Well, it is Gibson Monroe Hartmann's tenth birthday today. He was about to be two when I took that picture of him. Joanne- there's the picture of him wearing his jaunty hat that I promised you. Or at least one of the pictures. What a fine and darling little man he was and what a fine and darling young man he is. I sent him that picture a little while ago and he sent this back.
He's off with his dad and his brother and sister to get things for a movie-night party. He is so smart and curious, that boy. And there never was a cuter baby.
There's what might be his first photo. His birth, some of you may recall, was so fast. Well, for all of us except for Lily who, despite having contractions all night long thought that she wasn't really in labor and as they intensified decided that no, she could not do REAL labor and finally called the midwife and me and May and Jessie and we all zoomed over there and the midwife barely had time to glove up and Jason got to catch that sweet peach of a boy and we all were bursting with joy.
Oh, how I love that picture! My precious Lily with her new Gibson. I believe those were Jessie's hands.
Here are two more pictures of the child when he was still a young'un baby.
Here are two more pictures of the child when he was still a young'un baby.
I love the way he's so seriously studying Owen in this one. "Who are you? Do I know you?"
And Owen was all, "That's my brother."
So I've been thinking about the day Gibson was born all this glorious, cloudless, cool day and being grateful that not only he but that all of my grandchildren were born so healthy, so fine and fat and so loved by such strong mothers and fathers. There was never a moment in their early lives when they were not being loved and adored and welcomed with the most open of hearts and arms.
Mr. Moon and I both spent a lot of time outside today. He pulled the arugula (sob! sob!) and I pulled most of another row of mustards, gone way the heck to seed. I did some weeding and he planted tomatoes and two types of squash and put up some fencing for cucumbers and planted some of those too. I moved on to the yard and did a little tidying, pulling some invasives, pruning some palms, cutting back last year's stalks, picking up more fallen branches. Stuff that no one but me will ever notice which is sort of the very definition of Things That I Do.
I noticed yesterday from a distance that the Tung tree had started putting out blooms so I went to look at it more closely and sure enough. Those blossoms that look like Chinese watercolor paintings come to life are indeed opening and showing their faces to the sun.
Supposedly every part of the plant is toxic to man and beasts but I've never seen anything die from exposure around here. Every spring I re-fall in love with them, the reality of their delicate beauty so much better than my memory of them. Which, I have come to realize in my older age, is rare. It is generally the other way around, entirely.
While I was out checking the Tungs, I trusted my gut which has been telling me that it is time to kick bamboo and turned to that area of the yard.
Sure enough. And now I shall begin my seasonal project of kicking sprouting bamboo in order to prevent its spread and eventual take-over and dominance of the universe.
Oh! While looking back on my blog to find pictures of young Gibson, I stumbled on a picture of Little Violet with a report of her laying her first egg. That was six years ago so she is six years old. That is definitely the longest any of my hens has lived and it is quite possible that she will live many more. I tried to get a picture of her this afternoon but due to her shyness and wilyness, I didn't get a good one. That's okay. Those traits are the reason she's still alive. Trust me when I tell you that she's still looking lovely and that she still has what it takes for a rooster to do his dance for her. I cherish every egg she lays in springtime, knowing that one day, she will not lay any more and she will then be the Dowager Queen, as it was, and as such, deserves respect.
Kicking Bamboo sounds like one of the chi gong exercises! Now comes the spring, the season of kicking bamboo..ReplyDelete
Those are great Gibson pictures.
Yes indeed! The Season of Kicking Bamboo. It has begun.Delete
Tung tree blossom is astonishingly beautiful! But not as beautiful as the new born Gibson! Such a fine lad he turned out to be too! Ten years old is such a fun age to be! "Kicking Bamboo" title of your next book?ReplyDelete
Isn't that just a gorgeous flower?Delete
"Kicking Bamboo" sort of sounds like what happens when someone has a bamboo habit and has to get over it.
sweet Gibson. Happy Birthday to him and I recall well the day he was born. Bless him and his family. Tung blossoms beautiful.....do they smell? Violet is 6.......I've had 2 hens live to the age of 10....my most recent loss (and last of my flock) Buttercup........laid till age 7, but she was the queen of everything till the day she departed, eggs or not. Sigh. I miss having hens......maybe someday again when hubby tears down old coop and rebuilds.......or maybe never? I have no bamboo to kick.....but I can prune the heck out of things otherwise!ReplyDelete
Gibson is a sweet one. Isn't it so hard to believe he's ten?Delete
The tung blossom does not have a scent that I can discern.
Did your hens run the yard or were they more protected?
Funny how we remember certain hens, isn't it? And roosters too, actually.
Happy birthday to Gibson, the hatmaster. I hope he gets everything he wants for his birthday!ReplyDelete
I hope he does too. He is the sweetest.Delete
Wishing Gibson many happy returns of the day!ReplyDelete
What do you mean when you say you are kicking bamboo? I have never heard that before.ReplyDelete
When the bamboo starts sprouting and coming up out of the ground, if you give it a good kick and kick it over, it won't continue growing there. If you don't, you will soon live in a bamboo forest.Delete
Happy Birthday Gibson. And Miss Violet is a very Fine Hen. What is the average lifespan for a Chicken?ReplyDelete
I think they can live from five to ten years on average. Mine generally do not live that long as they are free to run during the day and sometimes predators do get them. Which is the saddest but I can't stand keeping them literally cooped up.Delete
Happy birthday Gibson! You are like the sun.ReplyDelete
He is definitely a ray of bright light!Delete
Happy Birthday Gibson! I hope you had a sweet day.ReplyDelete
I think he did!Delete
Gibson was an adorable baby!ReplyDelete
The Tung flowers are gorgeous, I don't think we have that tree in Australia, but I don't mind, we already have so many other things that are poisonous.
I hear you!Delete
I love that picture of Gibson as a smiley baby. Well, of course, they're ALL good pictures. Nice to see the tung tree again! (Is that what tung oil is from? The furniture polish?)ReplyDelete
Yes. Tung oil. And they use it as a finishing oil too. They were planted here during either WW I or II, I do not know, to use the nut oil as a petroleum substitute. Many survived and spread.Delete
Happy Birthday, Gibson! May your life be filled with lots of love and fun adventures!ReplyDelete
Thank you, Ellen!Delete
It was a weekend for the yard for sure though I didn't do too much outside. Mostly pulled hay grass and cleaver and clover and dug up the remaining sow thistle and now I have a full garden cart to haul over to the burn pile and after that I was done and came in and worked on my painting.ReplyDelete
Gibson is 10. I can't believe I've been reading and sharing your life for over 10 years!
Sounds like you've been busy. I feel like I should get as much yard work done now as I can, knowing how damn hot it will be so very soon.Delete
I can't believe how the time has flown either!
What beautiful photos of Gibson!ReplyDelete