Six Months

I carry his sleepy body upstairs to tuck him in for another night under the moon.  I study his face, his perfect nose and sweet lips.  I take in the way his lips are still sucking, while nothing is there.  The weight of his body seems to increase every night as i tip-toe up the stairs.

A half a year has passed since we welcomed this boy on a chilly October day.  He has become such an amazing little guy and everyday we're thankful to have him with us.  In the last three months he began eating solids.  He laughs and mimics us.  He found his toes and his screech.  He spent his first night away from mama.  During that time, he learned how to stick his tongue out from daddy.  It's pretty much the cutest thing.  He experienced his first maple season and taste of syrup :).   He met his cousins for the first time and got his first ear infection.  His favorite foods so far are peas, sweet potato and banana.  He still loves bath time and his nighttime bottle.  He loves PBS kids and we find it hilarious when he screeches at the tv with delight.  He loves to read and get lotion'd up at bedtime.  When we put him down, he either finds his toes or flips onto his belly.  A few weeks ago he began to spin in circles when we put him down.  It won't be long until he figures out how to move back & forth.

Here are some of my favorite pictures from the past few months.  A little infant no more.  

Our sweet boy, he's growing.

St. Patty's Day

5 Months!

A typical work-at-home scene.  Excuse my un-organized-since-we-built-5-years-ago loft.

Baby blues in the sugarhouse

Maple weekend - prepping some maple fried dough!

Recently found toes.

Easter

Banana

I had a work related overnight up in Augusta Maine.  It was so hard leaving my boys.  But we did it. 

Liam's nap guard.

Handsome boy is getting gray.  

Nap time sweetness.

First time in his Phil & Ted's Lobster high chair.  Works great, we brought it with us to the beach last weekend and was a lifesaver.  He was in the bumbo on the counter, but was about to figure out his escape, so we retired it.

Finally!  First springtime walk with my boys.  Love my BOB jogger.  It's so easy to steer with one hand, so i can hold Charlie on the other.

My morning light.  My little love.  My heart.

For his memory bank :: Letters to my father {part 2}

To read Part 1 and the reasoning, please click here:  Part 1.

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Part 2 ~ Van Man

Most things about my dad are pretty obvious when you get to know him.  He is a major New England sports fan, specifically spends many hours with the Red Sox.  He enjoys walking and being outdoors.  He loves his wife and kids like no other.  He'd give the shirt off his back to help another in need.  But what most people don't know is that the man loves himself a good solid van.

Yes, i'm talking big, small and mini vans.  When i was really young, too young to remember, we had a big ol' grey ten to fifteen passenger Van.  The thing was a beast.  From the stories i'm told, dad bought it, brought it home for mom, and used a small car to commute in.  Mom hated that van.  The thing was like a mini school bus.  At the time, i was just a toddler, mom had the three of us and a foster kid, Jeremy to drive around.  I think this is also the time that my parents ran a food shelf out of their home, so maybe it was to pick up and transport large quantities of food?  I'm not sure.  Either way, they held onto it for a few years.  Mom tried to get rid of it by "accidentally" backing out of the garage a few times with the door still closed.  Then there was the winter driving with rear wheel drive only, and the small fact that we lived on a mountain.  Needless to say, ol' grey retired and a new, snazzy micro-mini van was put in it's place.

The 7 passenger Colt Vista.  This baby was mom's hip ride.  It was like the GMC Acadia of today.  I imagine some of her mom friends had car envy.  She could fit the three of us plus friends, while still being able to swing this thing into a tight parking space.  A breath of fresh air for her.  You'll notice the third row seating in the picture above?  Well those seats were individual, so one could be folded down.  Typically, whatever kid scored this back, lone, seat was on cloud nine.  Mom drove this rig for years and years.  One year we all piled in and drove to Florida in it.  Yes, 1,300 miles, 3 days, 3 kids and one Colt Vista.  Probably a bit of a nightmare for my parents, but an awesome adventure for us.  She held onto this for so many years that my oldest brother learned to drive on it.  I believe it was this car that drove dad's van obsession to the next level.  The vista proved to be a van of it's worth.  

As my brothers leg's grew and room was a priority, the Vista was pushed to dad and a nice red Chrysler Town & Country was introduced.  Mom missed her small ride, but adapted well to this van as she drove us to and from every event possible.  My other brother learned to drive on this baby, which created a bit of a problem when my parents realized that he wouldn't know how to drive standard.  My brothers would take this out to visit friends, streaming Tu-Pac or The Grateful Dead from the cassette player.  A little while after mom started driving this, dad ended up totaling the Vista in an accident.  Mom cried tears, partly for her husband, but mostly for her beloved Vista.  As the Vista was retired, permanently, dad went out and got a stellar deal on, yes, another beauty of a van.    

The ford Aerostar.  At this point mom and I were beginning to get sick of these vans.  My brothers were getting older so a majority of the time it was mom and I cruising the hills of Vermont alone.  Dad's rational for this one, was that he worked with so many kids and was always picking and dropping kids off, so having the seating would be really useful for his job.  Although this was true a bit of the time, mostly the man just wanted a good solid van to spend his 2+ hours a day commuting in.  Upon opening the door of this large piece of machinery, you'd typically find a Boston Globe, scattered about, a caffeine-free diet coke in the pull down tray, a bit spilled and sticky.  Some lottery tickets in the middle console, along with some loose change.  You'd always find a well worn glove, a wiffle ball & bat in the back hatch, an umbrella and a bag of goods for a family in need.  The van would be a bit messy, a bit dirty, but well loved.  Dad spoke about this van as his second wife.  I kid, but really, he loved her.  He was still driving this thing when mom decided that her van days had come to an end and a nice blue Subaru was her new car of choice.  My parents went to trade in the red Chrysler T&C and ended up with two gently used Subaru's.  A baby blue one for my mom, and a light brown one for my brothers to share.  After driving her new car home, mom was hooked.  Subaru's were her ride of choice.

But dad, he stuck it out.  He kept that green Areostar until it basically could drive no more.  I remember in it's last year, we would back down the driveway, get into the road, put it in drive and it would stay in reverse.  I remember the sliding door didn't close at the end.  The drivers side window wouldn't go up.  I think he had such a hard time letting go, as he knew this van would be his last.  His kids were bigger, a van was no longer a necessity.

My memory is that he drove some Subaru's for a few years before we both came home with brand new Dodge Neon's.

Time passed, we all left home, Adam got married, Adam had four kids and boom.  Mini-van.

Dad couldn't be prouder.

At Bean Hill

A quick double knock was all that was needed.  He'd tap his boots on the stone step as we entered the fragrantly warm farmhouse.  The floors of wide pine welcomed us leading to a brick chimney and Crawford cook stove.  It was February.  Conversations always began with; "so?" As to say, good morning.  He was in the kitchen making some breakfast.  We'd pull up a chair at the worn kitchen table, covered with tidbits of their life.

"Jesus Huckins, it's not time yet.  The calendar says it's still winter."  John would say while flipping the pancakes.

"Well the calendar may say that but the weather is saying spring.  We'd better start tapping."

My husband would counter.  The conversation would continue with some town gossip leading into new maple techniques and usually some good life lessons.  This conversation, I've learned, happens annually.  The tapping debate.

I remember the warm July day when I first met John and Eliza.  I was nervous, more nervous than I had been meeting Jason's parents.  From all that I heard, I could tell their approval and love meant a great deal to my boyfriend.  I noticed right away how confident and happy he was as soon as we stepped through the farmhouse door.  It was about 10am on a Sunday.  They weren't in the kitchen, so we walked through the house to the back screened-in porch.  There sat a man with the newspaper covering his face, seemingly engrossed in the Sunday Times.  He was quiet, but when he talked, i could tell he chose his words thoughtfully.  After a few awkward exchanges, he asked me if I'd ever had a fresh peach.  I said, "of course."  He laughed in a grunting sort of laughy way and without a word walked off the porch toward a grove of trees.  The screen door slammed, the kitty ran and John stepped slowly back onto the porch, offering me some peaches. "Here, try these."  He grunted, handing me two warm peaches, which I then realized he had just picked.  Holy smokes.  Within minutes I had fresh peach juice running down my chin, slurping it up with the back of my hand, getting it all over my shirt.  I heard boyfriend say "Enjoying that huni?!"  I just smiled and said "Now I've had fresh peaches."  Next thing I knew Charlie flew off the porch to begin chasing their dog, Lucy around the house.  John did his laugh/grunt and said "zoom, zoom doggies."  Then he began to talk about how much the heat was getting to him.  He referred to boyfriend as Huckins.  I liked that.  I then noticed the chickens and found myself slipping off the porch to wander and explore their land.  I instantly felt grounded and welcomed.  After some time I came back with some eggs in my shirt and another peach in my hand, grinning from ear to ear.  John did his laugh-grunt, looked at boyfriend and said "oh boy, Huckins" and pulled the newspaper back up, covering his smile.  Boyfriend's face lit up.  John approved.

From then on, i always thought of John and Eliza as Jason's people.  His support system and encourager's.  

Syrup was made yearly in the wood-fired evaporator.  The two of them spent days in the sugar woods, fixing lines, expanding and trying new techniques.  There was constant humor and constant lessons.  

As we approached marriage, i came to rely on the Conde's as my support people as well.  We were in between camper dwellers and moving into our new home.  We were planning a wedding and building a house.  We were constantly making decisions and feeling overwhelmed.  

But on Sundays, we'd retreat to Bean Hill to re-group.  We'd slow down and laugh at our current living and growing situations.

And one Sunday, we decided that we'd say our vows at the end of the raspberry rows, on the rock, overlooking the pond the following June.  

At Bean Hill.  On John and Eliza's land.  It felt right and true.

I'll never forget husband's face that Thursday night.  His phone rang, i was preparing dinner while wrangling a baby on my back.  He came upstairs and looked pail.  John had passed.  Just hours before.  

Everything stopped and we didn't believe it.  On Tuesday husband and John we chatting about tapping the Canterbury sugar bush, how deep the snow was and how difficult it would be.

Husband left and went to Eliza.  I sat, and rocked my baby, waiting for news.  At eight, husband called and said they were all celebrating John's life.  I packed up Liam and headed over to Bean Hill to celebrate with them.

Husband began tapping the sugar woods the following weekend.  The weather said it was time.  It was beginning to warm during the day.  It was hard.  We boiled in our sugar house for the first time this year.  It was a spring of new beginnings.  Liam's first maple season.  Jason's first without John.  

At night, as the steam would make it's escape out the stacks, friends gathered and told stories of John.  Sometimes it still doesn't feel real.  Husband made it through his first sugaring season.  We began our own traditions while carrying on John's legacy.

I imagine he's looking down, laugh/grunting at husband in his high-tech sugar house.  I imagine he's shaking his head, saying "Jesus, Huckins, your sugar house needs character." I imagine he's slowly, thoughtfully walking the woods and land around his home.  

I imagine he's awfully proud.