Little deaths and happy days.

Not those kind of little deaths.

These kind.

From thinking in my foggy ill-again head that leaving the plastic cover on, outside on the sunny porch, would save moisture. It did. It cooked them in a hot sauna.

Oops.

A setback of a few weeks I’ll foggily attempt to start anew tomorrow.

And these.

I’ve been trying sprouted grains and seeds to see how much I can get grains back into my life. The first few rounds were deliciously successful. These pumpkin seeds, and their other flora counterparts, were destined for not-granola granola bars. They ended in the compost this morning after my Does Not Smell Bad Smells Nose nudged my mouth to ask, “hey honey, does this smell like rot to you?”

Retrying those will have to wait for another trip to the store that has the bulk section.

But in happy news, this came today (or at least, I received it today as we are both lackadaisical about checking the mailbox.)

Also in happy news, it was gorgeous outside. And I had two eager little soccer kickers to play with me.

Behind.

I think I’ve felt behind on this every year since the first year.

Tomatoes and peppers of varieties that the nursery will have no backups for. These sprout and thrive or we don’t have them.

An early eager helper turned bored companion quickly yesterday. It’s tricky to enjoy this winter ritual when being harped upon to play something more fun. This is play for me, but work for her.

And then a nap ended and out emerged a bewildered boy. An eager helper beside me once more, who found Papa’s favored pepper seeds that I had overlooked. Peace, for a moment or twelve.

And then his way awoke. Seeds pressed down nearly an inch into the soil, coaxed back to the top, boiled an eruption to the surface within him and I was once again with irritated companions of proximity.

There’s a wiring in her that won’t likely loosen on enjoying plant chores. She has it as deeply set for enjoying the care of animals.

There’s an opposing wiring in him, as there oddly often is, to decline playing dinosaurs with her to help me plant, provided My Way doesn’t over exert itself.

And so I will learn to give more give in my plans, build in cushions of time and space where needs be, so my worry about the impossibility of backups doesn’t tarnish, or simply crumble, the enjoyment of the season.

(And yes, I did check the seed tray first thing this morning to see if any miraculously fast sprouting had occurred overnight. It never has and yet I always check.)

Munch crunch.

I’m glad my peas are delicious. Normally, I like to sauté the shoots in some butter or oil, add salt and garlic, and eat them warm.

A gardening fellow, perhaps with floppy ears or a skin-like tail, is continuously insisting they are best eaten fresh, crisp, and raw.

I’m looking at two weeks of utter free days with usual evenings before the holidays are here. Then daycare will be over and I’ll be starting a brand new use of my energies: stay at home parent.

All and any tips, guides, or suggestions very much welcome, especially if they’re for a parent who needs a balance of space and quiet, avoids shopping, and can’t eat most of the things that baking most days would create. (I’m missing baking, homemade bread, pie, and holiday cookies a lot these days, can you tell?)

Out of sync

” What’s the black spots called, mama?”

Those are the seeds.

“Watermelon doesn’t have black seeds! That’s crazy!”

It’s melon season here. The kids are having melon from a neighboring farm that had them at the farmer’s market, priced with Sharpe for $5 or $6.

“I want to plant them!”

Melon season is harvesting now, love. The seeds like to be planted in the spring.

“They won’t mind. I’ll take good care of them.”

They might not grow, honey.

“They will!”

The watermelon sprouts beside the wilting radishes.

Rainbow Pico.

Rainbows have hit a new level of glory in our home.

First we had the usual childhood awe, fascination, and adoration of them. Like you do.

Then June came round and for some unknown (to me) reason, this was the year in which much of corporate America felt free, finally, to celebrate Pride month. This added to the rainbow fandom in my house and lead to heartening conversations. When asked by a wee one why there were suddenly rainbows everywhere, I found the answer coming from my mouth before trying to find age-appropriate words: people have decided that rainbows are a way to celebrate love – and that love between any person and any other person is worth being happy about.

From the mouths of babes: then why aren’t there this many rainbows every day? I want to open a year round shop called, “Every Rainbow Every Day” because every love is ok every day.

And so in our house, we celebrate rainbows every day, in every way. Last night’s rainbow?

Yellow pear tomatoes, sun gold tomatoes, black cherry tomatoes, and pink Arkansas traveler tomatoes from the garden with a white onion and green cilantro.