New life

Sometimes, life feels too rich to fully appreciate.  My beloved sister Katherine gave birth to her second child late Monday night, and I held him sleeping on my chest for hours on Tuesday.  I deal in plant births and deaths so often, but they're nothing compared to a new life in my human family.  For lack of the words to express how much love I already feel for someone so small and fresh, here are the lyrics to a song I wrote about six years ago when my other nephew was born and I was growing food at Laurel Valley Educational Farm:


On the day he was born, well it rained like a veil

And the sun cast diamonds where his roots and mine would intertwine

It was so, so warm, his sisters were in T shirts playing in the back yard

His feet, young leaves, waiting to unfurl

I've got seeds on my mind, on my mind

Oh I've got seeds on my mind, on my mind

When you, when you were young, did you notice the weight of the world?

Did you feel the first lines form across your face?  Did you take it in?  Take it in

Now, now and then, you may wonder where you been

As a sprout dreams about what it felt like to be underground

Past the first moment we learn to grow there

Limitlessly, limitlessly

But spring's not the only season we know we'll

Go back softly, go back softly

I've got seeds on my mind, on my mind

Oh I've got seeds on my mind, on my mind

Whether the weather be fine...

Whether the weather be fine...

People can't seem to resist talking about the weather.  It's always happening, and it's always different, and I guess it's an experience that everyone nearby shares to some degree.  This time of year, the weather tends to be wholly unpredictable in the Willamette Valley.  And on the farm, the microclimates of my days fluctuate faster and greater than anywhere else I've been.

Today I looked out over my coffee mug to a gray morning rain, and accepted the fact that I'd be in rubber boots and waterproof bibs all day.  Just accept it. 

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