It didn’t take long for reality to set in. Coming home from shows in New York, I clutched my stack of orders with so much joy, pride, absolute delight with each hand written page. Remembering each call I made to my mom after the order was written. Or even better, standing next to her, trying not to squeal out loud, watching her turn to the corner to gather herself in.

Once home, thumbing through all that joy, it became clear that I was going to have to fill them. Make each piece by hand. And all that joy began to percolate. Before coming to a boil, I would take the smallest order and complete it. Take it to the post office or UPS, and mark it off the list. Then do the next one. Small victories each day. As the stack went down, my confidence went up, and that thing that once seemed too big to handle, had indeed been handled.

I think of it now, as I watch all the fruit ripen on our trees. For the last four days, I have made one batch each afternoon. I used to pick them all at once and struggle. Labor. Almost come to hate that very fruit that I prayed would grow just the spring before. Sometimes it takes a bit to relearn the lessons we’ve already learned, but then it occurred to me that — this was my new New York. So small batches.

Even with all of my self reminders, like painting the birds, one by one in my daily sketchbook — physically creating my own “one at a time,” with my “bird by bird” — I still have to learn, once again, to take it all in small batches. That thing I’m trying to live through, (that you’re trying to live through), won’t be finished today. And that’s ok. All we have to do is get through this tiny little batch. And I can do that. We can do that.

And then one day, after spring’s prayers and summer’s work, you wake up and realize you did indeed bear the unbearable. Batch by batch. The joy of living.