We are so back//my favorite way to say I love you

Well blog-o-babes, we are back. After a fairly substantial hiatus, I'm ready to blog again. in some ways, a lot has changed. like how everyone is saying "babes" now. (I've never said it before and don't really think I'll say it again.) and in other ways, nothing has changed. and even though it was just an ordinary day, I have something to say I suppose. and I already know that what comes to mind to write about feels almost sickeningly sentimental to my ear, but it's how I felt today. and I think it's true. and that's what blogs are for. 

what struck me today was the beauty of spring. just in the knick of time, really, with the solstice being this weekend. after starting out on a quick errand of watering some new lettuce, I spurred myself on to a two hour adventure of picking berries, ripping weeds, and absolutely delighting in the beauty and bounty of spring. because the thing about me is, if I see berries that need picked, I'm picking them. frantically I will search my car for a vessel, and then I will start collecting them as quickly as I can, and not as gently as I should. because I love them and I cannot waste them and I must share them. and then if I start to realize that they are absolutely encumbered by weeds, even ones that scratch and poke and irritate my already poisoned skin (another story), I will start ripping at those weeds until the berries are freed. and I will let myself burn and sweat in the sun, my hands covered either in blood or raspberry juice, until I feel I've gotten all the viable berries of the day. and then I will think, that is really not enough berries to share.

and like, "if you give a mouse a cookie," the afternoon evolves. then I am picking sugar snap peas and big leaves of curly kale, dreaming about who I can share it all with. I will cut some flowers, store them in the mcdonalds cup I found in my passenger door, and I will go collect more berries. I will mean to stop at home, get some sunscreen, a drink of water, use the bathroom, store the kale before it wilts in the car. but without even thinking, I will drive past my own street, traveling up the hill, desperate to get more berries. again I'll wade through the weeds and thorns and scare off a groundhog, and start plucking berries into my stupid little crate (another another story). and I will again think of who I want to share these perfect little jewels of spring with. and I will think to myself, "this is my favorite way to say 'I love you.'" 

there is something so incredibly special to me about sharing food with someone, especially food I've grown (although I didn't grow these berries, but sometimes harvesting something is enough), and, for some reason, especially when I am forcing this food upon people. I wonder why this is so special, and if everyone feels this way. and I think they must not. because if they did, I think, everyone would be a farmer. 

and then I go home, passenger seat laden with spring beauty. and I realize, I have no way to store this. I have no way to deliver this. and I certainly don't feel like washing this. tearing through my cabinets yields nothing. my extremely limited supply of tupperware too precious, my crystal teacups too breakable. so digging through the fridge and then the trash I find beer boxes and painters tape to create the perfect vessels to pack up my wares. then leashing up lune, we walk in the blaring sun down the freshly paved alley delivering our surprises. because I do love the surprise of it all. maybe because it says, "I was thinking of you!" or maybe just because it's so gosh darn fun. and I didn't have time to make a tag or a card like I'd wanted to, that said "eat me" or "thanks for all you do" or just "<3" but you can't do it all, and that's good to remember always. because you can't let your most fun little errands become chores.