....sandwich generation

Yogis,
Have you heard of it? Typically the generation in their 50’s who have aging parents and their own children. With everyone living longer though, it seems like the tuna salad sandwich has become a BLT with multiple layers.

Looking at my own life I help out with grandchildren, children and parents. This weekend I had the gift of 3 days with my mom.

Every year my dad travels to his ‘guys’ running, drinking, and generally being a teenager again, weekend. My mom either stays with my sister or I go up to be with her. This was my year.

We talked on the phone several times to discuss what we might want to do. On arrival, we kicked around options. We would prepare breakfasts and lunches together. She would cook dinner Friday, I would handle Saturday, and Sunday we obviously deserved to go out.

Friday evening included cocktails and watching Jeopardy.

Saturday, going to the movies sounded great since neither of us seem to go anymore. A quick read of reviews and we settled on The Sheep Detectives. A family friendly charming movie that I recommend. We even took advantage of the reclining seats in the theater.

We worked on the NYT crossword puzzle together. Reminisced about our past. Walked down to visit her neighbor and watched the Yankees. Even attended my niece’s graduation online. We took Phoebe to walk in a park and even though she had put her sneakers on, mom decided sitting on the bench with another woman was more appealing. The two of them looked like long lost friends in minutes.

My mom is fun.

This weekend reminded me of time with my grandkids. That same unstructured, see what we want to do at the time, kind of days. A relaxed approach to life that keeps you much more aware and present. No ‘have tos’ or ‘shoulds’. A lifestyle that is hard to have with our own children.

Finding myself as maybe the tomato layer in the sandwich now, I realize it is not a bad place to be.

I realize how lucky I am to have my mom,
SARAH

 

.....matriarchy

Yogis,
Spring clean up has begun on the community flower gardens along our town’s main street. Last week was our annual mulching event where those of us who garden and volunteers gather for a few hours of spreading.

During the event I became aware of something.

It started when one of the women showed up with her broom. An old-fashioned corn broom. She promptly positioned herself toward the back of the group. As we completed a section she would come behind, sweeping away what fell in the path and tidying up the garden edges.

Ah, I see. She is the ‘sweeper’ in the group. I am not the sweeper. It never occurred to me to bring a broom or take on that role.

A few other women brought straight metal rakes. They would ask for a pile of mulch to be dumped and they would smooth it out across the area. Again….not me. I am a ‘down on my knees, hands in the dirt’ mulching type. No gloves, of course.

The woman who organizes the event drives the small tractor that carries the cans of mulch from the truck to the gardens. With a no-nonsense approach, she bee lines back and forth and you better watch your toes. The perfect role for her that she returns to year after year.  She keeps things moving and points out issues. But is she in charge? No. No one is boss.

Were there men? Yes, of course. They instinctively took jobs of loading and unloading large cans and wheelbarrows of mulch. Always asking where and when to dump.

A well-oiled machine. I realized I was watching a matriarchy in process.

Another great example......

A matriarchy does not simply mean we put women in charge. That doesn’t change the triangle shape of patriarchy that our culture, society and economy are built on. A matriarchy is in the shape of a circle. All working together. To shift to this takes a deep structural change, not just a change in personnel.

And what is in the center of the circle? Children, elderly and vulnerable.

Mulching made this all so much clearer.

Craving a circle,
SARAH

....crow

Yogis,
When a crow flies over a large shadow is cast. That’s how I noticed them. It seemed that each time I looked out the window, a shadow was sweeping across my garden.

Now I have always had crows around. Typically they come in groups for any leftovers under the birdfeeder. They stay a bit and head out. But this was different, so I began to pay attention.

I noticed one would fly from my woods and over the house. A short time later it would return, disappearing into the treetops. The kind of rhythmic back and forth that indicates an impending addition to the family unit. I had never given much thought to nesting habits of crows.

Soon it began landing on my birdbath on its trips. Looking a bit silly perched with big talons on such a small bath, it would drink, dunk its head and even thrust its neck to send water down its back. That old birdbath has been a haven to many.

One morning I watch it bring a large hunk of bread and begin dunking it in and out. Soon the bread broke into smaller pieces. It ate a few and took the remaining chunk back to the woods. Ah, babies must have arrived. This became the new ritual. Arrive with food, wash and soften it and then head home.

This makes for a very dirty bird bath.

The other day I went out to clean it and saw an unusual gray pile in the center. Grabbing a stick I poke it. Yikes! It was the remains of a frog. I had no idea they ate frogs. Indeed they do, along with mice, bird eggs and of course, trash. Since that day I have found various, what I can only refer to as guts, of different creatures. Sometimes the crow returns to retrieve them. Other times it is me scooping them out.

Did you know crows are one of the few birds that understand and reciprocate with gift giving?  I have set up a stone with different trinkets on offer. While they keep getting knocked off, none have been taken. Perhaps once the babies fledge they will have more time on their hands.

Getting to know crows,
SARAH

.....a box

Yogis,

It’s about 6 inches by 6 inches with no top. Gray. A wood box I believe was the base for a gift I received. Once empty I decided it was one of those ‘boxes I have no idea what I will use it for, but too good to throw away’ kind. On to the metal gardening shelf in the garage it went.

That was two years ago.

Last year I walked in to discover an adorable nest built inside the box. Twigs, leaves, moss…..and one of my gardening gloves……all woven together in a perfect round. I kept my eye on it but nothing more happened. No eggs. No bird.

Two weeks ago, it caught my eye again for some reason and I took a couple pictures. It appeared to be at a slightly different angle. Didn’t give it much thought as I pulled down the garage door to head for the beach.

On Monday’s return the door is rolled up. Tuesday morning, I walk in to get my new gloves. Looking down I find two eyes peering out at me. Oh my! Hello! A Carolina wren is nestled deep in the hole, clearly sitting on eggs.  I guess the door will not be going down any longer.

This time of year I am knee deep in gardening chores. Cleaning beds, spreading compost, adding trellises, all which require numerous loud trips in and out of the garage and right past miss wren.

I let her know I am coming in a calm voice, often with the whistle I have used in the yard for years, hopeful she knows there is no danger. I check on her often with my binoculars through the back windows.

I look it up and their tendency is to nest in manmade objects like boots, jacket pockets, or wreathes on the front door. Perhaps they consider human movement another layer of protection in the precarious role of mothering baby birds. I will do my best.

There are an infinite number of things I love about spring. One is that a nondescript box can become a source of wonder and hope overnight.

My own mothering instincts on high alert,
SARAH

....color

Yogis,

I think it began with an ad on my Facebook feed. Or maybe that is when I first noticed. A woman is setting a table. As she lifts a flowered tablecloth, it is caught by a breeze and spreads over the table. A nostalgic paisley print that could have been on my nana’s table at one time.

It caught my eye because it had color.

Then my 20^th Pottery Barn catalog of 2026 arrived. Typically, I fan the pages before heading to the bin. This one was different. The bedroom on the front cover had a floral duvet and curtains…..and green wallpaper! This time I sat down and went through page by page.

Upholstery, pillows and dinnerware in multiple hues of blues and greens. Flowers in vases and butterfly patterns on napkins. Be still my heart.

A reel on Instagram knew exactly what I was thinking (scary isn’t it?) and asked ‘when did the world lose its color.’

I looked it up and the aesthetics of palettes in beige, then gray and evolving to ‘greige’ in home décor began twenty years ago. New homes built are white and black. There are many theories. One is that our digital world is so bright, colorful and fast paced that we look for its absence in our refuge.

Yet everything changes if you give it time. Could it be happening?

My personal taste has always been for some color. When we moved into this house everyone expected me to paint the great room, with its expansive walls and sky high ceiling, a shade of white. No. I selected deep butterscotch. My architect rolled his eyes but I love it to this day. To me, walking into a room with a peaceful color is like getting a hug. Warm. Cozy.

My sister and I were reminiscing about the cars we learned to drive on. Funny stories surfaced about the navy blue Ford LTD we each got to have turns with. She was boat sized and had a ruby red interior. Pulling the front bench seat up made the back seat big enough for a party. So, of course, there was one.

Maybe in these times we need the return of color.

Om,
SARAH

.....the return

Yogis,
They are coming back! One by one they show up. A peek of green here… a flash of yellow there. Buds begin to swell on stems that have sat bare for months.

My plant friends are beginning to return. Friends? What makes someone or something a friend? 

For me friends should be dependable companions and good listeners. Check. I can count on echinacea to return year after year. I move a handful of leaves the third week of March, and there she is, waving up from the ground. She will be with me in the garden until I once again need a sweater.

Hi! Great to see you!

Friends should uplift you when you are low. So many of them come to mind here. Zinnias, lemon balm and snapdragon. Bright and cheerful yet never overbearing or taking themselves too seriously. 

They should bring calm when you are anxious. No one does this better than lavender. She is a quiet presence. Her soft leaves and simple flowers make life seem a bit easier. Less complicated. And her fragrance pulls me to bury my nose and take a full breath. Ahhhh.

And good friends are low maintenance and helpful. Great blue lobelia fits the bill nicely. As a native she shows up each spring. Her needs are low even on the driest days of summer and she spreads her seeds prolifically. Gifting me with more plants at no cost!

At the end of the day, the foundation of a solid friendship is when it is built on a reciprocal relationship. Everything about nature involves reciprocity, if you allow it. I help keep the soil healthy, remove invasives, offer water and give them my attention. In return I receive beauty, oxygen and butterflies. Herbs for my salts. Cuttings for my vases. The more I give, the more I get back……. Plants surprise me with an arrival. Mint offers to flavor my water after an hour of sweaty weeding.

I touch their leaves, talk to them openly and truly enjoy their company. Yes, they are friends and I am happy to see them again!

Don’t even get me going on my bug friends,
SARAH 

...it's not time

Yogis,
I really should practice what I preach.

Each March I share with anyone who will listen what I learned about what should be done in the yard/garden at this stage. In a nutshell, not a lot.

The bugs, butterflies and bees have their eggs buried beneath the fallen leaves, along dried plant stems and in wood piles. Many even overwinter themselves nestled into these areas. Rake and clean up too early and you are removing all of the biodiversity from your own little slice of nature.

This is also the time where birds and squirrels are feeding on the dried berries, nuts and seeds on last year’s growth to build strength and gathering dried leaves and brush to start preparing homes for their soon to arrive offspring. Taking it all away means they have no reason to settle there.

Yet on our first balmy day as I opened the windows to smell the earth the urge to ‘clean up’ hit hard. Well, I’ll just pull some of the invasives before they begin to grow again in earnest, I told myself.

Down on my knees I go as I pull the vinca I had planted in the early days before I knew of her desire to overreach. Reaching in I move the layer of fallen leaves and dig my fingernails beneath the dirt to be sure to get each section by the root. I’m almost done and feeling so productive when I feel a thorn in my finger. In a blink of an eye I know it isn’t a thorn. I pull my hand out to find a poor lethargic bee attached, doing her best to send me away.

It worked and my fingers felt like sausages in tight casings for several days. I apologized and tucked her back in.

It is still winter.

I go back to doing what can be done now. Picking up fallen sticks on the lawn. Trimming back old leaves on the Lenten rose plants. My earliest bloomer. Walking around to remind myself who I have and where I spread seeds in fall. And visualizing what is to come.

It’s not time yet,
SARAH