ramblings from an arkansas farm girl
Happy Easter, Sunday Letter readers!
Easter really sneaked up on me this year. I don’t know if I’ve not been paying attention to the calendar or what, but the truth is this too-big-for-its-britches year needs to slow itself down. I’m not kidding. I can barely keep my head above water.
Today is also my sister’s birthday. Yay for sisters and yay for birthdays! Some people don’t recognize how special both are.
Happy Easter to my Sunday Letter friends!
With Easter comes glorious, much-needed rebirth. After the long year we’ve had, extra hallelujah to that.
Thursday morning arrived with more freezing temperatures. I worried about the tree buds and flower blossoms and tender new growth peeking up from the soil. BUT here in our yard, for the most part, we go with a survival of the fittest mode. Occasionally I have been known to cover plants if there is a rare, unseasonable snowstorm, but usually I let nature take its course.
Everything survived this latest freeze.
I’m so glad. Our clematis plants are wild with buds.
Happy Easter, y’all. This is a strange one, no doubt.
This year, we had planned to visit our daughter and son-in-law in Austin at Easter. Those plans were cancelled. Typically, we get together with family in Fayetteville. Not this year.
This year, Easter falls on #StayHome Day 30 for us. For our Easter meal, we are having crab cakes, Brussel sprouts, carrots and salad. Maybe I’ll even set the table with the good china. But it will just be John and me. And Lucy and Annabelle, of course.
By the way, this Easter Sunday Letter includes a few hidden Easter eggs. (And by Easter eggs I don’t mean the hard-boiled sort. I mean the hidden object kind.) Really, it’s a secret message. My own version of a Easter egg hunt.
Years ago, Denise Donnelly taught me to never cut my own hair. And I’ve abided by her advice for years.
And then this week, this happened.
The rules have changed.
I snipped the length about half an inch and trimmed my long layers a tiny bit, the way I’ve watched Denise (Dallas) and Morgan (Fayetteville) do through the years.
I used my very best, sharpest scissors, the ones only used for special craft projects (and now hair).
I think I did an okay job. (If you saw my garden tour video on Facebook, it was taken after my haircut.)
Please Lord, don’t let me lose my mind and buy a Frost and Tip Kit.
We are all so grateful for the doctors and nurses and essential workers who are saving lives and keeping our country hobbling along. But you know who will be on the front line when this is over? Hairdressers. They will be essential. And they will certainly have their work cut out for them.
I’ve been looking for the positive in all the craziness. This past week I found lots of positive.
How about two four-leaf clovers in two days! One in our yard; one in Momma’s. If that isn’t a lucky sign, I don’t know what is.
I’m really into clover. (How’s that for being a dork?) The past two years, we’ve been converting our back lawn into a clover lawn. Because of this, I possibly notice clover more than the “normal” person. And maybe that’s why I just happened to spy two lucky ones in two days.
Two different varieties. Aren’t they pretty!?
I left them both to grow.
We need all the luck we can get.
John planted a redbud last week and uncovered two more treasures!
I’m curious. What do you think the metal loopy thing was used for?
We have a whole collection of bottles that were unearthed from our property, along with pieces of broken dishes and pottery. I have plans to make something from the broken earthenware. We display the bottles like artwork.
Because they are artwork.
Back in 2014 I wrote a blog post about the history of things left behind on our property. You can read it again HERE.
Our first rosebud quietly bloomed for Good Friday. So flawless and beautiful and unassuming. Surrounded by other buds still clamped tight as tiny fists, she was the first to bravely open her eyes, to reach for the sunlight, to see Easter morning.
She reminds me of the rosebuds Staci and I wore to Brinkley Chapel all those years ago.
White patent shoes and new lacy socks, gloves and a hat, skinny legs with a fading bruise or three—Momma curled our hair and pinned a rose on our Easter dress, wrangled our best selves into the church house on Easter Sunday.
The Easter bunny had already come bringing a basket filled with plastic eggs and chocolate candy and a new coloring book.
We were like those new rosebuds, fresh off the spring assembly line, hardy yet fragile, not yet ready to face the whole wide world but carefree in our corner of Mississippi County. And on that day at that time, we believed wholeheartedly in Jesus and the Easter Bunny and roses and white gloves and clean-smelling hair with bangs freshly cut over the bathroom sink.
Maybe we still do.
Lordy, my hair is looking more and more beautiful every day I’m isolated.
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Thanks for reading this Easter Sunday Letter.
He is risen!
Grace Grits and Gardening
Farm. Food. Garden. Life.
