Tending the Vineyard

Are you appreciating one small benefit from the quarantine--and that's the captive labor force?

Not only have my kids helped with more projects, but they have also done so with less complaining.

Last year, Brad didn't have time to thin the peach tree, and it split, losing a sizable branch. This year we enlisted all the troops to help.

It didn't take that long and they had pretty good attitudes most of the time.

It's been so beautiful around here lately, but 100-degree temperatures are headed our way probably by Monday.

The Perfect Saturday

Ever have one of those weekend days that was . . . basically perfect in every way?

That was our Saturday. Cottony clouds streaked the AZ sky as a special treat. I watched these boys play a quick pickup game of baseball.

So bucolic.

Hyrum and Eve danced around in swimsuits . . .

 . . . throwing water balloons . . .

 . . . or spending time in the pool . . .

. . . while Micah mowed the lawn . . .

. . . and Brad decapitated a tree in the front yard.

 Everything is in bloom right now. I know it won't last for long, but I'm enjoying every second I can in this weather.

 Brad's roses have never been more proliferate. And we have more flowers on our bird of paradise plant than I've ever seen.

Where was Lily?

We visited her at work--her very first day on the job at Sonic. Hyrum and Eve were excited to watch her through the window as she made their drinks, and they tossed a frisbee around on the grass as we waited.

After six hours on shift, Lily was less than willing to get a picture taken to commemorate the big day.

 But I did try.

 Hyrum's face says it all. The day was spectacular.

What We've Been Up To Lately

So many fun things happening around here lately.

Our elementary school had its annual talent show. The kids look forward to this day all year long, guessing who's gonna do what and preparing ideas for their own acts. All of the students look forward to their sixth grade year, because the finale is always reserved for the entire sixth grade class.

I was unfamiliar with the song, but it had a strong African beat, and a few kids and teachers pulled out the drums to make it even better.

By the end, each kid was shaking a rain stick and getting into their characters.

I love this tradition, and this performance marks the beginning of the end of the year.

Micah has been so lucky to grow up with this great group of boys.

One teacher looked at me with tears in her eyes and said, "This makes me so sad. I'm already missing them!"

Bright and early the next morning, Micah and Hyrum met their teacher/tutor extraordinaire for the maiden flights of the air balloons they've been making.

Heidi's family was in town, and everyone piled out of the house to watch.

First they tried Hyrum's but they discovered the glue had made it too top heavy and it refused to fly.

They used a hair dryer to heat the air, but AZ air is already pretty warm, even this early in the year, and it was a struggle to get the air warm enough for flight.

The little kids stayed interested while the balloon was filling . . .

. . . and big kids had to pull faces as we waited . . .

. . . but as the process dragged on, the kids wandered off.

Eve takes her role as auntie to these guys very seriously.

She is definitely the ringleader and the boss.

By the time it was Micah's turn, most of the family had run off somewhere else.

His balloon filled much faster and pulled against the fishline quickly.

Unfortunately, this is as high in the sky as it got.

Both boys were quite discouraged. I was satisfied with the idea that they will have to rework their designs and try again. Kids today too often are sheltered from failure and the necessity of redoing and trying again. They are protected from the lessons taught from hard work and picking up from a failure. The AZ elements are against them, for sure, since summer is looming ever closer, but I hope that with a little more work, we will see these balloons fly. 

Maybe He'll Be a Lumberjack

I can't count how many times we worked out there in the wood pile, just my brother and me. Gary always had his headphones on, plugged into an Oak Ridge Boys cassette on his Sony Walkman knockoff. Down the axe would come, over and over again, steamy breath encircling his head with every exhale. It was hard, and his arms and back muscles bulged from all that work. Sometimes his coat would come off, even when the temperature hovered around zero. Chopping wood is real work.

My job wasn't quite as difficult. I loaded the wheelbarrow with the split wood and stacked it on both sides of the front door for easy access to the fireplace that heated our house. Two pieces went this way then two pieces perpendicular, repeating that pattern as high as I could reach, being careful not to nick the cedar siding of the house. We repeated this routine so many times each winter--rarely speaking to each other but still together.

These memories flooded back to me as I watched Brad teach Hyrum how to split a log up at the cabin last weekend.

Funny. I was worried he might be too little or not strong enough . . . or something. It's weird how different parent expectations are when you grow up in the city and when you grow up in farm country. I'm sure Gary had a hatchet in his hand way before this age, and he grew up to be just fine.

Hyrum loves to be included in "big people" things. I think he would have chopped kindling all evening if Brad had let him. My baby boy. I can't believe he is this big already.

I'm pretty sure he wouldn't love splitting wood this much if he had to do it all winter long, but I'll let him enjoy it while he still thinks it's fun.

Fall Work Break

October marks the start of second planting season in Arizona--where we plant what most of the world enjoys in spring--geraniums, petunias, and soft rye grass.

It also starts to cool off (not a ton yet, but under 100 is cool around here), and many yard projects that have been procrastinated because of the insufferable heat suddenly become conquerable--like this one we've been putting off for a year now.

Notice the empty backboard? The glass shattered almost a year ago, but because it was tempered, it was held together in one piece by the frame. Every once in a while, a piece would fall, but it remained pretty much intact and completely inoperable for a year. A few weeks ago, some boys were in the driveway, saw a hoop, found a ball in the garage, and launched a shot.  And it went through the hoop. Glass tinkled everywhere and a gaping hole was left in the backboard. The work could not be postponed much longer.

My little boys thought it was fun to aim for the backboard to knock all the shards to the ground, but the actual work of removing the glass chips from the concrete and surrounding rock was not fun. It was long, hot, boring work, especially since the glass blended in perfectly with the rock and would sneak out and cut you on occasion. Whew. At least that's done.

While we worked on the glass, Lily and two of her friends scalped the front lawn. If you've never scalped an Arizona lawn, you're missing out. Dust and grass and allergens fill the air as the mower passes not once, not twice, not three times, but sometimes four times around the yard until the bermuda grass is low enough to go dormant for the winter. We filled both green barrels and part of a black barrel with grass. Ugh. It's filthy, miserable work, and these three worked for hours on it.

When the lawn was sufficiently prepped and the seed spread, the real fun began. FORTY bags of steer manure. By the time that was done, all of us were ready to jump in the (cold for us) pool.

In a week or so, we should have a blanket of pale green peach fuzz, promising green lawn all winter long. And maybe I'll get some winter flowers planted next week when the kids are back in school.

Brad missed out on all the fun because he was in Toronto for work, and as we were finishing up, I remembered how Brad insisted that we put the lawn in last year before Ben left on his mission. I wonder if we'll wait to do it next fall until after he returns . . . 

The End of the Purple Tree

Two of my favorite pictures from my February photo project were these:

But these shots came at a cost.

The plum tree was dying. Sap was oozing from bore holes everywhere for the past two years, and there was nothing we could do to save the tree. I loved this tree. I watched it transform from purplish sticks to pink blooms to purplish leaves every year. Purple trees are unusual here in the desert, and I appreciated having one in my back yard.

Unfortunately, Brad had to take it out.

 While a small part of me loved the sculptural aesthetic of the limbless tree, it couldn't stay like that.

Now there's a big empty hole in the backyard, waiting for a new tree to fill its spot. Funny how removing a dying tree can make me legitimately sad.