Hello Sunday Letter friends,
I have figured something out about coronavirus. Not only does a world with coronavirus make time pass at lightning speed—I mean, it’s already the middle of MAY—but it also makes my arms flabby.
Has anyone else experienced this?
Truly, I’m not making light of COVID-19; this is me trying to make it down the road. The gravel washed-out, pot-holed road.
This past week was another rollercoaster for me. There were several days when I felt as though I might come out of my skin. And then other times, all was well and I was content to sit and write for hours.
If you read last week’s letter, you know we escaped to the lake for a few days last weekend. And while it was wonderful to get away, it made being back harder. When I came home, I think subconsciously I had decided that everything would be back to normal. Instead, it rained and rained and here we are, still wondering what’s safe and what’s risky and whether or not I can go to the gym because, you know, flabby arms bring a whole other sort of dilemma.
And next weekend is Memorial Day weekend. I think of all the people who will be on the lake, and I want to go back. Yes, I have ants in my pants, and the feeling isn’t comfortable.
Remember a few weeks ago when I blogged about passalong plants? This week, my friend Gail gifted me the greatest passalong plants ever.
Two passalong peonies!
One is white and one is pink. They were divided from her husband’s grandmother’s peonies. How special.
I gave her two containers of mountain mint divided from our garden. Mountain mint is a great native pollinator plant, but I think she may have gotten the short end of the stick in this deal.
Tomorrow is my son’s birthday! I can’t believe Tate will be 27.
Since he lives in Denver, I won’t get to see him, but I’ll be thinking about him all day. Not that thinking about him is unusual. We always think about our kids, don’t we?
This picture. I was thirty years old holding a bundle of love in my arms. I had no idea the privilege it would be to raise a kind and compassionate son.
I know you’ve been waiting to hear about the baby woodpeckers I posted about a couple of weeks ago.
They’ve flown the nest!
The picture at the beginning of this post is of baby pileated woodpeckers (photo by Harry Collins Photography/Shutterstock). We have a variety of woodpeckers in northwest Arkansas, including pileated, so this may be like the ones that were born in our neighborhood.
Of course, they left the nest when I was at the lake, so I never saw them. But I heard them plenty. For over two weeks, the babies chirped and twittered from deep inside the tree. It was as though the tree was singing.
The tree is quiet again.
I imagine the chorus of neighborhood birds is thrilled to have gained a few new jubilant members.
Things Momma Says
The closer I get to being a diabetic, the more I want chocolate.
Thanks for reading yet another Sunday Letter. Sometimes I wonder if I should take a break from social media and blogging and news (certainly!) and poke my head in a hole like a woodpecker. But then a new day dawns and the weeds need pulling and some small little blessing reminds me of all the good. Like fledgling woodpeckers and passalong plants and the birthday of my son who will always be my baby.
Cheers to a fruitful, sunshiny week!
Maybe I will bake a cake today. Flabby arms be damned.
Grace Grits and Gardening
Farm. Food. Garden. Life.