Busy Hands Homestead

These days I am largely stuck driving to work, since I am juggling my husbands schedule, dropping off and picking up kids from friend's houses, unpredictable summer activities and all those other errands that have to happen.  When I have to the opportunity, I usually choose to walk the 1.2 miles from my house to work. During the winter months, in the dark and snow, I ride the bus. The commute gives me an opportunity to interact, talk with, listen to, and observe folks I might never bump into otherwise. This is a series of non-fiction snap shots that crowded around in my head into I finally put them on paper.  I entered it in the Missoula Public Library - 2017 Writing Contest, in a moment of boldness, that made my skin tingle, my heart pound and caused me anxiety for days... I didn't win. And even though the skin on my arms is already prickling and the heart pounding and anxiety is sure to follow, I am sharing my writing here: En Route The man across from me is...

“You know what's great about plants.” “I don't know. What?” “That they are plants!!!” Sylvan looks at me incredulously. “Don't you get it?” Ivory shrugs, and eats a raspberry. The sky is peach and glowing. We are sneaking a few raspberries at dusk. The kids are up, way to late, once again. The three of us walked down the street to water our garden plot. Adam is washing the dishes. The house is finally starting to cool down. These fifteen minutes of my day are the only ones that seem to echo the rhythm of past summers. I am trying to breathe – just breathe. The sky fades to dark. On the way home, I cradle a hand full of raspberries to share. Soon after, we fall into our beds, on top of sheets and blankets. I feel like I am treading water – cold icy water – that makes it hard to breathe. I could dip under any moment. My days and weeks are filled up. I run back and forth, back and forth, drop off ki...