When than Aprill with his shoures soote

“Whan that Aprill with his shoures soote
The droghte of March hath perced to the roote,
And bathed every veyne in switch licour
Of which vertu engendred is the flour;
Whan Zephirus eek with his sweete breeth
Inspired hath in every holt and heeth
The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne
Hath in the Ram his half cours yronne,
And smale foweles maken melodye,
That slepen al the nyght with open ye
(So Priketh hem Nature in hir corages),
Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages”

So did Geoffrey Chaucer begin his “Canterbury Tales.” And so did a few of us learn to memorize this passage some two decades ago in my Anglo-Saxon Lit class. Was it for extra credit or just credit? Blast. But hey, Dr. Rice, I still remembered part of it before googling it!

Anyway, one of April’s shoures, I mean, showers are falling outside tonight as I type and while we aren’t exactly going on pilgrimage this year, we have been full of wonderful events at church. Likely before I post again, the class I’ve had the honor to help teach this past academic year at our parish Faith Formation will celebrate their First Holy Communion, and our Li’l Bit will be among them. Meanwhile, in the same weekend, Docena received her Baptism (wearing the family heirloom gown). And the Rascal had his Confirmation, taking as his patron the rather unknown St. Dunstan, patron of blacksmiths. I should say St Dunstan isn’t as well known on this side of the Atlantic, for the gift we gave him of a replica medieval badge of the saint came from the UK.

Docena’s Baptism day. Her godparents are her aunt and her older brother. ❤️
Rascal being confirmed (picture compliments of a dear friend, the wife of his sponsor).

Around the Haus…

Pipkka is 1! And no sooner did she turn one than she decided that she’d take it to the max. Climbing stairs? Check. Speech? Her vocabulary increases weekly. Walking? Coming soon. I should have been more nervous about that bottom right picture in this birthday montage (newborn + two of her first birthday) because this girl is plowing onward and not looking back!

Happy 1st birthday, Pipkka! ❤️

After all the sacramental festivities, my mom went back home again in Indiana (those who know can’t say that without hearing Jim Nabors), and we thought we were going to settle in to a “new normal,” as it were, but lo and behold a new seasonal cold descended upon us. Haus Meister had it the worst with a diagnosis of bronchitis and a trip to get x-rays and make sure it wasn’t worse (it wasn’t). Fortunately, we were still able to celebrate Posey Pie’s 9th Birthday and our own familial 4th house-aversary on the same annual day last month.

The Birthday Princess

It is hard to imagine that four years before, we were gathering in the same kitchen with the food that our lovely realtor had bought for us and left as a homecoming gift. Never had a tray of cookies from Sam’s Club tasted so sweet! Everything was so different and foreign four years ago. Now it’s delightfully familiar, and we still rejoice.

And yes, still marvel at this view from the hill above and to the left of our home.

Around the Farm….

The sheep have been sheared! While I was posting my previous blogpost, we had been researching the best way to do this, and as we debated this set of shears over that, Haus Meister found a man who travels around shearing small flocks like ours. He literally goes up and down the region and had already sheared 400+ sheep before he came to our house, set up his rig where we requested and within the briefest time, divested our ewes of a year’s wool growth! Haus Meister and the kids learned how to wash and “skirt” the wool (removing any dirt and hay left behind) and soon we shall take our four bags full to a fiber mill north of here where it will be spun into yarn!

Hattie (black sheep) wonders what hit Mattie (the shorn sheep, and her own half-sister). Lottie is obscured by Hattie so I took this pic while Lou was being sheared.
The Squire helps remove Hattie’s wool as she is being sheared.
Four shorn sheep attempt to preserve their dignity.
4.5 bags full

And in other farm news, the population of ducks increased by four with the addition of four Khaki Campbell ducklings to the three Rouen ones mentioned in the previous post.

The Khaki Campbells are the solid ducklings while the Rouen are striped.

Closing Thoughts

By now we are all either intent on keeping track of, immune, or dismissive of the news coming from Ukraine. I’d argue we better darn well pay attention, because in this small world nothing can really happen anymore without affecting all of us (pandemic, anyone?).

Or perhaps I’m biased in a sense because on the ‘net page of this blog for several years has been the widget featuring a toddler picture of a little boy with red hair. We have been the prayer warriors for him for quite a while. His name on the Reece’s Rainbow website is “Clark” and he lives in Ukraine, if he’s there at all right now. And who can guess? Who can guess if a ten year old boy with cerebral palsy made it out to a refugee site? I pray he did. He’s the same age as our Miss M after all. Same sort of red hair, same sort of brown eyes (I saw him on another website with recent pictures, that’s how I know he has brown eyes). And CP, well, we know a bit about that, also. Small wonder I signed on to pray for him. May God in His mercy grant that boy a good place tonight.

We at Misselthwaite stand and pray for Ukraine. 🇺🇦

January

I have decided to update at least once a month, as things get crazy and it’s no good waiting until they aren’t. 😉

Our Sunshine, in a nutshell.

Around the Haus…

Turned almost 40, cut my hair three inches shorter, have to confess I love the 30s more than the 20s. Life is just good overall, my friends.

Some of us are another year older. Trooper turned 16 in December, Sunshine and Squire had their joint birthday this month, and I had my own two days later. One gift-to-self was Blessed is She’s “Gift of You” course. I rarely get the chance to attend a retreat these days, and even though I watched the sessions while doing laundry triage, it was well worth it and so refreshing.

This, in a nutshell, is the third teenager in the family: The Squire.

Laundry triage…. My sister’s husband got to see our house for the first time this past Christmas, and as I gave him the tour, I also apologized for the laundry room. Matter-of-factly, he asked me why I should apologize for not being caught up. “You have ten kids!” Point well taken. It is what it is. Luckily he didn’t see it after we all came down with ‘Flu B at the beginning of the New Year! Fortunately, Haus Meister had repainted our bedroom (Behr Natural Grey) and we splurged on LL Bean flannel sheets as a Christmas gift, so at least if we were down and out, we were down and out in comfort! But ugh… ‘Flu B….

Recovery Mode. “The Dean’s Watch” by Elizabeth Goudge is now one of my all-time absolute favorites. I read it yearly. Next up is “In This House of Brede” by Rumer Godden.

That begs another question. After we recovered, Haus Meister and I pledged that next year we would endure taking all of us in for a flu shot. That has definite merits! On the other hand, just as we recovered, headlines screamed, “Flu Shots May Not Be Strong Enough for this Year’s Flu!” Can you win for losing? I don’t know anymore.

But I digress…

(That should be the tagline for this blog)

Around the Farm….

The hens survived the molt season and are giving 6-8 eggs a day even in winter (despite the one oviraptor in the flock). The rooster likes to think he rules the roost. The ducks are also doing well. Two of them are laying pretty regularly. Duck eggshells are thicker than chicken eggshells, but I can just imagine they’ll make beautiful pysanky next Easter…

The bees… I hope I mentioned the bees. Haus Meister invested in two prime nucs last Spring, but one was lost due to pesticides toward the end of summer. The other has been doing all right. At least, they’re still buzzing!

Last year for my birthday, Haus Meister gave me some VegTrugs. One is just full of dirt at present and serves as a pseudo-sandbox/mudpie arena for the girls. The other I’ve planted garlic in, and so far it seems to be doing well. Of course, I’ve never planted garlic before, so how do I know? It’s NOT DEAD YET. 😉

As I mentioned in a long ago post, I often leave food out on our back deck for our resident feral cat, Tabitha Twitchett. However, last October, a larger tabby showed up at her spot. He was so large, I thought at first it was the raccoon, but then he turned and looked at me with a look (I thought at the time) of pure deviltry. We had been watching the 1940s Disney “Legend of Sleepy Hollow,” so we named the newcomer “Brom Bones.” Brom returned once or twice between October and November, but began to show up regularly toward Christmas.

This time, the kids noticed he was a good deal more friendly and used to people than Tabitha. In fact, one night, when the temperature dipped below freezing, they snuck him in behind our backs! Brom’s name changed to Oscar, after James Herriot’s “Oscar, Cat-About-Town.” We tried “Thorin,” keeping in our Tolkien pet name tradition, but ultimately Oscar won out. As it happens, that was appropriate. In that story, Herriot and his wife find out that Oscar has a family, and so did we today. We brought Oscar in to the vet at long last (now that we were no longer sick and the schedules eased up), and it turns out he had a microchip! His owner was contacted and was so happy to hear he was found, as he had been missing since Thanksgiving! So we got to be the happy ending for this cat, who, it happens, was originally named “Puff-Puff.”

C’mon, do I look like a Puff-Puff to you?!

On the needles

Keeping a little knitting accountability here, I’m currently making the Hinterland Sweater as an extended birthday present for my Mom. I’m using a wool yarn from The Philosopher’s Wool that Haus Meister brought home for me from a business trip an age ago, that was just waiting for a project like this. I’m super excited about it, and have every hope, being the eternal optimist I am, that Mom will enjoy her sweater as summer fades into autumn.

Last thoughts….

This winter, compared to last winter, is definitely comparable to our Tennessee winters, with one valuable exception: it’s been cold enough to kill the mosquitos. And on that note, see you in February!

Monday Night Musings from Misselthwaite

Come to think on it, that blog title sounds like it should be some sort of “Secret Garden” fanfic piece, but no, it’s just yours truly blowing the dust off the blogosphere and settling in for a bit.

A long bit, I hope.   I have missed writing here.

We are ten days out from our move-aversary.  A year from the date that we pulled away from our second house in the sunrise of a lovely Tennessee Spring day.  One 12-passenger van stuffed to the gills with children and miscellany, a row boat strapped to the top, and pulling a Uhaul trailer stuffed with mattresses and lamps for our bivouac in the big empty new house until the movers would follow with our main furniture. One Audi wagon stuffed with our duffles and spare things, and houseplants.  I was determined we needed to bring those ourselves.  Just like I was determined not to leave behind our outdoor statue of the Blessed Mother, and the rocks we had brought home from our family vacation to Haus Meister’s late grandparents’ house on Burt Lake, Michigan, the previous summer. Yes, I insisted on rocks. They had been brought back from the kids’ new favorite vacation spot and we still had talked about where we had found them. Little gestures of the familiar.

Rascal and I were in charge of the Audi. We listened to “Ember Falls” on Audible. We passed through Knoxville and I spoke to him of his late great-grandparents’ house. There would have been daffodils in the woods around their home by this time. The first time I visited Haus Meister’s grandparents’ house, before we were even engaged, I loved it. I loved the welcoming house, the congenial hosts, the large yard with gently rolling slope down to a babbling creek, and the woods in the back. I always thought it would have been ideal for children to grow up in that place.

Our move was a leap of faith. We were going to a city with some familiarity only to Haus Meister, who had visited it on business for some time now. Only he had seen our house in person. We had each seen it online, and I had dismissed it at first. The house looked too large, too pretentious. I had been looking for a modest Cape Cod. But then I looked past the original photo of the house’s exterior, and fell in love. I texted Haus Meister who was at work at the time and said, in effect, “even if this is an impossibility, I have to see what this stairwell looks like.” It was an open stairwell to a second floor gallery open to the living spaces below. Honestly, I envisioned my children running around it just like Sr. Mary Benedict imagined her school children running in Mr. Bogartus’ building (“Bells of St. Mary’s.” You should see it some time).

The stairwell sold me.

This was shortly after the furniture arrived. It took me 10 months to know what to put on that wall upstairs. For the record, the baby of the family became an expert stair navigator even before she walked unassisted.

That gray January day he navigated a route now familiar and investigated the house for me. Just a look at the land and the house sold him. He knew it would be a home place, like his grandparents’ had been for his family. We still looked around, but as we did, every potential house was snapped up in the kind of market we would have loved at the time we were trying to sell the Old Haus (family annals 2011-2015).

(Incidentally, I did drive past the Old Haus once before the move. I had to say goodbye. They had my curtains still hanging in the kitchen window.)

So while we tried to make the Tennessee house look like something that hadn’t been toddler-scarred for the past six years, we were in contact with lovely realtor who worked hard to find us a spot. And God closed doors and opened windows until it came down to the moment that it would be this house.

Sometimes I still can’t believe it.

I just know I drove up to it that afternoon in March and said aloud, “Oh good, it looks cosier than the pictures!”


Moving day was Posey’s 5th birthday and for months after she would brag, “I got the Big Blue House on my birthday.” I fretted that we didn’t have a cake. I spent no little time wondering how to acquire a cake for her. In the end, we found our realtor had been to Sams and left some food in the home for us. She included a massive tray of cookies that became Posey’s birthday treat, but in the euphoria of seeing her new home she didn’t mind at all. So of course, the photo I have is of her not smiling. She’s fourth from the left at the island.

It was Posey’s 5th birthday and for months after she would brag, “I got the Big Blue House on my birthday.” We would occasionally remind her that she wouldn’t get that big a gift next year (although she has a house-sized gift list, and all pink.) I fretted that we didn’t have a cake. I spent no little time wondering how to acquire a cake for her. In the end, we found our realtor had been to Sams and left some food in the home for us. She included a massive tray of cookies that became Posey’s birthday treat, but in the euphoria of seeing her new home she didn’t mind at all.

For two weeks, the island pictured above was our kitchen table, precisely because our tables were being packed in Tennessee. Even now, we gravitate toward the island at mealtimes. At one point, the island was the only thing that worked perfectly in that kitchen–and even then, we had to replace the garbage disposal in that sink now that I recall.) We were soon to replace every major appliance. The wall oven we have eeked along on a wing, prayer, and online manual. It is dark in the areas behind because the kitchen had the only working lights in the house. Everywhere else there were burned-out bulbs from a house too long empty. The lamps we had brought went into the living room and bedrooms. Even now, this past winter has definitely taught us which parts of the house needs the most hygge.

It’s still hard to put into words all the emotions of moving day. Perhaps that is why it has taken me over eleven months to attempt to try. For the record, we feel entirely at home here, and love our new home. And do you know? The moment we walked through the front doors (which may be replaced this year with something that insulates), the kids rushed up the stairs and began to run around the gallery, just as I imagined they would.

And they still do.

{Pretty, Happy, Funny, Real} at August’s End

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Another month hurtles by. They don’t seem to be slowing down much in their passing, do they?  This blog should be renamed “Time Flies.” 😉

Pretty

A Cinderella birthday leads to dresses and shoes.  I found a charming pair of sparkly pink Mary Janes for her, and a new set of her favorite dress up clothes.

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Links to the dresses, and the tiaras, as well as the shoes that you can’t see. 🙂

Happy

This adorable fellow

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turned ten last week.

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He’s going (dove) hunting soon, and loves mountain biking and kayaking. I just shake my head and know as I did back then that the elderly ladies in the grocery stores were right when they told me it would go by too fast.

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Sniff. Way too fast.

Wait–Why is Dino wearing such huge shorts? What was I thinking?

Funny

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I didn’t make any cakes “from scratch” this year, but no one seemed to mind.  Here’s what was left of Miss M’s after the party.

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Littlest loves piggy-back rides and begs for them from her big siblings…

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….who always oblige.  Privilege of being the youngest, as well as adorable. 😉

Real

Our Old Haus went back on the market on the 18th.  We’ve already received an offer and are holding our breath that everything goes smoothly to closing next month. Please pray!

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It always was a charming little place, and I don’t like it standing empty. Hopefully in 28 days, it will no longer be so.