Retrospect

On Monday, May 17th, 2004 I sat crying in my car just outside the preK-8 elementary school in the Bronx where I was a 1st grade teacher. Not the sobbing, hysterical tears that redden your face and make your eyes puffy- not the kind you'd notice. Just the persistent ones that run down your cheeks unchecked while you go about your everyday tasks like driving to work and squeezing your car into the world's smallest parking spot and locking The Club into place. I mustered up the ambition to walk into school moments before I would have had to sign in late and made it to my classroom in time to find my teacher's aid swiping all of the free newspapers from my students' desks and throwing them handful by handful into the recycling bin.

"Is disgusting," she told me in her clipped English, shaking a page at me. Two women in their 50's smiled at the camera- they were picking up a marriage license. "They are sick, these people." She placed her hands together and looked up at the ceiling, reciting a quick prayer in Spanish. I wiped my eyes and stashed my things in the closet.

She did that every morning for several days, "disappearing" the newspapers so the children wouldn't see articles about the marriages taking place in Massachusetts. It pissed me off AND made extra work for me- now I had to come up with a new reading task to replace the 10 minutes they were supposed to spend "reading" the donated newspapers every morning. It was the same thing she had done two months earlier when the mayor of New Paltz had gone rogue and started marrying same sex couples in the town where I'd gone to school for a year.

"This man?" she told me one day, pointing at a picture in the newspaper. "He is a teacher," she said, making a hand gesture that looked akin to the sign of the cross. "These people, they should never be around children. They are sick," she nodded firmly and into the trash the newspaper went.

One day in late May a small child who went to the same church as my aide asked, "Ms. O'Donnell, can two girls ever get married?"

Before I could answer the aide jumped in, "You tell her no, Teacher," she said, shaking a finger at me and saying loudly enough for the kids to hear. "You tell her no." I hesitated.

"In some places," I told her honestly, "but not here. Not in New York." It was a small rebellion. My aide made a spitting noise and burst into Spanish, telling the little girl that her question made God angry.

We worked together daily for 3 years.

I had been at my next school for 4 years when I became pregnant after my second round of IUIs. I was thrilled, but deeply closeted- a handful of teacher-friends were aware that I had gotten married two summers before and none of the parents had any clue what] my life was like outside of work. It was one of the advantages of working in a place where I didn't speak the language- no one really asked questions and I could always misunderstand them if I needed to. Pronouns were easy to botch or avoid and, mostly, I just stayed quiet.

I was a full 7 months pregnant before one of the parents decided to dip her toe in the water. She was American born and raised, so I couldn't feign a language barrier, and I had been teaching her children for 4 consecutive years. She was also the president of the PTA-like organization at the school.

"Will you have help?" she asked, dragging an exacto knife across the top of a cardboard box. "When the baby comes?"
"Well, we both have family in the area, but we're also both teachers so it's actually great that we'll have the summer off."
She laughed with relief and grinned.
"Oh Ms. O'Donnell- You're married??"
I laughed too and nodded.
"Oh Ms. O'Donnell. I have to tell you. The mothers, we've all been nervous for you. We just thought that you had, you know, gotten yourself into trouble and..."
I laughed even harder.
"And you're Catholic, right?"
Even harder... this time with tears.
"No... no I'm not Catholic. Not at all. My family name is just Irish."
She laughed too and we unloaded some more books for the Scholastic Book Fair.
"So your husband teaches too? Where?"
Deep breath.
"No. Well, yes. I mean... my partner's female. She's a teacher in Dobbs Ferry."
Short pause. More books.
"Oh, well that's OK. I don't mind."
More books.
"I won't tell anybody if you want."
More books. "It's ok. It's not a secret."
Still not sure if anyone ever told the parents-- though I did come out to one of the 4th grade classes. It was a few weeks after they had done their reproduction unit, so they were very confused about the sperm part.

These are just two examples. In every school I've ever worked in, someone along the way has given me the same advice in one form or another--- just keep quiet and it will be fine. I've taken that advice with varying degrees of seriousness. As a college student I worked in a preschool and an after-school program in the county where we've lived for 19 years. If my spouse and I were out in a grocery store and we crossed paths with a parent, one of us would slowly disappear into a nearby display of soup cans to avoid detection. It has been a hard habit to break. At the preschool I worked with a gay guy who was even deeper under-cover than me- if it's scary to be a lesbian teacher, being a gay teacher is 10 times worse. In the Bronx I found another lesbian elementary school teacher and at each subsequent school I've found at least one other teacher who places herself somewhere on the queer continuum. In my current job I'm just about as far out of the closet as I can get, since my 8 year old is there with me with NO qualms talking about this family-- though I still find myself coming out to a parent every few weeks. At least it's gotten easier. I've just about stopped hiding behind Campbell Soup displays.

LGBTQ teachers are viewed with particular suspicion by those who see the "homosexual agenda" as a thing to be feared. Or even as a thing. We work daily in close proximity with young children. We teach them about the world and we have the power to shape their ideas. We stand accused of being in the perfect position to "recruit" them. Recruit. The word has a lot of staying power- showing up in articles and legislation as recently as last year. For many queer teachers, it is a terrifying thing to be out in their schools. We police ourselves more stridently that others possibly could. We are vigilant; alert. We err, perhaps, on the side of conservatism and find straight or straight appearing allies to take the lead on projects where our expertise could be seen as a recruiting tactic.

The first time I heard about gays recruiting children in the public schools I was in High School myself. Our English Teacher had put together a program called "Breaking Barriers" and invited a wide range of people to come visit our school and talk to students about issues of tolerance and diversity. Students could sign up for 3 different workshops over 2 days to learn about people who might be different from themselves. It was a radical idea for the '90s. She brought in Jewish and Islamic and Buddhist leaders. A black people who weren't in prison and women who worked full time in high power positions. There was a deaf person and a blind person and a person in a wheelchair. Downs syndrome. And two gay men, one of whom was HIV positive.

And that was where the shit hit the fan. That workshop was billed as "Alternative Lifestyles," and parents were FURIOUS. There was a meeting called for the Thursday night the week before the even and word spread like wildfire that the meeting was about letting two gay people into the school (there was a rumor that one of the English teachers was gay- but if you ever suggested such an insulting thing you ended up in detention for disrespect). Two student factions formed to attend the meeting- a group of students who were disgusted and felt endangered and a group of students who wanted to speak in favor of the workshop. The meeting was downright ugly; mothers cried. Fathers threatened the teacher's job. Other teachers sided with angry parents. The superintendent sat in icy silence.  In the end, I think the gay guy without HIV was allowed to attend, but it was a workshop for Seniors only and you had to be 18 or have a signed permission slip. Only 4 people went.

I'm surprised, today, to hear how little middle and high school students who identify as queer or queer allies know about their own history-- but thinking about it more carefully, who is there to teach them if the teachers are still scared?

Some links...
For Gay Teachers, Coming Out Is Still Risky
The Plight of Being a Gay Teacher
Why Queer Teachers LIke Stacy Baily Absolutely SHOULD Have a "Gay Agenda" In The Classroom
Still legal to fire someone for being gay
Homosexual Recruitment
Homosexuality In Your Child's School
      "But in at least one sense, pro-homosexual activists in our schools do indeed “recruit children.” What they seek to do is “recruit children”—100% of our children, “gay” or straight—as soldiers in their war against truth, common sense, and traditional moral values. That’s one recruitment drive that has no place on the campuses of America’s public schools."

On The Road Again

My first real bike was a grey and purple 10 speed 2 wheeler made by an egotistical elf named Huffy; when it arrived on Christmas morning he had plastered his name on it in several places as if to make sure I could never forget that I owed him for my new mode of transportation. It served me well and took a beating like a champ in the days before helmets and GPS before meeting its dramatic and untimely end in the middle of I-195 S. (Anybody have info on the statute of limitations on personal injury law in MA?)

After the destruction of Huffy's handiwork I acquired a Giant Iguana... or maybe a Yukon? This was before every moment was documented in a selfie so to find out I'd have to sift through several albums of painful photographs and I'd rather stick to conjecture. But I'm pretty sure it was an Iguana. It arrived around the same time as my driver's license and, working in tandem, the two saved my life more than a few times. Using the money I made working at CVS I purchased a mirror, a bike computer, a luggage rack, a saddle bag and a second water bottle holder for the Iguana and spirited it away with me to college where I used it for my late night trips to and from work at Dunkin' Donuts. Early in the winter of my freshman year someone stole it from the common room (where it had been chained up) and the following week I got bronchitis walking home in the dark cold rain at 1 o'clock in the morning. I mourned that bike like it was a person and it's been 19 years since I dared to love a two wheeler again. 

But it's been a week of bikes around here. Last Tuesday I dropped our little human off at camp at our Alma Mater and decided to explore the Lime Bikes that dotted the streets around campus. Designed more for cruising along a boardwalk, I suspect, than county bike trails, they rolled forward in appropriate ways but were a true pain in the ass to ride. I gave them a second try on Wednesday and then decided that I needed a bike of my own (not that we have ANYWHERE to keep it. But I'm working on that.)

The rest of the week was spent researching bikes and visiting bike shops and pouncing on every Facebook and Craigslist ad I came across until deciding that what I needed more than anything in the world was a brand new Trek Neko 3-- a hybrid bike that leans towards mountains and would set me back about 7 times what I planned on spending. It had bells AND whistles and Dual Sport Versatility and DuoTrap S Compatibility and... 

...and that's when a  black and blue 1997 Giant Boulder appeared in my peripheral vision. 

21 years old, it looked a lot like the bike I lost when I was a teenager. It was bumped and scratched and needed a tune up but was in otherwise pretty good shape for its age and what it had been through (the bike, damnit, not me...) and was available for $80 just over the river in the county where I grew up. A few Facebook exchanges, a bit of Google research, a test drive in the parking lot of a Dollar Tree, and the Boulder was in the trunk of my car ready to come back home. 

After a short stay at the County Cycle in Yonkers it is mechanically stable and ready to go. I'm still looking for ways to get the rust off and polish it up a bit, but I ordered a phone mount to take the place of the old bike computer and am considering cargo rack options. 

I'm not crying. You're crying. 

Missing The Mark By A Mile

Target is getting a metric shit-ton of free publicity for their new "inclusive" and "gender neutral" Toca Boca line (Romper,  Lifehacker,  InStyle,  ScaryMommy,  Digiday, YAHOO Finance, and PYMNTS-- just to list a few) and they haven't earned a millishit-ton of it. At best, they completely bungled this release. At worst, they're taking advantage of a zeitgeist moment to make themselves look good while ruffling as few feathers as possible. 

What's Toca Boca? I really don't know. Ask my obsessed 7 year old and he'll fill you in. He discovered it years ago while cruising for apps on Mommy's i-Pad and was immediately enthralled. As best I can tell, it's a series of kid-friendly apps that depicts children from all walks of life that lets children control the world that animated children live in. Kids can do all the things they can't do in real life-- cut people's hair, roam around a city, feed people poop, buy pets, and skip school. Or maybe that's just what my child does. Either way, we love it because she loves it and it isn't skewed towards girls or boys but towards children. 

You see, dressing our child is hard. He describes herself as "non-binary" but leans a bit towards "girl" most of the time. We have always shopped both sides of the clothing store and he is both articulate about and annoyed by how unfair it is that boys clothing is often edgy and funny and girls clothing is sweet and pretty. We supported Princess Awesome as a Kickstarter so we could get dinosaur dresses and ordered from Primary where all of the clothing is listed together under "Kids." We take hand-me-downs from boys and girls alike and give everything an equal chance. He's been a flower girl with a masculine haircut and a ring bearer with long blond hair. 



So when I started seeing reports a few days ago that Target would be offering an exclusive Toca Boca clothing line that would sit BETWEEN the boys' section and the girls' section I did my research. According to a July 10th press release from the Sweden based company,“Everything we make at Toca Boca is designed for all kids; it’s our mission to make sure no kid ever feels excluded by Toca Boca,” said Mathilda Engman, Head of Consumer Products, Toca Boca. “True to those values the collection was designed with inclusivity in mind, and we are so excited to see it will be merchandised together as a collection sitting between the boys and girls aisle of many Target stores.” The release date was Monday July 17th-- a date when we had plans to be just miles away from Target anyway. Being the stellar parents that we are, we used it as a bribe to get our kid into the car for a dreaded eye-doctor appointment. "Get in the car and you can go on a Toca Boca shopping spree." Eye drops were never so easy. 

Pupils still dilated, Kiddo found his way to the clothing section of our local-ish Target with ease and we began to hunt for Toca Boca. The sinking feeling hit immediately. Hanging in the Girls' section we found a shirt, a pair of pajamas, and a dress.

 

A few aisles over, in the boy section, we found two more shirts and a pair of pajamas.

 

Hoping there was more and these were just misplaced, we asked a saleswoman on the floor if there was more and she informed us that it was just what was out. We asked why they were separated into Boys and Girls clothing and she looked at us like we were crazy. I started to explain that we had read about the clothing being gender neutral and she actually laughed. Our child was crushed. The saleswoman explained that they had decided to sort the clothes into "Boys" and "Girls" based on color and style. It goes without saying that this completely defeats the purpose- and is completely contrary to all of the wonderful publicity they have received. 

We left without buying any of the clothes we'd come for because our child no longer wanted them once they were sorted by gender; the appeal of buying "Non Binary" clothing was gone. Once again the message was clear-- the world is not for people like you. 

Sure enough, when I got home and started looking around on Target.com, the clothing there was also sorted into "Boy" and "Girl" based on style and color. Boys' clothing was predominantly blue and green with skeletons and sloths and monstery-type creatures. Girls clothing had cute ears, female characters, and dresses. 

Word of this was starting to leak out on Twitter late yesterday, with Toca Boca replying to disappointed posts that they were not the ones who added the gendered tags/UPC codes to the clothing...

... and Target CONFIRMING... I'm sorry, clarifying, that the clothing is in fact gendered and not gender neutral. 

What's your next move, Target? The ball's in your court now. 

Social conservatives will be angry with you for having even been within spitting distance of a gender neutral clothing line (The #BoycottTarget has been revived, according to this Queerty article.) And for taking down the Boys/Girls signs over the toys. And letting people pee where they want to pee... while social progressives will be angry for the bait and switch and for using inclusive marketing techniques as a backhanded and manipulative ploy. People are gonna be pissed ether way, so what's your metric? 

Where's Pa Going With That Ax?

Apparently, religions have rules for how people are supposed to behave when the church's religious leader leaves. These are interesting to research.

Episcopalians be like: "There is no need to end friendships..."

Catholics be like: "Continuing friendships will be important, but it must be made clear that the pastoral relationship has come to an end."

Presbyterians be like, "While friendships with the departing pastor will surely continue, the pastoral relationship must not."

Quakers be like: "We're all friends."

(Many) Jews be like, "We're all family! Of course I'm here for you!"

Evangelicals be like: "People from your former church may still contact you, but the type of communication you have must change."

United Church of Christ be like: "Friendships don't end, but pastoral relationships do."

Unitarian Universalists be like, "YOU ARE DEAD TO ME!"

10

10 years

In The Balance

Logic tells me it is a spider web. The rest of my brain tells me that it is an entire galaxy trapped in the middle of ours. 

In The Balance

Logic tells me it is a spider web. The rest of my brain tells me that it is an entire galaxy trapped in the middle of ours. 

Spring Snow

Winter Mushrooms

Witch's Butter

           


           

Gettin' a Jump on The Holidays

It was probably about 6:30 AM on July 6th when I saw my first Halloween advertisement. Sleep deprived and running on little more than birthday cake and adrenaline my wife and I came to the horrifying realization that there was NO MILK for coffee. None. Even the powdered goat milk we keep in the pantry for baking emergencies had been used up during... well... a baking emergency. So off I stumbled to the Stop & Shop a few hundred feet from our front door where I encountered a sign hanging in a vacant storefront announcing that HALLOWEEN CENTRAL would be opening SOON! Before the month was out, before teachers had even accepted that summer vacation was not a permanent thing, the candy began appearing on shelves. And the costumes. And the singing tombstones adorned with zombies eating their own still- beating (shut up- I write essays. Not sci fi.) And this could only mean one thing.

Thanksgiving would be next.

Each year, The Holiday Conversations in our family start in mid July when my family begins strategizing with our in laws to get out ahead of the game. It's preemptive damage control. Much like leaving a play date en-masse, we like to present a united front when the parents-in-law begin sniffing around our Holiday Plans. Where will we be for Thanksgiving? Can we make 3 stops in one day again? What about Christmas Eve? Christmas Morning? Christmas Dinner? New Years Eve? New Years Day? Have we considered the 3rd Thursday of Advent?

It's wonderful to be loved and wanted, but we're working on an intricate parental puzzle here with 6 to 7 moving parts, depending various people's relationship statuses. The year before our daughter was born we set up a strict rotation that lasted a good 3 years... who ever got Thanksgiving was not eligible for Christmas Eve or Christmas Day. Christmas Breakfast would always go to my dad. For example, if Person A got Thanksgiving in 2010, they would have Christmas Eve in 2011 and Christmas Day in 2012 (Have I mentioned that we're not actually Christian?). Our best friends in Nashville could be subbed in at any time. This allowed everyone to plan approximately 3 years in advance. It seemed perfect. There's no such thing as perfection.

In 2012 we scrapped our rotational system and drafted an application system. Our plans for this year's Thanksgiving were already solidified weeks ago, but I'd like to share it here in case anyone finds it useful. I've updated it for the 2015 calendar year.
-------------------------------------------

Dear Family Members,
Because you have all recently inquired about our Thanksgiving plans, we are now accepting applications requesting the presence of our humble little family at your Thanksgiving Event. Please include the following information in your application (note: applications must be typed in 12 point font, either Ariel or Times New Roman; handwritten applications will not be accepted)

1. The date of the last Thanksgiving we spent with you
2. Estimated start and end time
3. Sample menu (yes, dessert, appetizers and alcohol selection count)
4. A list of potential conflicts or confrontations which may arise during this meal
5. A list of embarrassing stories you plan to tell
6. A list of other invited guests and possible surprise guests
7. A compelling reason why you think YOUR Thanksgiving event is more important than anyone else's.
8. A dynamic 3 point plan detailing how this year's Thanksgiving will be better than the one indicated in step 1.
9. A check, made out to cash, containing the $100 non-refundable application fee.
10. A notarized affidavit stating that, if chosen, you agree to relinquish your claim to our presence at any Thanksgiving event taking place in 2016, 2017, 2018 or 2019. If chosen, you will next be eligible to reapply again in November of 2020.

Applications will be reviewed in the order in which they are received. Please do not contact us regarding the status of your application. Any such contact will result in immediate disqualification of your application. Decisions will be announced on November 23rd, 2015.

Well, We Tried

Getting out the door to "church" this morning wasn't easy; in fact, we weren't even going to go. It had been a late night, an early morning and the day ahead of us was packed to the gills-- an all day music festival followed by late Fathers' Day Dinner reservations on a school night during the last week of school. We had decided weeks ago to skip it even though it was the last service before summer break, and the first service our minister would be back at after having twin boys. Earlier in the week I had turned down an opportunity to participate in the service because I was sure we weren't going.

But early in the morning we started to reconsider. It was rainy, and there was no point in getting to the festival early. We wanted to go to the last service, especially because we only officially joined a few months ago. We wanted to see the minister and the babies, and M wanted to see the minister's older son (who is one of her little buddies). We changed our plans, rushed through breakfast and a few showers, talked our child into a somewhat reasonable outfit for church, made sure we had a check for the balance of the pledge we owed for the year and set off on our way. Checking the clock we had just enough time to make it.

Over the past few months our congregation has gone through a number of changes. They've changed their name. They've changed the names of their committees. They've lost some members and added more. They've taken a good hard look at where they are and where they want to go and have decided that they need to be more welcoming and inviting; to find new members and make themselves more widely available to the community. They've talked about casting a wider net and have begun looking for ways to become more accessible to families.

And, simultaneously, they've started shutting people out. They've instituted new polices about "Late comers," appointed them specific seats in the back row (complete with signage) and, on a few occasions, employed bouncers to make sure they don't get in mid-song. This new stridency really only affects 3 groups of people- the elderly (many of whom rely on the services of others to get from place to place), the infirm (we once watched as a woman with a cane who recently had brain surgery was made to wait for a song to end), and the families (who have already fought hell and high water to get out the door, into the car, out of the car and in the door).

I've heard a lot lately about how families are turning away from all forms of organized religion. I've read heartwarming "Thank-You" posts from people encouraging young families to stick it out when their kids are noisy, inattentive and hard to manage during services. I've read anguished posts from strangers and friends about how hard it is to get their children to a service, to find a family friendly forum and to endure the stares of cranky, older, Caucasian worshippers when their children laugh too loud, ask curious questions or try to sing along when no one else is singing.  I've personally run out into the parking lot after strangers who were encouraged to "Get that kid out of here" by the woman sitting in front of me and convinced people that we are working hard to change. I've tried hard to convince my child that our "church" is a place she wants to be.

We arrived at the service today and parked the car with a minute to spare; made it up the stairs just as we heard voices start to sing the Gathering Hymn,"Enter, Rejoice and Come In." Ironically, when we tried to do just that, the door was closed. And not just closed to block out the noise of the children and babies in the nearby nursery, but fully shut and blocked by a member of the Committee on Ministry. So we stood, in the hall, outside the barricaded door, and obstructed window, listening to the congregation entreat people to "Enter, Rejoice and Come In." Needless to say, by the time we were able to enter and come in, we were not feeling very joyful (to add to the frustration 4 year old M, who had been ready and willing to enter, rejoice and come in when we arrived, spotted one of her friends in the nursery area and took off to play just as the door finally opened, leading one of us to chase after her and try and drag her into the sanctuary during the small window of opportunity when the door was open).

Even as I try to be objective about this, I can't figure out just what greater good this new closed-door policy is serving the congregation as a whole. The first 5 to 10 minutes of the service is generally taken up by a Gathering Hymn/Song of Community/Whatever It's Called (and wouldn't this be a fantastic time for people who are just arriving to... I dunno... gather?), a welcome statement, and a stream of announcements. In my opinion, this is not even worship yet; this is housekeeping. This is the PA system that comes on every morning in HS to tell you what's for lunch. Is it truly important that information be received in a silence uninterrupted by a walker or the shuffle of tiny feet? Are we all so uninvested in what is happening that the merest squeak of the door is enough to derail the entire spiritual train?

Galileo

Sometimes, when we drive home from the gym in the evening, we sing to M in an effort to get her to sleep before we arrive home. Our odds are generally 50/50-- she's never been a good car sleeper, but sometimes luck and exhaustion are on our side and we get to skip the increasingly intricate bedtime routine of bathroom trips, lost toys, extra sips of water, chapter books and, of course, more singing. Last night, on the drive, M requested a "sleepy song" and we happily obliged. Julie and I launched into a car rendition of The Indigo Girls, "Galileo"... but we barely made it past, "...as the bombshells of my daily fears explode/I try to trace them to my youth," when Em, from the dark of the backseat exclaimed, "Woah...woah... woah, guys. That song doesn't make any sense. Why was his head on the block? Who was Galileo?" And so we did what any 'ol parents of a preschooler would do and launched into an explanation of heliocentric vs geocentic theories, beheadings, the inquisition and the Catholic Church and the difference between jail and house arrest. When we were all satisfied that M had a pretty good understanding of Galileo's crimes and the Catholic Church's response to his theory (including his eventual 1992 pardoning postmortem) M asked that we start singing it again. From the beginning.

And so we did.

"How long 'til my soul gets it right?/ Can any human being ever reach the highest light?/I call on the resting soul of Galileo/ king of night vision, king of insight"

And again from the backseat- "Wait, wait, wait, guys. I have one more question. Why does she call him a king of inside?"

"Not inside, M. Insight."

"What's insight?"

"An ability to see and understand things in a way that other people may not- just like Galileo was able to see and understand that the Sun was in the middle of the solar system, even when others couldn't, she's asking his soul, or spirit, to come and help her understand things that she doesn't understand yet. She's asking his spirit for help."

"Oh. Ok. Keep singing."

It only seemed appropriate to follow it up with The Indigo Girl's "Ghost."

Olaf

Shhh.... I'm hunting land clams...

Conditions were right... stole away for 30 minutes before getting rugrat from school and found my first 2 delicacies of the season. If I don't make it to pick-up, check the woods. 

Can I Eat That?

At least 2 years before we had M, I discovered morels. For a person who spent every summer as a kid digging clams on Cape Cod, there are a lot of parallels to be drawn between digging clams and hunting mushrooms. Both are slow paced, intensely focused outdoor activities. Both require you to spend a good deal of time creeping about on your hands and knees. Both garner you strange looks from passers by and both reward you with hand harvested delicacies that most people have only eaten in a restaurant or purchased at a supermarket. With 18+ years of practice under my belt, I can glance at a hole in the sand and tell you if it conceals a quahog, steamer or razor clam, how big it is and how far below the surface it is likely to be. With only 5 years experience landclamming (as I call mushroom hunting), I'm not nearly that good. I've found 2 reliable spots in the area, but I spend far more time on wild goose chases than I do finding dinner.

This is the week that morels generally appear in Westchester- the last week of May and first weeks of June. Armed with a mesh bag and a jackknife, this is the week that I begin creeping quietly along the trails of my hometown and other nearby woodsy areas. I stop every 4 feet, drop to my hands and knees-- sometimes I even lie flat on the ground-- eye the trailside like a pool shark and try to think like a mushroom. Often I come up empty handed. Last year I found one; the year before that, none and the year before that quite a few. One year we found enough to make dinner out of them twice-- gently floured and fried crisp in butter they melt in your mouth and taste nothing like mushrooms. Served with a nice grilled steak... ::insert drooling Homer Simpson sound::

Yesterday we went on our first hunt at a reliable spot that owns a small piece of my heart. I don't know why I find this path so compelling; it's not particularly beautiful or particularly quiet or particularly anything, but it is littered with ruins and rock outcroppings and streams and all sorts of beautiful little finds that keep me coming back for more. When Julie and I had different work schedules I used to use my days alone to wander along the path, noting every teeny tiny change and watching spring ephemerals give way to lush green waysides and late June wineberries. I'd pack my wildflower, tree and mushroom guides along and try to identify and memorize everything's name, calling on skills that I haven't used since an awesome college botany class over a decade (a decade?????) ago. 

Sadly, we didn't find any mushrooms; I think the weather has still been a touch too dry and a touch too cold. I'm waiting for 3 days in the high 60's, low 70's, followed by a rain storm and then two warm days for those tasty little suckers to pop. But I was thrilled to locate some new-to-me plants growing along this favored trail. 

In addition to the expected dog-tooth violets, lilly-of-the-valley shoots, garlic mustard, solomon's seal, violets and skunk cabbage skunk cabbage I was super excited to find blue cohosh, bloodwort, marsh marigolds (though I kinda knew they were there, but had forgotten about them) and a carpet of periwinkle. Here's hoping that the next few days bring fiddlehead ferns, ramps and 'SHROOMS!!

Blue Cohosh

Periwinkle

Bloodwort

Hawkeye

A lone red tail hawk sitting in the tree in my front yard... 

...before flying off to join a friend. 

Glimpses

 Groundsel- The first little bit of bloom I've seen!

The first shoots of my lilly coming up. Last year was the first year it didn't get mowed down or stepped on by the groundsmutilators. We'll see how it fares this year. 

Spring's Ahead

I can't quite manage to capture it properly on camera, but the angle of the golden light across my forsythia make it INCREDIBLY clear that Spring is imminent! 10 days and counting :-)

My Big Backyard: Same spot 19 hours and 10 minutes apart

 

Wednesday, February 26th 7:13:33 PM

             

                 

Thursday, February 27th 2:03:33 PM

Day 11

Saturday, February 8th 6:38 PM

Sunday, February 9th 8:20 AM 

Backyard