Syrup and Chickens

The day before the baby was born, snowdrops were spotted blooming in the yard.

Now, 5 weeks later, crocus are blooming as well. 

The maple trees, forsythia, and daffodils all have buds. Because of this, I can see a bit of a red aura along the maple limbs and a golden glow about the forsythia boughs through the windows as I rock my nursling. Spring is definitely here.

The snows have been frequent and heavy. But the snow doesn't "stick" for long. We've had lots of nights below freezing and lots of days above: perfect for maple syrup making. As tapping time came, I noted it with wistfulness. We've been here almost 2 years now, and have still not made maple syrup. There are plenty of real reasons, but it's still sad. 

Also, driving home from Mass the other day, one of the farm stores (Yes, we pass more than one.) had their chicks sign out. We have yet to construct a chicken fortress impenetrable by all the many predators that we have to contend with here. (Just the other day, during dinner, we saw a fox trotting across the upper hay field in that funny, springing way that foxes move.) So we won't have chickens this year either. I miss the chickens. So do my children. What's not to like about a farm animal that gives you pre-packaged, high protein food every day while eating your table scraps and decimating the insect population? 

Although I didn't spy the first blossoms of spring, (or photograph them- the pictures are from last year) I'm watching my oldest boy bloom into young adulthood. I'm not sugaring off the maple syrup, but I am experiencing my baby boy's first sweet smiles. And although I'm not carefully tending little chicks and watching their noisy antics, I am anxiously tending my growing brood of 5 and watching their frolicking. I can't have it all. I shouldn't. And I can't complain.

"It takes special people to have a big family", an elderly man told me after Mass this past Sunday, giving me a wise look. I was slightly embarrassed. Maybe my willingness to trade my expectations and desires for life with these beautiful little people is what he meant. He had come over to see the baby, whom he thought was much bigger.  Next he razzed my oldest a bit about his continued growth spurt. (I had to buy him size 32x34 overalls this week!)  

"They're all growing so well. What are you giving them?" he teased. "Lots of love." I joshed right back. He smiled and nodded knowingly. "It certainly shows," he replied. And like the snow showers that blanket the ugly rawness of March only to melt and foster the flowers, soften the lawn, and fill the lake to the brim, I hope that the love I shower upon them covers the defects in our characters, fades the flaws in my parenting, feeds the needs of their souls, softens their struggles in life, and fills their hearts with happiness. It certainly fills my heart with a bittersweet aching.  

And this family of seven? It's melting my pride. It's washing away my selfishness. It's stretching my limits. My children are giving me more than I could have ever clawed out for myself. What's not to like about that?