It's The Time

I just finished an excellent book, "Animal, Vegetable, Miracle," by Barbara Kingsolver, one of my favorite novelists. It's a non-fiction narrative of the year she and her family committed to eating locally - which, in turn, meant eating seasonally. It's a concept I've been pondering lately, as my son exhibits signs of dissatisfaction with pureed baby food and I consider what I'm going to put down his gullet next.

I've had it so easy, living in a culture where organic baby food is so readily available and in such a variety of food choices. I'm used to reading the labels of everything I buy (a necessity of vegetarianism), and I love the short lists on the baby food containers: "Carrots, Water." Such simplicity, such a lack of non-food ingredients. Granted, the food for older babies starts to lose some of it's purity punch: anything called "Dessert" or "Dinner" is troublesome, and the new DHA-enhanced foods get that way by the addition of Tuna oil (while I eat seafood, no one else in the household does).

So the season of having to work at the boy's food is at hand - which has me thinking about eating seasonally generally, and accordingly about changes in seasons. I grew up mostly around the Gulf Coast, where the seasons are Hot and Not Quite As Hot, but now I live in the Great Lakes region, where the seasons are dramatic in their differences. While I grow increasingly weary of winters that take up more than their fair share of the year, I love the tart winds of fall and the leaves in my favorite palette (ruby, mustard, tangerine), the languid, watermelon-scented air of summer and the lush carpet of grass, and the asparagus-breeze of spring accompanied by hope-giving crocuses.

I'm beginning to see my life in seasons, too. My first pregnancy, the stillbirth of my first son, and the ensuing year and a half of grief and more loss and subsequent pregnancy anxiety up the ying-yang most certainly constituted a winter, and the first almost-year of my second son's life has been a glorious spring. Now, a summer of sorts: a month ago I left behind for once and for all my business career, which I celebrated by taking a month-long trip with my family and getting a haircut and coloring (dark violet base with candy-apple red highlights!) that make it clear I am no longer subject to The Man. And in two weeks I become a fulltime student again, which conjures up the old new-pencils-and-sweaters feeling of fall (even if I'm starting in May).

Here's another seasonal shift: while I still miss my first son, still get struck by his absence in unexpected ways, he is no longer the center of my life. I am comfortable with the land of death, but I no longer dwell in it. My focus is on the long-term plans my husband and I are building (which include the extension of both our educations) and on the fabulousness of my second son. Accordingly, my writing energies have been devoted to my son's blog and to recording our plans and soon will also be committed to academic writing.

I've considered ending this blog while I was away the last month, chalking it up as a well-intentioned but misguided attempt to hold on to the benefits of the blog my husband and I wrote for two years after the stillbirth of our first son. As I write this post, though, I'm thinking maybe I'm not quite done. I can't write with the all-consuming frequency I once did, but I think I'm good for an occasional post. I can't keep up with my fellow bloggers the way I once did - obsessively - but I care about the group of people who have been my long distance support for so long. So I'll still be around for a while, just differently. Think of me as the crazy relative who moves out of state but still comes home for holidays and reunions, and when we're all together, it's like no time has passed at all.