Phoenix rises From Ashes

 

 One week ago, I took these photos.  Lila and I spent the day at the sugarhouse for Sunday's boiling.  It was a weekend like so many others in early spring, shared over generations, in both sides of my husband's family tree.  I just happened to stop and take this photo of the sugarhouse itself last week, because I thought I might share it with students at school.  I knew this weekend would be busy and I was feeling sad Lila and I would not have much time to spend sugaring.

 This weekend, my boys headed to Conway on Saturday morning to spend the weekend doing sugaring projects.  Even when the sap isn't running there are jobs to be done and plenty to keep the boys busy, so they were happy to go.  I was committed to escorting Lila to a weekend of dance performances, and a plan to bring supper on Sunday afternoon when I would meet the boys, my husband and family at the sugarhouse with Lila.

Her show (Cinderella) on Sunday, was at 2 and I just got on the highway when my phone rang.  A friend of my husband from the local fire dept was trying to reach him to see if he heard the news, a call had just come in for a fire at Boyden's Sugarhouse in Conway.  My heart was racing as I tried to reach my husband.  I didn't know till later his phone was hanging, in the pocket of his coat, on the mirror of his truck where he was splitting wood.  Once off the highway, I pulled over to track down someone in town, and I heard the report, "fully involved structure fire."

Many thoughts came to mind.  "Where are my boys?" I was not so much concerned they were in it, I was confident Howard and Jeanne would be sure they were safe, as I worried they were hysterically watching their beloved sugarhouse burn while adults bustled around them.  I needed to get there.  I also was alarmed to think of a fully involved blaze while my brother in law was boiling, is he ok? what happened? no way in hell he would let it go without a fight. . . over his dead body. . . when hell freezes over. . .

 Little did I know he was inside at that moment about a foot or 2 from the flames with just a one inch pine wall between him and the blazing wood shed.  He was holding fire from racing across the peak with a water hose, electric pump and his thumb and the very generous help of a passerby who grabbed the fire extinguishers and blasted them under the door at the fire on the otherside!

 (these 7 photos of the fire and FD response came from Fireground 360)

They attacked the fire from the door where Howard was holding off the fire, trying desparately to keep it back away from the main operation.  Howard talks now about the minutes (which seemed like hours) he spent planning the attack, while awaiting the fire department's arrival.  He is humbled by the respect of the department, who followed his plan without question though it has been years since he held the title of Captain on the department.  

True to form.  Howard was quick to see the bright side of the story.  Despite the loss of one third of the structure, the main operation was saved, and no one was hurt!  I was never so greatful to see anything as I was to see the building standing with family looking on when I arrived. To look at pictures of the building engulfed in flames, it is just amazing that it was not a total loss.  It is a wonder to think about the man holding a garden hose, a passerby offering help, Jeanne and her helper (a cousin's daughter) hauling out anything they could grab to save it from what seemed both inevitable, and impossible at the same time.  Quick response from the local volunteer FD was crucial and yet the whole stream of events came together to say, not this sugarhouse, not this time. . .

Howard had a quick positive response to inquiries of a workbee the next day.  He began seeking out folks he knew had skills he needed, but little did he know how many would seek him out on this day of blue sky, bitter cold, and optimism.  Out of the ashes they rose like a phoenix, a beautiful sight after the fire.

 

Vehicles everywhere. . . 

family

neighbors

friends

 a community

working together

rewiring

                rebuilding

           creating

                      learning important lessons

contributing

 and eating well

together

community

                   

the phoenix

productive day

Coming together. .. Howard and JeanneA new beginning. . . 

Boiling again Thursday, March 26, 2015!!

Sugar baby is growing up

She walked around the sugar house like she owned it, "I'm getting a juice for Uncle Howard."  In that moment, I realized my six year old was no longer the sugar baby of last year, caring only about the sampling of wares and overseeing the candy making in hopes of acquiring a maple sugar cookie.

Though she still stayed close when Auntie Jeanne made candy, she then ventured back to boiler room, without checking with me first, or holding my hand and asking me to "come with me mommy."

Throughout the afternoon boil, she asked questions and watched, I could hear Howard  answering and explaining as he worked.  He even taught her to "predict" when the syrup would draw, a "trick" that has amazed many fieldtrip kindergarteners over the years.

"We are making syrup fast today." Or "After I pour the syrup in Auntie Jeanne or mom will run the filter.  When you hear it get noisy you can flip this switch." Pointing to switch on a post nearby.  

Of course, when canning time came, my sugar baby showed her face once again.  "Mommy can I have a sample?"

For just a moment

Amidst the chaos of the beginning of school, with coworkers bustling about the room, and darting in and out of conversations before the children arrived something drew my eye toward the high window. As the world around me whirred and moved, I sat staring and taking in the moment.  On the corner of the roof white with winter, two shining black crows sat upright preening and pecking at the snow, tall against the sliver of blue. . . only visible from my perch at the computer.  

Barbie Bandits

She climbed into the car after dance and in disheartened squeal, "Where's his shirt?  They lost it and I'll never find it!"  As I poked around in the winter boot Ken was sticking out of, I found the shirt, "Don't worry, it's right here.", I picture the two brothers waiting in the car, watching movies, and . . . playing with sister's Barbie and Ken.  "Why do they have to mess up my dolls?" another anguished plea.  And my reply, "I guess if you don't want them messed with just leave them in your backpack out of sight, and as I speak these words I file the moment for future use with future girlfriends or wives to be, graduation day, or who knows when . . . *insert evil snigger here.

Like Percy

teacher smiled direct,
I caught it.  the kid's story
changed everything

More than Peanutbutter and Football

I climbed the stairs to the sound of raukus banging and thumping just in time to see the peanut butter container fly to the floor and land with a boom.  In a flash, I recalled recontainering two pounds of peanut butter once before when the plastic jar cracked. "What are you doing?!" I yelled.  The overtired boy flew up the stairs, and my husband took the fall, "My fault!  Yell at me, not him!"

I try to be fair and look at situations before reacting, but sometimes. . . Then I wonder over the many times teachers are put in the position of reacting to "situations", and with the ratio of at least 20 students to 1 teacher and the job of teaching  and 'no tolerance' on the mind, I wonder how often we get it right?   How often do kids pull their friends out from under the bus?  How often do we get it wrong and have a child go home to report, "That teacher is an idiot!"  

Not to dwell on my mistake, I haul myself upstairs after him to appologize and give him a hug.  "Sorry I overreacted buddy." and he hugged me back.

March Poem 2015

Even as we are just barely emerging from one of the coldest, snowiest winters since I was a kid, I couldn't help but smile at the snow flurry mixed with sunshine, warm air, and blue sky as I opened the door just now.

March Poem 2015

Open door. . .warm
High Sun shines on
White flakes flurrying across
Blue sky
Smile

Tracking

I've been waiting.  It has been such a crazy week, no time to deal with the snow and now it holds a sign.

As I approach, I wonder, Are those tracks, pressed into the slush covered drive, wider than the usual?  I've been waiting.  So, to me it looks like they swung wide before heading left up our little hill.  My husband and I don't really do that.

I crest the hill and my eyes quickly scan past the sleeping maple tree and burning bush to the porch, because I have been waiting for this.  Tracks lead right up to the house.

I knew it!  The brown shape stands out light against the dark wood, tracking label shining bright in contrast.  As I approach the steps, My suspicion is correct.  My package is here!

And the Giggling Ensues

I was feeling pretty bad.  I had just grumbled at my daughter, basically for being a kid, while I was trying to do a tedious task on my computer.  To cheer her up I promised something fun. . .bubbles in the tub!  Then, I realized sadly while running the bath, there are NO bubbles in this house!  She burst into tears again.

In an instant, I transformed her dreaded hairbrush into a scandalously funny character reminding her to wash her hair and put conditioner in.  With an inconsistent accent that is a cross between a female version of Gru (from Dispicable Me) sprinkled with hints of attitude of Colette (from Ratatouille), and who knows what else?, the hairbrush came to life.  "Don't forget to vash yoa hayar and some condishonar too so you vont have all tangles in dat hayar."  A Giggle bubbles out of my daughter.  "Vat are ju laughing at, I vill reeeep out jor hayar, ju silly goose!"  Outright laughter.

In my own voice, shampoo in hand, come let me wash your hair. I began to scrub and said oh my goodness the brush is making me do it!  My arms are scrubbing like crazy! Brush, "Scrub it up ju grubby dub, vash your hayar."  The rinse and conditioning was peeled with laughter and smiles as was the brushing through tangles.  "Vat is dis?  No teaers?  Ju are supposed to be crying and vining right now ju rrascal, vat is goiiing on around heaar?"  Hysterics.  "Vy are ju laughing and not crying?"

Lila, "You are making me laugh, it doesn't hurt when I am having fun!!"

The view

From the view of a warm car, having just delivered one child to school and others still bound for destinations, I see them again.  A family, I think, two children, bundled, hoods up making themselves busy in the snow banks lining the slush covered sidewalk as the adult looking down the street, (for the bus?) puffs a cigarette.

Each day I see them in some form of waiting on this street outside a package store.  Today I was running late and for the first time saw those two bundled kids scurry onto the school bus and I couldn't let the image go unwritten.

I think about how I have watched strangers' children grow over months, sometimes years from the view of my driver's seat. . . And wonder do they ever notice us as we pass, a warm family filled van in various states of mood and expressions we pass by?

Boys on Friendship

I was lying on the sleeping bag and pillow, the ones my boys leave out for the 'designated reader' at bedtime.  Although everything was late tonight, including bedtime, they both asked if I would come up and keep reading Wonder by R.J. Palacio.  When ten and eleven year old boys ask mom to come read a really good book, it is hard to resist.

We just reached a place in the book where the true character of one of the boys in the book really becomes apparent, before I stopped reading.  One of my own boys began to talk about how if he had to choose a good friendship over being popular he would choose the good friendship.  I talked about how I could see where the character was coming from at first, because in real life sometimes it can be harder to see things while they are happening and then we realize man, that was dumb, or look what I am missing. . .

Then my youngest agreed in an unexpected way.  He talked about a boy he was in class with the year before and how he thought they were friends.  When the other boy said things like, "Give me a pencil or I won't be your friend." my guy said, "I did all kinds of things for him, because I thought he really was my friend all this time, then he punched me and that was it.  He wasn't really my friend."

In that moment I was struck by how the right books can really open important conversations with our kids.  Conversations that can otherwise feel canned or static only for the sake of having them, can become truthful and important.  So greatful to fabulous authors. . . 

Ready for the day?

I am not ready.  It is Monday and there is so much I haven't done to prepare for the week.  Meals aren't ready.  Kids' papers fluttered across the kitchen counter on Friday lay still, cluttering the expanse.  I am pretty sure my favorite pants are still crumpled in a pile of dirty laundry that grew over the weekend instead of being washed and returned to drawers.

I take a sip of hot tea, strong and just a little sweet.

And then I take another.  I calm my thoughts.  I make a plan in my mind for supper.  I decide what I can wear today.  Papers only take a moment to gather.  I will throw a load of laundry in before my shower and waking the kids.

As I finish my last sip of tea, I know I am now, at least a little bit more . . .ready.

Wondering. . .

I put on my coat and boots, to go help move more firewood in, and she was rushing about, "Where are my boots?", and then found them and began tugging them on.  She was tying her boots, coat on but unzipped, when I walked out the door, to fill the wheelbarrow.  I had dumped a few loads down to the pile when she came out, coat zipped, and asked, "What should I play?"  After a short back and forth of ideas, our yard is deep with snow, and she didn't put on snowpants, she asked "Can I just play in the driveway?" to which I replied, "sure".

Our driveway is pretty long, we are far from the dirt road on which we live, and even the plowed area is essentially still snowcovered.  As she walked along, she called "Can I go on the hill?"  The hill is about 100 feet from our house, and as I answered "yes" it sort of struck me that she even thought to ask, it is just halfway down our driveway. Then I thought about this youngest one, who always seems to have someone, me, her dad, one or both of her brothers, to do things with and I wonder for a moment that she actually has an opportunity to be a little independent in her own way.

The sky is grey and leaking a few flakes into the cold air as I stand and watch her trod along in her insulated boots and winter coat, with her hair hanging long over the hood in back, and I realize I want to write about this moment or thought, but I am not really sure what it is exactly.  She is only gone minutes when she returns to the house. As I type, hours later snow has only lightly covered our vehicles and is still falling, now from the black sky outside my window, and I wonder if my little girl gets enough time to just be with herself, or if she will one day learn to enjoy it. . . 

Sledding

Hot layers,
clothes and climb
Cold steals through,
Backs in snow,
bare treetops, sky swirls
refreshing,windblown laughter

Be Kind to your DPW Drivers!

So I was sitting with my husband last night, and he was talking about how frustrating it is to work on our local Town Highway Dept. It really bothers him that so many people badmouth the town crew. If you know him and many of you do, he is very Smart, very kind, and a HARD worker, raised on a farm and taught to always give his work 110%. Frankly, the crew he works with now is extremely competent and hardworking despite rumors and badmouthing of surprisingly unsupportive local and prominent mouthpieces, who seem to feel it is their duty to stir up trouble, or keep the stereotype of the lazy town employee alive and well.

So imagine his dismay, when he stops to get some food after being out almost 24 hours, and is told to go out and re scrape a road, because someone called to complain that the job he did wasn’t “up to standards”. The reality, his supervisor confirmed, he did a fine job, the snow on the road came from snow filled trees after some wind . . .of course it will need to be rescraped, but that is no fault of the man driving the plow. What? You think the town crew should keep trees from overhanging roads? They would be glad to, but so many residents are against tree maintenance/removal that many roads are left with poor sunlight (necessary for melting), poor drainage (necessary for reducing ice buildup) that they must just do the best they can with the situation at hand.

So, back to my hungry husband, here he is rescraping a road after the snow stops falling. He passes driveways all day, he is plowing a road, that is his job. Yet instead of a friendly wave from residents, folks yell obscenities and raise their middle finger as he passes as if he could somehow magically divert snow from landing at the edge of the road each driveway . 

Just think how that makes a person feel. . . 

When he does finally get a break, or stop for coffee at the local store, he is publicly ridiculed for hanging around, lazy. . .Do people think the running joke about lazy highway workers is funny? (he tries to ignore those comments, bc well .. . who has the energy when he's left his bed at 2 am and hasn't been home in 16 hours, 3 hours, 8 hours, 24 hours, (what does it matter, he left his warm bed, his baby's birthday party, a newborn and mom, a wife fighting cancer, a daugter's dance class. . (I could go on and on, the possibilities are endless because those guys are human after all, they are not the enemy) They do that job for however long it takes to get it done.

My challenge is this: 

• If everyone who sees this could share this message, that would be fantastic. (time @ 3 seconds)
• Then, if you have another couple seconds, when you see anyone driving a town/state plow truck, give them a wave and a smile, that's all. . .
• If you are feeling ambitious, and you happen to see town crew around town eating or chatting alone or as a group, ask them how long they have been out or expect to be out, ask them how it has been going? or when's the last time they sat down for a hot meal. . . say thank you! A little empathy goes a long way. . .
• Have Patience: and keep in mind a few facts. . .
• In Northfield 6 guys (actually 5 right now bc one was injured falling on the ice recently) each have a route that can take from 3-6 hours to complete depending on rate of snowfall, ice, visibility and so on. . .
• Breakdowns happen. . . equipment fails. The trucks and equipment see a lot of miles and hours, and despite frequent and regular maintenance stuff breaks.
• The reason the plow goes by . . . again, and again after a storm ends, is to push back banks, especially on a year like this where storm follows storm, otherwise the roads become very narrow as the winter progresses.
• Unexpected things happen, even when drivers are carefull. . . ***think glare ice, steep hills, and curves, 20 foot or less visibility and one tired guy in a very BIG truck with a sander and a plow. . .
• Despite what might occur in a perfect world, all this happens with a budget in mind, a budget for sand, maintenance, overtime and so on. . . these guys are doing the best they can with what they have and those resources are naturally depleted as the winter goes on and on as this one does. . .

If you made it this far, thank you for reading and educating yourself! PLEASE share this message with others and hopefully we can all share the Love, for the hard work and tenacity of the Highway men everywhere this winter.

Amy Boyden,
Wife, mom, teacher, and highway department supporter, lover of humanity

Lost in the Details of an Anxious Mind

It was evening and the boys were put to bed.  My husband read to them, and I rubbed backs and tucked them in.  We were catching a piece of Trump's Apprentice, when the younger complained from the top of the stairs, "Joey shot a rubberband at me when I was sleeping!!"  I made my way up, feeling frustrated, but knowing this is my boy, his anxiety is ramping up and we are all feeling it, at home and at school. He has been getting lost in details, overly critical, details preventing him from seeing the big picture when he makes a poor choice, details getting in the way of taking responsibility. . . He has made so much progress curbing his comments and taking ownership for his mistakes, it seems out of character now for these things to pop out again.

He is a preteen, and will be changing schools next year, we don't know which one for sure, but a huge change in any case, and his anxiety comes out in his ability to get along with. . . everyone.  Plus, he is a preteen, ugh, need I say more?  He has been disrespectful, which led to the meeting this week.  I pictured him at the meeting hands shaking, he tried to hide it with slumped poster and attitude eyes, but words simply weren't there for him.  I know this because I have experienced it.  I know people don't understand how a bright, otherwise very verbal person, could suddenly not have words, but it happens to me still, so I know.

So, I tucked the youngest back in with hugs and kisses, and sat down on the bed of the oldest.  I told him "I know it has been hard, the meeting, the talks. . .but everything will be ok.  We love you, me and Dad both, and we are here to help you." I rubbed his back with pressured strokes, to try and settle him down and told him,  "We will help you over the bumps"  and then jokingly, "but could you try to steer around a few of them?"  He said, "Feels more like mountains, can't really go around mountains." I told him, "I want you to close your eyes and picture the mountains shrinking."  and true to form, he said, "What kind of mountains are they?  Oceanic subduction? continental subduction? or fault line?"  I gave him a hug and said, "You pick." and "promise to picture the mountains shrinking."

December Rains

I am in a muddle.  I haven't written anything in a few weeks, short of an email or quick facebook post, so here I sit in silence, on the weekend between Christmas and New Year's, with pen, notebook, tea, and dimly lit tree, knowing it will be coming down in a few days.

The idea, of taking the tree down, colors my thoughts with a melancholy blanket of blah.  This year has been a rainy December.  There is much winter to go, and I am hoping for a clean, white slate soon, and even though I know I have had a good month with my family, I can't help but feel dissatisfied with the winter rains that have drowned the sleeping landscape in a puddle of gray.

I dread taking down the tree.  I know it will feel good in the long run.  I have left the tree well into January before, and regretted my procrastination as it became a grim, looming thing while the days passed and the dread of sorting ornaments weighed heavier and heavier.  "I won't do that again" I think to myself.

As I sit, curled into the cushion of the overstuffed chair, mind continuing it's wander, I recall my husband's grandmother's words, "In January, the cold gets stronger, and the light gets longer."  I catch a glimpse, in my imagination, of a January day when I suddenly notice, (as if it was actually sudden and not a very gradual thing) that the sun is rising a bit further North, climbing higher in the sky, and shining into the later afternoon hours.  I can see it clearly for a second, even feel the sun on my skin if I let my mind relax. . .breath just right. . . or concentrate just enough. . . then the image is gone.  Did I really feel it?  Just as swiftly as the image appears, it fleets away leaving me settled, once again, by the old Christmas tree as the December rain begins to fall in heavy, steady, drops on the metal roof overhead.

25 Days

With the truly jaded outlook of a mom of 3 kids who have been consistently NOT getting along lately, I constructed our first advent calendar in an attempt to get them in the Christmas spirit by the time Christmas arrives.  We worked together to paint an old canvas I had in my craft area, Lila enjoyed this.  We puzzled over the size of the envelopes, how small would they need to be.  I finally settled on using mini craft bags cut into thirds and hot glued on the bottom only 24 fit at this size, so I chose to add a full size bag along the side, just to be different.  Joey put a stack of old calendar numbers in order so I could see what was missing and I collected miscellaneous holiday papers and old holiday cards from my stash to add some color.

Scraps and Cards and papers

envelopes and bags, what to use what to use?

An evenings work



Next day embellishing has begun!

I have begun adding do dads and whatnots to sparkle it up a bit and give it some fun, I think I will probably keep adding throughout the season, because it is just fun to do!

So, December first arrived!!!  Under number 25, the kids found a scrap of paper that read, "Make paper chains to decorate for Christmas"  So groggy but 'game' they began their morning, 6:30am making paper decorations. 

Day 2 however, began in a very crabby way, crying over the candies I left.  This picky girl who changes her tastes witht the wind. Boo!!  But there is hope, Charlie offered up a trade, and Joey put breakfast together and morning crafts on his list of "Good ways to start the day" (which we had to make because the kids were off to such a tough start this morning) One step forward, one step back and we are going to be in the spirit by the 25th!!!