Month: March 2023

galavanting and gardening

/ Rachel Fenton / 6 Comments

I’ve been rather quiet because we’ve been galavanting across the country and recovering from illnesses that hit as soon as we made it through our front door (isn’t that always the case?).

This post will be full of photos, be warned!

We traveled first to Southern California, where we spent some lovely time with Jake’s parents and younger brother.

Michael got to go to his first baseball game, and he absolutely loved it. He spent most of the time holding onto the fence or Jake, shouting “ball!” at the top of his little lungs.

We then headed to San Diego for my best friend’s bachelorette party. It was so great to see her again (and some old friends too)!

We had an amazing day full of food, drink, and companionship, and then went to the Safari Park for a mimosa safari. It was quite a weekend: perfect for celebrating one of the smartest, funniest, and kindest persons I’ve had the pleasure of befriending.

I needed a black cocktail dress for the bachelorette, and I didn’t have any that I really liked — so I decided to make one! I have a new, handmade little black dress for fancy occasions and you can see it in the photos. I’ll write a post with more details on my sewing projects later, but I’m really pleased with how this one turned out.

We drove back home and then flew to Ohio to visit more of Jake’s family — all but one sister was there! (Sorry Jillian, we’ll see you next time!). For his first time flying, Michael did a really good job. There were a few rough spots, but all in all, not as painful as we were fearing.

It was so lovely to see everyone for the first time in quite a long time. Michael adored meeting all of his cousins, and was never bored or without a playmate.

Playing with Aunt Jacque
Playing with Aunt Justine

We played games, knit and crocheted together, ate amazing food (courtesy of Aunt Johannah!) and had a wonderful week catching up and enjoying each other. So many babies, so many laughs, so many delightful people under one roof.

Michael was confused between Uncle Joe and Dada for a little bit
Allllll the cousins!
Birthday cake decorating
Stretching with Uncle Jacob
Nighttime crafting
Playing with Aunt Johannah

On the plane trip back, I began feeling a bit under the weather, and then the next morning I woke up with the sorest throat I could ever remember having and a 101 degree fever. Urgent care confirmed I had strep throat. I’m still making my way through the antibiotics, but feel much better. Thankfully, only one other person of the whole group seems to have gotten it, and Jake and Michael escaped without strep. However, now both of them are fighting colds, so all three of us are laying low and resting as much as possible.

While we were gone, my small garden efforts sprung to life.

I planted daffodil bulbs back at the beginning of the year: they were 60% off at the store and I figured I would see some nice blooms next year, since it was too late for them to bloom this year. I was mistaken! They grew anyway! They have the most beautiful blossoms. It was such an unexpected source of life and beauty, and I delight in them every time I walk in my front door.

They’re one of my favorite flowers. I memorized the poem Daffodils by William Wordsworth as a child, and it still runs through my head every time I see one.

More of my beets survived Max’s munching than I expected! I’m hopeful I’ll have some homegrown beets in a few weeks. My little strawberry plant has also been blooming.

My lavender has been soaking up all the rain we’ve been having recently, and I plan on harvesting some of the blossoms to dry for tea and tinctures.

Even my onions, planted hastily in a grow bag, have pushed green fingers out of the soil.

There’s still much to do, especially as the weather warms. Beds to assemble, fences to build, seedlings to harden and plant, and so much more. I’m hopeful we’ll have more garden updates in the near future.

handspun

/ Rachel Fenton / 6 Comments

If you follow me on Instagram, you already know: a few weeks ago, my amazing husband surprised me with a belated birthday/Valentine’s Day gift:

A spinning wheel.

We had talked about it before, and I’d told him my dream wheel as we discussed future purchases and goals in the upcoming months and years. So imagine my shock and delight when he came in from work with an Ashford Kiwi 3 in his arms.

He even spent his evening assembling it for me while I watched YouTube videos on using a spinning wheel for the first time. I’m absolutely in love (with him, and with my spinning wheel).

I had been greatly enjoying learning how to use my drop spindle, but often found my arms and wrists fatigued at the end of a long spinning session. Also, it’s very slow. It took me a few weeks to spin a skein of yarn on my drop spindle: after the learning curve of my wheel, I’ve completed three skeins. While I delight in slow crafting, I only have so many minutes in a day to dedicate to my crafts, so I’m excited to practice my spinning and have more handspun yarn to knit.

My trial skeins were rough, and I think they’re some of my favorites. I love that I have physical, visual progress: I can look back at my first warped and uneven work, and see how much I’ve improved in just a few short weeks.

My first spin after my trial skein was using Nest Fiber’s Cabin Fever, a BFL (Blue Faced Leicester) fiber. It’s a good wool for beginners. I decided to do a 2 ply, which means I spun two bobbins of singles and plyed them together for the final yarn.

I also decided to do a fractal spin: first, I split the fiber in half. I kept one half as it was, and then split the other half into quarters. I then spun the half end to end on one bobbin and the quarters end to end on another bobbin. This means one bobbin is a long, stretched out color pattern, and the other bobbin is that color pattern repeated in much shorter segments. Plying them together gets you a beautiful mosaic where you rarely have two of the same colors in the same place.

There are places where it’s overspun, and places where it’s underspun. It varies in thickness in many places, anywhere from a fingering weight to a light worsted weight. There are places where a stray blep of fuzz sticks out. But I’m really happy with the way it turned out, despite its flaws. I have plans to make a color-work cowl or hat, pairing it with a natural cream yarn.

Chai isn’t quite sure about my wheel yet

I’m in the process of my fourth spin, using another Nest Fiber product: Andromeda, a Targhee fiber. My sister fell in love with the sunset colors, so I’m spinning it for her. I’m halfway through the plying process.

I have always been mesmerized by the act of spinning yarn. There’s something incredibly ancient about it: since the dawn of human history, people have been spinning fiber for cloth and rope: a necessity for survival. The cloth that clothed the poorest farmer and the tapestries that hung in the halls of kings: each and every thread was spun by hand.

There’s also something deeply feminine about spinning. Though I don’t think fiber arts should exclude men who want to participate, it would do a disservice to our forebears to ignore that this is the work that historically fell to women. This is the art that gave our ancestors power and agency when they had none: we get the term “spinster” from an unmarried woman who could support herself through her skills with fiber.

According to the ancient source the Protoevangelium of James, the Virgin Mary herself spun the red and purple thread that became the veil in the Temple. Many icons and paintings of the Annunciation depict the Theotokos with a spindle and distaff in her hand.

We have become so desensitized to thread and cloth we take it for granted: work done by machines or by invisible hands. But since learning how to spin, I’ve begun to notice cloth all around me: from the rugs underfoot to the garments we wear.

I’ve also begun to see cloth referenced in the Gospels in a different light: The swaddling cloth that Christ wore at His birth, and the tunic the soldiers cast lots for at His crucifixion. The hem of His robe touched by the woman with the flow of blood, a conduit of His healing. His grave clothes and face covering in the empty tomb. All made by women, some by women He knew. Perhaps even His mother.

It brings to my mind how Christ does not work through the grand and lofty, but rather the humble. The humblest people, women, the first to behold His resurrection. The humblest items such as hems and grave clothes, used for the holiest of purposes.

He has cast down the mighty from their thrones,
and has lifted up the lowly.
He has filled the hungry with good things,
and the rich he has sent away empty.

The Magnificat, Luke 1:51-53

I’ve had some people ask me why I got into spinning. To many, it may seem an obsolete and unnecessary art. I started it because I wanted to better understand the fiber I knit with, but from there I grew a whole new appreciation of so many things: fiber, history, women, the Church. A casual curiosity has branched into a joyful passion. I’ll be spinning and knitting for the rest of my life, as long as my body allows it. Above all, I am grateful for the ways spinning draws my attention to that which is often overlooked, and the ways it keeps me humble.

little hobbit update

/ Rachel Fenton / 2 Comments

At nearly fourteen months, Michael is growing like crazy in every way. He’s officially in 12-18 month clothing, and even the odd 24 month/2T item. He’s been teething a lot, and is cutting his upper molars.

Sleep continues to be the hardest part of all our lives. He takes one nap, usually around 10:30 am, anywhere from 45 to 90 minutes. Bedtime is a trial. Earlier this week, two days in a row, he gave us an unheard of 4.5 hour stretch of sleep. However, he’s now fighting a cold and is back to being up every 1.5 to 2 hours. Still, having that 4.5 hour stretch two days in a row gave us some hope. Maybe the end of this insane sleeplessness is close?

Michael has taken to hiding toys in shoes. Jake and I have found several balls, toy cars, blocks, Cheerios, and the tv remote hidden in the toes of our boots. We’re now in the habit of dumping our shoes out before putting them on.

He loves putting things inside containers, shutting the lids, and then opening them and removing their contents. Anything from Tupperware to kitchen cabinets — if it has a door, he will open it and put something inside.

He hates the car, still — any drive longer than 20 minutes is a gamble. We’ve tried everything, but what seems to distract him from screaming the best is Jake and I singing the jingle “Bumblebee Tuna” at the top of our lungs in harmony. We’ve tried hymns, Irish ballads, pop songs, nursery rhymes — none of them make him stop screaming like the Bumblebee Tuna jingle. Go figure.

His language has continued to explode: he now says “Cosmo” (one of the dogs’ names), “Grandpa”, “Grandma”, “Bubba” (pacifier), “keys”, “down”, “shoes”, “book”, and “Jesus”. His favorite word right now is “uh oh”: anytime anything drops or crashes or makes a loud noise, we hear an adorable “uh ohhhhh”.

He currently loves cars and making car sounds — he delights in “driving” the car with Jake or the tractor with my dad. He has some of my dad’s vintage matchbox cars that he carries around with him wherever he goes.

Currently, his favorite books are Moo Baa La La La, Hand Hand Fingers Thumb, and Organic Chemistry for Babies. He often points to the atoms on the page and brightly explains “ball”!

He loves making animal noises: he willingly obliges when you ask him what a cow says, or a sheep says, or a dog says. We credit Moo Baa La La La for this skill set.

We’ve all been fighting colds the past week so I’ve utilized screen time more than usual. He loves Ms Rachel’s Songs for Littles channel on YouTube. I love that she gives me a chance to make dinner or fold laundry without a screeching barnacle. He giggles and dances along to the music, and she’s helped him find several new words. She’s also helped us learn how to best teach Michael new words. Often in the mornings or late afternoons, Michael and I will snuggle on the couch and watch an episode together.

As always, he adores being outside. He prefers pushing the stroller to being pushed in the stroller, and loves playing with the rocks in my parents’ driveway and throwing the ball for the dogs. It’s been raining a lot lately, and the resulting mud is fascinating to Michael.

His favorite foods currently include grapes, mozzarella balls, applesauce, mashed potatoes, rice, and black bean soup. He loves having his own spoon and has started learning how to use it to move food to his mouth instead of the floor.

I love watching my bright-eyed, curious, kind little boy explore the world around him. In spite of all the difficulties and growing pains, being his mother is the greatest honor.

lent & motherhood

/ Rachel Fenton / 5 Comments

For us Orthodox Christians, it’s been the first week of Lent (also known as Clean Week). For my Catholic and Protestant friends, Lent began the 22nd of February with Ash Wednesday.

It’s easy to misunderstand Lent as medieval legalism, or punishment, or self-flagellation. In reality, it’s none of these things. It’s medicine for our sick souls and bodies. During Lent, we focus on prayer, fasting, and almsgiving to become more like Christ as we prepare for His Passion and Resurrection.

But, the Church spares no effort in revealing to us that fasting is but a means, one among many, towards a higher goal: the spiritual renewal of man, his return to God, true repentance and, therefore, true reconciliation.

Protopresbyter Alexander Schmemann

The upcoming weeks will be full of beautiful church services. However, I have a complicated relationship with these Lenten duties now that I’m a mother.

Watching Michael grow comfortable in church has been a delight. He loves pointing at the icons, or running in circles around the icon on the stand at the front, or looking to his right and brightly exclaiming “Dada!” as he sees Jake chanting the Psalms. During more sparsely-attended services the sanctuary looks like a spacious and exciting place for an active one-year old. He doesn’t stay still for a moment: I get my steps in as I follow him to the front of the church, pick him up before he can get too close to the iconostasis, walk to the back of the church again, set him down, and the cycle repeats.

But it’s also easy to fall into resentment, or self-pity, or dread. The drive is 45 minutes both ways, and usually cuts into dinner time. Michael often is exhausted and low on resources — Divine Liturgy is in the middle of his naptime, and Vespers and the midweek Lent services are during his bedtime. We made it to one service this week, and had to leave halfway through because he was melting down. My husband will be fulfilling his duties as choir director and reader, my dad singing in the choir, and my mother helping with her goddaughter, so I will be wrangling Michael by myself — either in church or at home.

One of the things I love about Lent is the sense of community. We are all undertaking this great fast together, praying together; growing in holiness together. But lately I’ve been struggling because Lent looks different for me than for the rest of the church. It’s easy to get discouraged and think I’m not good enough because I can’t make all the services, or fast completely, or even focus on the services I do attend. And it’s easy to feel isolated and alone as I stay home, or stand on the patio with a wild toddler.

But when I stop to think about it, I am indeed praying, fasting, and almsgiving: just in ways that look a little different.

My prayer looks different in this season of life. Instead of singing with the choir, I pace the church with my tired toddler, letting my mind cling to the fragments of the Psalms I hear. I nurse or rock him to sleep in the cry room, listening to the bells on the censor as the priest passes by. I offer up my frustration, my exhaustion, my distraction, as imperfect prayer.

My fasting looks different in this season of life. As a breastfeeding mother and the cook for our family, we aren’t adhering to the strict Lenten diet most of the church does, though we are abstaining from meat. Instead of carefully curated Lenten fare, I eat either standing at a counter or with a curious toddler on my lap, trying to stick his hands in my bowl. Or I forget to eat, distracted by the multiple bids for my attention that surround me every day. I fast by denying myself and my desires as I stay home from church to tend to Michael instead of going to the services.

My almsgiving looks different in this season of life. While we also look for ways to give to those around us who are in need, I also recognize that my gift of self to my family — through presence, through menial household labor, through listening and soothing and playing with a one-year old — is in itself a form of giving.

I don’t have to enjoy every moment of Lenten motherhood: in fact, I often long for the days of quiet prayer when I could focus on the words of Liturgy. But when I’m tempted towards resentment or anger or despair, I take hold of this truth: my Lenten motherhood is just as pleasing a sacrifice to God as the singing of the faithful. As He accepts the distracted, childlike love of my son toddling from icon to icon, He accepts my exhausted, scattered love as I follow my child to the patio outside with Cheerios.

Piety, piety, but where is the love that moves mountains?

Mother Maria of Paris

So if you also are entering Lent carrying the weight of distraction and frustration and imperfection — whether because of motherhood or grief or mental illness or just exhaustion from the events of life — know that you are not alone. Many of us are carrying our Lenten struggles alongside you. And your prayer, your fasting, and your almsgiving — whatever they may look like, in whatever season of life you may be in — can be just as effective tools for your sanctification as the prostrations of the most devout monk.