We wish all mothers health and joy, today and every day

May this cold and windy Mother's Day find you and yours healthy, safe, warm, and dry. We wish a Happy Mother's Day to all mothers, whether present in body or spirit. And, we wonder what would happen if  we all began to honor Mother Earth as  if she were actually a member of the family.

tamaracks finally greened  up

Photo by J. Harrington

We've neglected to mention that the local tamaracks have finally greened up. They seem to be really behind schedule  this year. We now have at least a couple of male rose-breasted grosbeaks at the feeders. If the weather actually warms up again the hummingbirds may return and Baltimore orioles may arrive. Meanwhile, either a downy or a hairy woodpecker has been drinking from the sugar water feeder.

roadside violet

Photo by J. Harrington

Violets are (were?) starting  to bloom. I hope the night-time freezes don't kill them off. This morning the dandelion flowers were all scrunched up tight. Minnesota is once again making a volatile mess of Spring. First it's warm, then it's cold. Then it freezes. Repeat as nauseum. The freeze-thaw cycle should have ended a month or so ago. All in all, what with the weather, COVID-19, #Stay-At-Home orders etc., it feels like a very different kind of Mother's Day. In line with that, we'll close out our posting today with  a different  kind of poem about a mother. It seems to fit the times and the customs.

Mother Talks Back to the Monster

By Carrie Shipers

Tonight, I dressed my son in astronaut pajamas,

kissed his forehead and tucked him in.

I turned on his night-light and looked for you

in the closet and under the bed. I told him

you were nowhere to be found, but I could smell

your breath, your musty fur. I remember

all your tricks: the jagged shadows on the wall,

click of your claws, the hand that hovered

just above my ankles if I left them exposed.

Since I became a parent I see danger everywhere—

unleashed dogs, sudden fevers, cereal

two days out of date. And even worse

than feeling so much fear is keeping it inside,

trying not to let my love become so tangled

with anxiety my son thinks they're the same.

When he says he's seen your tail or heard

your heavy step, I insist that you aren't real.

Soon he'll feel too old to tell me his bad dreams.

If you get lonely after he's asleep, you can

always come downstairs. I'll be sitting

at the kitchen table with the dishes

I should wash, crumbs I should wipe up.

We can drink hot tea and talk about

the future, how hard it is to be outgrown.

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