Alina's Adventures

My favorite untranslatable words.

Full moon off The Transylvania.

The kids frequently ask me to translate a Romanian word for which I can find no simple English match. Over the years, they have learned to expect definitions which extend like kudzu in multiple directions and layers. 

One of my favorite Romanian words- also the root of my father's name- is impossible to translate. I cannot convey the way in which this tiny word tangles with the scent of moist mountain soil, the sonorous vocalizations of shepherd songs, the face of a woman caught laughing.

I've written poems up and down this word without coming any closer. 

"Doina de Jale" (Poet's International)
"Holy Bread" (Eunoia Review)
"Doina de Haiduc" (The Freeman)

The word is "dor". The word is immense as a landscape. Here is the meaning, alongside a few other fascinating untranslatables.

WAIT! THIS HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH "HOMESCHOOLING"

Everything in the world is "homeschooling". Everything and anything. Example: one fun way to play with these words is by asking your child to write a short story about how the word came about in the given language. To provide interesting details, encourage your child to research the country of origin, including its legends and religious stories. Perform the story. Or read it aloud with gestures. There are so many ways to play with magnificent words.

Dor (Romanian)
Begins with the longing for absent things or places or people but stretches beyond longing into an element of pleasure, a fondle which inhabits the pain.The feeling is elusive but it is not vague or passive, and it is always ‘directed at an object’, as the entry says. 

Iktsuarpok (Inuit)
the frustration of waiting for someone to arrive or turn up.

Mamihlapinatapai (Yagan)
the wordless, yet meaningful look shared by two people who both desire to initiate something but are both reluctant to start. (Yagan is the native tongue of Tierra del Fuego, an archipelago off the coast of South America, the last stop before Antarctica)

Saudade (Portugese)
the feeling of longing for something or someone that you love, and which is lost. 

Ya’aburnee (Arabic)
literally, “You bury me,” a declaration of one’s hope that they’ll die before another person, because of how difficult it would be to live without them. 

Litost (Czech)
a state of agony and torment created by the sudden sight of one’s own misery. Milan Kundera believes it is impossible to understand the human soul without this word.

Waldeinsamkeit (German)
the feeling of being alone in the woods.

Drugoj (Russian)
the other people or neighbors whom we are supposed to love as ourselves.

Esprit d'escalier (French)
literally, "the spirit of the staircase". Refers to that witty comeback that you think of moments after leaving the situation in which you might have been able to use it. The staircase is a reference to your departure from the scene. 

Hygge (Danish)
a complete absence of anything annoying, irritating or emotionally overwhelming, and the presence of and pleasure from comforting, gentle and soothing things.

Schilderwald (German)
a street covered with so many road sides that you become lost.

Uitwaaien (Dutch)
literally, "to walk in the wind". Refers to the act of taking a brief break in the country side to clear one’s head.

Bakku-shan (Japanese)
the word for a girl who looks pretty from behind but ugly in front.

There should be a word for the way
moonlight swallows engulfs a girl
on a sailboat.

Culaccino (Italian)
the mark left on a table by a wet glass.

Zalatwic (Polish)
the use of friends, bribes, personal charm or connections to get something done.

Jayus (Indonesian)
a joke so poorly told and so unfunny that one cannot help but laugh.

Dépaysement (French)
the feeling that comes from not being in one's home country.

Fernweh (German)
a feeling of homesickness for a place you have never visited.

Komorebi (Japaense)
the dappled effect which results from light shining between trees.

Pochemuchka (Russian)
a person who asks too many questions.

Won (Korean)
the reluctance to let go of an illusion or delusion.

Gökotta (Swedish)
to rise early in the morning for the purpose of going outside to hear the birds sing.

Backpfeifengesicht (German)
a face badly in need of a fist.

Shlimazl (Yiddish)
a person who is chronically unlucky.

Evighed (Danish)
literally, "eternity". What makes it untranslatable, or at least worth thinking of in translation, is Kierkegaard’s use of the term to cover at least three different possibilities: the felt eternity of the present moment; a future eternity that corresponds to St Paul’s concept ‘the fullness of time’; and the sheer continuity of consciousness, which eludes time.

Minor epiphanies.

Two jam jars I saved for dried mint and herbs-- how they insinuate more than the sunlight they swallow.

In Greek, “epiphaneia” meant the appearance of a divinity among mortals or the recognition of a divinity in a male or female mortal form. The epiphany revealed the divine in one morsel of reality. It reduced the distance between sacred and profane.

Generally, the epiphany as recognition is less fabled than the epiphany as appearance, which we know most quickly and accessibly as Christ, the word made flesh. 

My affection for thistles and underdog flora.

But the Eldest was sketching epiphanies today which inspired me to spend a little time admiring the light, its refracted returns. A collection of tiny epiphanies in which I discover the material story does not account for my attraction...

The pebble moves in my pocket: a turtle, the first point in a series of ellipses, or the last word, solid and definite.

Blaise Pascal: “Runaway thought, I wanted to write it; instead I wrote that it has run away.." 

What I learn from watching its gait, the way it runs suggests second thoughts. And a second thought is perhaps a thought that wants to come back.

In a letter on November 8, 1915, Rilke asks “how are we to approach the god from the space that lies in front of him?”

The pebble, the pocket, the runaway thought returning as a second thought.

Sight is subjective- perpetually un-shareable. But the gaze itself is divine. The gaze divines more than the sight. 

My head is thick with thistles and similar prickly charms, saved for later. 

Rust a relic of Darden Cemetery.

Why not take our sketchbooks to a tiny cemetery and see what falls on the page?

As a prompt, the kids "collected" nouns- everything from oak leaves to infant tombstones. The Eldest settled into leaves and quickly began sketching the peculiar lineaments of lichen on stones.

Prophet copies the letters from gravestones- she feels confident when copying letters because they don't flip around on her as much. What is more difficult about dyslexia- the lagging behind on reading curves or the sense that letters play tricks with you, a fundamental mistrust of the written word?

Gnome abandoned her sketchbook to chase a squirrel. Something about the shadows and the silhouettes of a four-year-old's sketchbook wanted to become a story... but there is not time enough in the universe for all the stories I want to tell.

Upon her return, Gnome attempted various sketches before getting frustrated that her drawings "didn't match." The eraser washed across the paper.

"It doesn't have to match," I said, "just to capture the way you see it." Never let the perfect be the enemy of the good.

The Eldest sauntered through a corridor of graves and paused briefly to remind me how easy it is to get frustrated- and how hard to crawl out of it. There are moments when he takes life in stride (this one) and moments when he stomps hard enough to hurt.

The fence captivated all four of us so that we found ourselves sketch-collecting it together. Four people scrunched down like pinecones catching the fence from different angles.

I wondered who made the small fence- it didn't look like anything I've seen around Tuscaloosa- maybe a small business that passed away. Is there irreverence in attributing death to a business, in saying aloud what we believe at heart- that the life of a business bears more value than the life of children whose mothers raise them alone, scrimping every penny, worrying about whether they can afford the power bill this month?

How will they blend their colored pencils to capture the vagaries of rust?

We collected nouns and marveled over rust. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, those with enough mullah may also earn rust.

Tomatoes, crusty bread, and feta cheese: A poetic combination.

And the truth is the first girl I ever kissed, tasted like tomatoes.

And I know this, because the second girl I ever kissed tasted like pepper.

It wasn’t unpleasant.

It’s just that I was expecting tomatoes.

 (Excerpt from Koyczan's "Tomatoes")

A poetic feast of tomato poems...

"Cherry Tomatoes" by Sandra Beasley
"Tomatoes" by Shane Koyczan
"Ode to Tomatoes" by Pablo Neruda (plus riotous illustration)
"September Tomatoes" by Karina Borowicz
A shape poem variant on a tomato poem by Victor Hugo
"Patio Tomatoes" by Krista Lukas
"Tomatoes" by Stephen Dobyns
"Roma" by Matthew Dickman
"After Tomato Picking" by Maria Garcia Teutsch
"Fried Green Tomatoes" by Pris Campbell
"Diary from a Tomato Cannery, 1912" by Sandy Solomon
"Tomato Hornworm", a great teaching poem
"I Used to Like Tomatoes" by Flora Veit Wild

Image source: Gathering Books

Thoughts on shadows through a shutter.

A walk along the covered overpass to Arcadia Elementary.

Even Aristotle knew that darkness is defeated by that tiny shard of light that squeezes through a small hole in the closed window shutters. 

And that the image of any object standing in liminal space between sunshine and shadow projects itself on the wall of a room, reversed.

We mistake the projections of the camera obscura for something concrete. I guess I'm just not sure yet whether that is the willingness to entertain our own illusions is tantamount to self-delusion.

The saga of the baby cardinal continues.

Because Lauren needed to know- and because I understand why she needed to know so urgently- I wanted to offer a little update on our cardinal chick friend.

The Eldest continued to keep close tabs on the nest. Yesterday, he heralded us with the good news- "The chick sprouted pin feathers! Come see!" 

Sure enough, the thick hard texture of pin feathers lined the outside of the baby cardinal's wings. And the wide-open beak, voracious, begging to be fed.

You can really get a good glimpse of the pin feathers as layered along the wing here. Amazing, too, how his head is filling out with a thicker, dark skin, the preface to feathers.

The continued growth and burgeoning size of our baby chick friend suggests that a mother is still nurturing him. So far, so good. We're keeping our hopes up here at the tiniest, most frugal castle in the world.

Hanging out with fungi.

What's blooming and budding at the UA Arboretum.

The clouds cleared a little towards the end of the day, enabling us to go for a what's-blooming-and-budding hike at the nearby arboretum. Rucksacks strapped to our backs, we set out on the Poplar Trail "to see what we could see", as Prophet explained.

The Eldest tried to sneak his special gift- Euell Gibbons' Stalking the Wild Asparagus- into his rucksack, but I convinced him to leave it behind and just roam the woods without a field or foraging guide, wander with only our senses and nature journals to to record observations.

Well, wouldn't you know, the left-behind book came up almost immediately when the Eldest spotted what he claimed to be none other than Podophyllum peltatum, or May apple. Since this wasn't the first "May apple" sighting of the season, I was skeptical. But the Eldest assured me these plants were "the real thing".

Also called American mandrake, the May apple is the stuff of magic and mystery. The Eldest buzzed with glee- "Look, there's a tiny flower bud!", he shouted, pointing to a small green berry under the umbrella-like leaves. In his best "old man" voice, he cautioned that much of the plant is poisonous, including the roots, the fruit seeds, and the unripe fruit. 

Prophet spotted the first solitary violet.

A division of labor emerged in which the Eldest identified various tall,gangly trees while the Prophet raised a hullabaloo over any flowers along the path. Never one to be left out, Gnome quickly took it upon herself to frighten every slumbering bird in the forest by shouting, "BUD! B-UUU-D! BUUUUUUD!" every time she spotted a leaf or flower bud. The ghost of Thoreau was horrified by the racket.

Unidentified wildflowers and buds.

"That's poisonous," chirped the Eldest before Gnome could pick one.

The beautiful vine and intoxicating scent of yellow jessamine that drives the insects mad come twilight.

The familiar three leaves of the trillium poked out from beneath autumn's dusky, decomposing blanket.

We marvelled over how the trillium unfurled its tie-dyed leaves, opening its arms wide to reveal a deep purple flower brushed with golden flecks. Should we stop to sketch it? 

The corky growths on a winged elm tree.

"Let's stop by the big magnolia tree," said I-can't-remember-which small folk. Somehow, we agreed to continue hiking, mystified for a moment by the strange (possibly fungal) growth Prophet discovered lining the branches of a small tree. Budmaster Gnome observed that the growth wasn't keeping the tree from budding at the tips of the branches. Carol suggested it might be a winged elm, Ulmus alata, for whom such corky growths are normal. 

We stopped and took out our nature journals- everyone except Pinka started sketching. Fortunately, Gnome brought along a charming little wildflower mystery for us to model. 

Prophet's middle name, "Magnolia", makes sense.

Saucer magnolia

On our way back to the space ship, we lingered over a few lovely varities of magnolia trees, including the Saucer magnolia (or what I called the "saucer cup magnolia") and the sticky-sweet Star magnolia.

Star magnolia

One of my favorite things about nature study is the anticipation of going home with our observations and then trying to identify what we saw. The temptation to plug into the iPhone or reference in the field is tremendous- but much good comes from waiting. It serves as a reminder that the details we capture in our journals are the only evidence that remains for the identification. So we must take thorough descriptive notes and do our best to capture the species in our illustrations.

Why art is more likely to appear as a drag queen than a mailman.

Art is a true account of the activity of mind. Because consciousness, in Husserl's formulation, is always consciousness of something, art thinks ever of the world, cannot not think of the world, could not turn its back on the world even if it wished to. This does not mean that it's going to be honest as a mailman; it's more likely to appear as a drag queen. The problems I mentioned earlier, as well as others not taken up, enforce complexity. "We do not spend much time in front of a canvas whose intentions are plain," writes Cioran. "Music of a specific character, unquestionable contours, exhausts our patience, the over-explicit poem seems incomprehensible." Flannery O'Connor, an artist of the first rank, famously disliked anything that looked funny on the page, and her distaste has widely been taken as a tough-minded put-down of puerile experimentalism. But did she also dislike anything that looked funny on the wall? If so, a severe deprivation. Art cannot remain in one place. A certain amount of movement, up, down, across, even a gallop toward the past, is a necessary precondition.

An excerpt from "Not Knowing", an essay by Donald Barthelme

I took the last two lines as a morning journal prompt for myself and the Eldest. He ruminated about our trip to Transylvania, and how it connected him with sheep and Dacian history- how wearing his wool vest reminds him of the rhythm of village life.

Leaf miners nature study: Our discovery of serpentine mines.

It was Prophet who led us to our study of leaf mining insects. Prophet tends to express dismay over what she calls the "ugly leaves" with all the holes and "messy places" on them. I usually stifle a laugh- mostly at the fact that the word "messy" is one she uses negatively, amusing in light of her perpetually-messy mom. And then, I usually look for a segue into something else...

"Let's find out why some leaves have holes in them- and why some leaves get brown blotches," I ventured. The gypsies were game.

They collected as many blotchy or "hole-y" leaves as they could find. We sifted through each leaf, trying to decide what had caused its particular variations. It was hard to ignore the fantastic constrast of textures and webbing in the leaves. I imagined fabrics comprised of similar patterns.

Holding up the leaves against the light helped us see the serpentine mines, distinguished for the way in which they undulated like a precipitous mountain road. The Eldest thought he saw a few blotch mines as well, which he noted, alongside my dissent.

As we sat in the front yard surveying our leaf miners, a gregarious cardinal perched on the fence nearby. He cocked his head to one side and narrowed his little black eye. 

Flipping the leaves, peering closely at the possible miners, we found a hard white crescent along an underside leaf vein. The Eldest seemed certain it was a leaf miner pupa. Certainty, I reminded him, requires corroboration. And corroboration would have to wait until later in the day. 

Prophet wondered about the "dark places" around the holes. The Eldest wasted no time in guessing that the brown spaces were correlated with the mines in the leaves. Or, in his words, "the leaf is being starved of nutrients and is dying in those places because the leaf miners pig out on all the nutrients."

After observing the mined leaves, nature journals came out. Gnome treated her nature study journal with the utmost care, tracing leaves as the Eldest recorded his thoughts ("I like to pretend my eye is a microscope," he explained.)

We talked about why sketching the outline and contour of the leaf required different tools than filling in the colors and shades.

And we pondered the size of these tiny creatures that find their nourishment between the upper and lower surfaces of a the cell walls within a paper-thin leaf. I marveled, aloud, at how the leaf miner leaves his life's itinerary on the surface of a leaf, each one as unique as the creature that created it.

The Eldest found the contour lines of this leaf particularly compelling. It was the prospect of trying to replicate all the amazing interior patterns and veins that intimidated us.

Out came the colored pencils and watercolor paints- we agreed there was no way to capture the intricate details with watercolors alone- hence the pencils- but also that the uniform tone of the leaves would benefit from a watercolor wash at the end.

The Eldests' watercolor impression of his serpentine mine leaf.

Writing odes inspired by magazine cut-outs: A poetry activity for young folks.

Writing odes is a wonderful way to celebrate life- and all the little things that leave their mark on us. An ode also provides the opportunity to hone in on details, textures, colors, and particular characteristics of people, places, things, or sentiments. Other learning opportunities and skills involved in ode-writing include:

• Use of figurative language and metaphors
• Juxtaposition of images and colors to create constrast
• Exploration of feelings elicited by objects and places
• How personal associations can be used in writing 
• Experiment with narration

So here's how we ended up making a paper book of various and sundry odes.

scissors 
old magazines (we used an old issue of Oxford American)
glue stick
white paper
stapler
pencil

Scour the magazines for words or images that might make a good topic for an ode. Examples might include nouns, verbs, places, objects- anything familiar enough to invoke a poetic response.

Cut six sheets of white paper in half- you will have an ode on each side of each paper for a total of 12 odes.

Cut and paste the words as a title to each page. For example, one title might be "Ode to My Toothbrush", with the words "my toothbrush" glued on as a cut-out and the word "ode" written beforehand. Then let your poet enjoy the fine art of ode-making, one for each topic.

The Eldest begins his ode book....

Writing prompt of the day.

Let's see what comes of it. Between myself and the Eldest, surely something redeemable....

Story starters coloring page.

Story Starters (PDF)

Just something I made for our cross-country road trip- it kept Max journaling while Micah marked off each completed journal entry by coloring it in. 

Stunning sunburst lichen.

Going for a morning walk in the snow the other day, we came across the coolest lichen on a rock near an aspen grove. So orange it burned my eyes- and yet, I could not look away. Off went the gloves so I could reach down and touch it; nothing crumbled away. Out came the camera to snap a quick photo to help me identify this beauty later in the week.

Now, I am trying to identify my rust-hued lichen friend, and the process (as anyone who has befriended a lichen can acknowledge) is anything but easy. I figured this lichen friend must be fairly popular in alpine zones, since other hikers also discovered it in late July on their descent from South Arapaho Peak. A similar orange lichen also exists in the mountains of Yellowstone, the Austrian Alps, and throughout the Rocky Mountains, including Moraine Park. What does this lichen need to grow? Is is the altitude?

Maybe not. Other nature lovers have stumbled across this lichen in various parts of Antarctica, including Cormorant Island and Cape Royds. So altitude or zone alone will not answer my questions. 

Leave it to Jeff Mitton to come up with the interesting stuff. It seems my lichen friend is an elegant sunburst lichen, or Xanthoria elegans. The key to the sunburst lichen seems to be nitrogen.

Jeff explains that X. elegans is "highly tolerant of water-soluble forms of nitrogen, and this tolerance influences its distribution and abundance". He then goes on to explain why this matters and why it is stupendously cool:

Mammal urine contains urea, a molecule containing two atoms of nitrogen, and their feces also contain nitrogen. Birds release uric acid, a molecule containing four atoms of nitrogen, in a thick white paste that reveals nest sites on rocky cliffs.

The elegant sunburst lichen thrives at the burrow entrances of small mammals and conspicuously illuminates sentry posts where they sit vigilantly watching their territory. Orange lichens also identify hunting perches of birds and grow in profusion in seabird colony nesting sites.

The elegant sunburst lichen alerts naturalists to long-term haunts of small mammals. At the Notch, the highest point of Trail Ridge Road, extensive scree slopes drape from the road down into Forest Canyon. Pika alarm calls can be heard, but pikas are devilishly difficult to spot. However, bright orange lichens mark entrances to burrows and sites where pikas have surveyed their world for centuries and perhaps even millennia.

Sit quietly, a respectable distance away from the telltale lichen and you will exhaust the pika’s timidity and patience. Pikas will soon resume haying, or gathering leaves and stems to accumulate a hay pile, the larder that will get them through the coming winter.

Elegant sunburst lichens also reveal places where yellow-bellied marmots linger and do what comes naturally. With binoculars, I have watched marmots sitting on cliffs high above Forest Canyon, enjoying a majestic vista from a sentry post marked by brilliant lichens.

The elegant sunburst lichen has an extraordinary range. It grows from wave-splashed marine shores to the peaks of high mountains and from the Arctic to the Antarctic. It grows on all continents except Australia.

Xanthoria elegansis currently recognized as a single species, but it varies markedly from place to place. In the Canadian Arctic its colors and the form and abundance of its reproductive structures vary regularly among habitats, suggesting that what we call the elegant sunburst lichen will eventually be recognized as several species.

Its extensive geographic range and its conspicuous color attracted the attention of lichenologists, archeologists and historians who use lichens to estimate the ages of rock surfaces. Lichens grow slowly, at relatively regular rates, so a lichen’s size can be used to estimate its age and to make inferences about the duration that its foundation has been exposed. An elegant sunburst lichen takes one to two decades to become established and after that its radius increases by about 0.5 millimeters per year, or an inch in 50 years.

Who was the remorseless culprit who fertilized the rock in Moraine Park, encouraging brilliant lichens to grow? The likely suspects include least chipmunks, golden-mantled ground squirrels and Wyoming ground squirrels.

 I can't wait to share this with the kids and return to our elegant sunburst lichen friend in the hopes of ferreting out what mammal lives nearby.

Make a map for the island of Gnomeland.

Make a map for the island of Gnomeland.

Know that both humans and gnomes inhabit this island.

Add a key.

Tell a story about the human part of Gnomeland versus the gnome part of Gnomeland.

How do the creatures treat their environment differently? Why?

What can we learn from gnomes and the way they relate to nature?

MAKE A MAP OF GNOMELAND ACTIVITY (PDF)

Imaginary play: Victorians.

Dreary days do not eliminate the need for play. So we packed up the spaceship and set out for the Children's Hands-On Museum with the explicit purpose of imagary play revolving around life in the Victorian era.

As the ladies played dress-up, Max wrote a brief essay surveying the artifacts and historic information found in the Victorian display. He wrote it from the perspective of an 8-year-old girl who is spending the night with her grandmother and happens to venture into the attic. I will intersperse excerpts of Max's composition throughout the photos of the girls' imaginary explorations.

B. asked if she could be the one to pour tea.

"My Grandmother's Attic" by Max Coryell

This attic is full of 18th century things. I walk up and I see the windows. There are quite a few paintings in the stairwell. The windows have doily lace curtains, and in between a pot of ivy overhangs a picture of four kittens.

On the other side of the window there is a bookshelf. Over this bookshelf, a picture of five kittens and their mother is hung. There is a large locked trunk and, across from it, an old Victorian tea table complete with three chairs, a tray, and four cups of tea. A doll's rocking chair is also there. 

Marvelous whimsical Micah.

An old-fashioned carriage, complete with doll, sits next to a large trunk in the corner, with two more dolls on it. Under a lot of family pictures on a striped wallpapered wall, there is a bed with three more dolls.

Eminent Victorians.

Now I walk over to another window, with the same lace curtains. I notice two more trunks in front of the window. Next to them, a large amount of boys' clothes are in wardrobes, cupboards, and another trunk, but I am not interested in these. Instead, my eyes turn to the rug, then to the dress on a peg by the locked door I tried in vain to open, and lastly, to the many pictures on the wall by the antique cupboard.

The sobriety of Victorian life: Virginia Woolf's version.

There is a large mirror with a white dress hanging on it. Another tea table set and stools sit to next to cupboards, wardrobes, and trunks of clothes for women! There is a coat rack with purses, four portraits, and two dresses! Lamps are everywhere. When I ask Grandma about it, she says, "I keep it this way so when the Old Women's Club comes, we can have tea up here."

"Do you want to spend the night up here?" Grandma continues. "I can assure you my breeding cats will not hurt you." Grandma bred cats. 

I decided I wanted to stay up there. There was so much interesting stuff up there to look at that I wouldn't get bored.

Thus ended Max's story. But then he decided that he could set up a small hunt for kids visiting the Grandmother's Attic at C.H.O.M.- "important things they might want to find and learn more about". He couldn't resist adding a few follow-up questions.

Things to Look for in Grandmother's Attic

The large number of trunks
Were trunks a fashion in Victorian times? Why were they so popular?

Pictures of cats
Were domestic cats popular in Victorian times? Why or why not?

Furniture style
Do you notice any specific style that is popular? If so, what?

Lots of portraits
Why do you think portraits were so common in homes back then?

Types of clothing
What do you notice about the clothes from that time? Why do you think they were popular?

For further exploration, we chased butterflies around the following, among which the printables are marked with an asterisk:

Victorian Britain (Primary History, BBC)
Toys Victorian children played with in the 1800's (Victorian Children)
Rich and Poor Victorian Children 
Victorian Fashion Detectives activity (Teaching Ideas) *
Victorianopoly game (Teaching Ideas) *
The Victorian House with audio (Fun Kids Radio)
A Victorian Child paper doll coloring page (Helen Page)
What the Victorians did for Christmas (Victorian School)
The Great Exhibition of 1851 worksheet (Victorian Workshop) *
Victorian Inventions wordsearch (Teaching Ideas) *
Mind Your Manners Game (McCord Museum)
Victorian Lapbooking pages (Rebecca Black) *
Design a Victorian garden game (Geffrye Museum)
The 1900 House interactive (PBS)
Organizing a Victorian Day Experience (Victorian School) *
Aunt Mary's Primer (Victorian School)
Queen Victoria coloring page (Crayola) *
Victorian Walking Suit coloring page (Karen's Whimsy) *
Victorian Evening Wear coloring page (Karen's Whimsy) *
Victoria As a Girl: The Patient Rebel (BBC)
Victorian Christmas Play (Alex Wilkinson) *
Queen Victoria Timeline worksheet (Teaching Ideas) *
Queen Victoria Mind Map (Mandy Smith) *
List of kings and queens of England (Victorian School) *
Royal family tree from Victoria to present (Victorian School) *
Make your own Victorian school (Victorian School) *

Coyotes in East Tuscaloosa.

A suburban Alabama coyote, the kind that is "here to stay".

The past few weeks have put me and my spirit animal in close proximity on several occasions. If I confess my affinity for the coyote, I do so with a caveat, namely, that the mythic character of Coyote doesn't appeal to me. What I love about the coyote is what I also love about the wolf- the relentless habit of howling at the moon, speaking to the night, feeling safe in that silvered light.

Coyote the creature, a wandering loner content to dwell outside the pack, has my respect. But Coyote the myth, the trickster who tries to live outside ethics, who holds himself to no standard apart from his own pleasure, has always struck me as a rather juvenile fantasy, the kind I might have entertained back in the day when I still thought my parents were to blame for the stuff that went wrong in my life. Again, my love for coyote rubs hard against my wariness of Coyote. 

But here's why it matters. Last week, when we were wandering through the Arboretum doing nature journaling, a coyote happily crossed our path. Then he veered into the parking lot. This week, Kenny informed me the coyote population was very high this year- he's seen several in the unofficial dog park in the past few weeks.

Then, lo and behold, when the king joined us for lunch today, trumpets unfurling blue banners, his first words to me announced the presence of coyote on the street just outside our house. A dirty-blonde, reddish, sneaky coyote fellow walking near our mailbox, crossing the street with that typical bouncing step that makes canine friends look sluggish.

The kids and I missed seeing the coyote (Max worried about how the coyote and the fox that lives behind our home would co-exist), but we managed to identify his tracks. The coyote of Cherokee Hills, a legend begging to be narrated.

As usual, the events of the day determined our learning schedule. All my previous plans whistled through the window and the coyote-inspired ruckus gathered momentum. So I found a few fact sheets and tasked Max with reading them and sharing their contents with the girls. The little proffesor loves the opportunity to profess...

Coyotes in Alabama Fact Sheet (Outdoor Alabama)

The Coyote: Facts and Myths (Alabama Cooperative Extension Service)

Meanwhile, I set about doing my bit of research on Alabama coyotes. It seems that the coyote trapping season in Alabama lasts from mid-November through February. Local coyote friends eat small, furry mammals, many of which are out and about during this time, seeking food to store for the winter. 

As I mentioned before, Native American legends have long included a character known as Coyote, whose powers include an ability to blur moral boundaries by playing the trickster. Coyote (the character) cannot ever be trusted. 

One of my favorite tales is an old Caddo story, "Coyote Goes Fishing", in which an elderly Caddo man takes revenge on the ever-deceptive Coyote. It's unusual because it turns that tables on the ever-wiley Coyote.

I shared it aloud with the little people to see what they thought. Did Coyote get what he deserved? What did the Caddos teach in the telling of this tale? Did you feel sympathy for Coyote? Why or why not?

One time Coyote went out hunting along the river and saw some one walking along its banks, carrying something on his back. When he came nearer he saw that it was a man carrying a fish. Coyote came to him, and said: “How do you do, my friend? Where are you going? Where have you been? Where did you get that big snake?”

“Well,” said the man, “I have been out fishing nearly all night, and finally I caught this fish. I was so tired that I did not care to catch another.”

“What!” said Coyote, “do you call that a fish? How did you get hold of it?”

“Well,” said the man, “I will tell you how to get them. When evening comes go down along the edge of the river and break a place in the ice just big enough to put your tail in, and stay there until I come to see you again.”

That same evening Coyote went to the place and found the man waiting for him. It was getting dark. The man told Coyote to sit down by the edge of the water, while he was breaking the ice. Coyote did as the man told him. He did not know that this was a man whom he had tricked some time before and that he was trying to get revenge. The man left Coyote sitting by the bank fishing all that cold night. Toward the middle of the night the water began to freeze on Coyote’s tail, and toward morning the ice got thicker and thicker, and when morning came Coyote tried to get up from his seat, for he was very tired, but he could not. There he was, trying in every way to get free, but he could not move.

When the man came he said to Coyote: “How are you getting along? Are you catching any fish?” Coyote replied: “I think I have caught two or three of them, but can you help me to get them out on dry land?”

“Yes,” said the man, “of course I will, although I want to talk to you before we get the fish out of the water. You remember that a long time ago you were one of my best friends, but finally you tricked me, and now I am getting even with you. You will have to die, for I am going to kill you.”

“My friend,” said Coyote, “I think you are mistaken. I do not think I am the man who played the mean trick on you. You know very well that I never betray my friends while I am able to see. If you will let me go this time I will go and bring the man you are looking for, and I will come back to-morrow evening and assure you that I am your friend.”

“But,” said the man, “I do not see how you are going to get loose to go, do you? I will look for the other man myself, and I will do to him just as I am going to do to you.”

The man went back to his lodge to get his bow and arrows. When he returned to Coyote he took one of the arrows out and showed it to him and said, “You see this?” He began to sing the song that warriors sing just before they kill their enemies. When he had finished the song he shot and killed Coyote.

Then we read "How Coyote Stole Fire", an alternate telling in the line of Coyote legends. It's another favorite- a story that should be told by a blazing bonfire with shadows dancing across the faces and nary a star in the night sky. A story in which reveals nuances in Coyote's character.

While the girls and I discussed the two stories, Max compared them in his journal, focusing on what traits of Coyote each story revealed. If the weather agrees, build a fire outside tonight and share this story with your family. Add a few marshmallows for the squirmiest little ones... I garner it will spark something memorable.

Just a thought... stolen from Wendell Berry.

It's our journaling prompt for the day, and it set me to thinking. What moments in your life have illustrated Wendell's thought?

Two poems about journaling by William Stafford.

A friend found in the grass this week.

KEEPING A JOURNAL by William Stafford

At night it was easy for me with my little candle
to sit late recording what happened that day. Sometimes
rain breathing in from the dark would begin softly
across the roof and then drum wildly for attention.
The candle flame would hunger after each wafting
of air. My pen inscribed thin shadows that leaned
forward and hurried their lines along the wall.

More important than what was recorded, these evenings
deepened my life: they framed every event
or thought and placed it with care by the others.
As time went on, that scribbled wall--even if
it stayed blank--became where everything
recognized itself and passed into meaning.

William (or Bill) Stafford stayed faithful to his journals and diaries over the years, urging friends, family members, and students to keep a record of their thoughts. The thoughts cherished and saved in ink often took shape as poems on a later date, when the experiences ripened well enough to attach themselves to words.

A family portrait from Romania: Journal prompt.

My dad emailed this photo of his family, dressed in the traditional Transylvanian clothing of the time. He noted that my great-grandmother is on the left. I've asked him for more details, but I'm going to wait before reading them.

In the meantime, I think Max and I will journal our own "stories" about this branch of the family tree. I started Max off with the goal of naming them, explaining the sash tied around the gentleman's waist (what does it signify?) as well as the stump on which the little boy is sitting. Can't wait to read what he weaves from this...

The daily dandelion.

A dandelion a day keeps the doctor away? Yesterday, we picked dandelions from the yard and learned about the nutritious value of dandelion flowers and leaves.

Then I read "The Story of Jagged Edge" from the Herbal Roots Zine issue devoted to our friend, the dandelion; stories are always the best way to begin our multi-aged botany studies.

We begin with a tale and then we relate the story to the characteristics of the plant. Sometimes we make something from the plant together. Then we usually branch off- Max to his nature notebook and the girls to their plant coloring or play.

DANDELION HANDOUT (PDF)

As we read, colored, and filled out the handout above, we talked about the difference between the sunshine yellow flower of the dandelion and the white puffy parachute-filled seed head of the dandelion.

Micah observed that everything she "blows one of the puffy ones" she "plants one of the yellow ones".

The dandelion is an excellent barometer, one of the commonest and most reliable. It is when the blooms have seeded and are in fluffy, feathery condition that its weather prophet facilities come to the fore. In fine weather the ball extend to the full, but when rain approaches, it shuts like an umbrella. If the weather is inclined to be showery it keeps shut all the time, only opening when the danger from wet has past. (Source: Camping For Boys by H.W. Gibson)

Then Max composed a dandelion acrostic which he also managed to lose (though he thinks he might have "used in the backyard as a flag"). 

Living in a castle.

I live in a castle with three children, a partner, and a poodle mutt.

I know a castle when I see one. He and I agree that to own a castle we must first agree to be one.

After we got married, we bought a big house. Then we traded it in for a small house- the kind where your power bill makes only a blip on the budget.

If our dreams can go no further (which they can't), then it just so happens that this is our castle.

The spring rains soak the grass, pooling in the driveway, creating the moat once local Prince has dubbed "Pontulia".

The coronation ceremony took place on the New Year's Eve of 2010. I was three months pregnant with a princess, yet managed to catch the King's eye wearing my snug wedding gown. Afterwards, at the royal ball, I danced with the King, the stellar thumps of Outkast's B.O.B. bouncing from the stone walls, the freshly-coronated Prince and Princess tearing books from the shelves with glee. Royal affairs are like that- however you want them to be, I mean.

Our kingdom is a small one, overtaken by privet hedges and plastic components of the larger petroleum empire in which we reside. We are a humble royal family, the kind that directs its energies towards keeping the house and garden gnomes happy and yarn-filled.

So we live in a castle with a moat and various fantabulous creatures- a castle that others might mistake for a cottage. "Fools abound," is a regular saying in the tower. The castle is in the mind of its makers. What story do you tell yourself to justify settling for a McMansion? What keeps you from your own castle?

Garden notebook cover.

I love Alice Cantrell's garden journal covers, but we needed a full-size page for our garden notebooks (which we put in binders). So I quickly drafted a very mediocre version of Alice's gorgeous creation.

Because sharing is a form of caring, right? By the way, tthe cover page looks great printed out on a recycled brown grocery bag which you can then bind with twine and a three-hole punch.

Garden Notebook Cover (PDF)

Astrometaphysical, a poem by Robert Frost.

Calpurnia Tate continued: Chapter 2.

We are continuing our study of The Evolution of Calpurnia Tate  which, of course, I intend to share with fellow home learners out there. If you missed the introduction, you can find materials for Chapter 1 right here.

“It’s amazing what you can see when you just sit down and look.”

Our chapter 2 study is heavy on the writing side with acrostics and similies as a central part of the supplemental activities.

Chapter 2 Reading Comprehension and Vocabulary (PDF)

Journal Entry Write About A Quote (PDF)

Character Impressions Through Acrostics (PDF)

Similies Stories (PDF)

Enjoy and share. I think Calpurnia would appreciate it.

The Evolution of Calpurnia Tate Unity Study: Chapter 2.

Continuing the free unit study on The Evolution of Calpurnia Tate today with similies and Chapter 2. If you missed Chapter 1 freebies, you can find them here.

Similies Stories (PDF)

Chapter 2 Reading Comprehension and Vocabulary (PDF)

Character Impressions Through Acrostics (PDF)

For the similies stories, we introduced the concept of similies and then looked through the book to find them. Max found the following ten similies as answers for his worksheet:

1. "Like a tiny baby field mouse" (p.10)- object dangling from bird's beak
2. "Like damp, steaming puppies" (p.2)- how the boys slept at midday
3. "Like a dragon's" (p.9)- grandfather's tuftu eyebrows
4. "Like Christmas ornaments" (p.10)- how the cardinals looked along the lawn
5. "As menacing to the feet as straw stubble" (p. 17)- the dried grass on the lawn
6. "Like a bizarre cross between an otter and a duck" (p.66)- a platypus
7. "Like river sludge" (p.38)- the sediment in the beaker 
8. "Like a miniature fox" (p.41)- the bat
9. "As if it were a child" (p. 45)- referring to leg of soldier cradled in his arms
10. "as if pole-axed" (p.2)- how the tired men fell down on their rope beds

Then we talked about how Calpurnia describes so many things with reference to natural objects and animals- perhaps they were closer to nature in her time. Max also observed that most people don't use expressions about "pole-axes" anymore because we don't use pole-axes.

Our vocabulary words were defined and then Max used them in a few unruly sentences of his own making.

dilapidated: In a state of disrepair or ruin as a result of age or neglect

consternation: Feelings of anxiety or dismay, typically at something unexpected.

malacca: Brown cane that is widely used for walking sticks and umbrella handles.

stupefying: Make (someone) unable to think or feel properly.

He had knocked over the dilapidated umbrella stand, breaking it and several dilapidated umbrellas. The malacca handles and the cloth tops were part of a jumbled pile on top of the baby, Rupert, who had done it all. It was stupefying. I was full of consternation. 

A free unit study on "The Evolution of Calpurnia Tate".

Jacqueline Kelly earned herself quite a fan club over here with The Evolution of Calpurnia Tate. It provides a delicious fictional introduction to the world of being a naturalist at a time when the skills of naturalists are no longer emphasized in science classes. In fact, Max and love it so much that I created a unit study to make sure we pore over every perfect little piece.

Granted, it makes a great subject for a unit study because it combines scientific observation with American history and social studies. The primary conflict in the novel pits Calpurnia's interest in science and curiosity about nature against the social expectations of her sex at a time when corsets were considered "the proper thing to do". 

This unit study is what I call a "folder study" in that we go through it gradually and add all related materials to a 3 prong folder as we go. It gives us something to go back and flip through- something to save and enjoy again. I'll try to post a few pages from the study every couple of days as we continue our exploration. Enjoy!

Chapter 1 Reading Comprehension and Vocabulary (PDF)

Nature Journal Page 1: Stump Stories (PDF)

For more opinions and perspectives on this book from educators and book lovers, try Handmade Homeschool, Here in the Bonny Glen, Books 4 Your Kids, Simple Homeschool, Avant Parenting, Home Education Magazine, and Write4Kids. I'll go ahead and warn you that you'll have a hard time finding negative reviews of this book- it charms kids and adults alike.

The tree that didn't get trimmed: How to love your tree beyond the holidays.

Last night, what started as a simple storytime ended with a family council. The kids got in their pajamas, Patrick made a fire, and we read a short story, "The Tree That Didn't Get Trimmed", published in 1957 by Christopher Morley. It is available for free reading online and also on Google Play. 

The story begins in the woods with vivid imagery of what it must be like to live as an evergreen tree:

If you walk through a grove of balsam trees you will notice that the young trees are silent: they are listening. But the old tall ones- especially the firs- are whispering. They are telling the story of The Tree That Didn't Get Trimmed. It sounds like a painful story, and the murmur of the old trees as they tell it is rather solemn; but it is an encouraging story for young saplings to hear. On warm autumn days when your trunk is tickled by ants and insects climbing, and the resin is hot and gummy in your knots, and the whole glade smells sweet, drowsy, and sad, and the hardwood trees are boasting of the gay colors they are beginning to show, many a young evergreen has been cheered by it.

The final paragraph of the story left the family feeling hopeful, yet somehow disturbed about the future of our own tree. 

Something nice, the old firs believe, always happens to the trees that don't get trimmed. They even believe that someday one of the Christmas-tree bean poles will be the starting point for another Magic Beanstalk, as in the fairy tale of the boy who climbed up the bean tree and killed the giant. When that happens, fairy tales will begin all over again.

After reading it, all of us stared at our tree and thought things we didn't articulate. So I called a Family Council and tried to make the case for a better future.

ALINA SAID, WAVING HER HAND: 

"I move that, after the holidays, we take our tree into the woods behind the house and put it in a special place where it can return to its roots and we can visit it."

MAX:

"Yeah! It can be the Christmas Tree Corner."

ALINA:

"Does anyone second the motion?"

MAX:

"I second it!"

ALINA:

"All in favor, say aye."

EVERYONE CHEERS AND SAYS SOMETHING AKIN TO "AYE". 

If only all family council meetings and decisions went so smoothly.... Democracy in action is a messy, messy thing.

There's a poet in the room.

Earlier this year, Max submitted a poem to Highlights magazine. We were working on odes in our poetry journal and he thought it would be fun to see if it got published.

When a letter arrived a few weeks later thanking Max for his submission but explaining why it would not be published, Max was slightly dejected but surprisingly understanding. More understanding than his mother, who was raised to believe that being "the best" was the least one should do. We hung the rejection letter on the wall and shared a number of smirks and giggles over it.

Lo and behold, while reading the most recent issue of Highlights, a subscription gifted by our dear Grandma Vicki, Max discovered a poem called "Ode to My Swing" authored by none other than himself. He whooped with glee. I had to hide my puffy-chested pride and focus on congratulating him without over-emphasizing a "win". But I am so very proud of him- and can share it here.

MAX: "Mom, does this mean I am a published poet now?"

ALINA: "Yes, I think so."

A journal prompt from Annie Dillard.

All the recent rains have left the ground wet and the scent of fall permeates the air. "The scent of leaves becoming soil," as Max says. Our journal prompt for today situates itself among the fallen leaves and the awe inspired by the changing season. I gave Max the following quote from Annie Dillard's essay, "This Is the Life", and told him to write freely about how it made him feel and what it made him think.

People look at the sky and at the other animals. They make beautiful objects, beautiful sounds, beautiful motions of their bodies beating drums in lines. They pray; they toss people in peat bogs; they help the sick and injured; they pierce their lips, their noses, ears; they make the same mistakes despite religion, written language, philosophy, and science; they build, they kill, they preserve, they count and figure, they boil the pot, they keep the embers alive; they tell their stories and gird themselves.

Say you have seen something. You have seen an ordinary bit of what is real, the infinite fabric of time that eternity shoots through, and time's soft-skinned people working and dying under slowly shifting stars. Then what?

Annie Dillard

What indeed? I love the journal prompts that leave the doors wide open for whatever is coursing through his head.

How to play "being just another species in the field".

"Nothing technology creates can ever be wild, and that wilderness is likely to have an increasing value in an older and more complex civilization. At least the present should consider its responsibility to let to allow the future to experience the past. At the most basic level, wilderness preservation means keeping options open. Rather than inheriting one from us, let posterity decide if it wants to occupy a controlled, developed, and biologically impoverished planet."
                    

Roderick Frazier Nash, Wilderness & the American Mind 

Yesterday we sauntered around seeking signs of autumn. Sometimes, the best way for me to unravel the complications and stresses of ordinary modern life is to just exist as another species in the field. To roam through the grasses and encounter the extraordinaries. 

Every little thing bleeds into another. Last year's lush crop of goldenrod was razed to the ground, leaving only a few only stalks to wave their torches.

Those few remaining goldenrods were almost overwhelmed by bees, darting, sniffing, dancing like wind puppets. How will the decreased goldenrod crop affect the other species of the meadow this month? Next month? Next year?

Change alone is not a tragedy but something to be observed and studied for its effects. Perhaps the sparsity of the goldenrod crop will fail to influence other species in the area.... We learn by looking, watching, and telling the stories.

Nature journals help us to record and keep track of these changes. What is different in your neck of the woods this year? How might it affect other species?

As a family, we adore our botanical haunts- those places we go to find plants, tiny seed pods, and non-human friends. Yet those haunts are increasingly being "developed" in the name of Progress and, well, development. Progress, unlike a good meal, should not be accepted at face value.

So many people perished in the Soviet Union for daring to question the march of Progress. As they stood in block-long bread lines, they accepted the destruction of their communities and the natural environment. The promised Progress led to rapid industrialization which decreased the quality of life and truly alienated communities from the product of their labors. It's important to understand that Progress means nothing aside from the outcomes for individuals and the environment in which they live and learn.

Somehow, we've agreed to let wilderness remain only as a table scrap- something for the dogs or the remaining wild animals. I don't remember making a conscious decision to destroy wilderness, just as I don't recall making a decision to cruelly isolate and discourage hopeful American immigrants.

The fact that the policies expressing these decisions were made for me (not by me) offers no comfort. The value of females was not taken seriously until the last hundred years- there are many wonderful amazing things and beings we have yet to find worthy. Are you complicit in the ravages of our natural world subsumed under the name of Progress? If so, what can you do to educate others about the costs?

Journal entry: Thoughts on being just another species in the field. How does my species affect other species in a nearby meadow?

A September inventory.

As September settles into place, some of our favorite natural dyeing plants are popping up, reminding us that the time for traditional harvest is near. 

This tender little shade-lover is only just coming into its bloom. It looks like a possible verbena, but we'll have to do some investating to learn more. Because it could be something else entirely- the best thing to be.

THE BEAUTYBERRY

The beautyberry, or Callicarpa americana, keeps its bright purple berries for a long time. This is not a spring purple- its the warm, deep purple of autumn.

Some time after the berries turn purple, the leaves will turn a pale chartreuse before dropping to the ground. Right now, we've found the beautyberry all through our yard and the neighborhood in half-sunny spots.

Beautyberry PDF Handout 

The golden rod is yellow;
The corn is turning brown;
The trees in apple orchards
With fruit are bending down. 
(from "September" by Helen Hunt Jackson)

THE GOLDENROD

When the goldenrod's bright golden blooms flood the plains, we'll head out to our favorite goldenrod-harvesting place to get a big batch for yellow dye and tea. As you can tell from the still supple curve of this new bloom, the goldenrod has a few days or even weeks before harvest time. 

Look closely at the goldenrod- doesn't it remind you of an elm tree's branches? At sunset, the goldenrod lining the streets and fields resembles torches, perhaps to guide butterlies and bees back to their September elysium. 

THE PURPLE THISTLE

The purple thistle lords over the land in a shady portion of our yard like a medieval king- convinced that sword-waving and tooth-gnashing is the most persuasive means of self-preservation. Watching the bees visit the thistle for dinner adds an element of mystery to our thistle friend. Why does he share such an attractive and seductive flower with the bees while scaring others with his swords?

The thistle and the bee have loved each other for as long as we know- the bees take the thistle's flower dust and spread it across the land. The swords must be for the cattle, which once grazed the fields where thistle likes to spread his kingdoms with the help of the bees.

Once the bees have gone and the thistle's flower is dried and wilted, the wind carries tiny little balloon baskets made of the finest silk to a yard across the street. The seeds in the tiny little seeds in their tiny little balloon baskets will sleep until spring, when they will suddenly grow flowers and swords of their own.

There is always something new and proximate to discover in the woods and environs. Always a secret eco-web in which to get tangled. September creeps into Tuscaloosa with purple and golden chariots. We watch in wonder as everything changes again.

The tardigrade: One cool creature.

The tiny tardigrade, also known as the moss piglet, doesn't let its size stand in the way of its magnificence.  No larger than the head of a pin, the tardigrade has proved to be one of nature's toughest survivors. Laboratory experimenters have immersed it in liquid helium down to a savage -272 degrees Celsius. They have left it at -192 degrees Celsius for 20 months, and cooked it for a week at 92 degrees Celsius in ether, alcohol and other noxious chemicals. Restored to normal temperature and given water, the tardigrade strolls away. Some specimens were brought back to life after 120 years in a dry and dusty museum.

 Obviously the tardigrade has abilities human beings lack. Tardigrades dwell in mud, damp seashore sand, or on the water film surrounding the leaves of mosses and lichens. Some varieties are entirely aquatic. Zoologically they fall somewhere between worms and insects and can move about by wriggling on four pairs of stubby legs. There are tardigrades worldwide except in the tropics and Antarctica. A single gram of dried moss has been known to yield 22,000 of them.

Since 2007, tardigrades have also returned alive from studies in which they were exposed to the vacuum of outer space for a few days in low earth orbit. My guess is that the tardigrades will be around long after the homo sapiens make the world uninhabitable for their own species.

How does this soft-bodied creature have the unique ability to switch itself off and on under extreme circumstances--enabling it to spread a normal lifespan of 18 months over some 60 years? How does this armored arthropod last so long? One reason may be its shape--an oval or ellipse, and its series of flexible shell-like body pieces.

More cool lessons from nature's superior design are available here. I won't hesitate to confess that much of this was copied from TSUI Design and Research's interesting page. See for thineself.

Journal entry prompts about costumes.

Today's journal prompt ideas were taken from the lovely old vintage children's books in the Dandelion Colllection. They should be obscure enough to prompt imaginative storytelling rather than rememebering-- for little ones, at least.

Tell this story about this man and his tree suit.

The two horses, Brownie and Whitiy, are dressed as dames. Tell their story.

Unicorn story frame.

Print and share with a a friend or child- the kind of person who knows you need a unicorn story inside.

Topographic map-making.

Learning about our local watershed has made topographic maps a fascinating journey of discovery and art. Though most are made on computer now, Max wanted to try and draw his own topos. It's a great way to incorporate mathematical visualization and geometry in everyday learning with kids.

So go on out into your backyard and make a topographic map. Or take a walk through the neighborhood and create a neighborhood topo- I bet neighbors would love a copy. It truly demonstrates the concept of a watershed for kids and adults, as you can see where puddles and runoffs tend to form and how they are distributed.

Topographic symbols

Earth contours on a topographic map

Relief shading details

Topographic map vegetation shading details

Topographic map water shading details

A link list of great printables for springtime outdoor learning.

Staying inside has been almost impossible- the azaleas are blooming in colors that have not yet been named and the sunshine makes every day beg us out into the yard, the woods, the neighborhood, and beyond.

Since we are learning outside for the most part, I thought I'd share a few resources so you could do the same. Just a note for all my web friends who do not have children (as a lovely lady who dropped by the Friends of Hurricane Creek Druid City Arts Festival table reminded me), these printables are for you too! One of the most beautiful gifts my children have given me is a desire to taste and discover life around me. But you don't need munchkins to cultivate this desire. Instead, print these for yourself and live with love.

Handbook of Nature Study Newsletter March 2012, the mecca

10 easter and spring arts and crafts (HodgePodge)

Annual Fish and Wildlife Project (Alabama 4-H)

Environmental Exchange Box (UN)

Growing Plants, bring math into the growing

Principles of Wildlife Management in Alabama (Alabama 4-H)

Alabama Trees Handout (Alabama 4-H)

Determining the Age and Growth of a Tree (Alabama 4-H)

Southeastern Birds of Prey booklet (Alabama Cooperative Extension)

Forest Ecology for 4-Hers (Alabama Cooperative Extension Service)

Resources and Animals (BioEd Online)

Mapping Your Own Land: An Overview for Landowners (Auburn University)

Plant ID chart

Botany Scavenger Hunt (Ellen McHenry's Basement Workshop)

Rock Cycle Worksheet and Rock Cycle Dice (Science Spot)

Mimicry and Camouflage Lesson Plan (BioEd Online) 

Bringing the Rain to Kapiti Plain: A book and a few ways to play.

For Bringing the Rain to Kapiti Plain, Vena Aardema took an African folktale and turned it into a sonorous rhythm just perfect for a children's storybook. The tale was originally discovered in Kenya more than 80 years ago by Sir Claud Hollis, a British anthropologist who spent time learning from the Nandi tribe. Sir Hollis camped near a village and took the time to learn the Nandi language from two young boys. He learned riddles and proverbs from the Nandi children. He learned folk tales and legends from the Chief Medicine Man. Then he took all these beautiful folkways and published them in The Nandi: Their Language and Folklore, which first touched bookshelves in 1919.

Considered a tropical climate because it is hot and humid, Kenya is located on the East Coast of Africa. The average temperature is 80 degrees all year long. While there are also sandy beaches, rainforests, and swamps, three-fourths of Kenya consists of very dry plains. The plains receive about ten to thirty inches of rainfall each year.

A Nandi village home in Kenya.

There aren't any major cities here, but nomads roam the land tending their flocks and searching for food (grasses for grazing) and water. The people in rural areas farm and raise livestock.The Nandi people are an example of a nomad group; they live in Western Kenya, in the plains, and they keep cattle, sheep, and goats as their way of life.  We learned more about the Nandi tribe from the Joshua Project.

There is a highland area in the southwest that receives enough rainfall (forty to fifty inches a year) and has enough good soil to support farming. The majority of the people live here. Kenya also has forests and grasslands, and Nairobi, the capital city, is located in the highland area.

We read the book aloud together and the kids competed to see who could make the most comments per page. I decided to take a cue from a teacher I know and asked them to contribute comments in the form of "I wonder....." statements. Max kept a tally of our "I wonder..." statements for this book.

Max explained:

"I really like the way the story kind of piles up and has a beat..."

Alina agreed:

"Me too, Max. It's a cumulative story- it builds on itself- and the rhythm keeps is rushing past like a stream. It's a mix of predictable repetitions and bold rhymes. I can almost see creating a rain dance to match it."

Max:

"I was thinking about a dance. I was thinking about a story- like a pourquoi story. Isn't this a pourquoi story?"

Alina grinned:

"You're right! It is!"

Max continued:

"So I'm going to write one about the pink dogwood in our backyard and maybe I'll make it a piling rhyme like in this book."

Alina, excited:

"Piling rhyme. I like that description."

I didn't mention this to Max, but creating our own twine-and-twig harp would also be quite fun. The only image of this instrument is on the cover of the book. This is a close-up. Cool, eh?

We talked about the mud and straw houses built by the Nandi- why they used these resources, which are plentiful on the plains, to build homes. Micah observed that "they only have one tree, and it is for climbing, not building". Ecological scarcity and sustainable building practices come up quite readily in a discussion of this book with children of any age.

Chasing butterflies across Kapiti Plain:

Choral reading activity

Explore concept of scarcity with this book

Create an ecoweb for a Kenyan plain.

Introduce 3 new vocabulary words, like acacia, drought, and African plain

Reader's Theatre version from the Alabama Education Exchange

Journal entry answering one "I wonder...." statement in the form of a story.

Write a "piling poem" per Max's description.

Max's gives his mom an ecology lesson.

Max was playing with some blocks today when he got very excited and said that he wanted to show our mayor and other city officials what might happen if the Eastern Bypass is built through Hurricane Creek Park. I told him there wasn't a way for him to do this.

And then he told me that I could make a video.

So here it is. Max was okay with my failure to "edit that part off".

Please don't get too upset over the intricacies of ecological mistakes made by Max. He is 8 years old. I'm sure that his understanding of ecosystems will be greatly improved by the time he reaches an age where his opinion is said to "count" politically.

If you'd like to help us protect and preserve our last remaining greenway in Tuscaloosa, please email comments and concerns to [email protected] and they will let you know how to get this information to our city officials. A few public comments for inspiration and context.

Southern Environmental Law Center letter

Scientific Advisory Board letter (12/2011)

FOHC Comments on Eastern Bypass (12/2010)

Love letter #52: Speculative poetry.

We discovered a new world this week- a novel galaxy whose radioactive proximity excites the senses and imagination. In the past month, as I've tried to organize the Circles of Peace workshops for the coming year, various friends and acquaintances mention that I should meet David and Sonia Kopaska-Merkel. Never one to wait for stylized introductions, I packed the kids into the spaceship and cruised on over to make their acquaintance.

A drawing from Dreams and Nightmares.

No one was home. Or, perhaps, someone was home but preferred to be "un-home". When Max asked why we had come to meet this family, I explained that I thought they were pretty neat and that they wrote speculative poetry, words combined into stalagmites and supernovas both fantastic and no larger than the gnome residing under the tree stump in our front yard.

Max said:

"Cool. I could do that. Maybe they'll teach me."

Alina said:

"Maybe. Either way, I think we have lots to learn from them."

When we got back to the Coryell Castle, Max continued to inquire about speculative poetry. I answered his queries with a few poems by Mr. Kopaska-Merkel, available for free in audio format at his magazine, Dreams and Nightmares. 

Max said:

"I like how he brings the stars to earth."

Alina agreed.

Max said:

"Tell me more about the guy who wrote it."

Alina read aloud:

David C. Kopaska-Merkel is the editor and publisher of Dreams and Nightmares magazine, and was for six years the editor of Star*Line, the journal of the Science Fiction Poetry Association. Fourteen previous chapbooks and hundreds of poems and short stories have been published in dozens of venues since the early 1980s. David lives in Tuscaloosa, Alabama, with 2 artists, 3 cats, 1 dog, 2 bunnies, and thousands of books.

Max said:

"I wonder if he'd like to teach some kids about stars and universes and poems?"

Alina said:

"I wonder as well."

Max said:

"How do we find out?"

Alina said:

"Every point has the potential to create a line or a circle."

Journal prompt on roots.

I wanted to see how Max interpreted this statement.... he's busy writing away right now.

A walk in the woods- a perfect little book.

Lucky for me that Marjolein Bastin's A Walk in the Woods is tiny enough to slip into my purse. It made all of us hanker for a tromp through the woods as we rediscovered the citizens of the forests. Bastin thinks "walking in nature is one of the greatest feelings of completeness you can have", and she communicates the power of nature to enchant and instruct in this special little book.

We were reminded of the mysteries we encounter in the natural world- all the details which don't fit snugly into any of our manuals or classifications, how a family of badgers emerges at twilight to go about its business in the dark.

Owl pellets are a source of wonder and a means of identifying various owl species which live in your locale.

Snails carry little worlds of their own.

Love letter #50: Brian Fox Ellis' stories about nature.

A poem Brian "Fox" Ellis animated by Vin Luong that celebrates the dance and migration of Whooping Cranes. 

Brian Fox Ellis is a gifted storyteller, poet, artist, and raconteur who draws on traditions in American history to bring nature to life and cultivate love. He is currently working on a documentary about John James Audobon, and you can watch him in character here. Brian blogs about everything from his latest publications to his love for the most recent Green Day album, no subject is too off-kilter for his narrative tapestry. In case you're curious about the Green Day reference, here is what he posted:

“An American Idiot.” One of the best new musicals anywhere! Yes, I am exuberant by nature, but I cannot say enough about this brilliant music, the astounding choreography, the intriguing use of video, the chemistry of the ensemble, and the amazing music. Did I say the songs are stupendous? In case you were wondering, the music is great. (I bought the sound track and I am listening to it now as I type this!)When this Green Day album was first released Bush was president, the twin towers had just come down, American Idol was in ascension, and America was lost in a fog of distortion and media manipulations. This album, like very few of the many others who have been so acclaimed, truly captured the angst and frustration of a generation, but it also did something more, namely it bottled that rage and love and fear in a set list that let a faint glimmer of light leak out from under the helmet clamped tightly onto the heads of so many. The album was written with a theatricality and broader story line that should make The Who’s Tommy weep, redefining Rock Opera.

But there is much more to Brian than quasi-punk aesthetics. Since I'm feeling rather list-ish today, I'll leave you with a list of twenty things to love about the man who calls himself "Fox".

1. How to tell a story and learn it by heart 

2. Capturing the Haiku Moment lesson plan

3. Fun with Fables lesson plan

4. Telling personal tales, a how-to

5. A recipe for a story, a printable chart activity

6. How to plan a porque story, a printable guide to writing your own how-and-why tale about nature

7. Telling Tales Tall and True lesson plan

8. Myth into Reality lesson plan

9. An array of early childhood lesson plans

10. An array of adult literacy and ESL lesson plans

11. How to host a family literacy night

12. A food web activity you can print and color

13. Audubon and Bird Tales lesson plan

14. Bird Is The Word, a lesson plan which blends ecology and creative writing

15. Arbor Day Tall Tree Tales lesson plan

16. Bioregional quiz to help develop and cultivate a sense of "place"

17. Stories Stones Can Tell creative writing activity

18. Speaking Truth to Power, a lesson plan about promoting peace through communication

19. Stepping into Character in 6 easy steps, a guide

20. The Lives of Saints, a storytelling and storymaking lesson plan

21. His poem about the meadowlark

Journal prompt about plant life cycles.

Tino's tribute to Alabama skies.

As the kids mucked around in the mud, Tino set up his camera to take photos of a specific tree and sky in our backyard at five second intervals for two hours. 1,220 photos to be precise.

Then he combined the images with a section from Maurice Ravel's Jeux D'eau, which we found for free online at the generous and disarming Piano Society website. 

Tino explained, "If you're watching the sky, you can't fully appreciate how many shapes and clouds go by because it moves so slowly." Speeding up the images reveals how the clouds interact, how the light swallows and then disrobes the tree, how the clouds actually appear in layers of shadows and veils. Sublimity. See if you agree.

If you'd like to share it with your kids, I think it makes a swell journal prompt all by itself. Just watch and write your impressions or revelations. Discover the sky in your own backyard- its moods and its variations. 

A painting with a thousand words: Botticelli's "Mystic Nativity".

Mystic Nativity by Sandro Botticelli, 1500 (oil on canvas).

Max enjoyed staring at this painting for a long time- "there are lots of things happening but I can't tell if people are happy or scared".

We learned from wikipedia that the Greek inscription at the top translates as:

This picture, at the end of the year 1500, in the troubles of Italy, I Alessandro, in the half-time after the time, painted, according to the eleventh [chapter] of Saint John, in the second woe of the Apocalypse, during the release of the devil for three-and-a-half years; then he shall be bound in the twelfth [chapter] and we shall see [him buried] as in this picture.

It seems that Botticelli believed himself to be living during the Tribulation or the Biblical end times, perhaps due to political turmoil and war in Europe at the time. We talked about symbolism in paintings, and Max made a list of all the symbols he could see in the painting and what they represented. I don't know if it's a developmental phase or a personal preference but he is currently a big fan of "perfect painters", or "guys who know how to make things look right".

Max didn't see any inconsistency of vision when comparing this to Botticelli's more famous work, like The Birth of Venus. I think that we adults tend to project our own discomforts with Greek and Roman mythology on little people to whom such stories make formidable sense. I remember as a child finding it very difficult to imagine a God who was not, in some sense, like me. And the character of God in the Old Testament includes a rich texture of human emotions, including rage, unhappiness, loneliness, and frustration. I wonder how Max understands Christ's role and character....

The Silver Donkey by Sonya Hartnett: A book about mercy and forgiveness.

Max finished The Silver Donkey by Sonya Hartnett while savoring fruit salad and pumpkin bread for breakfast this cold and wet morning. I love when he reads aloud to all of us- stories sifting through baby babbles and the sounds of life and love.

The book tells the story of a World War 1 deserter, three children, and their relationship. Three didactic tales are related at various points in the book.

In the second tale, the soldier tells of a land in which the expected annual monsoon did not come, so the people and animals were suffering from drought. The people angrily told the sky to give them the rain they deserved but the sky refused because they "did not say please". So then the people sent various animals up to the top of the highest mountain to petition the sky for rain.

First the elephant climbed the peak and told the sky that if it did not rain, he would use his trunk to squeeze rain from the clouds. The sky replied:

"You are magnificent so the people worship you, but, like them, you are arrogant. Like them you use your power the wrong way. You can try to squeeze rain out of me but I don't think you'll succeed."

Sure enough, the elephant tried and failed. Next the people sent the tiger to procure rain. The tiger demanded to know where the rain was hiding. The sky replied:

"It's true you are beautiful, tiger... it's a pity you are sneaky and a coward. You only use your teeth and claws on those weaker than yourself- against creatures that cannot fight back. And you always attack from behind."

So the sky was not persuaded by the tiger. Then the people sent the glittering snake, who called the sky its friend and spoke in a soft, slithery voice. The sky laughed and replied:

"Snake, you're a teller of untruths. You are friends with none but yourself. You have only your own interests and your cold heart. Go away, little serpent, and hide under a rock."

So the snake went away and the people sent a dog, who galloped up the mountain and asked the sky why it did not love the people. The dog said:

"I love them, oh I love them. If I was the sky and the people wanted rain, I would rain! I would do it, just to please them! What's the matter with you sky? You're not loyal. You're not well trained. You're rather disobedient. You've probably got fleas!"

The sky sighed:

"Dog, you know that I adore you for you can be so adorable. But you are not without fault. You are devoted to the point of stupidity. You haven't a mind of your own. Go back to your masters. Tell them I will not discuss the monsoon anymore. I have seen and heard nothing that proves you deserve what you demand."

So the dog frisked away. A donkey, who had been quietly observing, started to try to climb the mountain, but the people jeered and mocked the donkey, calling it foolish and clumsy. So the donkey climbed back down and waited for the cover of night before resuming its climb up the mountain. The sky was annoyed at the silent donkey. 

"You have come here, donkey, and risked my wrath, to plead for rain. Yet the monsoon will only benefit those who treat you badly. Donkeys are despised as witless and pigheaded. You are forced to carry impossible loads, whipped till your hides are crossed with scars. You are fed the harshest food, and very little of it.... So often you are treated not as a feeling fellow creature but as an insensible lump of clay. Wouldn't it be better, donkey, if this unkind world simply shrivelled up and blew away?"

The conversation between the sky and donkey is humbling and beautiful. I won't relay all of it. But the donkey replies:

"It's true that I have known suffering, sky. That's why I cannot bear the sight of it.... I will not take pleasure in the suffering of others. I would rather endure suffering myself, than see it inflicted on the world in my name."

The sky is softened by the donkey's heart. 

"I have looked down on the world and despaired. I have seen the deplorable things that people do to other another. I did not bring the monsoon because I thought there were none who deserved a beautiful home. All hearts were barren, I believed, and deserved only a barren world. But your heart isn't like that donkey. You endure much that is unforgivable, yet you forgive. And if, a simple donkey, can have mercy, then surely I, the boundless sky, can be merciful also."

Then the sky explains that there will always be injustice in the world and the weak will always be killed or mistreated by the strong. But as long as the weak exist, the sky promises to keep the world beautiful for their sake. He will never refuse the monsoon again:

"Rain will pour like tears from me and make the Earth a garden. In honor of you, my donkey, storm clouds will be forever gray- the color of your coat...Hurry away, little donkey. I think it will soon rain. When it falls, know that it is falling not for those who demand everything, but for those who who ask so little."

So true. So beautiful and true. Max said that, in this tale, the donkey reminded him of Jesus and the sky reminded him of God. I encouraged him to elaborate on this in his journal. So, he did.

He explained that the Jesus had all the virtues ascribed to the donkey in the first tale of the book. "Power is not the best way to ask God for something- humility is the way to ask," Max wrote. The sky, like God, shows mercy because he is surprised that the donkey wants rain for those who treat him so badly. Max observed that mean behavior does not lead to mercy. I explained the role of the plea bargain in our legal system as a form of "mercy" for those who accept their guilt. I'm not sure he followed completely, but he seemed interested enough to ask a few more questions.

You can find a good synopsis of this book here. You can also use the teacher's notes packet prepared by Penguin Books.

Love letter #41: Listography.

For the mind perpetually cluttered with new ideas, thoughts, daydreams, and words, listography proves irresistible. So I didn't resist. I opened the door to listography. In the process, I found list-makers even more cloud-headed than myself.

classic album covers cool enough for frostbite

25 days of writing

words strung together to make a necklace of wisdom

bad customer services experiences

packing list for illinois

life goals

heart warmers

The runcible art of Edward Lear.

This is first drawing in Edward Lear's The Story of Four Little Children Who Went Round the World. I printed a copy for Max to explore before reading the story to him. He decided to write a journal entry introducing the four children and describing their characteristics and why each, as an individual, wanted to see the world.

Obviously, Mom, Violet wants to go to India to get spices and silks. You can just tell.

There is so much more to Lear than his sketches for children. I spent the wee hours of this morning learning just how much more in the company of Vivien Noakes' Edward Lear: The Life of a Wanderer. Sharing just a sketch with Max seemed unfair, like only eating ketchup at Five Guys, so we wandered through various specimens of Lear.

Lear's drawings of birds. Like James Audubon, Lear never worked from a stuffed bird if he could help it. Unlike Audubon, he did not first kill the bird and draw the gradually decaying carcass. Instead, Lear drew the living, moving, screaming bird. Do you think this made his birds look more life-like?

The historical context for Lear's watercolour painting. Then take a look at his watercolors and see what stands out. His watercolouring style changed during a visit to Greece, when he began to follow watercolour washes with an application of sepia ink to the pencil lines, a process he called "penning out".

William Marstrand's portrait of Lear. How do you feel about Lear when you see this? What adjectives come to mind?

Journal prompt about circles.