I grew up making hay with my family every summer. Weather depending, in the hot afternoon sun we would head to the fields to complete the multi-day process of turning fields of grass into dry bales of hay. We had our clearly defined tasks: Dad or Gramps were usually on the tractor, sometimes with one of them raking the hay into windrows and the other baling. Gideon and I would help by stacking wagons and unloading the hay. Mom would drive the truck to help pick up bales and provide the water, root beer, hot dogs and chips that got us through the long, hot day. As Gideon and I grew older, our tasks changed a bit. I remember learning to drive a truck in the hayfield when I was 14 or 15 and being very proud of my ability to drive around and pick up bales on my own. Gideon gravitated towards the equipment, learning to cut, rake and bale on his own. I even baled a few times under the watchful eye of Gramps, going around and around the field by the river in the valley.
I think there's something special about making hay - it's a preservation process, taking fields of green summer grass and preserving it for the winter months ahead to feed hungry animals. My favorite part of the process is when the baler eats up the long windrows (large rows of dry hay) and spits out bales. To me, the process mirrors life. As meandering windrows of opportunity and circumstance are laid out before us, we are charged with the task of baling them into something concrete, meaningful and useful. The other haying metaphor I love is the oft-repeated phrase in my family, "Make hay while the sun shines." To me, it means to take advantage of opportunities, to seize the day, to create when the time is right. Writing is an important way for me to work through my own life's windrows and I'm excited to use this blog as a creative outlet and space to share along the way.
Saturday, September 8, 2012
If You Give a Mouse a Mailbox...
Two of my favorite children's books are "If You Give a Moose a Muffin" and "If You Give a Mouse a Cookie" by Laura Numeroff. I don't remember reading them growing up but have wonderful memories of reading them to my favorite babysitting charges in high school/college. The books cleverly invoke delight in the massive messes made by hosting a moose and a mouse, respectively. For example: "If you give a mouse a cookie... he's going to ask for a glass of milk. When you give him the milk... he'll probably ask you for a straw..." and so-on. The text is accompanied by wonderful pictures of the mess created by being a good host to the small guest.
One day this summer, Tim and I were sitting down to dinner on our patio overlooking the beautiful mountains of Bristol, VT. About halfway through dinner, Tim got very serious and said, "I need to ask you a question....Was there a mouse in the mailbox today?" Having checked the mail just an hour earlier without encountering a mouse, I assured him that of course not, our mailbox was mouse-free. He explained how the day before he came home, routinely opened the mailbox to check for mail, and was confronted by a small mouse who just stared at him. Thinking he may be going crazy, Tim shut the mailbox, drove down the driveway and waited a 24 hours to tell me there was a mouse in our mailbox! The next day on my way to work I checked and sure enough, a small mouse had decided our mailbox was the perfect place for a home. She had even accosted some of our mail to use as nesting fodder! She had quite a nest going, made mostly of dried grass and mail chewings, but luckily no baby mice yet. I swept the nest and mouse out of the mailbox, closed the door and proceeded with the rest of my day.
For the next week, every day I would find a small clump of grass in the mailbox. This little mouse was very determined to build her nest in our cozy mailbox, regardless of my attempts to keep it clean. Clearly, if you give a mouse a mailbox she will make it her home! Finally we taped up the very small opening the mouse had been using, right at the hinge where the mailbox door & floor meet. Ever since, we've been mouse-free. I do feel a little guilty about depriving her of the perfect home but we can't have a mouse eating our mail! I wonder what our mailman thought of our guest and how often this happens up here in rural Vermont.
One day this summer, Tim and I were sitting down to dinner on our patio overlooking the beautiful mountains of Bristol, VT. About halfway through dinner, Tim got very serious and said, "I need to ask you a question....Was there a mouse in the mailbox today?" Having checked the mail just an hour earlier without encountering a mouse, I assured him that of course not, our mailbox was mouse-free. He explained how the day before he came home, routinely opened the mailbox to check for mail, and was confronted by a small mouse who just stared at him. Thinking he may be going crazy, Tim shut the mailbox, drove down the driveway and waited a 24 hours to tell me there was a mouse in our mailbox! The next day on my way to work I checked and sure enough, a small mouse had decided our mailbox was the perfect place for a home. She had even accosted some of our mail to use as nesting fodder! She had quite a nest going, made mostly of dried grass and mail chewings, but luckily no baby mice yet. I swept the nest and mouse out of the mailbox, closed the door and proceeded with the rest of my day.
For the next week, every day I would find a small clump of grass in the mailbox. This little mouse was very determined to build her nest in our cozy mailbox, regardless of my attempts to keep it clean. Clearly, if you give a mouse a mailbox she will make it her home! Finally we taped up the very small opening the mouse had been using, right at the hinge where the mailbox door & floor meet. Ever since, we've been mouse-free. I do feel a little guilty about depriving her of the perfect home but we can't have a mouse eating our mail! I wonder what our mailman thought of our guest and how often this happens up here in rural Vermont.
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