This morning in my garden I found the top of the clay birdbath in three pieces, straddling one of the rose bushes. I looked for evidence of the culprit and immediately Lindsay Barrett George’s In the Garden: Who”s Been Here? came to mind.
 
On Sunday my sister-in-law was going on about trying to control the chipmunks in her backyard and all I could think of was Chippy Chipmunk Parties in the Garden by Kathy M. Miller.
 
I often find myself feeling a bit like Kevin Henkes’ Lily if I am engrossed in a conversation or experiencing something wonderful and all I can say is, “Wow.”
 
When you are familiar with a number of picture books, lots of things can bring them to mind. They get in your head and almost become a part of you. When my son, Brian, was little he had a favorite bedtime book called The Penguin That Hated the Cold by Barbara Brenner. There was a repeating line in the book that went something like – It’s silly to be chilly. I will go someplace where I can be warm. Years later, Brian had to decide between two colleges. Both had the program he was interested in and both accepted him, but one was in Miami and the other was in Boston. You guessed it, it was not a hard decision for Brian. He simply turned to us and said, “It’s silly to be chilly.”
 
Picture books can explain a lot.
 

We sat around the table – six novice picture book writers with copies of our budding manuscripts. We were joined by the critique leader – a published picture book author. Intimidating? Yes! Heart-pounding scary? Yes! One person read a manuscript (not her own) aloud while the rest listened, then commented.
 
I passed my story to the reader, my hand trembling slightly. My heart started pounding. My mouth was suddenly completely dry, all that moisture rerouted to my palms. I listened to the words I had written and revised and written and revised – a sigh of relief at “The End,” then more anxiety as comments were shared.
 
Over the course of my workshop weekend I participated in three critique group sessions and a first pages sharing with an editor. My “baby” was cut…and cut…and cut, revised…and revised…and revised, emerging as a new being (who still needs some nurturing). It was the most humbling, but at the same time rewarding, experience I have had in a long time. I learned to let go.
 
Note: If you have the opportunity to attend a Highlights Foundation Workshop, I highly recommend it. I attended “Picture Books and All That Jazz” this past weekend at the barn. I learned so much about picture book writing (and I thought I already knew a lot!) I was stretched and nudged in many ways, and I know I have grown as a writer.

​Around the middle of May I started to notice changes in the balance of amount and types of birds in the garden. It was about the time that I became aware of the presence of a house sparrow nest. Initially I was encouraged to find a new blue bird nest (with five eggs) by the hydrangeas. The beautiful tree swallows were happily residing by the maple tree. Every day they kept Allan company as he watered his patch of newly planted grass. But there were other changes I began to notice – larger birds at the meal worm feeder and a noticeable absence of chickadees.
 
I hadn’t seen any blue birds for a few days, so this morning I checked the nest. The eggs are still there, but there is a large hole in one – not a crack as if it were beginning to hatch, but a hole. The tree swallows, diligent in the protection of their nest, did not appear as I walked by. There are definite changes.
 
In my gardening journal on May 11, I wrote:
Everything I have read indicates that house sparrows should not be allowed to live with blue birds or tree swallows as they are predators, but I feel conflicted. Might be best to let nature take its course.
 
That is what I need to keep in mind – be patient and let nature take its course. Lessons that apply to many things in life, I think.
 
Just now, as I was writing this, a male bluebird came to the feeder. I think it is a good sign. 

From the time we were little children my brother Orville and myself lived together, played together, worked together, and, in fact, thought together.          -Wilber Wright
 
 
Last week I was visiting an old college friend in Kill Devil Hills, NC. Kathy lives very close to the Wright Memorial, so she suggested we visit there during my stay. I’m so glad she made the suggestion! It was one of those experiences that help you appreciate the wonder of curiosity and the power of creative thinking.
 
Kathy had on her coffee table a copy of The Wright Brothers by David McCullough, so I picked it up and began to read. I was immediately pulled in and wanted to keep reading, but I only had time for the first chapter (I have since purchased my own copy). In it, Wilbur and Orville credit their parents for helping them to attain their dreams. It was because these two geniuses grew up in an environment that nurtured their curiosity and creativity that they were empowered to persevere and reach their goals. Later, as I toured the museum I found so many connections to what we can do as educators – help students be keen observers of their world, think through ideas with others, be risk-takers, try things out and make adjustments when necessary, understand that the journey is just as important as the destination, wonder.
 
I love quotes and found myself taking pictures of several on display that day (I hope to find more as I read the rest of the book). If you ever find yourself on the Outer Banks, I highly recommend a visit to this memorial.
 
 
I got more thrill out of flying before I had ever been in the air at all – while lying in bed thinking how exciting it would be to fly.         -Orville Wright

​The decision to write daily in my garden notebook has helped me look more closely at what is happening in my own backyard. While I usually spend time in the garden each day throughout the spring and summer and well into the fall, I have begun to take a different approach, trying to notice small changes and make new discoveries. Since many of you responded that you were looking forward to reading more, here are a few excerpts from past weeks.
 
5/4/16 Spotted a hummingbird in the front of the house – a reminder that I should put out the hummingbird feeder soon. The patio is a carpet of pink cherry tree blossoms – nature’s May snowfall. Tree swallows and sparrows seem to be in a territorial struggle for the white blue bird house.
 
5/6/16 Spent the day with flowers! After working at Longwood in the morning, I trekked out to my favorite nursery, Briar Rose, for hanging baskets, geraniums, and container plants. Best find of the day – winterberry! The bluebirds will be happy.
 
5/11/16 Bird trouble. Confirming that the nest in the white bluebird house belongs to a house sparrow, I made the decision to remove it before there are eggs. But unfortunately I was too late. I approached and knocked. No response. Carefully I opened the door and the sparrow zoomed out! As I gathered up the nest and started to lift it out, two baby birds fell to the cushion of mulch below. Knowing that I could not destroy them, I carefully placed everything back in the box. The mother returned a little later. Everything I have read indicates that house sparrows should not be allowed to live with blue birds or tree swallows as they are predators, but I feel conflicted. Might be best to let nature take its course.
 
5/12/16 Large hole in the ground by the shed. The groundhog must be back, and he did not appreciate the mulch Allan carefully spread. Is there a space for my geraniums? Is there room for everyone in the garden?
 
New discoveries, lessons learned, and lots to ponder!

​For a few months now, Lynne Dorfman and I have been blocking out writing days on our calendars so we can work on a second edition of Mentor Texts. Yesterday was a writing day for us, but it would probably be better to call it a writing/bird watching day! Now that the weather is getting at least a little warmer we have moved to a favorite writing spot of ours – the enclosed back porch at my house. And amid all the picture books, notebooks, post its, and pens sprawled across the table can be found Peterson’s Field Guide to Birds of North America (an app on my ipad) and some good binoculars.
 
Lately, my feathered backyard friends have been buzzing with new activity like nest building, mealworm gorging, and seed sampling. I’ve welcomed back the finches, bluebirds, chickadees, cardinals, sparrows and wrens. I’ve also noticed quite a few new visitors, too, like the two rosy-breasted grosbeaks I spotted on Saturday. Yesterday, right in the middle of composing, Lynne burst out with a “Look at that bird!” And literally, right in the middle of typing a word I grabbed my binoculars and zoomed in. There he was, a newcomer, the most beautiful blue feathered bird I had ever seen, making himself at home on the birdfeeder perch and just feasting away. But what was it? A blue bunting? An indigo bunting? A blue grosbeak? After studying it awhile and consulting the guide, we think it might have been a blue grosbeak as they are more common to our area.
 
I couldn’t help but think about the many kids I’ve been with in classrooms throughout the years that get distracted by the trash truck outside, or an interesting cloud, or the sound of a nearby motorcycle.  I get it now - sometimes you just have to stop and take notice or life’s most interesting treasures just might pass you by.
 
I suggested to Lynne that perhaps we would get more work done if we moved inside. But we really don’t want to do that. It’s nature’s beauty that inspires us and teaches us how to look closely and notice – how to notice what’s right there all around us, how to notice what authors do, how to notice what’s in a book. Time well spent!

          5/3/16 The start of a dreary, drizzly week with weeding and bed preparation to do; found the
          False Dragonhead, Solomon Seal, and Coreopsis that I added to the peony garden last year.
         The aster is still hidden among the weeds.
 
Writing every day in March for SOL provided a structure and discipline that I came to rely on. In April, I decided to carry on that structure by reading and recording a poem and a few notes about it each day. Then all of a sudden it was May, and I needed something else.
 
A few years ago I started a garden journal where I could record plants I added, bloom times, sketches, activities of the birds, etc. As I looked through the journal to begin my garden planning this spring, the light bulb went off. For May, I could record something every day about what I noticed, accomplished, or wondered about related to the garden. Above you will see my entry for today. There is always so much to do and notice in the garden I may have to keep it up all summer!

 I’ve been reading and recording in my notebook at least one poem a day during April. Most of the poems (probably 95%) are from Mary Oliver. Her focus on the natural world and her ability to find the extraordinary in the ordinary and  record her thoughts in the most eloquent of ways have captivated me this month. So, on this last Tuesday in April, I used her influence, her mentorship, to craft a poem of my own. For my poem “Morning Symphony” I first read and         reread Mary Oliver’s poem “The Wren” as well as Birdsongs by Betsy Franco. Then I dug into my musical background and listed as many musical terms as I could think of. Then I listened…and listened…and listened, as each morning I was greeted with song.
 
                                                                            Morning Symphony
 
                                                                            The sun rises
                                                                            and the choir begins
                                                                            a symphony of
                                                                                  chips and chirps
                                                                                         whistles and warbles
                                                                                                 trills and tweets
                                                                             each cadenza a song of praise,
                                                                             thankful for this new day.

​A few years ago my friend, Glendia, got me started on going to craft fairs. Most of them in our area are held at local high schools and benefit various programs in the schools. I love seeing how creative the crafters can be and enjoy talking to them about their process. Craft fairs are usually a good place to pick up an out-of-the-ordinary gift for someone, or to ask yourself, “Now, why didn’t I think of that?!” To me, one of the best parts of any craft fair are the raffles. There are always donated items from the vendors and sometimes huge baskets put together by various groups.
 
On Saturday as Glendia and I entered the raffle room, one of the organizers overheard us discussing how many tickets we were planning to buy. “Well, are you feeling lucky today?” she asked. We quickly explained that we generally are pretty lucky. It’s true, almost always one of us (sometimes both of us) walks out with a prize. We purchased our tickets, distributed them among the items, and were soon on our way to visit the crafters.
 
I wasn’t surprised when my phone rang later - someone informing me that I had won a raffle item. When we went to pick it up, the woman we had spoken to before commented, “Wow! You really are lucky!” I’m sure she was doubly surprised when I returned a little later to claim my second item. Yes, I won twice in one day! But I don’t hold the record – once Glendia won three times!
 
Although I don’t really consider myself lucky, I’m thinking now that I probably am, and not just at craft shows. I am lucky to have a wonderfully supportive and loving husband, great kids, caring friends, a satisfying career, and good health. Life is good!

​I’ve been part of the Monday Night Ladies League for about ten years now. Although some ladies have come and gone, others stay - if not physically, most definitely in my heart. One of those ladies was B – just B, not Bea, or Bee. She hailed from England, and her delightful British accent and use of the language captivated those around her. She was kind and caring and always had a word of encouragement for those she golfed with. One of the things I remember most about her were her outfits – she always matched head to toe, from her visor to her shoes, in colors and patterns that complemented her fair skin. Last season B did not play with us. During the winter she was diagnosed with cancer, by the summer she was in hospice care, and by the early fall she had passed away.
 
Last night as we finished up the eighth hole on the course, my foursome stopped to take a close look at the memorial that had been set up for her – a carved out tree stump that housed her bag and clubs along with a simple plaque. Some admirers had left tokens of tees or balls, and I was proud to add mine to the collection.
 
I am by far not a good golfer. In fact, I am among the worst in the league. I have often asked myself why I keep coming back year after year, and the answer is always the same. It is because of the people who have touched my heart in special ways, offered support and encouragement, and who have helped me be a better person. And isn’t that the way life should be?
 
Here’s to you, B!