Back to school, back to order...

When friends visit...

The end of summer break is upon us here in the Boonies.

La Maria returns for her second year of pre-school next week. School should be a breeze for the cookie, who insists she already knows how to drive, play guitar and pick the correct vitamin bottle from the cabinet. Um, no you don't, hermanita. Step away from the car keys and cabinet. You are 4-years-old.

To say that this summer has been long is an understatement. While we have enjoyed many days of quiet hanging out, picking books at the library, swimming and having playdates, the laundry takes an average of five days to get put away, crumbs stay under tables for about three days and Maria has spent more days than I care to admit in her pajamas. Let's not even talk about the state of her hair. The guineas, now 9 weeks, are lucky to still be alive, let me tell you.

So, while the new parents at Maria's school are having anxiety separation, I will be the one peeling out of car line. Bon Bons and deadlines and Swiffer, here I come. I will OD on Free Will and only after my house is back in the shape that would make a Cuban Abuelita proud, will I look back at this sweet summer with warmth and longing.

A little...

Summer, 2008

Cuba confusion

Today:
"Mami, I really, really want to go to Cuba."
"One day, Maria.''
"No, now. I really want to go.''
"Maria, it is not too easy to travel to Cuba. We need permission.''
"But, I've already been there hundreds of times.''
"Maria, do you mean Miami?"
"Yes, Miami. I really want to go there. I want to play on the beach.''
"Me too, Mama. Me too.''

The children have moved out

The guineas were transported to their coop Friday morning. Notice my kid still in her pajamas for the big event.

They're only a few yards from the house in the coop my husband built. My father secured the pen with about 7 miles of chicken wire and hardware cloth, along with about 17 million 10-inch galvanized nails.

"Ahi, no entra nada!'' he said. "Si un raccoon se mete ahi, bueno, es Super Man.''

Weekending in the Boonies

I am not sure where the days went in between my last post and this one.

Just a quickie update to share the splendor that is Middle Tennessee in the summer -- if you have access to air conditioning, that is.

We've been sticking close to home for our summer entertainment. At the moment, Maria is playing with Scotch tape and I am taking a break from kitchen duty -- chopping and freezing the CSA vegetables, prepping dinner -- while my husband is outside in the blistering sun finishing up the Guinea coop. The man deserves a drink. Margaritas coming up later.

The highlight of the weekend was an outdoor concert held on the front lawn of a neighbor's house. The tree frogs and cicadas accompanied the talented musicians who sang from the porch. These are, like, famous songwriters who gifted us with their talent. Maria spent much of the evening sitting and coloring at the kid table. You can see her in the picture below. Several other of the musicians were "back-stage'' when I snapped the picture.

I hope the beautiful music-making of this hometown of hers rubs off.

As we were leaving, a woman stopped me and asked if my daughter is always so well-behaved.

"Actually, only in public. At home she kicks my ass,'' I said.
The words came out way too fast. Sometimes, I don't think first. I thought for sure the woman would sneer at my ungrateful attitude. But, she laughed and answered "Hey, I have a boy like that!''

I love my neighbors.

And these non-chickens...

You say Guinea. I say Guineo. We all say they poop a lot.

They are fuzzy and tiny. Kind of like eggs with feet. Some of them are pure white. Some look like chipmunks. One has a brown racing stripe down his back.
They are loud and like to jump and they peck at each other's butts.
Ah, they will make excellent copy.

Meet my new children.
Twelve of them.
I must have been high on Pine-Sol the day I ordered a dozen guineas.

Living La Creek Life

Don't we all agree we should have at least one friend with a boat? And a friend with a horse too?

I, for sure, don't want to buy or maintain a boat or a horse, but I'll bring the beer if you invite me to ride along on either creature.

I do believe we are teaching Maria that a girl must have at least one friend with a wide creek and even better: That this friend have a room full of dress-up clothes and a mother who spends two days icing a Scooby cake.

Today was a pre-schooler's version of the all-nighter: A birthday party that went from 9 a.m. to 4 p.m.

We got Scooby Doo live and in person, a pinata, creek play, trampoline bouncing, swings in trees, fairy wings, shiny shoes and sugar. Need I mention sugar? Nirvana in a tutu. (But damn the fabulous birthday girl's fabulous mother who will make misery for me come November when I will not be able to get away with sticking a candle in a cupcake and there ya go, Feliz Cumpleanos!)

Anyway, in the great tradition of all-nighters -- someone got messed up. In our case, it was a tree-sized splinter to the bottom of a foot. (Hey, it isn't a party until someone breaks out the Neosporin!)

I do not know where you were today. I hope it was a good place. Though I would bet it was not better than where I was.

Summer color in the Boonies

click for bigger view

Ruminations more than anything else.

June is a beautiful and magical time here in the Boonies. The baby birds are fledging. We've had little Phoebes in a nest under the deck again, the hummingbirds always are thirsty and buzz me when I read the comics outside. The wild turkeys kick up our pine straw daily.

In the fields, hay is being harvested and the Queen Anne’s Lace sways in warm breezes on the roadsides. We often stop to watch the baby horses and we’re always on the lookout for the hawks and running creeks.

To have a girl who is 4.5 seems like a perfect summer thing. There is wonder, color and curiosity in this girl right now. Much like the season she is living.

“Why is the sky pink?’’ and “Watch me swim underwater!’’ and off she goes, down under, for the first time ever, when just a few minutes prior she had proclaimed she never, ever, nunca, for real would stick her face in the deep.

And, just as the fields and woods outside are dotted with new dress, I now really get why they say a girl “blossoms.’’ I once was a blossoming girl, of course, and I have watched young girls in my family and in others grow up.

But, watching one grow by the second: learning words, becoming a champion hula hooper and go from one day resisting dresses to suddenly insisting each and every garment “spin wide!’’ is quite awesome and hilarious.

This hearty and sturdy girl, who her father fittingly named “cowgirl,’’ suddenly flits around our house in tiaras, long beads and plastic pink heels with fuzzy feathers. Click, click, click and “watch me dance!’’ is the chorus of our home.

Summer allows us to see the mama birds flying back and forth from yard to nest, carrying fat worms and leggy bugs to grow their offspring. All too soon, confidence and beautiful plumage build and off they will go.

Mine too one day will go, of course.

The Pheobe who returns to the same nest under the deck each season inspires me to believe that my own colorful fledgling will return to hers often.

Until then, I will admire the daily blooming.

Musica and music

Calle Ocho...my childhood music:

My daughter's:

Feathering our nest

We're expecting 10 babies within a couple of weeks.

Babies I don't have to birth: Guinea fowl. Guineos en espanol. They're called keets when they're itty bitty, but I will call them pollitos. Click over here to see a cute handful.

Why? We're a little crazy, we think la Nena will love raising them and we're waging war on ticks. Guineas eat their weight in ticks and other garden pests. We have a few hundred thousand pounds of ticks on which to feast. (Garrapatas in Spanish).

The picture of this adult guinea was taken at a friend's house in Atlanta a couple of years ago. It was the first time I was up close with guineas and really, really fell for them and their odd beauty. It's taken that long to work up the courage to consider building a coop and keeping a flock...and convincing my husband that their reputation for being loud is overblown. (I can hear it already: Lucy, you have some esplaining to do.)

So, it's been slow and quiet here on the Boonie blog because we're guinea researching. Do you know there are active message boards devoted solely to guinea fowl? God bless, I love the Web.

It's also quiet because it is summer break and I am attempting to work two jobs (Pollitos and PR) in between outings with Maria. So, hang in here with me while I figure out what I'm doing.

I think the coop is going to be called Little Havana North.

Happy is a new bike and birdsong...

The sun is shining. The birds are outside singing and devouring the seed. The house smells like "peen-aroma'' and I have this to look forward to again this weekend...

Happy, joyous, abundant Spring to you, wherever you are, amigos...

Terremoto means earthquake in Spanish

April is just full of memory makers around here.

Two days ago we remembered the 10th anniversary of a tornado that devastated Nashville, including our former house and neighborhood of East Nashville. And yesterday was our 15th wedding anniversary. (Cheers to us!)

This morning we woke up in the darkness before dawn wondering why the cat was jumping on the bed, why the 4-year-old was upstairs jumping on her bed, and whether some espiritu had swooshed through our house rattling doors and windows.

But, the cat was asleep in the mudroom, the kid was asleep in her bed and there was no espiritu -- at least that I saw.

Earthquake. Terremoto. In Tennessee!

From The Tennessean

5:20 a.m. Friday

A 5.4-magnitude earthquake was reported 41 miles northwest of Evansville, Ind., at 4:36 a.m. TEMA spokesman Jeremy Heidt said that the Middle Tennessee area felt it but no damage is expected here in the Midstate.
Heidt said residents need to look for damage and make sure nothing has fallen.
Several people who have contacted The Tennessean, from Nashville, Franklin, Cheatham County and Clarksville, have said that they were awakened by their houses shaking, glass rattling or a sudden jarring.

This really isn't the kind of trembleque I like.
You know what I mean?

Mud Puddles and Personal Growth

Because the voices who crowd my head wear chancletas and believe "peen-aroma'' (Pinesol) is an aphrodisiac, watching this puddle jumping scene unfold last Friday nearly gave me a patatu.

"Pinworms! New tennis shoes! Pin-WORMS!'' is all I could say to my friends, the joyful mothers of these two other joyful and glorious girls.

They laughed at my distress and encouraged me to walk toward the light and lightness of Being Boonie. (I'm so lucky to have them) And, despite a muttered expletive or two by me, off the girls went, fully into the drink -- the most giant mud puddle I've ever seen. One of the moms had her camera, so the event was beautifully captured.

See the glee?


Of course, my child was the ring leader. Her clean freak Cuban great-grandmother rolled in the grave a few times, I am sure.


The lesson for Mami: OxiClean gets it all out, but the memory lasts forever.


(No sign of pinworms yet)

Boonie Breathing Space

The moon or the sun or some planet that messes with our mojo is most certainly in the wrong place. I read that in the newspaper the other day and therefore, I know it to be true. My mojo is a little off and I'm overwhelmed a bit -- paperwork, wholesale, sewing care tags into t-shirts -- and cleaning toilets and wiping noses. Plah.

So, here's a little "breathing space'' for today. Maria and I spent a rainy Sunday down by the river with friends. It was a delicious mental health break and I have watched this quiet little video more times than I should today -- because remember, I am supposed to be cleaning toilets.

A Spanish lesson as you watch:
rain boots -- botas impermeables.
yellow -- amarillo (and not like Texas)
mud -- fango
splash -- salpicar
spin -- vuelta

What Spring looks like from here...mostly

hairy moss, fresh and green


tromping in the woods

deer skull, found by maria.

A hammock in winter

It snowed last night.
It's March.
That's not right, is it?
But, my hammock tells me that we'll be together again soon.




Redneck snowman

Surviving tornadoes and mompreneurs with cameras

It was, to say the least, a long night. The tornado warnings were close enough to keep us up, but far enough that we were safe last night. Friends and family called and e-mailed us today. They know we still have some post-traumatic episodes from the hit in 1998, which demolished much of our then-neighborhood and damaged our home. If I never have to hear the sound of a tarp flapping against a roof top, I will be very happy.

Now then, meet my little friend, El Gordito Mas Fabulous in the Whole World. His mother, a generous and delightful woman, was kind enough to let me dress him up and torture him for a few minutes.

"Can I have my maraca back?"

"I mean, seriously lady, give me back my maraca.''

"One day, I am going to blow out my diaper all over this woman."

Winter rains

What winter looks like here

It was raining hard a couple of days ago when I picked Maria up from school. About 10 minutes into the ride, she got quiet -- a rarity. I looked back and she was passed out, dish of chocolate teddy grahams barely hanging on in her fist.

The child never naps and figuring she really must be tired, I took the long way home.

I took winding back roads and slowed down to enjoy how the creeks were rushing. I slowed to a crawl to spy the houses in the hollows that aren't visible when the woods are in full leaf. Some are large and lovely, some are farmhouses and some look as if they were decorated by drunk possum, with yards full of debris and homemade "No Trespassing'' signs.

There are new houses being built on what used to be open fields. The town, of less than 5,000, has two bars. If it were a warm day the motorcyclists would be consuming at both.

I started counting all the different kinds of animals I spotted, animals who I am pleased to call my neighbors: cows, horses, goats, roosters, hens, ducks, a pig, ostrich. And that fat hawk that always seems to be on the same wire. I wonder where the fancy peacock is these days. He used to block the road in gloriously full tail feathers.

It keeps raining and I breathe in the quiet, admire the moody colors and give thanks for the peaceful place that is home.

And for children who fall asleep in their car seats.

Las Comadres, Nashville, TN, USA. Al Fin.

Nashville now has a Las Comadres group. The discovery was supremely joyful to me, right up there with other life-changing finds like brow make-up and the concept of Mother's Day Out.

There have been two meetings and the local organizer reports Latinas from all backgrounds, and ages, have attended. They've moved here from all over the United States and Latin America.

This is good news for us here in Middle Tennessee who are looking for a formal, but fun way, to meet Latinas for networking and friendship. And food, of course. Claro que si!

The charming Mexican-American woman who has helped organize the local chapter, a native of South Texas, said she was absolutely over-the-moon after the first gathering. The second was even better, as founder Nora Comstock was here too.

The local lady and her husband relocated here because of his job. She's a professional woman and a stay-at-home mom to three children. She was lonely for Amigas so she called Comstock and Comstock put her in touch with two others who also had requested a chapter. We're now one of 75 chapters across the country.

You can register for an invitation by filling out the membership form on the Comadres web site. There are no fees or dues. (Non-Latinas can join if they're married to a Latino).

You also can listen to the hard-working and generous Comstock talk about Las Comadres during an interview last week on PBS's To the Contrary. There's also an informational video on the Comadres homepage.

Comadre, by the way, means "godmother" in Spanish.
I have a feeling we'll all be feeling sprinkled with fairy godmother dust as this thing grows.

Throwdown: Telling the world about Nashville biscuits

Believe it or not, Nashville is a food town. Pretty much anything you want, we've got. And traditional Southern food is surely done right.

The Food Network's Bobby Flay is airing a Throwdown episode Sunday night on one of Nashville's food treasures: The Biscuit Lady at the Loveless Cafe.

If you've never been here -- and about 90% of this blog's readers are from other cities and countries -- and you're interested in our flavor, this episode should give you a good taste.

The Loveless is an institution and Carol Fay, the Biscuit Lady, is delightful. (I've eaten my weight in her biscuits over the years.)

Here's a video on the Loveless and its history. Fay is about 2.7 minutes into it:

Doing a search on Flay's Throwdown site I found I missed a recent episode with the La Caja China guy in Miami. So wishing I had seen that. But, I did find recipes from the show and this video:

Can you tell I only had soup for dinner tonight?

Showering my baby with caramelos

We celebrated Maria's 4th birthday a few weeks early so we could do it at home and let the kids play outside in the woods. There were about 20 mobile kids here and I am either crazy or inexperienced at the Mami game, but truly, it was a lovely and simple event despite the numbers. Lots of free play and the ingestion of sugar in the form of sprinkles sugar cookies from wonderful Mexican bakery and the ugliest cake I've ever made. And unlike our adult pig roasts of years past, nobody got drunk and everyone was gone in three hours. OK, so the kids were a little tweeked on sugar, but I wasn't putting them to bed.

Maria had a wonderful time. She told everyone she was turning 5.

Success.

The only non-success: The pull-string pinata I found at a big box party store did not explode and offer up that delicious "Pop!'' and "Sprinkle, sprinkle, sprinkle.'' I had to shove my fist into it and shower the plastic frogs, dino tattoos and chocolate Kisses all over the anxious, sweaty mass.

The horror and shame. The failure to explode never would have happened with the pinatas I grew up with in Miami, but not one Cuban pull-string pinata was to be found in Middle Tennessee. (Hello, any Cuban/Latino party store owner want to move to beautiful Nashville?)

Fortunately, I don't think the kids minded.