“What is dive bombing?” Beren asks.
“I know what dive bombing is with birds,” Jared says.Read More
I found this note on a scrap of paper. It is probably about 3 years old. Beren is past his Richard Scarry days, in which we find the compelling but bit part character, Maniac. Here is what Beren told me about Maniac:
Maniac’s ear and arm fell off. He plants mugwort. He uses a tea candle as a fire pit. His house is no color. He had no family.
We’ve been heavy into Revolutionary War since our December re-enactment tour. Last night Beren and I finished reading aloud We Are Patriots: Hope's Revolutionary War Diary, Book Two. In the story, Hope’s city, Philadelphia, is taken by the British. Meanwhile, Washington and his troops are headed to Valley Forge. It was a nice move to visit Valley Forge today.Read More
Like father like son, they say. I made a few recent photographs of Beren. Wow, there is his father’s face. His serious as h/ll face.
Around this time, I like to reflect on the previous year and the year to come. I did that a bit in November (Read my post: 12 - Struggle). Right now, I'm busy. Busy getting the business’ books in order from last year and moving forward. I spent part of New Years’ day romancing a bookkeeping program. Perhaps my financial future is in good stead for the coming year, but it sure felt like a flop of a way to spend New Years’ day.Read More
As of this rotation around the sun, my kid has been partially infected by the most deadly and widespread malady of the twentieth and twenty-first century — Consumerula inflata. It is commonly known as The Gimmes.Read More
I am a cubicle worker. Maybe less than a cubicle worker. I have about, shoot, ask my husband, he does all the measuring especially once we get into the square and cubic measurements, but he’s not home… so, I got about this…Read More
As the drizzle picked up, so did my pace. My basket was filled with a meal’s worth of chickweed, field garlic, and a bit of cutleaf coneflower from down field. I came around the bend and up the hill. Jared and Beren stood before a nearly empty clothesline. As the drizzle picked up, so did their pace.Read More
9:06 p.m. We’re on our way back from the grocery store. As we drive down the rainy road, I notice a mother in a window illuminated by florescent light. She loads her dryer. Her hair is tousled. She our neighbor down the way. Don’t really know them too well.
A partly dried lump of laundry waits in my dryer. When I arrive at home, I will run downstairs and turn the dryer back on. I will haul the groceries in on multiple trips through the never-ending mist and rain.Read More
Just sat down to write, after a day of potting up plants and doing the books and the inventory and the laundry. I listen for sounds on our quiet road. I hear our truck 'round the bend bringing Jared and Beren home. Bye.
Jared and I were doing some long term planning tonight. In the office. Door closed. Beren was reading comics.
As we planned, I was remembering back to simpler days. No house. Just us. Two vehicles both dependably in disrepair. Simpler. I guess.Read More
Jared and I exchanged text messages - I encouraged Jared to enjoy the show and not worry about us (as best as a flip-phoner can text). I knew he'd be respectfully half-distracted as he wondered how we were doing. Navigating "taking turns" and remaining fair in family life is a big thing for us. I wanted to let him know I was happy, and especially happy if he was happy.Read More
I took a break. It felt good. We went on a trip. It was good. The days before leaving were hell. Preparing packing battening down the hatches of a native plant nursery and other self-employment related items. Hell. Hellish.Read More
Rachel Mackow is a photographer and writer who resides on a ridge in the New Jersey Highlands with her husband and son.
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I'm a writer and photographer, observer and keeper of memories in this space, The Shagbark Speaks. In the other spaces of my life, which take most of my time, I am a wife, mother, native plant grower & natural lands restoration practitioner, and laundress.