deep winter makes way

bird-bathhthe first daffodils have begun to peak through the soggy dirt. one of the last remnants of our old life here. the trees have continued to die despite the sky’s best effort. torrents of water carve changes in the roads we drive everyday. always a new waterfall or flooded shoulder. i haven’t bothered with them since the frost killed them, blackening their eager shoots, but the potatoes are sprouting from a pile of straw once again. the beets and my seed bank were ruined by a particularly brutal and unexpected rain. i have not replaced either as of yet, but deep winter is making way for spring. the sun peaks over our ridge a little longer each day and i’m slowly favoring a thin flannel for egg gathering over my winter coat most mornings. i am a haphazard homesteader as of late. i have only four small crops and six happy chickens to show for this season, but i’ll take what i can get. weary of trailer life and holding out for a proper kitchen and pantry, i’m doing my best. or at least the best i can muster most days.

a year into living under a carport on our charred dream, jack and i have stretched out comfortably in our marriage. no longer afraid to show our underbellies and with no where else to go, we learned to fight. we’ve practiced “i’m sorry” and touching each other gently more than many probably do in a lifetime. i’d be a desperate, sorry woman if i had to live without him now.

spring promises more challenges for our family as my father enters intense treatment for his cancer, but we are not without hope or things to look forward to. we have finalized plans for the house that will sit near the spot my favorite oak is slated to come down two days from now. at night, just before sleep, i walk through the rooms in my head and see us there. sitting and sleeping and cooking and laughing and begging life to slow down. i imagine us with a child. from where it will come i do not know, but i think he or she is already with us in ways we’re yet to understand.

i am acutely aware that this will all seem like a distant dream one day. i am doing my best to breathe it in and reminding myself to never wish my life away. even and perhaps especially when it’s hard. the good times coming are gonna to taste so sweet.

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One thought on “deep winter makes way

  1. You, my daughter, leave me with tears in my eyes, the eyes of my humanity, my love of God, my gratitude for life here and in the eternal light of my salvation. Your words offer me a moment of salvation as well, to know you, to read the words of your heart make me come alive again and again. I love you Cait and way you love your Jack!!! You are growing to be one of the finest people I know! Live long and prosper as our other terrestrial friend would say. dad

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