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   Our world has changed, as it does, and as it must, though no one could have anticipated such a catalyst. I have been away from these boards for so long, I hardly know where to begin. At the onset of the pandemic, I was working in elder care, a terribly vulnerable population to face COVID. Through sheer tenacity we were able to keep the residents in the facility safe and health, much to our surprise. My own family fared well; it was only a few months ago that my adult daughter came down with COVID. She lives on her own and was able to isolate. Fortunately, she had a mild case and was back on her feet in a week. 

    COVID hit my household three weeks ago when my adult son tested positive. It knocked him flat, and he is still recovering from the aftereffects, though he is certainly much better. Amid all the uncertainty of the ongoing pandemic I did not expect to face a health crisis of a different nature, one isolation and rest couldn't resolve. In February I received an unexpected and utterly surprising cancer diagnosis; in May it was determined to be stage three, necessitating twelve weeks of chemotherapy. 

    Walking out of my office is like opening an oven. The heat is a wall, strong, searing; there is a scent similar to baking bread rising from the grass that is toasting under the sun's unrelenting rays. My drive home takes me past farms along Route 5 in Deerfield: potatoes, tobacco, and corn growing strong and green despite the heat. We are not experiencing a drought; in fact the other day a thunderstorm hit on the way home with wind and rain so strong visibility was brought down to just a few feet. I am sure the rain was welcome just the same. 

    I think often of the local farmers. I am grateful for the countless hours they spend at their vocation and I recognize that it is a life I could not live. My own grandparents were farmers and factory workers, supplementing a life of hard work and unpredictable yield with wages earned by working in a foundry. Hard work and luck seem to be the mantra for farmers. Hard work, luck, technology, and engineering, farmers rely on many factors to answer their calling to serve. How did my grandparents manage? And their grandparents, and theirs? Go back generations, centuries, eras, and eventually everyone's forebears were farmers of a sort. They had only their own hard work, luck, and the grace of the gods to ensure plenty. 

            I am home. It is Wednesday and I should be at work, but a migraine has commanded otherwise. I felt the first uneasy stirrings last night while hiding candy-filled eggs and overstuffed baskets for my sons, but I thought a good night’s sleep would set me to rights. Nope. Instead of working I am in bed, notebook propped on a pillow, a cool cloth on my forehead, listening to birds outside my window. I suppose there are worse ways to welcome Ostara.

     It is the time of light, laughter, and joyful abandon. It is Litha! Let us celebrate with ruby-ripe strawberries and twinkling fireflies and achingly-pure blue skies reflected in chilly streams and sun-warmed ponds. I tend to get giddy this time of year; maybe it’s the child in me that hasn’t grown up yet, or perhaps the Kitchen Witch who is so excited by all of the fresh fruits and vegetables that summer brings, or maybe it’s just because I’m finally warm enough. Whatever the reason, they year’s turning at Litha always fills me with barely-contained excitement, though I don’t always get to act on it. My mind springs into action, suddenly there are so many things I want to do, and I can’t convince myself that I still have to balance all the fun things with work, which means working my way through my summer reading list while lounging by the lake is not a daily option. (Life isn’t perfect, after all.)

     Imbolc has recently passed, a festival of warm candlelight and plans and intentions; it is the festival at which we sow our goals for the year to watch as they sprout and grow, and lead us to the change we wish to see.

   This is the time of year that I look inward, thinking back over the year and what I have done. I meditate on how I could have done things differently, or better, or not at all. I usually find things I am disappointed about, chastising myself for everything I wanted to do but didn't. I find some few items I am pleased about, usually related to my children and their success.

   Coming toward the end of this year, I felt that my reflections were going to be different. My life and career saw so many amazing changes: I received a promotion from a job I enjoyed to a job I loved so much I genuinely looked forward to going to work every day. I went back to college, intent on pursuing a degree that would bolster my career. Beyond this, my family was happy and healthy, our finances good even in the wake of three children's fall birthdays and the looming holidays. For the first time ever, I could confidently say things were good.

An Irish proverb tells us there are three slender things that support the world: a stream of cow’s milk into a pail, a growing blade of corn, and a thread being woven into cloth. To the ancient Celts, these things were staples of life.