Roots And Wings

"A man shall leave his mother and a woman leave her home."

My dear hubby and I had the extreme privilege and pleasure of helping to move our oldest son and his lovely girlfriend into their new apartment in Cambridge, MA a few weeks back. They moved from her neat little apartment – which was in the suburbs and was an apartment addition to a ranch style home - about 15 or so minutes away, into their first place together, smack in the middle of preppy Cambridge and into a charming and well kept 6 family home (3 Floors-2 sides) on a street of many similar Victorian style multi-family homes. Theirs is a 2nd floor walkup – 4 large rooms plus a huge bath, high ceilings, plenty of large windows and natural light, hardwood floors and lovely woodwork trim which is typical of these gorgeous older homes, including crown molding. They had been busy painting it the week before and the rooms were wonderfully done in shades of off red, pea-greenish green, slate blue and I can’t recall the bedroom – perhaps a beige-ish/brown-ish color. Some of the homes on the street and surrounding neighborhood, although large Victorian style, are single family. I was surprised to see a lot of trees and shrubs and lush green in and around these homes, all nicely landscaped and well maintained. I had never been to Cambridge and when I hear the word “city” I get a completely different picture in my mind from what it actually was. The neighborhoods – just off from the “main drags” so to speak – were charming and immaculate. They are just a very short walk – a couple tenths of a mile – from Porter Square and Massachusetts Ave. Harvard Square is a mile or so away. My son’s job as Technical Instructor in the Physics Department at MIT, is 3 miles or so away and he catches the T to get there. His girlfriend’s job in Medford is about a 10 minute drive, but she can also take a bus. She will be attending Graduate School in the Fall at Leslie University, which is just a few blocks away. So, they are right where they need and want to be! The demographic here is a large percentage of young professionals. There are parks and sidewalk shops and cafes and neat brick walk ways.

We live in the rural-ish northeast corner of Connecticut on 3 acres tucked away off the road down a long driveway in the woods. (OK, if you’ve read some of my other posts – or if you’re my sisters – you already know where I live and all about my gorgeous rural “backyard”!) I’d call it country – with its beautiful back roads, cow pastures, fences, wild turkeys, foxes, deer, owls and, well, you get the picture. My son grew up far from the city. His girl grew up in southwestern Maine with lots of animals and a 45 minute drive to the high school in another town. So she too was far from the city. You may recall the children’s story entitled, something along the lines of “Country Mouse, City Mouse.” Well, now my little Country Mouse and his Country Mouse girl, are definitely City Mice! And, I think they are adapting well – public transportation and all! My son says he really enjoys taking the “T” to work and feeling like a true Bostonian!

They had met in college – Wheaton College in Massachusetts -- and were happy to be moving very close by to another Wheaton grad friend, who lives a mile or so away near Davis Square and who had offered to help them with the move. Manpower thus supplied, we supplied the truck and “know-how.” Mike was glad he wouldn’t be doing any heavy lifting and was happy to orchestrate the actual moving, having had much moving experience in the past. Did you know that the best way to move a couch is not to just pick it up – keeping it parallel to the floor, etc.? But rather, you stand it up on end and can now walk it around the opening of a door, a corner, etc. Who knew? This you can only learn from experience. Mike was very good at knowing the logistics, strategy and mechanics of this move and his leadership and command of the situation was welcomed, respected and invaluable. In order to take the couch out of the apartment, the door needed to be removed from the hinges. Mike assessed and concluded this almost immediately and of course had the tools and knew exactly what to do. This might have been overwhelming to anyone who did not have the experience (or tools) to realize what needed to be done or otherwise how to do it.

The 2 younger men had an abundance of energy and, although sweating profusely, seemed otherwise unfazed by the high temperatures on this Sunday afternoon in mid-July. Indeed, the mood was almost festive – it was a joyous occasion – and at any minute I expected to hear whistling, specifically, to the tune of “Whistle While You Work!” My role in the move was to lend moral support when needed (I was good at that) and to otherwise stay out of the way, (I was good at that, too!) There was already an ample number of both “Chiefs” and “Indians,” (Oh dear, I’m afraid that is politically incorrect, isn’t it?!) and one more, in either capacity, was simply not needed. Knowing and understanding this simple truth, I suppose, also comes from years of experience. Perhaps we do grow wiser with age?

As I was doing my part of staying out of the way in the kitchen – which, by the way, has a “back” door out onto a very cool fire escape and roof top – I heard the grunts and groans and logistical talking of moving the couch into the apartment from the hall. The stairs twisted and were narrow, as was the hall and the door opening. I think the couch was half way in and then out a few times when I finally heard a collective, “yes!” The couch was in! This was a big deal. High fives were given all around (I think – I was still in the kitchen) and then I heard Mike say, “OK, how many Wheaton Grads does it take to move a couch?” Very funny. All kidding aside though, these Wheaton grads – these fine young capable people -- I’m sure could move mountains if they put their hearts and minds to it. I’ve no doubt that someday they will.

A cooler packed with cold water, juices and homemade pizza awaited us now that the immediate task at hand was completed. As we sat around their new kitchen table on nicely reupholstered chairs, Zack commented, in all sincerity, “Wow, where you’d get this pizza? It’s really good!” Well, Mike had made the pizza and he’s always working on improving it – constantly tweaking it and trying something different. It’s his thing. So, I think he was glad that it was enjoyed enough to have been commented on in that way. This, I believe, made his day, at least to a small degree.

It was now time for us to leave. They all had a lot more to do – going back for their clothes and shopping for at least a shower curtain and a little food. Although not completely moved in, they would now be living here. The bulk of the heavy stuff was here, specifically the mattresses, couch and large chair. As we were getting ready for our goodbyes, I heard Allie mention that they also still needed to buy some beer for Zack. I smiled at this very appropriate gesture and was reminded of my old neighborhood growing up. Whenever any of the neighbors helped the other out with one sort of project or another, beer was always given in appreciation. I mean, you can’t really pay your friends. To give someone 20 bucks is just plain silly. Perhaps some of the tasks were worth 1 or 2 or even 3 hundred dollars or more if you had to actually hire someone to do it. In my neighborhood, you just bought the person a 6 pack or 2 or even a case of their favorite beer and called it even. You knew you could count on each other for help with certain tasks and you knew you’d either be buying the beer or receiving it. It was the code I guess. A person would know how much of their time would be needed – 30 minutes, 1 or 2 hours etc, -- beforehand by being told something to the effect of, “Oh, this is only a 1 six pack job.” And it was not that the “helper” was anticipating or expected any sort of reward – because the true reward was really in just being a good neighbor and friend and the pleasure derived from helping someone out – but just to know the enormity of the task at hand. I recall a time shortly after we were married when we asked our friend “the neighborhood mechanic” if he would be able to tune up our car. We didn’t feel we could trust bringing it to a garage (OK, I’m dating myself here – but you already know how old I am anyway) and of course he obliged. (I know now that this must have been an extreme inconvenience for him and probably went beyond boundaries really – too much to ask. We were very young!) I bought 2 cases of his favorite beer the next day, leaving it on his door steps. Sometimes, on smaller jobs, the beer would be consumed while the job was being done. This always seemed to make the job go easier, yet it always took more time! For these types of jobs, of course, one would say, “Oh, this is a 1 beer job, maybe 2.” And a good time would be had by all – which was really the point.

Well, our parental duties done – at least for the move and at least for now – we headed on home. Allie’s Dad had moved her into the apartment that she was now leaving, almost 2 years ago and I know her Mom helped her to paint it. I thought of her parents now (though I’ve never met them) and realized that they must have felt secure in the knowledge that someone – that we -- would be helping their daughter with the move this time. After all, our son was moving too. I’m sure they appreciated it – (just as we appreciated her Dad helping to fix Alex’s car when it got creamed in a rotary in Massachusetts a few years back.) And I’m sure they thought about it too. I think we had a little parental telepathy going because I felt their gratitude, as I knew that they knew – we had this one.

Truth be told, parental duty or not, it was truly a pleasure and an honor to help out these wonderful young adults. And I think it was gratifying - no, I know it was -- in more of a “roots and wings” kind of thing. To see your children grow into responsible, capable adults and to watch them fly off -- really on their own now – well, what more can a parent want for their child? You do your best while raising them (mistakes are made and you wonder whether they turned out ok, because of you or in spite of you – perhaps both) and hope they go off into the world, well equipped. You’ve given them wings, and although bittersweet, you watch them fly. And when my son called that night, as I listened to his words on the answering machine – just checking in to see if we made it back alright, thanking us again for helping him, and that he was looking forward to coming soon for a visit – I knew we had given him roots.

Next Up: Spring

“First comes spring and summer, but then we have fall and winter. And then we get spring and summer again.” ~ Chance the Gardener, Peter Sellers, Being There


I noticed it yesterday. It was faint, but it was definitely there. It was fleeting, as it was gone today. But I have hope. It will be back. The official date for its arrival is March 20th but just as a newborn seldom comes into the world on their scheduled due date and often teases the anxious expectant parents with false labor, so it is with Spring. It’ll be here when it’s good and ready and no sooner, but will usually tease us with brief moments of coming attractions. And so it was with yesterday. Spring was in the air.

I had been, appropriately, doing spring cleaning although it wasn’t quite warm enough to have my windows opened. But when I went outside to shake out my very full dust rag, there was this very subtle hint of Spring. I turned my face into the slight breeze so as not to get a face full of dust when I shook out the cloth. The air had a faint scent of fresh grass and I was instantly taken back to my track & field days some 35+ years ago. And just as fast I thought of my older son. He had run track too and was a star pole-vaulter as well. He and I have talked about how the lovely Autumn scents remind us of our cross country days and now I wondered whether he was outside in Rochester, breathing in the fresh air and thinking of track. And if he was, I imagined him, just as fast, thinking of me thinking of him because he knows I would be. I could take that even further but it may get confusing. But then I realized we’re talking about Rochester, NY, located way up north on the banks of Lake Ontario. It is unlikely that Spring – or any hint of it – would be making its way up there anytime soon.

Now, we know that there are 4 seasons everywhere around the globe. It’s just that different regions may have different names for them. My son is always upbeat and never negative. But in listening to him talk about Rochester, which is where he’s been living for 1 ½ years, I get the feeling that the 4 seasons up there go something like this: cold, snow, bleak and summer. Many of these seasons overlap and summer is in the month of July. So I believe that right now it is bleak up there, which is the word he has used to describe it in the past – in a matter-of-fact sort of manner, not in a negative way -- although the word itself paints a very dreary picture. Either way, I did shoot him an email to tell him that it is track season here in Connecticut and that I was thinking of him!

I have seen other signs of spring recently. Robins looking for worms in my back yard for one, and there have been more birds in the early morning waking me up. The past few days I’ve seen a few bugs outside flying around. I don’t know what kind of bugs but I haven’t seen bugs outside since September. For the past few weeks I’ve heard that familiar honking in the air as the geese have been returning. And finally, the ice on the lake is disappearing and I’ve just heard that the UCONN crew teams will be practicing starting next week. They are putting their dock in on Wednesday the 17th and will begin their rowing on Thursday.

I gotta say, I do like winter and I’m not “sick” of it as some people might be, but I also like the next season. Every season I’m in is the best season to be in at the time – but I do like when they change too. It’s kind of like; say you’re at a fancy restaurant: they put a plate of something in front of you and it looks good and tastes great and you “oouu” and “ahh” over the presentation of it all as you eat it up. Then, not quite finished, but they take that plate away and present you with another one. You liked the first, but you like this one too and you never quite get the chance to fully enjoy them all and then they’re gone. But others keep coming in their place so that’s ok. Each one different but equally as delicious. And so it is with the seasons.

I could go on and on about what I like about this winter season – as it slowly slips away. The frigid air as it stings your nostrils and freezes the hairs inside your nose; the quietness, stillness and peacefulness you feel while standing in the woods with the snow falling all around; the beauty of the snow on the leaves on the ground in the woods – looking like sugar on a bowl of cornflakes; the snow sticking on the trees and the ice hanging from the branches; the silhouette of the bare trees against the sky and finally; looking out the window on a clear night when “the moon on the breast of the new fallen snow,” gives “a luster of mid-day to objects below.” But as I gaze outside now and see about a dozen robins pulling worms out of the ground in my front yard – and although I’ve not quite had my fill of it -- I’ll say goodbye to winter with no regrets. I know it will be back on December 21st, if not sooner. Next up: Spring!

Whose Backyard Is This Anyway?

"Bless the beast and the children. For in this world they have no voice. They have no choice.”

As I stood on the deck in the frigid air after my morning walk today I gazed out into the woods as I always do. Though the temperature is a mere 9 degrees, I am properly layered and plenty warm. There is not a cloud in the sky and no breeze or wind and so I can really feel the warmth of the morning sun. And although I have heard no complaints from Missy, I don’t believe she should be out very long when it’s this cold, so I have sent her inside. Looking into the woods I see the same trio of deer that I have seen just about every day since last spring. Although I have truly seen deer in my backyard nearly every day for the past 20 years, I have kept track of these three specifically. It is a Mom with her 2 babies – who are getting older now, no longer babies really. I recall the day when one of them was born.

It was last spring and I was on my morning walk. As I walked through the enchanted forest – the section of my driveway that cuts through the woods – I spotted a baby deer lying in the leaves about 8 feet into the woods, just minutes old. The mama had temporarily left but was, undoubtedly, watching me and Missy from a safe distance as we passed on through. I have learned that new born deer, before the mom cleans them all up, have no scent. I’m sure the mom left so as not to draw notice to her and her new born fawn, from the dog. I kept on walking, not wanting to startle the baby or panic the mother and not wanting Missy to see her. True to form, my faithful companion/guard dog – whose eyesight isn’t all that great - remained clueless to the nearness of the brand new fawn and we successfully walked on past. On the walk back the fawn was gone.

As the baby grew and was able to string along with Mom, it was so neat to see her looking, of course, just like Bambi with all the spots that they eventually loose. The mama would walk across our yard with her baby close behind and followed also by another deer who appeared to be the older sister to the newborn. The legs on the fawn seemed to be way too long for her small body and it was as if she was walking on stilts.

Now, to be clear, there were - and are - more than these 3 deer, but I came to recognize this trio over the summer and autumn months and now, on into winter. Quite often I’d see them grazing in the field with other deer. At times it seemed as if the older deer were babysitting the younger ones and perhaps tolerating their antics. As I watched from my vantage point at the top the hill, looking down at them in the field, it was as if I was watching a Disney movie. Art really does imitate life. The babies were frolicking – hopping and skipping and literally running in circles around the other deer in juts and spurts. Deer are people too!

More than once I would come upon the deer, unexpectantly, surprising both the deer and myself. Often times, when this happened, the mama deer would stomp her front hoof once. I knew the deer would be off and running in a matter of seconds. I came to recognize that this stomping was a signal which served two purposes. Firstly, it was a warning to me to stop right there and that if I dare come any closer the deer would snort and spit at me. Secondly, it was a signal to her babies as if to say, “Ok, on the count of three – we run!” And sure enough off they would go, bounding across my backyard and into the woods jumping over stone walls and following their ancient, well traveled paths. Their white tails in the air, moving up and down, look as if they’re waving. Often times, in the early morning or in the faint light of late day – at twilight – they would blend right into the woods and would miss being seen altogether were it not for the white of their under tail.

And so as I recalled all these sightings of the deer over the past months and watched them now in the woods, standing on my deck, I couldn’t help but wonder; whose backyard is this anyway? Just then the deck lets out a huge “bang” as it so often does when the temperature is this low, and three heads pop up in the woods as the deer stand “at attention.” I know the answer and am grateful to the deer to be sharing their home with me, in which I am really a guest. Of course they didn’t have a choice, did they? And although good guests usually don’t go around cutting your trees down, I have, unwittingly, provided them with really nice shrubs in my front yard to eat. We have even bought deer food for them at the local Tractor Supply. It’s nice we can live in each other’s backyard. I look forward to seeing brand new frolicking fawns in the spring.