Category Archives: Home + Garden

Summer Days and Life Lessons

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Earlier this week Darren and I went to the beach with our friends, Victor and Olga. V and O are in love with a beach in Rhode Island that Darren and I had never seen. So we all loaded in our cars and took of to see this spot we’ve heard so much about. A few minutes out from the beach we parked and climbed into Victor’s boat for the rest of the trip out to their spot.

I’m so glad they decided to share this place with us because it’s honestly the prettiest beach front I’ve seen in New England. I was completely mesmerized the whole day. As soon as we were on shore, I was busy walking along the water gathering shells and rocks and I even found a crab claw I plan on terrorizing Darren with.

{Such a happy couple}

{Earthy treasures from the sea}

There was bright green sea weed floating around and lots of the rocks had taken on the same lime green color—so of course I filled my pockets with them to haul back home and scatter around my house. Every time we go to the beach I look for little earthy treasures to take home and decorate with. My living room is filled with mason jars full of sand and shells from all over. There’s also a whole birch tree in my living room, because yes, I drag those indoors too :]

{I drug the tree in the house by myself and cut it in half on the kitchen floor with a hack saw…wahaha}

Darren sometimes forbids me from bringing any more nature indoors and I always smile like I’m listening and fill my pockets anyway. I think he doesn’t mind in the end because he’s always showing off our jars of sea treasure when we have company and telling everyone about the adventures that went along with each bit of nature we’ve brought back home.

Once we unloaded all our stuff from the boat and settled in on the beach, the boys decided to take the boat back out on the ocean exploring. Olga and I opted for staying on the beach with the kids and away from the wild ocean waves—we know too well by now how those boys like to drive the boat like it’s a water rocket.

{The boys}

The kids took off for the sand and waves and were quickly busy digging holes and building sand castles by the sea.

{The kids + Victor digging in the sand}

Victor and Olga are Russian. They have three children; the oldest is in school and speaks English perfectly. Their daughter hasn’t started school yet and only speaks Russian. And then there’s the baby who speaks, well, baby. They also have a little boy from the Ukraine staying with them for the summer and he only speaks Ukrainian. So there were three children playing together prattling off in three different languages and yet they understood each other perfectly. Childhood is simply a language all its own.

{All the world is magic when you are five years old}

Olga and I settled into camping chairs in the sand with our legs and arms stretched out hoping for a kiss from the sun.

Just me and Olga.

Olga scares me a little bit because she’s very pretty and put together. She always wears nice clothes and has her hair done. She even smells good…how ridiculous is that? I always walk away from my time with her feeling like a frump and loser who needs to get her life together. It’s not Olga’s fault I feel this way either. She’s very nice and doesn’t do anything to make me feel bad. It’s my own jealousy and insecurity that leaves me feeling this way and not anything she needs to change. I share this because I knew going into our little beach trip that I wouldn’t have any fun if I let my feelings about O intimidate me. I decided this time I wanted things to be different. I wanted to relax and give O a chance instead of putting her in a little box of perfection she may not herself want to be in.

On the boat ride over to the beach I kept glancing over at her. She looked lovely. Her outfit was cute. Her hair wasn’t attacking her in the wind like mine was. I wanted to push her off the boat. No I didn’t…well, I sort of did :] But I decided I was going to do my best to open up and get to know her better that day. Usually I clam up and try to play it cool so she won’t figure out how not together my life is. But I knew I was being fake and frivolous and it was time to get past fear and insecurity. So after the boys left we started chatting…just our usual small talk at first. But then I started asking her questions and she asked me questions too. I thought I would be miserable trying to talk to her and open up but before I knew it the sun was dipping behind the sandy hills and were wrapping up in sweaters to stay warm. Olga told me about her life. She told me about some of the things that are bothering her and things that aren’t going right. She would stop sometimes, struggling to think of a word in English or how to communicate an idea from Russian to English. She told me I’m the only person she ever really speaks to in English and she feels silly when she can’t think of a word. I couldn’t believe Olga ever felt silly in front of me. I told her I forget words in English too and it’s the only language I speak :]

{Beautiful Olga}

I learned a lot about O that day and I learned a lot about myself too. I learned that as perfect as Olga looks and seems, she is a girl just like me. A girl with a heart that can be broken, feelings that get hurt, and fears that follow her just like me. I learned that I don’t need to try to be like Olga to have my life put together. I just need to be who I am, as imperfect as that may be. If I wear things because Olga wears them or say things because Olga says them, I’m not more like her, I’m just less like me. I cheat myself by thinking imitation will bring me any closer to who I should be. The truth is, Olga and I are very different people. We grew up in different countries and even in America, take part in very different cultures. She is six years older than me and the mother of three children. We are in very different places in life. How can I expect to know and be all that she is when we are so different in the very fibers that make us who we are? I realized that day, as we snacked on fresh fruit and treats from the Russian grocer, that my fears and insecurities are just that—fear and insecurity. There is nothing wrong with me and there is nothing unattainable about Olga; we are just different people. I’m glad I gave O a chance because I left the beach that day with a great sense of peace and confidence. Instead of feeling unattractive and inadequate, I left feeling inspired. Inspired to be the person I’m meant to be. Inspired to learn from the things I admire in Olga, not to merely mimic them. Inspired to grow and change…into myself, not into someone else.

{This is who I am, no one else}

The boys came back with the last rays of light and soon we were all marching off to get ice cream together. We sat on a wall with our ice cream watching the boats bobble on the water. There was a cannon like BOOM and people screamed; I laughed. Laughter is a nervous reaction for me. I have a feeling when the ol’ apocalypse gets here I’ll be laying on the ground giggling while everyone else runs for their lives. Maybe it’s a coping mechanism :] Victor said they do that BOOM to let everyone know it’s sunset. Olga joked about how we should probably know it’s sunset without a cannon going off and we all laughed. Of course she’s funny too…maybe I’ll push her off the boat on the way back home :]

It was a lovely day of sand and sunshine…and a life lesson or two as well. I’m thankful.

We left after dark. The black water looked like pools of ink as we glided over it. I wanted to dip my quill in it and write you a story, this story.


Home

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Sometimes I want to go home.

I want to chase the sunset on its way to the west.

I want to take in the vast, sweeping Plains rolling flat for miles into the horizon.

I want to lie in the tall, stiff prairie grass and tromp through the corn fields prickly and magical as they are.

I want to feel the heat and humidity on my skin. I want to feel the dirt between my toes.

I want to hear the thunder rumble, feel the wind blow threatening and uncertain.

I talked to my little brother on the phone the other day. I asked him if he wanted to come for dinner. He asked what I was making. We talked like he would bring the bread for my butter. He is 1,000 miles away—or a million—it makes no difference, the distance is all the same.

Sometimes I want to go home.

I want to stop by my parent’s house on the way home from work just to say hi and I love you.

I want to meet my best friend in a coffee shop and talk over each other loud and fast like we always do.

I want to chase my nephews and kiss my nieces.

I want to fight with my brothers and shop with my sister-in-laws.

I want to gather around the table for Sunday dinner.

I left after college as fast as I could get away. I always knew what I wanted to do and where I wanted to be: Anywhere but there.

I ran fast and hard—and I got away.

I didn’t know then, when I was 22, how hard it would be to go back, how far I was from home.

I didn’t know when I was 22 how quickly life would change, how fast the babies would grow.

I didn’t know when I was 22 that I would ever want to hug my brothers, my stupid annoying brothers.

I didn’t know when I was 22 that the flat boring Plains were quietly magical, that home is a magic all its own.

I didn’t know until I was too far away, that distance could hurt so much. I didn’t know the place you call home is a part of your soul, woven into your very being.

I didn’t know when I was 22 that I would ever want to go home.

Busy As a Bee

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The husband and I spent this past weekend in Maine. Darren’s dad runs a bee pollination business taking boxes and boxes of honey bees to the farmers to make sure their crops are pollinated and ready to produce yummy, beautiful fruit. We go up twice a year—once in the spring and again in the fall to help Darren’s dad load and unload the bees off the truck. The bees have a pretty posh life—they get to spend the spring and summer in Maine when the weather is warm and lovely but never quite hot or humid. Then when the air gets crisp and the leaves begin to turn, the spoiled honey bees get loaded in their bee boxes back onto the truck and are whisked away to do a little tanning in Florida for the winter. You wouldn’t want them getting too cold, you know :]

With spring’s early arrival, the farmers are edgy and impatient about having the bees brought early just in case the blossoms go by quickly. You can’t blame them—if the blossoms aren’t pollinated, the crops will be lost. So as soon as the bees were pulled off the truck from Florida, the boys loaded them right onto another truck to begin deliveries. Here’s Darren driving the truck:

My father-in-law wanted to know if I wanted to ride along with them to make the deliveries—I love riding along so I jumped in the truck between him and Darren. The boys were rushing around trying to make sure they had everything they needed for the trip. My father-in-law asked me: Kari, what are we going to forget? Something important, I say. Something critical, he says. Oh well, we pile in the truck and are off. We get several miles down the road and my father-in-law says, The map. We forgot the map. Darren asks his dad if he knows where we’re going and how to get there? I hope so, says my father-in-law and we just keep on going. After lots of guessing and a couple of turnarounds, we made every delivery.

I love riding around with the boys. To avoid taking the time to stop and eat, they munch on gas station fare all day—I had a Twix, a Rice Crispy Treat, an ice cream cone, and my favorite pizza from Papa Johns—why wouldn’t I ride along for all that? :]

Here’s Darren zipping around in the Bobcat moving bee hives into an apple orchard.

When the boys were at each delivery stop, I sat in the truck and ate up a couple more pages of Walden Pond. I didn’t want to risk getting stung, you know, and it was really cold out too! I took pictures from inside the truck to avoid getting stung–see Darren in the mirror?

Here’s a cranberry bog with berries from last year taking a dip. Darren’s dad helps pollinate the cranberries used by Ocean Spray so if you’ve ever tasted Ocean Spray then maybe just maybe you’ve tasted some of his bee’s hard work.

After all the work was done, Darren and I took off for a little date in Freeport. We walked around the outdoor shops and wandered through the flagship L.L. Bean store drooling over rich people camping gear. Here’s Darren with the giant Bean Boot (he has a real pair of Bean Boots that look just like this…um, only smaller).

We are busy. The bees are busy. Life is just as busy as the busy little bees.

bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Life In My Slippers

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Well kids, it’s been a busy week and I’m glad to finally have time to sit and write again. We’ve been preparing for our big annual audit at work and I feel like all I’ve done for the last two weeks is sit behind a desk filling out paper work. When it would all get to be too much, I would walk over to the big window in the office and just take in the changing spring-kissed landscape. We’ve been in a dance with the weather here lately–one day is a warm breeze and a cobalt sky, the next is rain drops and jackets. Every time I’m certain spring has finally settled in for good, I wake up to another cold day and bare branches not brave enough to put out leaves. It reminds of me of Robert Frost’s words about this time of year here in New England:

“The sun was warm but the wind was chill.
You know how it is with an April day
When the sun is out and the wind is still,
You’re one month on in the middle of May.
But if you so much as dare to speak,
A cloud comes over the sunlit arch,
A wind comes off a frozen peak,
And you’re two months back in the middle of March.”
From the poem Two Tramps in Mud Time

Yesterday was the final day before the audit and everyone at work was rushing around trying to tie things up. One of the girls I work with needed a break from the bustle and went outside for a bit then came back with the cutest little stem of white bell-shaped flowers. She walked around work showing it off like a brand new baby and had everyone smell how fragrant it was for such a tiny thing. Then she got a tiny little cup filled with water and left it on her work table–I think we all enjoyed having a little piece of nature inside with us, especially on such a beautiful day when we all wanted to be outdoors. Actually, my boss wanted to be outside so much that he just took the day off and spent it out on his boat. He came in to work after 9:30 last night in shorts and flip-flops looking like a new man–it’s amazing what a little time outdoors on the water does for the soul.

The husband had to get up early this morning for the audit (I get to stay home and avoid the mess since I just work in the office, hehe). When I came down to the kitchen this morning, I was greeted by a cute little pink flower in a tiny little vase sitting on the windowsill…Husband picked it for me and put it there before he left–he’s a keeper, that one.

Now that I finally have a day out of the office, I’m faced with a mountain of laundry, dishes, grocery shopping, etc. Oh well, I would rather face the laundry than another mountain of paper work. Besides, I get to beat around the house in my slippers sipping coffee and rocking out to OneRepublic and Adele–all is well at the Andrews’ joint 8]

Well, I apologize if my ramblings about everything and nothing bore you–I’m just too fried to talk about anything important today…next week, I promise.

Enjoy your weekend and get outside if you can!

Baking and Other Bad Ideas

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Birthday presents all wrapped and ready

Darren’s birthday was this week and he requested a cake with a creamy not-too-sweet frosting on top. To achieve said frosting I thought I would just utilize my mad bad cooking skills and bake the man a cake all by my onesie–bahaha–bad, dumb idea, Kari Ann.

It started like this: I bought two boxes of chocolate cake mix and planned on making two 9″ round cakes to stack one on top of the other–no problem. I read the instructions carefully and even called Darren to verify our altitude to make sure I didn’t need to use the higher altitude instructions. The instructions said to divide one box of cake mix between two 9″ pans so that is exactly what I did–but the pans didn’t look full enough to me. So I, even though I have apparently never baked a cake before, decided to take the instructions into my own hands and poured the whole box of batter into one pan and mixed the second box for a second pan–perfect.

Both pans were filled almost to the top and I popped them in the oven with the timer set for 30 minutes then left the room. Soon, I could smell the cake cooking and it smelled so yummy and I started thinking about Facebook statuses like, “Just made the best cake ever–sooooo good!” Then I started smelling smoke.

I went to the kitchen to check on my perfect cakes and smoke was billowing from the back of the oven. You know how when some people freak out they spring into action and fix the problem on a rush of adrenalin? Ya, I’m not one of those people. I’m one of those people who completely freeze and lose all ability to think or function. So, when smoke is billowing out of the oven and my cakes are most likely on fire I stand frozen in the kitchen with my hands over my mouth trying to think. of. something.

I finally found my legs and opened the kitchen window to let the smoke out before the fire alarm starting blasting and opened the oven to find that my two cakes were both bubbling over and pouring a lava-like flow of cake batter all over the interior of the oven. There was so much cake batter on the bottom of the oven that it looked like I was cooking four cakes–two in pans and two on the oven floor. The cakes were bubbling over so badly I didn’t even know how to get them out of the oven. I finally maneuvered some baking sheets under the cakes and pulled them out one at a time. The batter on the oven floor was burning into blackened charcoal and filling the house with smoke so I had to get it all cleaned out before I could even think of putting the cakes back in. I scrubbed and scrubbed until it was all cleaned up and then emptied some of the extra batter from each of the pans before putting them back in to finish cooking. I had to keep opening the oven like I was burping it to let all the smoke out that kept building up. Once the cakes were finally done, I trimmed all the excess off and laid them face-down so you couldn’t tell how incredibly ugly they were then I piled them high with that special frosting that started this whole adventure. In the end, the cake didn’t look too bad and it tasted fine (I was sure it would taste like smoke).

When Darren finally got home from work we had a nice steak dinner together, opened presents, and enjoyed the cake of doom. Next year when Darren asks for a special cake, I going to march right down to the bakery and buy him one. I hate cooking. I hate baking. Most of all, I hate the smell of burnt cake batter.

The final result

A Winter Weekend in Maine

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Welcome to Maine!

Darren and I spent the weekend in Maine so D could begin repainting his dad’s plane. We usually arrive in Maine at night so the first thing I do when I get out of the car is look up–up at the clear night sky filled with stars bright and brilliant without the dulling reflection of city lights. I love getting out of town and spending a few days in the mountains and the country away from the busy world. Darren’s parents don’t have internet or TV and our cell phones barely have any reception so we have no choice but to sit back and take a few days away from all the technology and busyness we are accustomed to. I usually spend my time in Maine reading, writing hand-written letters, and spending quiet time with Darren’s family.

Darren the martian painting one of the airplane wings

While Darren worked away, I went down the road to his grandma’s house and visited for a bit.

Take your wet boots off at the door please!

As soon I was in the door and out of my wet boots, Grammie opened up the wood stove and had the fire roaring. I love the way Grammie keep wood in the Raido Flyer. She does it because it’s easier to bring more wood in at once (and an 80 something girl still hauling her own wood can do it however she likes) but I think it’s kind of charming in the wagon by the fire. After chatting and chocolate chip cookies, I headed back to the house.

At home, my mom-in-law built a cozy fire too. We sat by the fire and watched the big fat fluffy snow flakes drift as big as cotton balls from the sky.

We sat and talked until the sun went down and the boys came in and then it was time for dinner. My mom-in-law wanted to get sandwiches for dinner so the two of us bundled up and headed out to the old standard station wagon. My mom-in law suggested I bring a blanket because the car would be “wicked cold” and it was! I laid the blanket out in the seat and wrapped it around my legs and we were off. New Englanders like to test the road conditions by slamming on the breaks and seeing if the car slides–this scares non New Englanders like me out of their minds. Since it had been snowing all day and the road was already covered in packed snow, my mom-in-law decided to perform said road test. With the car pointed down a steep hill she started driving then pulled the stick into some foreign gear before slamming on the breaks–we slid but didn’t die so on we went down the slick mountain road into town. We made it to the “Mallard Mart”–a gas station/sandwich shop and picked up our Italians and whoopie pies then we were off again into the snowy night.

I wondered around the farm and took a few pictures of the place covered over in snow.

My father-in-law built this barn; he built the house too.

The fat cheeky cows grazing.

I love this little bird house in the field.

Here’s the same bird house in the fall.

On the way home, this pulled in next to us at the gas station

Snowmobile crossing–a legit road sign in Maine

Missouri’s Quiet Lure

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People here in New England often ask me why anyone would live in Missouri; that always makes me smile. They also ask me where Missouri is as they stare blankly trying to picture the United States map and the location of the (rather large, right in the dead center) state…somewhere…but where? Not that New Englanders aren’t smart enough to actually locate Missouri…it just escapes them due to its total lack of interest. The descriptions of Missouri that I have so far received from people who have never been there are as follows:

Flat, windy, tornado-ridden waste land that is hot and dry. Often mistaken with Kansas as if they are one entity. A place with no trees, water, or hills primarily housing cows and corn fields.

With this hellish vision in mind, can you blame them for blocking it out of their memory of the US map?

Like New England is stereotyped for its winters, Missouri is stereotyped for its nothingness. And like most stereotypes, it is wrong.

I suppose much of what is listed in that rather bleak description of Missouri is factually correct—it is flat, windy, and tornado ridden—but that’s not all. It also embodies the Ozarks which are studded with mountains, rivers, and caves—not at all flat or dry. And some of the things people make sound so awful are my most loved memories.

I grew up on a 24 acre farm in what we like to call the middle of nowhere. Our driveway was a quarter of a mile long and winding from our yellow farmhouse  set in the middle of the fields to a gravel road leading to Higginsville and Lexington. Being situated between a gravel road and farm land provided a lot of dust. Dust. Dry feathery dirt. But without dust, there is no sunset, not one to revel in at least. I remember the sunsets in Missouri being nothing but epic. When you combine all that dust with heavy storm clouds, you get the brightest shades of pink and orange and the darkest violets and navies all mingling together with the fleeting sun in one last hurrah each night.

Like the dust, the endless corn fields too held a little bit of magic. The places where the tractor turned while seeding left perfect bare circles in the middle of all that tall corn. I would go out to the fields at night and lay on the dirt in one of those circles gazing up at the night sky so clear and bright you could pick out the star formations. I was lost in an ocean of corn and that little bare circle was my secret castle among the endless rolling Plains.

Next to our house was a field no one farmed that grew tall with prairie grass. I remember lying in that grass, watching it rock like the ocean’s waves all around me. It didn’t feel empty or desolate, just quiet and vast. William Cullen Bryant captures my thoughts in his own writings about the Midwest:

The Prairies

“These are the gardens of the Desert, these

The unshorn fields, boundless and beautiful,

For which the speech of England has no name—

The Prairies. I behold them for the first,

And my heart swells, while the dilated sight

Takes in the encircling vastness. Lo! They stretch

In airy undulations, far away,

As if the Ocean, in his gentlest swell,

Stood still, with all his rounded billows fixed,

And motionless forever. Motionless?—

No—they are all unchanged again. The clouds

Sweep over with their shadows, and, beneath,

The surface rolls and fluctuates to the eye;

Dark hollows seem to glide along and chase

The sunny ridges. Breezes of the South!…”

I keep this poem on the bookshelf in my living room because it calls my heart back home and reminds me of those quiet days when I all I had to do was lay in the grassy field and watch the clouds go by.

All these thoughts about Missouri were stirred up when I saw a picture my mom posted on Facebook of the Katy Trail in Rocheport, Missouri. How many miles have I walked and ridden on this trail! The Katy Trail is a 237 mile railroad track that was covered over with crushed limestone and converted into a walking/biking trail. I had all but forgotten about this trail until I saw my mom’s picture of that familiar tunnel. Now my legs are aching for a long jog down this forgotten path.

Every place has its lure; you just have to go there and find it. Check out the link below for more information on the Katy Trail:

Bike the Katy Trail