Twenty-five Years and All's Well

All's well that does not yet end, I should say.

A retro-post about our wedding anniversary, celebrated at a swanky hotel not far from our home that nevertheless felt a million miles away.

The highlight of the getaway was a walk along the cliffs above the beach, sitting to witness the sun setting, and a sushi dinner where we'd dined 10 years ago.

A few shots from the day:

Larry Levis Inspiration

I am reading The Selected Levis now. I've ready many great poets in the last year - twenty plus books a semester will do that to you. But there's something about Levis that's helping fire some cylinders in me.

It could also be the pressure of wanting to take my work to the next level, and the knowledge that I'd recently had a poem submitted to a contest with an edit suggested by a senior poet that all along I'd felt weakened the piece. I'd gone with the change because I trusted the poet's opinion more than my own, but it was almost a relief to see that the poem was not selected by the judge for any placement at all. Now I feel I can resend it the way I think it's more effective. I may be wrong, but I'll be wrong with my integrity intact.

Tomorrow D. and I celebrate our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. Today he send me a text message that was so sweet, it made me tear up at work. It was positive and uplifting and had a bonus of three little pictures to cheer me through the day: bees, one of the chickens, and the cat. Here are the 2nd and 3rd of those pictures. I love my husband.

Oh, and #nofilter, darling daughter number 1

It Never Rains but it Comes in Waves

Tonight I am thinking about three family members who are each dealing with truly challenging situations. And while it would be interesting and make a better narrative to provide details, I shall respect their privacy instead.

I left work early with a virus and slept most of the day - and hope to be in bed as soon as this entry is posted, too. But in the few hours during which I was up and about, much of the time was spent juggling the crises of some of the people closest to me. I foresee a month of struggles but I remain ever hopeful that everything will work out. And I am certain that a good night's sleep can't hurt, either!

Is it Monday Yet?

So a full weekend is not a bad thing, but my dance card was even more full than usual today. It went something like this:

*Up early to let the chickens out and take Tango for a walk+jog. It was a good outing, except that he's a friendly sort of dog, and picked the few minutes I had him off-leash to hunt down a new buddy by the side of the creek near the airport. A black and white buddy.

*Home for an hour of de-skunking. Tango didn't seem to care in the least that he'd been sprayed. But he wasn't so happy about being washed. Repeatedly. First with the peroxide+baking soda+liquid soap recipe found online, then with people shampoo, then with a dip from a pet store, then at another pet store. He finally hardly smells like skunk at all.

*Off to help my father-in-law with his budget, which included twenty minutes trying to figure out what a recent $500 check was for. (An hour drive each way...)

*After being home for approximately one minute, out again to take S. forty minutes north to an orchestra rehearsal, with a stop for grocery shopping on my way back.

*Dinner with N. et. al. (I forced them to watch Man Up with me.)

*Writing.

On the way out to my father-in-law's I got caught up with my sister. On the way home, I spoke with my sister-in-law. I'd almost lost my voice by dinner time. Again, all good stuff (Um. Except the skunk) and if I'm asleep within 7 minutes from now, I'll get a full seven hours of shut-eye. But I'm done in.

Busy as a...Well, You Know

Well, it's been another full day. After walking the dog and taking S. and myself to our friend the chiropractor, I went to a "bee cafe" with the southern contingent of the local beekeeper's association. That was a two hour meeting and greeting, followed by a hive dive into three hives owned by fellow association members not too far from my house.

While we were there, a call came in about a swarm a few blocks away. So after we'd inspected the three hives (a Warre and two Langstroths that represented a swam, an extraction and a split), four of us continued on to catch the swarm. The young mom who'd reported the swarm, which had settled in a low rose bush next to her driveway, watched us from her window with two small children at her side. They seemed amazed by our lack of fear of the bees (we wore veils but no gloves), and grateful at our responsiveness.

After we secured the swarm, three of us went back to my house to examine the Margo hive. I was very excited to see that it was doing very well: we saw the queen, larvae in all stages, capped brood, nectar, bee bread, and even some capped honey. The workers were festooning and drawing fresh comb on the empty frames, and we added a frame on each side for them to expand. My consultant (our kids went to school together from 3rd to 7th grade) said I should prepare for a population explosion. I couldn't be happier to see how well they're doing. Hooray!

Friday Night for the Eleven

For the eleven people who apparently looked at this blog yesterday (whoever you are!) here is Friday's retro-post.

The day ended with time with friends, celebrating a 50th birthday. Five of us gather at least five times a year to have dinner, drink some wine, and laugh enough to make up for all the days when we laughed too little. So. Much. Fun.

Unfortunately, it meant I missed another friend who was part of a performance to reclaim the legend of Isis. I am just glad I had caught the first performance last month. Great stuff.

Night Rain

Now that I have bees, rain at night is a blessing, as long as it clears by day.

I think that beekeeping must keep one in tune with the seasons and weather at least as much as farming does. I worry about the bees not being able to get out if it's raining, and I worry if it doesn't rain enough for the flowers to bloom and provide nectar. Well, I worry anyway, most of the time, about so many things, the better way to phrase it is that "it's problematic" if it rains during the day and "it's problematic" if it doesn't rain at all.

I like problems if I can solve them.

Beekeeping, therefore, is teaching me to surrender to powers beyond my control.
Trust and camel-tying.

Friday Eve Eve

It's not that it's been a challenging week. Exactly.

But the weekends have been rich with activities that are more rewarding to me than the 9-5 (or 6-2 or 9:30-6:00 etc.) has been. And work, as can happen, is fraught with at least as many minuses as pluses.

Besides, this weekend promises good weather and a further opportunity to work with other beekeepers.

Wonderful article from Larry Levis about the poet as gazer here. I'm reading through it, and am only taking a break to make a daily "tea with the Smiths" post before I get too tired and pass out on the coach with a book of poetry by my side, the cat on my stomach and my reading glasses askew.

A "catching the swarm" photo to close the post:

One line, then another

It's one way to write.

As Marvin Bell might suggest, it's not the only way. But it's an important step, and I'm writing this post having in mind the generous email I received from Mr. Bell today regarding my progress in the MFA program. Well, actually that's not true. I don't think Marvin or I really care so much about a few letters thrown after someone's name. I really feel like me that he cares about the writing.

I am working on caring less about tidiness or content or myself or my head.
Here's to wilder, more surprising, looser, longer, exciting poems.

I donated blood tonight at the Elk's Lodge, so I'm in a good state of mind for poetry. The room where the blood bank sets up shop has my absolute favorite combination of room decor: a disco ball hanging from the ceiling and an elk head mounted on the wall. The perfect ambiance for having someone drain your life forces. (Actually, I think it could be a mule deer....next time I donate blood I'll look more carefully.)

The Lonely Frog

For about two weeks now, in the square pond in our courtyard, a frog has been sporadically calling out into the night -  and getting no reply apart from the hundreds of supernumerary frogs in a distant chorus a block two blocks from our house. That's a long way away for a frog.

It may even be this kind of frog (rana aurora, or the Northern red-legged frog) described in this wiki article:

D. says, "Poor guy." When I pointed out that perhaps the frog is female, D. said, "Please, let me have one other male animal around here besides the dog." I think this is in response to the population of the house and garden: two human females, the female cat, the four Buff Orpington hens, and the thousands of female bees that far out number the drones.

Fair enough. It's a boy frog.

...and Continues...

Clear skies meant a massive amount of yard work for much of the day before taking S. to youth orchestra rehearsal and, finally, collapsing on the couch to watch a few mindless sitcoms.

I've also been reading poetry (currently Thomas James and Jane Kenyon), writing more, and overall feeling re-dedicated and re-focused on my work. I'm so blessed to have excellent advisors in the MFA program. Why I am not taking advantage of that mentorship more is beyond me, and shameful.

But there was something decidedly healing and inspirational in weeding for hours today. If I could spend most of my days outside, I think it would lengthen my life by years. Perhaps I should search for jobs as a professional weed puller. I don't want to landscape or garden, even, really, as much as pull weeds.

Spring Cleaning Continues

We seem to have been inspired - spurred on by D. trying to find a missing playstation console, apparently - to do some major spring cleaning and reorganizing.

I've filled the trunk of the Taurus with bags of stuffed animals and clothes, we've reorganized portions of the attic and bins in the garage, and in general, it feels like progress. 

What better to do on a rainy Saturday? Although I do ask myself how (and more importantly, why) we've lived in one house so long without me investing myself enough emotionally to keep it organized. I blame a previous despair over not living in the country. But with chickens and bees and a riot of green-and-blooming in the backyard, I feel that if this isn't as good as it gets, it's darn close.

We finished the day with a Chunky's-and-movie night with N. and roommates. Black Books, one episode of Delivery Man, and Red Dwarf.  I even managed to stay awake for most of it. 

Spring Held Hostage

This was the title of the 10th Grade Play (the story of Persephone) performed tonight. Great fun, and well done. I was proud of the class, including S., who played Hera but "only had 20 lines" as she put it.

The rain has come and it looks like there will be no hive inspection this weekend. Spring cleaning and poetry is on the list of expected activities instead, with a movie and Chunky's night Saturday with the older kids.

This post is retro-written, but will be dated the 8th to keep the daily posts in order!

Poetry Update

April thus far has been an inspiring and humbling month. I write more in April and October than in other months, and I have written more in the last week than in most Aprils.

But it's still so little that I feel I'm squandering time and delaying development in my work. With the last poetry packet I sent to my current advisor at Pacific's MFA program, I know I didn't write as well as I could have, and it was almost a relief to have the feedback from Mr. B. that confirmed where I took short cuts or just fell short. I have a better sense of what to do, although still not - yet - the all-consuming subject (except Wales, of course) that might compel and guide my work further.

Perhaps I am afraid of passion making poetry. It's so messy and time-consuming. But what kind of tidy passionless poet ever got anywhere?

On another note, a picture of the hive the first day the bees were installed in it. The new tenants are buzzing in front of the box, orientating themselves to remember where "home" is. D. took the picture and sent it to me at work to reassure me.

I think I may call this hive the Margo hive. In part because I'd like to name all hives based on Queens and there was a Queen Margo (although her story is mixed at best), but also because it was from a swarm from Margo Lane. Or I may call it the "blue hive" or the "sky hive." We shall see. I'd almost rather not name it anything until I'm sure it's well-established. I must wait for the next very warm day to check on it. This weekend may be too chilly.

Of Mice and Men

...and rats and fleas and bees...

We have an unfortunate population of the first two (i.e. rats and fleas) affecting our chicken coop and cat and dog, respectively.

The bees, too, and most fortunately, seem to be thriving. Today was very hot. Tomorrow bring clouds and rain by end of week.

Another brief post on my phone. Not that I am wearing only briefs. I am, however, done for the day!

Unraveled

N (aka the child formerly known as R) came by this evening and - while the sun was still out - brought up some topics of conversation that were not in and of themselves really anything that dramatic. He is just a 21 year old trying to figure out things the same way we all did then, and most of us still do.

But it's hard for me to stay detached, and would be equally counter productive if I let loose with the knee-jerk emotional responses I have to some things. Middle ground is difficult, and makes me feel tired and defeated.

I pulled out the knitting project I'd started not long ago. N. and S. have both been so very patient in teaching me. I seem to be painstakingly slow and stupid about knitting. Tonight I took the first five or so rows I'd done - with horrible mistakes in them - out completely to start over. N. said he's considering starting HRT. The last time I sat next to him, knitting, he showed me his new fore-arm covering tattoo. I joked tonight that I'm going to have PTSD from this kind of knitting experience. I restarted the scarf three times while speaking with him at the dining room table as the sun set.

"You're too much of perfectionist for this," N. said, meaning the knitting. All I could think was that it applied to the parenting, too.

Well, This is New

I am posting from my phone, in bed, lest I break my little April streak. I know what you're thinking. It's to cold to streak in April. And yet, here I am.

That Was Quick

This morning, I had just finished telling friends at the local dog park that I hope to have bees soon, and before I could walk home, I had a phone call telling me there was a swarm with my name on it!

I am grateful to Christine, one of the most knowledgeable beekeepers I know (I think she's kind of a bee whisperer) for being available to get the email from the homeowner, and for contacting me and providing tremendous mentoring and help to get the bees into my box - which I'm calling the mobile home.

We left them all day to go in, then I got a call from the homeowner around 6:30 saying he thought there was no more activity and that they were all in. I have a little concern because the nuc door had fallen shut, but the host assured me that he'd seen them flying in and out recently. One girl was still outside the closed box, but I didn't dare open it again (and I couldn't catch her anyway) so the poor thing was left behind. Still, no bees were harmed in our process of getting them into the box this morning, so I think that it could have been worse.

In the early morning, I'll transfer them to the medium that's prepped for them and hope they can make it through. It's a small swarm, but Christine has known them to do fine. I'll have to look for queen cells or eggs in a week or so. Super, super excited about this!!

Here they are, first with Christine cutting away to get to the branch where they'd clumped by (you can see the mass of them, under her hand):

and then as they started to go into the nuc box:

Hope Springs in Spring

I received a call yesterday from the co-leader of the "south cluster" of the county's beekeeper's association saying I am officially on the (fairly short) list of people who will, if all goes well, be granted a swarm or split from a local member.

I may soon have bees!

This is very, very exciting news.



Add to that the successful submission of my third packet of poetry and annotations in my third semester of grad school, and I find myself quite happy tonight. Plus we had 4th and Sea fish-and-chips for dinner, after a walk around the pond. After much work on the packet. After coffee with a friend. (And getting up early, before that, and before a chiropractic appointment, to work more on the packet.) Quelle journée!

No Fooling

"April is the cruelest month," writes Eliot. It's also National Poetry Month. And this year, it's a month of anniversaries.

According to Poets.org, this is the twentieth National Poetry Month. It's also the month that marks twenty-five years since D. and I said "I do" in a little white school house with a score or so witnesses. And it's the ten year anniversary of my mother's death.

I love that the natural world doesn't seem to know or care, but just marks this April as it does most Aprils in Sonoma County; the daffodils are wilting, the poppies are making their showy orange appearance, and the sun is up late enough to allow for a walk after work.

This April, we have four fat chickens supplying us with eggs and empty but colorful bee hives awaiting whatever swarm or split luck (and connecting to beekeepers, and a swamp trap in a tree) might bring to me.  Here are chicken butts with one alert girl posing for the camera:

D. and I went for a drive up the coast on Easter Monday, and had a great time just hanging out together in beautiful northern California. This is a shot from the ride back: