Last week was a slow reading week; heavy on the doomscrolling, light on the books. I found myself unable to look away from my Washington Post app and focus on anything except the horrifying news from Uvalde. As a parent, school shootings are my absolute worst nightmare. But that sounds completely trite and I expressed my thoughts in emails to my U.S. Senators and donations to Everytown and Moms Demand Action, which is where those thoughts belong more than they belong in a post about what I read last week.
Anyway – I finished Delight, by J.B. Priestley, last Monday and then spent most of the week attempting to focus on Tom’s Midnight Garden, which was a very cute children’s timeslip novel (and you all know that I can’t resist a timeslip novel) but nothing was going to hold my attention last week. I finally finished my sojourn with Tom and Hatty on Saturday night and turned to The Book Lover’s Bucket List, because I can resist neither a book about books, nor a book about literary tourism. Still really at the beginning, but it’s good fun and definitely making me crave another trip to England. (Maybe I can swing an overseas assignment at work. Our London office is looking better and better.)
Still rather too early in The Book Lover’s Bucket List to start thinking about what comes next, but I do need to finish my spring poetry anthology before it’s really officially summer. And I’ve had my eye on Mariana, by Monica Dickens, for awhile – a charming story about a young woman growing into herself is sounding appealing these days.
It’s finally warm enough to paddle! I’m sure everyone is glad that my incessant grumbling about cold, rainy spring days has finally ended. Hurray for paddling season!
As I promised last week, I’ve got more travel posts coming – Fridays will be for travel for the foreseeable future, actually – and now that we’ve said goodbye to the deserts of Utah and Colorado, it’s time for something completely different: the rainforest!
Longtime readers may recall a dropped hint or two about a major adventure that Steve and I had planned for February to March of 2022. This is not that trip. We had big plans to hike in Patagonia and then kayak in Antarctica. The research was done, the trip was selected, booked, and fully paid for – and then it got postponed, thanks to COVID. We spent a few weeks trying to figure out a way to salvage our Antarctica trip, but in the end the trip the company was able to offer as a replacement was so radically different from what we had planned that we decided it made more sense to postpone it for a year and get the trip we dreamed of, just twelve months later. So Antarctica will still happen, but not until 2023, and to assuage our disappointment (fully recognizing that we are extremely privileged to be able to go on that trip at all, let alone to pivot so quickly to a different adventure when plans changed) we started talking about a “consolation trip” somewhere else. I tossed out the idea of Costa Rica, and after researching a few other possibilities (Botswana and Thailand, primarily) we decided that Costa Rica made the most sense.
Costa Rica is an incredibly beautiful country with a huge variety of landscapes and wildlife, so we planned a trip that would allow us to fully experience its biodiversity. Our first stop was to be the Osa Peninsula – a spot that National Geographic has called “the most biologically intense place on Earth.” Because Osa is quite remote – definitely the most “off the beaten path” part of Costa Rica – we discovered that the best way to get there would be to fly into the capital city of San Jose, spend a night, and then shove off early via a domestic flight. It ended up being perfect. We spent an afternoon enjoying poolside cocktails and this stunning view (above!) from our hotel room, and then the next day it was back to the airport – this time to the domestic terminal.
Now the adventure really begins!
The domestic terminal was tiny! The boarding passes were laminated slips of paper showing our destination and boarding order. While other travelers boarded their flights to Tamarindo and Liberia, we waited our turn and eventually crossed the tarmac to the tiny plane that would take us to Drake Bay Airport.
Steve and I had boarding passes numbers one and two, so we got the money seats – right behind the pilots! Watching them go through their pre-flight checks and fire up all of their instruments was fascinating.
Not going to lie: although the pilots were clearly extremely competent and experienced, flying in a tiny prop is always going to be a bit of an adventure. We took off and I crossed my fingers that no birds flew into our propellers. (Spoiler: no birds, all good.) I was expecting major turbulence as we flew over the mountains, but the flight was surprisingly smooth. And the views were staggering.
It’s a short flight to Osa – just a hop, skip and a jump over the mountains, and before I knew it we were cruising over crystal blue seas and past white sand beaches. The flight itself felt like part of the adventure, and I was almost sorry when we touched down at Drake Bay Airport.
Our hotel – Aguila de Osa Rainforest and Marine Adventure Lodge – had a car waiting for us. We tossed our luggage in the back and soon were bumping along the dirt roads in town, through stream crossings, and all the way to the beach for the next part of our ride.
Like many of the hotels and lodges on Osa, ours was not accessible by road. It’s possible to hike in, but when you are toting big backpacks full of clothes and gear, boat is much nicer. Along with a few other carloads of travelers, we were dropped off on a pristine beach, where a line of boats waited to take everyone to their respective destinations. These guys were our ride.
Ready for wind and waves!
Like the flight, the boat ride was over almost too soon! After two long days of travel, I was enjoying the clear blue water and the refreshing breeze and was almost sorry when we pulled off the main bay into a little cove. But then this loomed up in front of us:
Gorgeous! One of the concierges was waiting on the dock to welcome us. She guided us up to the dining pavilion, handed us welcome drinks, and settled in to chat with us about Osa, the wildlife we would see, and our plans for the next few days.
The property was beautiful – all open-air except for the hotel rooms, with mosaics lining the walkways and warm wooden buildings. I explored the whole place over the next few days, and every detail charmed me.
Of course, there were two spots that we spent most of our time on shore: the PADI dive center, and… the bar. More to come on both counts!
Next week: we waste no time getting paddles into Drake Bay!
Hey, guys. So sorry I flaked on you last week for Monday reading – and Wednesday’s post. The fact is, I was under the weather. I’m back to 100% now, but it did get me thinking about the blog, weirdly. I’ve always been very intentional about what I share here – in my weekend recap posts and in other posts. I share exactly as much as I am comfortable with (both here and on the socials) and no more. And as I was laying around feeling sorry for myself, I found myself thinking about sharing, and not wanting to share, and I decided that – at least for the time being – I am going to change up my weekend recap posts; that is to say, I’m not going to do them, and I’m just going to focus on what I’ve been reading and what I have coming up to read. And a pic from the week at the end of the post. And that’s it. (Do you all really want to read another post about a local hike, baseball, swim lessons, and Girl Scouts, anyway?) Not to say I’ll never go back to the other format, but I just want to try something new for awhile and see if I like it.
I had big plans to get all kinds of reading done over my sick days, but it mostly didn’t happen. I did finish The Song of the Lark, by Willa Cather (for the Classics Club Challenge), so expect a review soon. It was beautifully written, of course – that’s to be expected – but felt like a book to read at a slower pace, and when you’re feeling kind of icky and the reading speed tanks, well, it’s a recipe for taking a week over a book when you normally wouldn’t, know what I mean? Anyway, I finally did finish it and turned to some nature writing, which felt like just what the doctor ordered: Lev Parikian’s journey through the year, viewed through the lens of 72 microseasons, Light Rains Sometimes Fall: A British Year Through Japan’s 72 Seasons. (Note that he actually gives the microseasons British names, although he also includes the traditional Japanese microseasons for each chapter.) Again, probably down to me being sick, but it took awhile to get through this. I enjoyed every page, though.
Once I was on the mend, the reading pace picked up. (Maybe the slower pace did have something to do with not feeling in top shape?) The Darling Buds of May over a couple of days, and then the 70th anniversary edition of J.B. Priestley’s classic essay collection, Delight, over a couple of days. I intended to read through the entire Larkin family series in one go, but after one book I needed a break (heartily sympathizing with Charley).
Not sure what I have on deck, if I’m being perfectly honest. The weather is heating up around here, but I’m still feeling the spring reading, so I’ll stick with that a bit longer – maybe Tom’s Midnight Garden, maybe Rhododendron Pie, maybe something else? It’ll be a game-time decision; we’ll just see what my hand grabs in the moment.
Leaning over the boardwalk railing at Mason Neck State Park this weekend: pollen and lilypads, oh my.
One last stop in Utah, and it was a good one indeed: Canyonlands National Park (via a quick stop at Arches, for the second time in a week, to turn in Junior Ranger booklets and take the oath). Knowing that we only had a very short time – and there is so much to explore in this park; we could spend a week here, and maybe someday we will – Dan planned for us to hit the highlight of all highlights: Mesa Arch.
My mom said that this was her favorite arch – better than Delicate Arch, better than Double Arch, better than any of the arches in Arches National Park. I’m not sure I would go quite that far… Mesa is certainly as iconic as Delicate Arch, but how do you top gigantic stone elephants? But I can certainly respect my mom’s preference for Mesa. I mean, look at that view:
Mesa Arch was also much less crowded than Delicate Arch, and we were able to get right up under the arch and peer through, and what a reward.
So, so, so beautiful. We could have stayed for hours, just gawking at these views, but there were a couple of other people hanging around waiting for their turns to take a picture under the arch. So we had to move along. But first things first: we had to get our picture.
All the excitement and gratitude to get to spend Thanksgiving with my favorite people in the world.
One last peep through the arch, and time to go.
That ends our journey through Colorado and Utah – only six months later! I hope you had fun reliving the memories with me. And don’t worry: there’s more travel content to come, as we head from the desert to… the rainforest! Off to Costa Rica next Friday.
Continuing on our epic day-before-Thanksgiving drive into Utah, Dan and Danielle steered us to our next stop: Dead Horse Point State Park. They promised sweeping views, a nice spot for our picnic lunch, and “Uncle Dan’s Potassium Lecture.”
And delivered on all three: here’s the view from our lunch spot (right?!) complete with potash pools (see above, icy blue pools in the canyon). Dan treated us to a dissertation about the chemical properties of potash and the history of potassium in the United States until Steve and I ruined it by singing Borat’s national anthem. #IYKYK.
Kazakhstan, number one exporter potassium, all other countries have inferior potassium, bum-ba-dum-bum-bum-bum-bum.
We’re sorry, Dan. We promise to listen next time.
Eventually, Dan gave up on his potassium lecture and pointed us to this incredible sight: I’d always wanted to see a horseshoe bend!
Lunch spots don’t get better than this!
Next week: last Colorado post (for now; we’ll be back!) and it’s a fitting conclusion to an epic trip.
^Mysterious moor, very Bronte! Busted – okay, that’s Dartmoor, not the Yorkshire moor. But still mysterious, and spooky with the mist, no?
Agnes Grey is stir-crazy. And like many other young women of “good family” (her father a poor but respectable curate, her mother the daughter of a rich gentleman who disowned her when she determined to marry a clergyman with more ethics than prospects) in the Victorian era, her options are limited. If she wants to get out of the family abode, she can do one of two things: (1) get married, or (2) become a governess. Looking for adventure and wanting to earn something to help support her family, Agnes chooses option 2.
Agnes’ first household is a horror show, where she is handed off charge of a pack of unruly children, immune to any form of discipline – or at least, immune to the tepid discipline that Agnes is authorized – children who throw maniacal fits and torture wild birds for fun. Their mother undermines Agnes’ authority at every turn, and then blames Agnes for her charges’ intractability. Agnes sticks it out for a year before she is unceremoniously and unfairly fired. She retreats home, feeling herself in disgrace, but unwilling to give up on her plans – and quickly finds herself another situation.
The second job is easier in some ways – Agnes’ charges are older, two young women who are nearly ready to marry and leave home, and the elder of the two sisters is already the belle of the county. There is no bird torture, so Agnes feels it’s a major upgrade – but there is other, subtler, torture, as Agnes’ charges thoughtlessly toss out snobbish asides and petty cruelties. When Agnes befriends Mr. Weston, the new curate, her elder charge – despite having no interest in marrying a curate and finding Mr. Weston’s earnestness a matter for cruel comedy – decides to snatch the curate from her governess, just to show she can. Agnes covers up her heartache as best she can, but she can’t stop herself musing bitterly on her untenable position to Mr. Weston, when he asks her directly about some friends of her charges’.
“You are alone again, Miss Grey,” said he.
“Yes.”
“What kind of people are those ladies – the Misses Green?”
“I really don’t know.”
“That’s strange – when you live so near and see them so often!”
“Well, I suppose they are lively, good-tempered girls, but I imagine you must know them better than I do, yourself, for I never exchanged a word with either of them.”
“Indeed! They don’t strike me as being particularly reserved.”
“Very likely they are not so to people of their own class; but they consider themselves as moving in quite a different sphere from me!”
He made no reply to this, but after a short pause, he said, “I suppose it’s these things, Miss Grey, that make you think you could not live without a home?”
Agnes Grey is Anne Bronte’s blistering indictment of the governess system – a relentless churn in which young women are dumped into unfamiliar houses and forced to fumble their way without allies or a discernable place. Neither servants nor members of the family, governesses don’t fit in anywhere. Often forced to bear the brunt of family snobbishness, Agnes shoulders her lonely burden with her only solace the occasional letter from home. Anne Bronte was a governess herself, so she knows of what she speaks (or writes) – the isolation, the loneliness, the low pay, the bitter challenge of being caught between charges whom you cannot discipline and who therefore won’t listen to you and don’t respect you, and their parents, who refuse to grant you authority in your own classroom and then blame you for their children’s bad behavior.
Like many young Victorian women, Agnes doesn’t stay a governess forever. And it’s a testament to her strength of character that she leaves her bitter experiences behind her, still able to appreciate moments of beauty and joy. Anne Bronte is known for pushing social envelopes, but she deserves to be just as well known for her beautiful writing:
There was a feeling of freshness and vigour in the very streets; and when I got free of the town, when my foot was on the sands and my face toward the broad, bright bay… no language can describe the effect of the deep, clear azure of the sky and ocean, the bright morning sunshine on the semi-circular barrier of craggy cliffs surmounted by green swelling hills, and on the smooth, wide sands, and the low rocks out at sea… looking, with their clothing of weeds and moss, like little grass-grown islands – and above all, on the brilliant, sparkling waves. And then, the unspeakable purity and freshness of the air! there was just enough heat to enhance the value of the breeze, and just enough wind to keep the whole sea in motion, to make the waves come bounding to the shore, foaming and sparkling, as if wild with glee. Nothing else was stirring – no living creature was visible besides myself. My footsteps were the first to press the firm, unbroken sands – nothing before had trampled them since last night’s flowing tide had obliterated the deepest marks of yesterday, and left it fair and even, except where the subsiding water had left behind it the traces of dimpled pools, and little running streams.
Can’t you just see it? Aren’t you just walking with Agnes on the beach? (That might be my favorite passage in the entire novel.)
I’ve said before, and I’ll say again, that Anne is my favorite Bronte. (It took me a long time to get there and still feels a bit disloyal – like the teenaged me who read Jane Eyre several times a year is frowning in disapproval – but it’s true.) Less histrionic than Emily, sparer with her words and prose than Charlotte, but just as willing as her eldest sister to take on unfair social systems – Anne has the total package. Agnes Grey isn’t going to top The Tenant of Wildfell Hall for me, but it was a compelling and beautifully-written narrative, and quite up to the “Acton Bell” standard.
Good morning, friends! Happy Mother’s Day – belated – to all of those who celebrate; major thanks and gratitude to the moms, mom-adjacent, expectant moms, mothers-in-law, aunts, grandmothers, mentors, teachers, and beloved women everywhere; and hugs to anyone for whom yesterday was a hard day. I love you all.
Flexibility is a mom superpower and flexibility was definitely required of me this weekend. My parents arrived on Friday (as I was still warming up after chaperoning a zoo field trip in the pouring rain), planning to crash at my place for a couple of days en route to vacation in the Outer Banks. They were stoked to watch Nugget play baseball, but unfortunately they didn’t get to: RAINOUT. Seriously, it poured for two days straight. So, no Saturday hike and no baseball – major bummer. We made the best of it, though: when outdoor nature fun isn’t an option, the Air & Space Museum (especially the giant hangar out at Dulles) is the next best thing, so that’s where we went. My dad especially loves it there, and he could happily visit every time, so he was in his element. But, really, we all were – it’s such a fun spot.
On Sunday, I woke up early to voices in my kitchen: Dan and Danielle, who flew through the night and landed at Dulles at 5:00 a.m. (woof). They’re joining my parents on vacation, but sadly we’re missing out on the fun this time – the school schedule reigns supreme around here and we have another month to go. My parents and Dan and Danielle pulled out of my driveway around 7:15, and we rolled out not long after, bound for a hike at Huntley Meadows, one of our favorite parks from our days as Alexandrians. The park definitely delivered: hooded merganser babies! (Steve nicknamed them “mohawk ducks”), eastern kingbirds, barn swallows, tree swallows, and more – a very happy Mother’s Day treat for this bird nerd. The rest of the day I spent puttering around the garden, finally getting the rest of my pots cleaned out and planted (I’m growing pole beans, cherry tomatoes, three pots of strawberries, a raspberry bush, and lots of herbs – we’ll see if anything survives the hot sun and ravenous squirrels) and checking out a Puerto Rico scenic ride on my Peloton. Finished with sushi and TV – not a bad way to end a rainy and cold May weekend. (Now I’ve had enough of spring: summer, please feel free to join us anytime.)
Reading. It’s been a slow reading week. I finished The Blessing on Monday, and hooted my way through it, especially the last chapter – but then the pace ground to a halt. I picked up The Song of the Lark by Willa Cather (from my Classics Club list) and have been reading through it all week, very slowly. Some of that slow pace is due to a busy workweek and a field trip and entertaining my parents, no doubt, but it also just seems to be a book that wants to be read slowly. I’m really enjoying it, just meandering through.
Watching. A little of this and a little of that. Some Gardener’s World, and on Sunday Nugget and I curled up with popcorn and Rock the Park for a little while, which was delightful.
Listening. Fittingly for a week that included Mother’s Day, I’m still working my way through my backlist episodes of The Mom Hour. I’m down to 42 unplayed episodes, which may seem like a lot, but I started with over sixty, so progress is happening here.
Making. No question, the best thing I made all week was this tidy garden! (Ignore the rainforest around the frog pond, that’s not part of it you guys.) Eight pots, with herbs, veggies and fruit – all clean and tidy. I cleaned up the herbs that have overwintered (out of frame to the left), pruned some yellow leaves from the tomato seedlings, and replaced the rootbound, weedy soil in the rest of the pots with a mix of organic potting soil and mushroom compost, then planted the fruit and herbs and watered everything in with a mix of rainwater (we had plenty!) and organic liquid plant food. If that doesn’t help my garden grow, I don’t know what will.
Moving. Lots of Peloton this week! Several core strength classes (I’m working my way through the “Crush Your Core” program with Emma Lovewell) and a good mix of rides – a tough intervals and arms workout (Emma Lovewell again), a low impact recovery day with Jenn Sherman, a scenic Puerto Rico ride to Latin music, and “XOXO, Cody” with my pal Amanda. It was all great, of course, but Cody was the obvious highlight. I need to get back out on the roads, though – my running shoes are getting jealous.
Blogging. Speaking of the Classics Club Challenge, I have a review for you on Wednesday, and the penultimate Colorado and Utah travel post on Friday. Check in with me then!
Loving. Between rain, schedule shifts, and more sickness in the house (Peanut again – we think she’s been taking her mask off at school because Dr. Nugget Fauci, who wears his religiously, is getting sick about a quarter of the amount she is) – it could have been a gloomy Mother’s Day. But Steve made sure I was spoiled with a hike, sushi, and presents; ran kiddo interference all day so the rugrats didn’t bicker and stress me out; and just generally made me feel loved and spoiled.
Another day, another exciting dinosaur site! On the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, we took the day off work and drove out to Utah again – this time headed for Canyonlands National Park, but with a few stops on the way. First up, Mill Canyon: a nondescript pull-off into a sparsely populated gravel parking lot that promised a big, exciting treat.
Just about a hundred yards or so from the parking lot, Dan promised, we would find the remains of a prehistoric mud patch with dozens of fossilized dinosaur tracks. We owed this exciting score to Danielle’s dad, who enjoys poking around in the desert and “finding stuff” as much as his daughter and son-in-law do.
The site consisted of a path, boardwalks, and viewing platforms around the perimeter, ensuring that the treasures in the ancient mud remained undisturbed.
Therapod tracks! We had fun speculating about who might have left this imprint in the prehistoric mud. Allosaurus? Probably not T-rex; wrong time period.
I was most excited to see these: sauropod tracks! Maybe apatosaurus, my favorite? Or brachiosaurus or diplodocus? Insert star-eyes emoji here.
Of course, no one was as excited about the tracks as the six-year-old boy. He was actually having a bit of an emo day; it had been a lot of car time over the past week. But he brightened right up when we saw the dinosaur tracks. Wish I could always deliver dinosaurs whenever anyone is grumpy.
Doesn’t get cooler than this!
Tracks everywhere! I couldn’t stop clicking away with my camera.
Prehistoric crocodile slither spot, complete with tail-drag. Shut the front door!
Seriously, it doesn’t get cooler than this. We didn’t make it to Dinosaur National Monument on this trip – have to have something to save for the next visit, right? – but we certainly weren’t hurting for dinosaur excitement even without hitting up the big park.
Reading is my oldest and favorite hobby. I literally can’t remember a time in my life when I didn’t love to curl up with a good book. Here are my reads for April, 2022.
4.50 From Paddington (Miss Marple #7), by Agatha Christie – Two trains pass one another, and in the moment they draw near, a passenger on one train watches through the windows as a man strangles a woman. There is no body, so the police don’t believe there has been a crime. But the witness happens to be a good friend of Miss Jane Marple, and Miss Marple is sure her friend is telling the truth. Good fun – and I listened to this one on audio, read by the incomparable Jane Hickson, which made the reading experience all the better.
Cheerfulness Breaks In (Barsetshire #9), by Angela Thirkell – Angela Thirkell usually provides a wedding, but in Cheerfulness Breaks In she provides several. They bookend the narrative, which is otherwise concerned with the outbreak of war, the arrival of refugees in the peaceful Barset countryside, and with sad and serious things – but as the title promises, cheerfulness breaks in and the residents of Barsetshire are keeping calm and carrying on. A fun addition to Thirkell’s Barset series.
Green Thoughts: A Writer in the Garden, by Eleanor Perenyi – I loved this collection of short essays arranged alphabetically, in which Eleanor Perenyi muses on life and its whims and challenges in her Connecticut garden. She covers everything from tulips to rock gardens with wit and style.
Kate Hardy, by D.E. Stevenson – Kate Hardy, a single and independent woman (of means, from a successful writing career) arrives in a country hamlet, having purchased the local Dower House from the county squire. Kate is escaping her selfish sister and spoiled niece, and hoping for peace and quiet to work on her next book. But strange goings-on, a poison pen campaign, accusations of witchcraft, and social upheaval coupled with romance threaten to invade all of her peaceful writing time. Not D.E. Stevenson’s strongest book – by far – but a pleasant way to spend an afternoon.
Four Hedges, by Clare Leighton – Clare Leighton was a renowned artist, turning out stunning woodcuts inspired by her garden in the Chilterns. But she’s just as stunning of a writer, and her month-by-month look at life in her garden was lyrical and beautiful.
Skylarks with Rosie: A Somerset Spring, by Stephen Moss – I will always buy a new Stephen Moss, and this latest – a memoir of spring spent tramping his local pathways during the first lockdown of 2020 – didn’t disappoint. I enjoyed reading Moss’s musings on finding joy in the local flora and fauna, his occasional shoutouts to his good friend Chris Packham (who I adore), and his thoughts on climate change. There were only a few pages where Moss lost me – when he inexplicably veers into relating a birds-eye view of the “Central Park birder” incident of May 2020, but leaves out several facts. But that was two pages out of more than 200 otherwise wonderful ones, so overall a delightful reading experience, as I’ve come to expect from Moss.
Old Herbaceous, by Reginald Arkell – This was a slim, but poignant, novel of change as viewed from a garden. Bert Pettinger, the “Old Herbaceous” of the title, is a young, poor country boy who works his way up to being head gardener of a great estate. Gardening wisdom is sprinkled throughout, and Bert is an absolutely wonderful character.
The Owl and the Nightingale, Anonymous, tr. Simon Armitage – The Owl and the Nightingale is a lengthy poem – some 1,800 lines – written by an anonymous poet during the reign of one Henry or another. Simon Armitage, the Poet Laureate of the U.K., provides an updated translation from the Middle English and it’s such fun. The owl and the nightingale debate which one of them is better – they can’t agree on anything, except on who should be the arbitrator of their claims. So much fun, and there are all the Medieval potty jokes.
Illyrian Spring, by Ann Bridge – I’ve had this on my list for so long and it proved to be the highlight of the month. The novel opens as Lady Grace Kilmichael is running away – from her husband, with his withering scorn and wandering eye, and from a tense relationship with her newly grown-up daughter. Grace’s intent is to disappear, and she manages it for a good long while – helped by her ability to support herself with her artwork (she is a respected painter). Bound for Croatia, Grace travels through Paris, Venice and Torcello, where she meets Nicholas Humphries, nephew of her good friend and 22 years old to Grace’s 42. They bond immediately, but Nicholas soon develops feelings for Grace, which she attempts to hold off while ignoring her own growing need for his company. The writing was absolutely gorgeous, and I missed the characters when I finished this.
The Morville Year, by Katherine Swift – A year in Katherine Swift’s Shropshire garden – this was a total joy. Swift writes with charm of moving trees, gathering windfall apples, planting bulbs, visiting other gardens, and more. Arranged month-by-month (much like Four Hedges, above) and such a delight.
Slightly Foxed No. 73: A Year in Barsetshire, ed. Gail Pirkis and Hazel Wood – I always enjoy an issue of Slightly Foxed, but when the current edition is titled “A Year in Barsetshire” you know it’s going to be extra good. The headlining essay recounted a year of wandering local walks (again during the first lockdown of 2020) while listening to Trollope’s Barsetshire novels on audio. I love these books, and I delighted in reading someone else’s take on some of the most memorable characters in literature. That was just the first essay – there were plenty more delights to come, and my TBR swelled accordingly.
Unearthing the Secret Garden: The Plants & Places That Inspired Frances Hodgson Burnett, by Marta McDowell – Marta McDowell’s garden and nature books, each focusing on a particular author or book, are always lovely – I’ve read her takes on Anne of Green Gables, Winnie-the-Pooh, Beatrix Potter, and now The Secret Garden. As a child, The Secret Garden was one of my favorite books; I have read it more times than I can count. Reading about Frances Hodgson Burnett’s real-life gardens was wonderful.
Whew! Some reading month. I picked a loose theme for the month – did you catch on? Not every book was garden-focused (after reading only poetry last April and burning out on it for awhile, I was careful to sprinkle in breaks here and there) but many of them were. The runaway highlight of the month has to have been Illyrian Spring, which I absolutely adored. It has stayed with me and I find myself still thinking about Grace and Nicholas almost every day. Clare Leighton, Eleanor Perenyi, and Katherine Swift were all close runners-up in the reading highlight sweepstakes, and of course any month that includes Agatha Christie is a good month. And now, on to May – I have a good stack of exciting reads awaiting me, so I’d better get back to it.
On Friday, one of my outside counsel said in an email that he hoped I’d have a fabulous weekend. I thanked him for the sentiment but confessed that looming over my weekend was a triple threat – a baseball game, swim lessons, and a birthday party (which I was dreading for several reasons). That’s pretty much what we had on the agenda – no hiking, no paddling, basically no grown-up fun; it was all about the kids.
Not to say we didn’t have our nice moments. On Friday evenings, Steve and I try to have an informal date night in the family room – we banish the kids to play on their own, and we watch a movie or play a game. This weekend, we watched the new Death on the Nile, starring Kenneth Branagh and Gal Gadot – with wine. It was a good way to start a weekend that was otherwise given over to other people. On Saturday morning, Nugget’s baseball team faced the mini Royals. Our coach was out of town, so Steve filled in as relief coach and pitcher while I snapped photos, sprayed a cloud of OFF around my hat to keep the annoying gnats away, and anxiously watched Peanut out of the corner of my eye (she has a tendency to creep into the dugout and get yelled at by one parent who is taking this whole little league thing way too seriously, like who cares if she goes into the dugout you guys, but whatever). Then rushed home to get ready for swim lessons – which I ended up skipping. I had a call planned to help my dear friend Vanessa prepare for an interview with my current employer; I’d budgeted 45 minutes or so but ended up on the phone with her for three hours – worth it, though, because she wants this job so badly and I want so badly to have her company at the office again.
On Sunday, Nugget and I had grand plans to bike the C&O Canal Towpath in the morning, but the day dawned dreary and we were both bleary-eyed after a wakeful night – Nugget had a rough nightmare and we ended up hanging out together in the family room from about 1:30 to 3:30 in the morning. Nugget was still a little shaken up by his bad dream (he didn’t want to tell me the details) and begged off biking. Instead I spent the morning on my Peloton, and then Nugget accompanied me to Target to restock some house linens and buy a birthday present for Peanut to take to her party in the afternoon. The birthday girl recently moved to Maryland, so we hauled ourselves through Beltway traffic to the party, which was the usual emotional roller coaster and I was reminded of why the only thing I really didn’t miss during the height of the pandemic was kid birthday parties.
Reading. Last week was weirdly stressful, even though I didn’t have anything in particular going on; I think I’m just tired. Usually that would mean a slower reading week, but not this time. I finished up The Morville Hours on Tuesday and then blazed through the latest issue of Slightly Foxed in a day (had to get to it before the summer issue arrived in its brown cardstock envelope). Spent the rest of the workweek over Unearthing the Secret Garden, which I really enjoyed, and then turned to Nancy Mitford’s The Blessing over the weekend. I’m about two-thirds of the way through and enjoying it immensely. And during the Saturday-into-Sunday wakeful night on the couch, while Nugget calmed down by playing his Nintendo Switch for an hour in the middle of the night, I read Debbie Tung’s delightful collection of comics about being a bookworm in one sitting (because The Blessing was upstairs on my nightstand and I didn’t want to risk waking Steve up by creeping in for it). Like I said, it was a weirdly stressful week in life, but definitely a good one in books.
Watching. This and that, here and there. There was Death on the Nile on Friday, as noted above. And on Sunday night we had a family movie night and I got to pick, so we watched the first act of Hamilton – it had been too long! During the week… I’m sure I’m missing some, but we were on a travel kick and watched a couple of episodes of Rick Steves’ Europe about the Alps, and an hourlong special called Hidden Poland. I’m getting itchy to go back to Europe.
Listening. Still deluding myself that I have a realistic chance of cleaning out my podcatcher, so a few more episodes of The Mom Hour – working my way through about fifty-three downloads. (I “mark as played” the episodes I’m not interested in listening to, which hides them, so these are all episodes that I actually anticipate getting to at some point or another.) A couple of old ones about preparing for summer vacation, which felt timely again.
Making. I finished my Costa Rica photo book! Got another promotion for unlimited free pages, so it was time. I had to just make myself sit down and do it – I don’t mind playing with layout, writing the captions, and choosing backgrounds and embellishments, but the process of loading up the photos and then dragging and dropping them into the storyboard – an essential step before the fun parts of photo book creation can begin – just feels like an interminable chore. But I got it done, and now I’m anxiously awaiting that orange box.
Moving. It was not the best movement week, until Sunday. No hiking – no time over the weekend – and no workouts more intense than neighborhood walks, because I just didn’t feel like I could manage anything else. But on Sunday I spent a much-needed hour on my Peloton with Cody Rigsby, and felt like a new person afterwards.
Blogging. April reading round-up on Wednesday, and back on the dinosaur trail on Friday; check in with me then!
Loving. New La Croix flavor alert, you guys! When Nugget and I were at Target yesterday, I spotted an eight pack of “beach plum” out of the corner of my eye and said, “This I’ve got to try.” It’s so good, you guys. Not going to replace my beloved coconut or pure, but so good.
covered in flour 