introducing the April portion of the 100 Day Writing Challenge to my students, and can it be a surprise that our challenge is to write a different poem every day? A task that is daunting, but definitely doable, for any who are willing. Each day, a new form is introduced, along with models and some suggested tools. And, as Mary Oliver reminds us, "You do not have to be good." 

Nope, you just have to be willing.

With all that in mind, I sat down this evening to craft a set of instructions to help these young writers get their arms around the project. My directions started out quite matter-of-factly, but as I typed, the words seemed to veer off on their own. It is a poetry unit, after all; perhaps that's to be expected.

Here is the "Fine print" as I presented it to my class:

• During the school week, challenges will be posted every 2 Days, and locked at midnight on the second day. 

• Each assignment is either labeled "Required" or "Recommended" 

• You will have some time in class to complete the required poems. 

• Writers are encouraged to try as many poems as possible. 

• There will be a test at the end of the unit. 

• This challenge is both easier and harder than it looks. 

• You will surprise yourself and love at least one of the poems you write. 

• I believe in the poet in you.

See what I mean? 

Bring it Spring!

The sun was shining, the air was soft and warm, and it was a perfect day to tidy up our outdoor spaces. As we swept and stacked and rinsed and hung and planted all I could think was...

70 degrees is so much better than 40.

A Good Reminder

One of the unexpected delights of last year's growing season was the pot of lemon grass we had out on our deck. I purchased the plant on a whim when I was filling my cart with herbs and flowers for the hanging baskets. It turns out that fresh lemon grass is nothing like the woody stalks that are sold in Asian markets. I found i could clip the ends of the tender, flat blades and use their fragrance and flavor to punch up all sorts of summer salads and marinades. 

Perhaps my favorite use was a version of the Thai classic larb, made with local organic ground turkey. The lemon grass along with a generous sprinkle of fresh basil, mint, and cilantro really made the dish sing, and summer tomatoes and cucumbers completed the feast. 

Before last year, I never remember even seeing lemon grass plants for sale, and so when I spotted it in a garden catalog in January, that seed packet went straight into my basket. And it turns out, that lemon grass is actually pretty easy to grow. I have seven sturdy little plants that are already four inches tall, just waiting for the threat of frost to lift, so that they can leave the grow light and start reaching for the sun and the sky. 

They know that summer's coming, and they help me remember that, too.

There Is That

We had our nephew Treat over for tonight before he leaves Sunday for his cross-country road trip. It was great to see him and hear about his plans for camping and hiking and visiting friends on his way back and forth from coast to coast. Our pets, too, were very enamored of him-- both cats and the dog nuzzled and rubbed and rolled all over him. 

"I don't remember them being so affectionate," Treat noted at one point in the evening when all three of them were gathered around him by the fire.

"Well," I said, "it might have something to do with the fact that you are the first person we've invited for dinner in over year. You're quite the novelty!"

There'll Be Days Like This

Today's been kind of a bummer. Still tired from driving seven hours yesterday, I was kind of dragging when I got up. 

We had planned to get together with our neighbors to celebrate the Nats home opener and share the wings brought back, but the game was postponed because of COVID, then a couple people bailed, and the weather was kind of raw and gray, so we just delivered wings instead, promising to reschedule when it's nicer out. 

We spent a little time dismantling the dining room office that I used to teach remotely. It's nice to have the space back, but a little bittersweet to commit to returning to the old daily grind-- this past year has me hankering for something new; I just haven't found it, yet. 

And even our daily walk has been put off-- a neighbor's unit is flooded, and we've been helping out, manning the wet vac and donating extra towels. The dog downstairs is baying, his mournful howl floating up through the floor. He sounds a little like I feel. Who knows what we want?

But I don't worry, 'cause Mama said...