Shannon Hayes

Rain has fallen here nearly every day for the past week, offering welcome refreshment from this summer’s drought. Several hours of steady deluge Sunday had serious implications indoors. Comforters, blankets and pillow cases were pulled from the beds, sheets were stripped, towels yanked from the racks, backed-up laundry dumped from an over-filled hamper, and the bathroom filled with mountains of fleece and fiber queued up for a long over-do rendez-vous with the washing machine. We washed the dog beds, we washed the dogs, we washed the kids. (more…)

Dusky was not supposed to be our dog. It was Grammie who always wanted a little lap dog, but the girls and I were the ones who went to pick up the miniature mutt. And despite my bias against tiny dogs, this fuzzy black smudge, part Yorkshire terrier and part poodle, made a strong impression in the cute department.

The girls should not have made that drive with me. I should not have allowed them to play with her on the ride home. I should not have allowed them to cuddle and bond with with the puppy that first hour until Grammie was able to finally come greet her new companion.

And most of all, Grammie should not have taken pity on Saoirse’s wide eyes as they grew teary around the corners when the puppy was lifted from her arms. Grammie should not have paid attention to Ula’s dramatic wails of despair as she sat down on the porch to nuzzle the little dream dog that her heart had longed for these past 25 years.

Because that’s what led to Dusky coming home to our house instead. (more…)

Saoirse is now at the age where we can take long walks together. She no longer insists on carrying her Froggy, or her favorite doll, Lily; she doesn’t require that I pack a picnic feast to fuel her energy for the return journey, nor does she need to stop and rest every 3 minutes as we ascend a hill.

And as it was with me and my mom, we now have our time for girl talk, to leisurely explore all things of interest to soon-to-be nine year old girls, to recount adventures and share secrets, safe from the interruptions of little sisters, ringing telephones or the general demands of the day. While out padding down our road listening to crickets and robins, I find myself opening up and exploring my inner thoughts with her in a way that simply isn’t possible around our chaotic kitchen table. Neither of us has any particular agenda. We just share what comes to mind.

The other day, for me, it was Santa Claus. (more…)

We don’t go away much in the summer. Highways and traffic grate at our nerves, we fixate too much on what could be getting done on the farm, we get grouchy filling up at the pump.

That is not to say our summers are without bliss. But once things are growing in the soil and critters are out on pasture, we tend to stay within a small radius. We don’t take “days off” in the conventional sense; rather we find our summer vacation in the interstices of our daily labor and take our seasonal bliss in place – long lunches, naps or reading novels on the back porch; staying up a bit later in the evening to watch the girls wrestle and dance in the grass; early morning hikes before the sun rises too high in the sky; and best of all, retreating to the farm pond on the side hill across the creek. If “family vacation” exists for our clan in July and August, then it is defined by late afternoons and early evenings beside the pond, watching the sun retreat over the hilltops, zipping back and forth across the water with dogs, kids, friends and neighbors alike. (more…)

Swimming lessons at the village pool start next week. I’m 95% confident the girls understand that bathing suits will be worn.

They’ve grown up in a clothing-optional house (Grown-ups do tend to stay clothed…usually). Naked children are far easier to wash up than stained and dirty clothes, and when given the option, Saoirse and Ula (and their friends) seem to find nudity a far more functional fashion. (more…)