Spring… Springs

It probably goes without saying that spring is here. You can tell because it’s May 19th, and also because here on the east coast it’s a mild 94 degrees, the way spring is supposed to be on Venus.


Spring is that important time of year when you can start having staring contests with deer, because they can’t easily see you approaching through the green foliage until it’s too late and they’re forced to watch you for as long as you watch them.

In fact, I’d wager we’re on the verge of summer instead, but it’s important to keep in mind that it’s still spring because otherwise the series of photographs I have in my possession would be for naught.

Every Wednesday afternoon the eldest boy I take care of has a piano lesson at the house next door. This house is on a very pretty piece of property overlooking a lake, with some great big windows to emphasize how spotless everything is because the piano teacherĀ  doesn’t have three to six boys.

So every Wednesday, while the oldest boy was explaining why he couldn’t possibly have practiced that week, I positioned myself in front of the same window and tried to line up my shots. It’s easier said than done, but I came away with just over two months worth of photos, and a vision of exploding spring time.


I do easily forget how pretty the east coast is from May to November. It stays this way by maintaining humidity levels equivalent to lying in warm jello. I haven’t yet decided if this is worth it.

Winter Wonderland, Etc.

Ten or so years ago, when it snowed, my sister and I would get all our peculiar friends together and go sledding up and down the canyon near our house. This was a poor choice for a few reasons:

  • It was a canyon.
  • The best part to sled on was a steep slope followed by a sudden three foot drop to small ledge, which was a great shock to your spine.
  • If you overshot the ledge, you had one more slope to stop on before you plummeted over the second drop and fell thirty feet onto the railroad tracks below.
  • There were trees placed very carefully every seven feet so that you couldn’t possibly avoid them all. (But if you couldn’t stop in time, it was better to run into a tree than to plummet thirty feet to the railroad tracks.)
  • It was a canyon.

We nearly killed ourselves many a time, but snow was snow, and snow must be appreciated.

Sadly, most of my Idahoan friends are off being grown-ups, with jobs and spouses and other adult things, so snow must be appreciated on my own, or perhaps with my mother and her abominable snow dog.


Yes, dog. Forge ahead and create a path for us, that our walk might be easier.


She’s not really a snow dog. This is her “Why are we doing this?” face.


If you ever wanted to shuffle through the snow like a drunken penguin with boards strapped to his feet, snowshoes are for you!

The great thing about where we live is that you can pick any direction and just walk. Sure, eventually you’ll leave your property and end up on someone else’s, but no one really cares out here. If you slip in and out without shooting a bunch of animals or chopping down trees, no one minds- heck, no one can really tell you were there. The forest around us is just big, and it makes you realize how long it must have taken people to get anywhere when they traveled by anything other than cars.




I did a lot of poking around for nostalgia’s sake. We used to spend all day running around the fields and forests as kids, doing normal things like pretending to be werewolves and burning our hands in strange club initiation rituals.


The unseen slope here, just over the crest, is the beginning of our vast sledding hill. Fortunately, my sister and I never broke anything on here. Only the neighbor boys broke things.


This egg-shaped mound of snow shows you just how deep it was around there. No, there’s nothing in the middle of it.

Coming back from Idaho, I miss this. Not necessarily Idaho, although Idaho is nice, but the vast open spaces. A “big” space in the suburbs is like my employer’s backyard, which is bigger than most of the neighbor’s, yet barely a fraction of the size of my parent’s- and my employer’s is worth three and a half of me, plus tax.

I mean, sure, my employers live near things like movie theaters and fire stations, I don’t know if ambulances are reeeaaally necessary in life.


Someday I’ll live somewhere like this again, just you wait.

Time Keeps On Slippin’

The seasons are changing. The trees surrounding the house are shabby and awkward looking as they lose their leaves in patches, like molting birds. The temperature has dropped, meaning the struggle to appropriately dress the oldest boy has begun. (“I can’t wear gloves! If I wear gloves I’ll look like the dumbest kid in the school!” “How smart can the rest of them really be if their hands are freezing off?”)


I guess this is a good time to take down my Halloween decorations. I mean, it’s not that late.

I’m not too fond of the east coast in the late fall. The trees that are so charmingly green all the rest of the year lose their jungle-like quality, and everything becomes rather bleak. Not even snow can make their skeletal frames look charming; I maintain that the evergreen- the state tree, animal, gem, and governor of Idaho- is really the only tree that can wear winter well.

But a few days ago, I woke to the sounds of three to six boys careening through the house, and when I looked outside, there was snow.


Three whole teaspoons of it!

This, combined with the anticipation of returning to Idaho for Christmas and the fact that nearby stores have been selling Christmas decorations since Easter, was the push I needed to do a little premature decorating of my own.


In the form of one two foot artificial tree and two dollar store decorations.

I don’t really like artificial trees. There’s just something so artificial about them, let me tell you. But I grant that it’s better than just chopping down a living tree every year, and at any rate the middle-south east coast needs all the pines it can get, so a fake tree it is.


Like a large Christmas pinecone.

Mercifully, artificial trees come with their own built-in stands that require no face-fulls of needles and direction from two other people to adjust, and it even came with lights already on it, which is good because all I had handy were purple Halloween lights.


I set it up in the corner of my tea shrine, because it was the only free area within two feet of an extension cord. I’ll bet the Feng Shui in my room is really off.

Next came the dollar store baubles.


Oh. Oh, I have to individually thread all of these? Let me put on the Grinch music real quick.

Besides a few assorted golden orbs I had no tree topper and nothing else of interest, save the lone unique ornament I purchased from the Disney World trip: Mary Poppins. She seemed a little fitting to have near the top of my tree, at least.


Ah, the symbol of nannydom.


All the charm of a department store Christmas tree.

The result, while bland, was not completely hideous, and I’m sure it will get better as more ornaments are acquired. It’s comforting to know that I’ll be 2,600 miles away from here on Christmas so I won’t have to stare at it.


But, uh, I guess I’ll leave these gourds up until after Thanksgiving, at least.

A Spot of Wild

I was restless this morning. The children have only half days all week in order to make room for parent-teacher conferences, and I had a few short hours before all three to six boys would come rampaging through the house again. I cleaned my room, tried a new orange spice herbal tea that tasted like a fall candle steeped in water, and sat on my bed listening to Mrs. Parent and the maid converse in the kitchen on the other side of the wall.

And then, before I went utterly mad, I grabbed my hiking shoes and my car keys and drove five minutes to the nearest miniature wilderness.


Which was currently being terrorized by the Rolling Rock Bandit.

I miss the country, you see. I miss being able to walk in a straight line and not getting hit by a car or running into a building. My sort of country is the one where your nearest neighbor could be demented murderous scarecrow-demon, but neither of you like company so you avoid each other and it’s not a big deal.

And I miss the silence. Even in this park, which was good-sized, I could still hear the traffic all around and if I walked more than two miles in a straight line I would be in someone’s back yard.

Nevertheless, it was beautiful.


Either the rain had driven everyone else out of the park or we were all silently circling it about half a mile from each other.

One of the biggest adjustments of moving to the east coast was how very green it was. In Idaho you had one month of the year in which things were green- May- and then things turned brown and stayed brown until May came around again. Sure, the trees were technically “evergreen,” but they are the unfriendly sort of green because Idaho really doesn’t like having people in it.


Here, things stay green all summer. And then they turn golden! How cool is that?! It’s like nature here likes you!


There’s a trade-off, of course. There are ticks here that like to kill you very gradually. There’s venomous snakes. There’s poison ivy. All the dangerous things here are stealthy, unlike Idaho, which has the decency to maul you quickly via large predator.


“Leaf of three, let it be,” they say, as if every single plant in this forest weren’t three-leafed.

Though I’ve been here only once or twice, my very favorite part of this park is after you follow one of the trails for a mile or so. You spot a little wooden railing in the middle of nowhere…




…and there in the middle is a single, solitary gravestone. There’s no houses nearby, nor any sort of marker or monument. Nearby are some other stones that may once have been something else, but now are just stones. This place has clearly been maintained, but no attention is drawn to it.


Gertrude Provost / Wife of Jonathan Provost / Born Jan. 10, 1809 / Died Feb 22, 1839

So here is the memory of Gertrude, who died when she was barely 30. I did some complicated research involving the Google search engine and came up with absolutely nothing in the first three minutes, so I gave up. Perhaps someone else knows something about the pair of them.


And then you walk some thirty feet, step out of the treeline, and the trail goes full circle. If nothing else, it greatly helps a nanny preparing for the second bout of Thursday to relax a little.


Though I’m afraid to say that the Rolling Rock Bandit’s sidekick, Dog Poop Person, is on the rise.