I have just had one of the most enchanting evenings of my life.

Russ brought the kids up to dinner today; Sue wasn’t with him and he didn’t stay. Myrtle had on a brand-new, sparkly dress. I asked her what the special occasion was and she swished her skirt around with a shy smile. Russ’ nervous, childish grin told me the reason. “Mytle and Guthrie are becoming a big sister and brother today,” he announced to the folks gathering in the kitchen for dinner. We all smiled; we had known for a while (news spreads like wildfire around here). We gave him our love and he ducked out.

After dinner, I took Myrtle and Guthrie down into the garden to distract them from the excitement. We sat down by the bees for a while and watched them crawl in and out of their boxes, buzzing with busy energy. One bee was peculiarly hanging from a blade of grass beside us the whole time, clearly in distress. We wondered how we could help it but decided it must be doing some job we didn’t know about. (It was still there a few hours later when we came to see the bees again. His dying body- that had seem so big before but now seemed so so small- lay quietly in the grass, easy to miss. Guthrie and I paid our respects and agreed it was certainly a very sad thing.)

Once we got our fill of beeez, we returned to the garden. We dilly-dallied down the rows of greens spilling out from the soil, picking an odd carrot or snap pea along the way, or a pretty flower for Mama. Up at the tool shack, Uncle Bonsai painted the mural for which the inspiration had just hit him moments earlier (it would be a splendid depiction of the four seasons, he had decided). We swung under the pine tree and told silly stories about monkeys and airplanes. Their giggles, their wide eyes, their smiles, their souls, so pure. Their tender insights about the world around them never cease to amaze me. We laid blankets and pillows on the village green and explored the ocean deep, page by page. Guthrie saw a star; Myrtle’s dress twinkled, too.

As dusk settled around us, Guthrie grew anxious; “I wanna see Mama,” he told me tearfully. Hope, Sue’s midwife (and a fellow community member/Sue’s upstairs neighbor - how’s that for convenience?) came by to visit us and assured the twins that Mama was doing good work to bring this baby into the world. Myrtle repeated that sweetly (and with such innocence!) to her brother afterwards whenever he got worked up. A few more lulling rhymes and they were conked by my first song. I kept singing for quite a while, feeling the weight of their little heads resting on my lap and the steady hum of their restful breaths; they didn’t stir when my body moved away. Down in the garden, I stood beside Bonsai, staring at his shapes and colors, sharing the warm night, marveling at the magic of this life and this land.

I had just written this in my journal (prematurely) - On the eve of July 25th, the day out of time, a new farmie is born - when I got a call from Hope. I woke the kids gently; “Christmas is here,” I whispered. Bonz and I cradled them in our arms, trying to shake them out of their dreams and not wanting to at the same time. I was greeted at the door by that signature newborn baby cry (which I had never heard before but I guess the movies clue you in). Sue and Russ smiled from the birthing bath, Hope kneeled on the floor beside them, all of them looking serene and accomplished . It took me a few seconds to fully register that a new life had just come into the world, and was being held in Sue’s arms right before me. Sue introduced her babies to their little sister, and their sleepy eyes widened in awe- in awe of her heartbeat, her cries, her pink, wrinkly body.

Welcome to the world, Hazel Holly. Of all the lives and lands to be born into on our planet today, yours is quite a beautiful one.

Happy Day out of Time!