-
Backyard Bird Count
I know I should be counting birds – and I guess I sort of am. My little birds. One pajama-clad at 2:30 in the afternoon. One binocular wearing. Several scattered across the sun-dappled dirty dead grassed yard. One perched on a fence. Pencils, notebooks in five diminutive pairs of hands. Flitting. Fluttering. Flightless. You absolutely are my treasure. My collection. My sweets. My song. This selfish side of me would see you stay tiny forever. Stay small and close and mine. Caged birds. Pretty and contained. Stagnant and stable. The pieces both of what I desire and what I’d never want. Birds – the most beautiful I’ve known. The ones…
-
When you stay inside for several days …..
I like the way snow days turn our house into a kaleidoscope of activity and creativity. It’s why I am reminded once again that these are the ages I will miss most. So far the kids have turned Bergen into some sort of square robot guy. Riley made us a sampling of Nepali food called roti that was simple, yet surprisingly addicting. The kids collaborated together to make miniature needletips from a Tiny Treats cookbook I pulled out from hiding for days like this. It was pretty refreshing to see them working together happily, as a matter of fact, because this event occurred in the kitchen just a short time after…
-
This Is What I Did Yesterday.
Yesterday I: Consumed three helpings of snow cream. (If it’s an addiction – it is certainly a limited one, as I can only indulge in this particular addiction on one or two days a year. Thus, I will forgive myself for my excessive behavior.) Noticed that my hands look like the hands of a geriatric woman. Is it the cold? The dry winter weather? Is my rapid aging problem pertaining to my appendages only? Booked two nights at a campground in Pepin, Wisconsin for this summer. The Prairie Journey officially begins where Laura’s life began – in the Big Woods of Wisconsin. Prepared salmon cakes for the first time. (Second…
-
Pinterest Test Kitchen: Homemade Graham Crackers
Snow days are great baking days. After concocting the delicious tried and true oatmeal bar recipe with my little apron-clad helper Piper Finn, we decided to browse through the Cook This section of my Pinterest board. And we landed on – homemade chocolate chip graham crackers. Of course – if you follow that link – you’ll notice a gorgeous photo-worthy stack of neatly trimmed, nearly perfect-looking graham crackers filled with tiny chocolate chips. I followed the directions but when it came time to roll these guys out to a tiny 1/8 inch on the counter between pieces of parchment paper before sticking in the freezer for twenty minutes I realized…
-
about cooking and serving.
London received a stand alone dry erase easel/chalkboard do-dad from her grandparents for Christmas this year. She loves that thing. Frequent to-do lists appear there. Stuffed animals’ names get put on long lists and directions for games the kids are playing show up frequently. Every night there are messages on the board for me or for Kevin. They usually involve questions about the food being served the next day at our home or requests for screen time or money making opportunities. One day last week the request was, “Can I prepare all the meals one day next week?” That wasn’t a request I really wanted to deny. Can you blame…
-
Seriously. We’d be friends. I think I mean it.
Yes, I am aware that blogging about this event might make you think our family is obsessed. I give you permission to think as you’d like. (No, really, I give you permission.) (Wait – have you been waiting all this time for me to give you permission for freedom of thought?) Saturday night we drove to Asheville to a charming book store – Malaprops – to meet the author and the illustrator of some of our family’s favorite novels (and the inspiration for our home and school’s name) The Wildwood Chronicles. We waited in line on the chilly evening streets of Asheville. I saw three people walk past. I was…
-
Words on the wall
Kevin needed a desk in his upstairs office. Our school room had three desks. It only seemed right to send one of those upstairs. Moving that desk out naturally meant that I needed to rearrange the space to accommodate the change. That, plus the acquisition of a long slim book shelf for $20 from a second hand shop. Also, this little treasure of a box for even less. And, also, the obvious fact that I love a change was enough to propel me forward. In moving the desk and locating the only wall long enough for the new bookshelf I realized I had to move my giant magnetic board. I…
-
A question from the backseat –
“When was I born?” Otto Fox asks. “Was I born last? Was I the last baby?” I tell him he was. He was born last. He was the last baby. Pitifully sad noises. Sniffling. “What’s wrong, little son?” “Oh,” says the sad little four year old voice. “I don’t care for being last.”
-
home improvements – step by step
I’m pretty much never without a project. The steps at our home have been on my mind lately. I’ve seen so many fun ideas for stair steps – like the fabulous steps painted to look like a stack of classic novels. I’ve wanted to do something with them since we moved in but Kevin was hesitant to paint on the lovely old wood since it had never before been painted. He was right – I have no problem painting over wood that’s already been painted before or painting over plywood or an ugly grained wood. But painting over quality craftsmanship seems wrong somehow. And so, we have compromised. We…
-
What Renting Has Taught Me …
You know I’m a lover of land and open space and farms and fields and long driveways. And growing up under my dad’s leading, I believe in the value of land. Of ownership. Of property and the freedom to do what you’d like with that property. The thought of belonging to a place and a place belonging to me is strong and settled within my bones. Which is why I’ve known it to be frustrating curious interesting challenging to have found myself at forty years old (you didn’t forget that number – did you?) having never owned our own home. I’ve traveled through various seasons of feelings about this truth. Discontent.…
-
I’m blaming his father for his spunk.
Sometimes I have to ask myself, “What kind of ship am I running over here anyway?” (That’s a phrase I actually use, but now that I’m seeing it in type I think it’s a pretty silly phrase. Running a ship? Is that a thing people do?) We were at a friend’s house a few weeks ago for our co-op and Otto and his buddy came trekking in from their outside play. Another child walked in ahead of the two rascals and said, “There’s a mess in the yard.” Yes. There was. A heap of ripped up white packing peanuts covered the green grass. Otto stood in the kitchen. Packing peanut…
-
Prairie Primer: The Long Winter
Finishing Laura Ingalls Wilder’s The Long Winter the same week as our state’s only snow fall was fortuitous. (Yes, I looked up both the spelling and the definition – just to be certain.) When we finish each of the books we celebrate in some Laura Ingalls-ish manner. (Gold Rush party. Venison dinner. Native American Festival.) Last night we had an Ingalls evening here at the house. We kept our heat turned on (who wants to be that hardcore this winter?). We brought all kinds of hand crafts into the living room. Turned off the lights. Sat by the fake flickering flame of our electric “wood” stove and the glow of…
-
Snow Day!
When you live in South Carolina and the sky spits and sputters several hours worth of flurries, you get unreasonably excited. My home school rule upon moving farther South and thus farther away from a guaranteed blanket of snow each winter is this: Upon sighting of the first flake, all school work is rendered inconceivable. Leave your desk. Don’t bother to put away your pencil. Just run toward the snowflakes. Maybe grab a hat. Definitely grab a bowl to position in a safe location to collect the downward spiraling miracle and later turn it into the magical treat known as Snow Cream. That’s Wildwood’s official snow policy. Luckily for me, the…
