To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time
Robert Herrick, 1591-1674

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying;
And this same flower that smiles today
Tomorrow will be dying.

The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,
The higher he’s a-getting,
The sooner will his race be run,
And nearer he’s to setting.

That age is best which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer;
But being spent, the worse, and worst
Times still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time,
And while ye may, go marry;
For having lost but once your prime,
You may forever tarry.

While I disagree that virgins have anything they need to rush into (nobody’s prime is based on their appearance or their sexual value, and it’s not as if sex is the pinnacle of human experience,) I do feel like the overall feeling of the poem is relevant right now. One thing that quarantine has driven home to me in a way that I didn’t expect is my experience of the changing of the seasons. Being limited to my home and its surroundings, I’ve paid attention to how subtly the outdoors changes day by day more than I ever have before.

It’s been almost a year since I last posted.

It’s been almost a year since I last posted?!

It’s been a year of making: a year of baking, of cooking, of knitting, and even of some sewing.  Halloween costumes were made.  Holiday gifts were made.  And some other stuff, too.

And now we’re back in summer.  It’s hot out, but with the heat comes fresh fruit. And with fresh fruit comes… pie.

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