our hood

I become mildly obsessed with where I live this time of year. The shock of green that becomes the hills. The stain of blue sky. Though I'm pretty certain the balsam root is the real deal sealer. All ballsy and bright. So fleeting. A tease. Or the delicate lupine. The cheery arnica. Perhaps I never really understood the whole concept of wildflowers. That one day they decide to emerge from the earth like a blanket of sunshine, a merry band of diverse and friendly folk. They have taken up residence on my mountain and I just can't get enough.

The weekend was homey, just as it should be. The tail end of a school year is an exhausting time. Report cards to write and wild kids to placate and encourage to stay kind and humble. If only every weekend could have an extra day I'd have time to do school work, house work, marriage work, mama work, family work and, even, me work. And I need to find another word for work because work has negative connotations, but this was all necessary, all important and good in it's own, necessary way.

But all the work came back to appreciating our yard and valley. One afternoon when I was up on the mountain alone with Lucy, I was so overwhelmed, my body so tuckered, my brain so fried, I just sat on down on the trail. The same trail that feels easy and accessible felt arduous and overwhelming. Undo-able. So we sat. I rocked it to my ipod and sang and smiled and took deep breaths. Watched the clouds move. Laughed at my goofy dog. Looked for my friends houses down in town, using the river as my compass. Decided it was absolutely okay to just sit because sometimes a body can only do so much.

The next day I had the energy I needed. I woke up early and hit another side of Mt. Jumbo with a friend. We took a huge loop, counted lots of wildflower species, lost direction, got back on track. The color and light and perfect heat. So many mysteries. New truths. I can't get enough.

Later that afternoon Jeffy and I decided to take Els out to appreciate the Rattlesnake. She's not into the backpack, and don't even mention a stroller, so we didn't exactly cover much ground. She would walk and stop and pick up rocks and amble up the side of sandy cliffs and head for the rushing water and say hello and sing songs. Jeff and I stayed mellow, realized that there wasn't much more than that moment.

And that's when the fairy came by. All white blond wispy hair, huge, glittery blue wings, a billowy yellow dress and red sandals. Hauling ass fairy like down the trail, her mama and papa jogging after her in their beat up running shoes. Eliana stopped and stared. Amazed.

"My fairy! My fairy!" (Ms. Moves freezes, shocked).

Little fairy kept running.

"My fairrrry??? My fairy!!!" (a mild Verouca Salt like quality enters her tone)

"Els, go and get her," say her encouraging, smiling parents. "Follow the fairy!"

So down the trail she ran, after her fairy. The green, shrouded path taking on a surreal quality, the river the soundtrack for our own little fantasy.