“Coley, this spot here is for the truffles,” Rose says, pointing to a nifty folding bench on her Lego airplane.
“Truffles?”
“Yes. This is where you keep your truffles. When you’re flying.”
Rose decodes our blank faces, pauses and asks, ”Truffles is what you sometimes call big suitcases, right?”
Rachel Turiel can be reached at
sanjuandrive@frontier.net or check out her blog about raising children, chickens and backyard food at 6,512 feet:
6512andgrowing.wordpress.com
recent Adventures in Motherhood
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I love this time of year, how spring creeps along methodically – green grass, check; dandelion flowers, check; high arcing sun, check – and then suddenly, a peach tree erupts pinkly, and it’s like the space shuttle has landed in our backyard. No one can sleep because the peach is blooming.
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My family and I have just returned from my grandmother’s memorial, a festival of relatives and ghosts.
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Last month, Col learned about St. Patrick’s day at school.
“I guess if you don’t wear green there’s this elf that pinches you,” he said matter-of-factly before asking, “But do we even celebrate it?”
I thought of all the years that I’ve marked St. Patrick’s day simply as the day after which it was safe to plant peas at 6,512 feet.
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My pocket notebook, which serves as the external hard drive to my own mind – where I jot down ideas and observations that would otherwise slip through the wide cracks of my brain – is missing. I’ve searched all the logical places (the freezer, the kids’ play kitchen, etc.), and now I am pushing our heavy, wooden queen bed aside: the final...
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If you looked on our calendar this weekend, you’d see today’s slot marked adventurously with “hike to hobo cave.” But if you peered in our house this afternoon, you’d see Col and Rose affixed to the living room floor, bright plastic shapes blooming from their fingers like an affliction.
