Dave grew these last summer. The plant is still fruiting in his kitchen. They are sealed in a jar with grains of rice and smell wonderful. They are drawn over pages scanned from the Manual of Practical Gardening, which belonged to Mum's Dad.
Juni was my second doll. She is of rubbery plastic, just the right size for a small fist and went everywhere with me. There I am aged two on the beach in a blue nylon smocked swimsuit clutching her and squinting at the camera. I do not remember her ever having clothes, just painted on shoes and socks, though I once knitted her an emerald green dress with no fastenings. Her expression is more angry than I have captured.
I do not know what all the keys are for, though Dad has told me on our tours of the important hiding places for documents, valuables etc. I have been thinking about what makes a home, what we surrender it with the keys and also the redundancy of objects removed from their purpose - old keys, clock hands, old toys etc. Behind the keys is a census for 1962, the year we moved in to our first home.
The snowfall and stormy weather caused one of the old birch trees to tear some twenty feet above the ground. The top hung suspended clinging to the other trees. The exterior is cankered and fungal, but the exposed interior is vivid and splintered. I want to look at the fallen as well as the upright form of trees. This tree is probably very old for a birch. Possibly as old as the house.
