In the early years of Green Hope Farm, we sent out an annual newsletter to one and all. It was sort of a hard copy blog, a booklet summing up the garden season, sharing new Flower Essences, the kids’ drawings of their world and my musing on the events of the year here. A stranger to desktop publishing, I cut and pasted the whole thing together and then gave it to a friend to print in her little print shop, “The Graphic Magician.” We always wrapped the newsletters in green paper covers, and consequently we came to call these annual missives our “greenies.”

The artwork in the greenies was a particular joy. Over the years, we learned about Emily’s love of frogs.

We learned about elves.

They liked Flower Essences and had familiar names.

Their teeth were good and they thought a lot about ice cream.

Sometimes they were prepared to hold the labels in place on the greenie covers.

And they loved Flowers just like us.
We also learned a lot about Angels.

Angels liked high fashion especially when they had a cover shot.

Inside the newsletters, they sometimes were less flashy.

Sometimes, a few lines told us all we needed to know about the sweetness of Angels.

This styling Angel marked one of our goofs. One newsletter went out with stamped postcards addressed to us so that everyone on the mailing list could let us know if they wanted to stay on the mailing list.

We got hundreds and hundreds of postcards back with the “Please keep me on your mailing list” checked but no address written in to tell us who had sent the card!

Our artists also taught us a lot about the animals in our midst.

They liked a good party.

Sometimes it was necessary to fill in the details about an animal’s good looks.

Sometimes not.

When left alone at home, the animals also had their favorite web sites.

And they seemed to think about ice cream as much as the elves.

Sometimes, I would give the artists the themes for a story. Here’s Will’s take on the theme of holes.

Here’s Emily’s drawing for a piece of Ireland.

On the covers, the artists strut their stuff.

And got credit for all their efforts.
During all these years, the artists were needed for more than just their brilliant illustrations.

In our first years sending out the newsletters, the mailing list was quite small. I didn’t know how to sort our mailing list in zip code order, so addresses got printed out in random order. The kids were enthusiastic and nimble, happy to spend a weekend making piles of newsletters all over the playroom. One of us put a label on the newsletter, then it was sorted by the first three digits of the zip code. Every child would then fly around the room adding to the 034 pile, then to the 902 pile, then to the 021 pile. One side of the room was east coast, the other west coast and somewhere on the couch the mighty Mississippi flowed.
Any time we had a bundle of more than ten with the same first three numbers, we would put a 3 digit sticker on the bundle and earn ourselves a few pennies off the cost of mailing the newsletters in the bundle. Any time there was a cluster of more than ten with all five digits the same, we would celebrate the amazing fact that we had ten Green Hope friends in the same town. We reverently placed a D sticker on the group, wondering how we got such a gathering of friends in far flung places like Fort Bragg, Colorado, Santa Fe, New Mexico and North Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. These collections of friends were mysteries to enjoy and sometimes we fantasized about getting a map to stick pins in, marking Green Hope Farm outposts across the world.

As our mailing list grew, our postmaster encouraged me to go to postal workshops to learn all the ways I could use my postal permit number 5 with more finesse skill. She would give me new publications on sorting systems and labels that often failed to have enough glue to stick to the newsletters. The language of the hefty postal regulation books was predictably obscure and every year the post office seemed to reshuffle its regional post office groupings into new apparently random groupings.

Eventually, I learned how to sort and print the mailing list in zip code order. It was no longer quite the chaotic process it had been, but it wasn’t straight forward either. This was because we had to sort the newsletters into regional post office groups as well as into 3 digit and 5 digit bundles and this regional post office category was the stuff of legends.

Zip code clusters from regional post office groups would read like this ADC 300 includes 300- 317 320-322 327-331 339, 341-350, 352, 356-363. 385, 392-394. As my skills only ran to printing the labels in zip code order, we would have to pull newsletters with zips like 326 or 340 out of such a regional post office pile and hope to find their regional post office homes elsewhere.
As we grew, the greenies, fresh from the printer, filled a truck. Soon, we needed a whole week’s time with all the staff labeling the newsletters to get the job done. Often the children would be recruited for the second shift of night time labeling. Their enthusiasm for the newsletters began to wane. Adolescence does that to people.

As we labeled and sorted, we would fill postal trays with the sorted and bundled newsletters. Each tray had to be counted and counted again before it could be sleeved and marked with the appropriate postal regional post office ADC code. My number tally for the whole mailing had to match exactly with the post offices number and weight tally. My fingertips would grow callused from counting the newsletters in each tray over and over again. The finished trays would grow to a sea of ceiling high piles before making their way to the Meriden Post Office to be mailed. We would enjoy the sight of all these newsletters about to head into the world.

I would give our post master weeks of warning about which day I would bring the mailing to our tiny post office. The arrival of the newsletter always gave whomever was at their post office box more than a moment’s pause. People were astonished by the size of the mailing, given that the consensus in the town seemed to be we were a bunch of funky ladies singing and dancing around in a garden while growing some kind of herbal type stuff.

As neighbors gawked, Postmaster Pam would weigh each tray before sending the mailing on to White River Junction, Vermont (ADC 050 if you must know), to be launched. Having heaved every tray onto our pick up truck for loads to town and then having carried each tray into the post office, I knew why she needed her Wheaties on mailing day.

The greenies usually went out in November. I could probably call out in the office right now about what November used to mean and there would be hoots and hollers and laughter as each person remembered some labeling mishap. We just didn’t do the sorting often enough for us to get it down cold. We were annually relearning the process with a lot of trial and error.

Like so many things, I didn’t know it when I was mailing the last of the greenies. It was two or three truck loads of trays that year. William had become the primary artist after earlier years in which first Ben and Lizzy and then later Emily had showcased her art. During that last greenie year, Ben had yet to whisper the word “blog” in my ear, but that was what was around the bend.

It’s been a happy “round the bend” for me. I love the blog. But I do look forward to someday handing the next generation of Green Hope children a black felt tip pen and asking them to draw their world.

Sophie, seen here restocking our Flower Essence boxes, is no longer the newest person on our staff.

Our newest staff member, Masaki Schuette joined us in September to help us with shipping. When not at the farm, she lives in the village of Meriden with her husband Lee and three year old twins Yuki and Koa.

We have Former staff goddess Vicki Ramos-Glew to thank for introducing us to Masaki. Vicki told us we would love Masaki and we do!

Masaki is from Omagari City near Akita in northern Japan. She met her husband Lee in the Seattle airport. When Masaki and Lee met, she was working in a hotel in Banff, British Columbia but was on vacation with friends from Japan in transit from Alaska to Boston.

She met Lee because he was traveling with his beautiful golden retriever, Banjo. Masaki went over to say hello to Banjo and then met Lee. They all got on the same flight east and met up again during a layover in Chicago’s O’Hare Airport.

And so the world turns on the charm of a golden retriever, as well it should. And we are glad! Welcome Masaki!

I hear America singing. I hear a toilet running.

Our water is hard, full of lovely calcium that makes it taste good.

This calcium also means that white stuff precipitates just about everywhere. Places like teapots and toilets and sometimes Flower Essence droppers.

The calcium in the toilets means that factotum Jim has been fiddling around with our toilets ever since he built our house, working hard to keep them flushing well, with as little water as possible.

The latest toilet, which arrived six months ago to much ecological fanfare, was installed in the bathroom used by all the staff. It was described by the manufacturer as a wonder of modern toilet engineering, poised to singlehandedly halt global warming. So little water would do so much work. And with six or so women using the toilet every day, it needed to be a workhorse of an ecological marvel.

We were as excited as six or so women can get about a toilet. We thought our new toilet was part of the solution.

Oh well, who can blame us for dreaming?

And it was a dream, because frankly, this ecological wonder of a toilet is a lemon.

Right after installation, we had to fiddle with a little pole in the back of the toilet in order to get the toilet to flush. This was an off and on dodgy problem for a couple of months despite Jim’s repairs, replacement of parts, and in-services to us about our pole pushing technique.

In October, the toilet went off the tracks a bit more dramatically and gave us a month of pauses that refresh.

During October, whenever the toilet was flushed, each of us had to stand facing the exposed water tank at the back of the toilet and watch it fill. This was meant to be the pause that refreshes part, each of daydreaming for a peaceful moment while we waited for the toilet to begin its malfunction. After the pause, when the filled toilet began to have water continue to pour in, we had to push down on some thingamajig to get it to shut off manually.

The only thing that I can say for this activity is that it has given us all a lot of time to look at the bathroom as a man would and to enjoy the art I hung on the back walls for the men at the farm to enjoy. Manyly art like a rooster crowing at dawn and a cow preparing to head butt another animal.

As we faced the back of the toilet and got a new view on things, what did we learn?

Precious little, I fear
Meanwhile plumber Jim is now on a first name basis with Brandi back at toilet headquarters.

He calls her on such a regular basis that she knows his address off the top of her head. Even yesterday, new toilet innards came from Brandi. The replacement part this time was the third flush valve Brandi has sent us. The note inside said that this one REALLY was going to fix the problem and yet…..

I hear a toilet running.

Won’t Jim be pleased when he gets home from his first shift as a sixth grade teacher to find out he needs to drain the toilet AGAIN and take that back tank apart AGAIN during his second shift.

And he thought he might get to work one shift today?

Somedays, I am sure a return to outhouses seem like a very good idea to Jim.

I think today is going to be one of those days.

Recently, May May began to return home from her neighborhood rambles with a lone glove of unknown origin. She would tell me “C’est tombe de ciel.”

After several days, she had brought home a black glove, a brown glove, a red glove, a kid glove, and a glove with fur cuffs. This loot did NOT feel like things falling from the sky.

Then she came home four days in a row with doggie toys of assorted sizes and shapes. I asked her where these toys were coming from and she said, “Je l’ai eu pour une bouchee de pain.” I said, “I doubt you got this for a mouthful of bread and why on earth are you suddenly speaking to me in french all the time?”

The next day, in answer to my questions, she returned with an elegant boot. I told May May, “Je ne suis pas ne hier. I wasn’t born yesterday. I know that boot.”

I went next door chez Teddy with May May’s haul and my apologies.

I knew May May had to be raiding Teddy’s home because Teddy is the only one on this hilltop that dresses like she just got off an ocean liner from a trip to Paris.

Ahhhhh Teddy. Teddy has style. Teddy has savoir faire. Teddy has that je ne sais quoi that I will never have. Few of us will. Teddy is more french than the french. She will always be my definition of chic.

It’s more than just the way she dresses. It’s the way she does everything. As I carried May May’s loot to her door, I knew my visit to her house to apologize for May May would include a fragrant cup of interesting tea, some divine, beautifully plated treat and many moments of beauty thanks to her table, the set of her windows in her charming kitchen, and the way she fills her home with beautiful fruits and flowers.

Of course, a visit to Teddy is also a visit with her dogs. As she would say, “Qui m’aime aime mon chien.” Only in this case, to love Teddy is to love her three dogs. And really, given her love of all things french, it’s no surprise that these three are miniature french poodles.

And also no surprise, given what we know about May May, that she loves to tease this coterie of poodles.

To give May May some credit, she is very polite when she runs into this trio of french attitude out on the road. She gets very submissive and lets them jump all over her. This works for the neighborhood because it means none of us have to worry about May May hurting one of the trio.

However, when the poodle trio is stuck on Teddy’s glassed in front porch and unable to get outside to run May May off, well then….. May May likes to sass them. Strut around right outside the porch where they can see her but can’t get to her. What can I say? It’s the oldest dog game on earth. Na na na na na na!

When May May is sassing them, they respond as any self respecting french poodle would. Lots of attitude and barking. All of us in the office can hear the noise from a quarter of a mile away. When we hear that racket, we know what that chorus of three dogs barking means…… May May is torturing the trio…… and probably getting ready to take a souvenir of her adventure. We can almost hear her asking herself, “What shall I take today?” Chacun son gout and we all know May May and Teddy’s taste runs to gloves.

As I handed Teddy back her gloves, boot, and dog toys, she laughed, indicating, “C’est ne pas grande chose”. She also noted that May May had truly outdone herself over the weekend.

Early on Sunday morning, the poodle trio of Winnie, Muffin, and Curly had begun to bark but wouldn’t stop. At first, Teddy thought, C’est toujours la meme refrain” ie its got to be May May doing her usual torture dance outside the window. But the barking did not cease so Teddy felt compelled to check out what particular brand of torture May May was practicing.

Comme un chien dans un jeu de quilles, May May had snuck into Teddy’s home. Like a dog in a game of nine pins. she had pushed open the door to the porch, helped herself to a hearty snack of the poodles’ gourmet food, and then gone to sleep on their couch!

What a sensible dog! Let’s face it, we’d ALL like to eat over at Teddy’s and then settle in for a nap on her wonderfully comfortable couch on her wonderfully comfortable front porch. Of course the dog food is better at Teddy’s than at our house. Of course the couch is more comfortable than any bed at our house. Teddy’s motto is, “Even if NOT in Paris, dress like a Parisian, live like a Parisian, and feed your dogs like a Parisian”.

May May will stop these raids ‘Quand les poules auront des dents.” And until hens DO have teeth, I will be slipping over to offer my apologies, suffering through one fabulous snack after another, then resting in her cosy living room feeling loved and pampered.

Let’s face it, at Teddy’s house, nous sommes tous dans la meme bain. And what a lovely bath to all be sharing! May May knows just what she’s doing and it works for me too!

Here is Muffin examining the scene of the break in. Muffin reports that May May has learned how to open this door handle!

Here Winnie and Muffin discuss the tragedy of May May violating their couch. They look heartbroken , don’t they?

Under duress, Curly joins the rest of the clan to discuss the case. If that look isn’t a searing indictment of May May, I don’t know what is.

And May May? That is the fakest look of chagrin ever caught on a mug shot.

In fact, I just heard her whisper in my ear, ‘Le champ est libre.” Good news this! The coast is clear. I can let her out to go get another glove that I will have to return. After all, it’s a cold, rainy day and I feel like a nice cup of tea.

At night, the clouds have been saturated purples and blues, colors so typical of autumn skies.

With only a few frosts under our belt, the Cosmos close to the house keep blooming.

Riley takes a moment to enjoy the Flowers without MayMay bugging him.

The apple crop has been phenomenal. We eat apples morning, noon, and night and there are still more to harvest, store, freeze, or can as applesauce. Here is the ground beneath a couple of wild apple trees at the top of our driveway. The turkeys and deer should be able to find plenty of food this winter.

I am back at the cider press again. Pear mush is just a dim memory as our freezer fills with gallons of lovely apple cider and our stovetop has a pot of simmering hot mulled cider on it. Not that we need warming drinks. It’s been in the seventies and eighties here.

Nonetheless, the leaves are changing color and looking spectacular as the do so. And we are enjoying every bright leaf.