Alina's Adventures

10 must-read articles about education.

A good education gives you something to stand for.

"The Democratic Education of Unschoolers" by Astra Taylor
n+1, November/December 2013

"The Joyful, Illiterate Kindergartners of Finland" by Tim Walker
The Atlantic, October 2015

"Educating Ourselves To Oblivion" by William Astore
Mother Jones, May 2009

"The Junior Meritocracy" by Jennifer Senior
New York Magazine, January 2010

"Why It's Not All Bad To Be Bored" by Alina Tugend
New York Times, November 2012

"What Danish Parents Know About Teaching Empathy" by Katie Hinz-Zombrano
Mother Magazine, October 2015

"Undercover Universities" by Emily Mulder
Yes! Magazine, November 2014

In the name of love: The Eldest at the Tuscaloosa PRIDE parade.

"Saving Kids From Nature-Deficit Disorder", an interview with Richard Louv
NPR, May 2005

"Leave No Child Inside" by Richard Louv
Orion Magazine, 2013

"Unleashing Empathy: How Teachers Transform Classrooms" by Lennon Flowers
Yes! Magazine, April 2014

"Charlotte's Webpage: Why Children Shouldn't Have the World At Their Fingertips" by Lowell Monke
Orion Magazine, September/October 2005

"Male and female ability differences down to socialisation, not genetics" by Robin McKie
The Observer, August 2010

And, of course, there are personal reasons for the choices we make. Here is what I've learned- and what I continue to learn- about our lives and education/s:

"Why I Homeschool" 

"Thoughts on Mr. Lookadoo's Approach to 'Self-Empowerment'"

"The Liberating Habits of Compassionate Men"

"Homeschooling and Socialization: The Heart of the Matter"

"Mining A Fallow Field For Stories"

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.

Neil Postman's "technopoly."

Gardening days... recovering silt.

Reading Neal Postman helps me resist the constant urge to direct my children towards technology. Though I appreciate the technology which enables me to blog-- and to connect to friends who live over the ocean-- I know it is changing my mind, and altering my perception of the world. So I watch it, and myself, with a healthy skepticism. 

A few interesting excerpts from Postman's Technopoly: The Surrender of Culture to Technology. We'll start with the underlying (and provocative) premise:

“Technological change is neither additive nor subtractive. It is ecological. I mean “ecological” in the same sense as the word is used by environmental scientists. One significant change generates total change. If you remove the caterpillars from a given habitat, you are not left with the same environment minus caterpillars: you have a new environment, and you have reconstituted the conditions of survival; the same is true if you add caterpillars to an environment that has had none. This is how the ecology of media works as well. A new technology does not add or subtract something. It changes everything.” 

 

"With the rise of Technopoly, one of those thought-worlds disappears. Technopoly eliminates alternatives to itself in precisely the way Aldous Huxley outlined in Brave New World. It does not make them illegal. It does not make them immoral. It does not even make them unpopular. It makes them invisible and therefore irrelevant. And it does so by redefining what we mean by religion, by art, by family, by politics, by history, by truth, by privacy, by intelligence, so that our definitions fit its new requirements. Technopoly, in other words, is totalitarian technocracy.” 

 

“Alfred North Whitehead summed it up best when he remarked that the greatest invention of the nineteenth century was the idea of invention itself. We had learned how to invent things, and the question of why we invent things receded in importance. The idea that if something could be done it should be done was born in the nineteenth century. And along with it, there developed a profound belief in all the principles through which invention succeeds: objectivity, efficiency, expertise, standardization, measurement, and progress. It also came to be believed that the engine of technological progress worked most efficiently when people are conceived of not as children of God or even as citizens but as consumers—that is to say, as markets.” 

Dogwood blossoms collage.

".... in Technopoly, all experts are invested with the charisma of priestliness. Some of our priest-experts are called psychiatrists, some psychologists, some sociologists, some statisticians. The god they serve does not speak of righteousness or goodness or mercy or grace. Their god speaks of efficiency, precision, objectivity. And that is why such concepts as sin and evil disappear in Technopoly. They come from a moral universe that is irrelevant to the theology of expertise. And so the priests of Technopoly call sin “social deviance,” which is a statistical concept, and they call evil “psychopathology,” which is a medical concept. Sin and evil disappear because they cannot be measured and objectified, and therefore cannot be dealt with by experts.” 

The One Lovely Blog Award.

My first response to being nominated for the One Lovely Blog award was surprise- oh but I've been so un-lovely lately- then gratitude to Jordan for her generous heart. It's a gift to live life and write your way through it- and an honor to discover "kindred spirits" who encourage you along the way. 

Now for the robes and rituals. There are 3 simple rules to accepting this award:

1. Thank & link back to the person who nominated you.
2. Share seven interesting facts about yourself, & add the blog award logo to your post.
3. Nominate 15 other bloggers & comment on their blogs to let them know.

I am honored to officially accept this award from A Montessori Story. And it means the world to accept it from a fellow Alabama-raised female whose has lived beyond her borders. On her blog, Jordan Gurganus recounts her discoveries and inspirations as a Montessori teacher. I loved reading that Montessori opened the world of math to her because I feel that way about nature study and science. Perhaps a good teacher is one who loves learning a little more than she loves teaching so when the world opens its hands to her, she can't help sharing.

Tweezing my legs while waiting for a train in Poland.

Now for seven interesting facts about myself:

1. I was born in Romania and raised in Alabama. My parents defected from Ceausescu’s communist dictatorship when I was two years old. I don’t believe in birthrighteousness-- the idea that where you are born should determine your right to live there. Citizenship snobbery makes me sad.

2. I homeschool my three children because I want to give them a gender-flexible, wonder-infused childhood filled with weeds, dirt, poetry, travel, and endless cultural horizons. People and places are more important than products to me. I'm not impressed by your house or garden though I may be impressed by your heart.

3. If you told me I'd be homeschooling my kids ten years ago, I would have laughed in your face and muttered a simplistic trope which stereotyped homeschoolers and revealed my own narrow perspective.

4. I've traveled the gamut of the political spectrum- Repubicrat, Demican, conservative, progressive, anarchist, you name it... Though I sometimes look back on my life with disbelief, I am grateful to have known political parties inside and out because it reminds me that ignorance and snobbery are more powerful than evil. Lesson learned: Empathy is my main political position.

5. Between the margins, I steal time to write.

6. There is nothing I fear quite as much as people who like power. And mean people. Maybe they're one and the same.

7. I do not believe there is a correlation between happiness and success. On the other hand, there appears to be a strong connection between happiness and the ability to enjoy poetry. A girl can dream.

And my fifteen nominations..

TEACHER TOM
Inspiring and insightful. Love this man.

SMALL THINGS
Because Ginny makes me happy.

PROJECT-BASED HOMESCHOOLING
I'm a longtime admirer of Lori's project-based homeschooling.

CAMP CREEK BLOG
Spirit, solace, homeschooling, and light.

AN EVERYDAY STORY
Child-led learning and Reggio.

HANDMADE HOMESCHOOL
For her honesty- and inspiring feminism.

CRAFT FOREST
Inspiring handwork and crafts.

1 DAD 1 KID
Ingenious.

OUTSIDE MOM
Ideas and environmental education.

ROAMSCHOOL 
Not quite a blog but visionary field learning.

ART BAR BLOG
Creative hands-on art ideas.

TO LOVE
The poetry of love and life.

WILD OLIVE
Handwork ideas and personal embroidery guru.

RAISING MIRO
Because world schoolers rock...

MOSSY
Dirt under the nails.

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.

The reading nook... and what we're reading this month.

The time I steal to right usually occurs during reading hour, when the kids read quietly or aloud or (as in the case of Gnome) pretend to read stories and invent them as they turn the pages.

GNOME AND PROPHET ARE READING

Flashlight by Lizzie Boyd
The Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahaeme
Ladybug magazine
Click magazine
The Iridescence of Birds by Patricia MacLachlan
The Birth and the Death of Stars by Isaac Asimov

THE ELDEST IS READING

Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry by Mildred D. Taylor
A Wrinkle in Time by Madeline L'Engle
The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain
Cobblestone magazine
Dig magazine
Cicada magazine
Doctor Doolitte by Hugh Lofting
Sing Down the Moon by Scott O'Dell
Half A World Away by Cynthia Kadohata
A People's History of the United States by Howard Zinn

Sir Eustace, my sports trophy.

Friday flew straight in the face of every well-laid plan. But it helps to explain why my "home-making" posts are far and few between.

By the time Max and Ellie got back after lunch, the girls had each invented the most hair-curling cries for their fabric baby dolls. When I asked them if I could breastfeed their babies, Prophet refused.

"They're not hungry, mom," she snapped, "They just like to cry. A LOT."

Little B. and Gnome smiled sheepishly. Then Gnome's baby began shrieking as if a small dragon had a baby toe between its long, shiny teeth. "See?" smirked Prophet, her lips compressed into a tight little line that I like to call a "smugile".

After giving myself the pronounced satisfaction of a little solitary eye-rolling, I trotted into the kitchen, where the boys were debating whether to bake banana bread or raspberry-banana bread. "Hey mom," ventured the Eldest, "I looked everywhere and I can't find my Honest Pretzels cookbook..."

"Obviously, you didn't look everywhere," I replied, keeping one ear cocked for fabric baby cries from the back of the castle.

"I did. I swear."

"But the book is clearly somewhere, so not finding the book means you failed to look everywhere because you may have looked in many places while not looking in the place known as somewhere- which is, in fact, a place BECAUSE...." I raised my voice and caught my breath, "your book still exists as a form or familiar recognizable physical MATTER." 

"Mom doesn't like to help me find things," the Eldest said in an aside to Ellie. "She thinks I should find things for myself." Ellie nodded. The boys looked amused.

They shrugged in unison as I set off (rather huffily) in search of the Eldest's cookbook. Twenty minutes later, with "somewhere" feeling more and more like elsewhere, I happened upon a gigantic cockroach, spread on his back, legs curled towards the ceiling. Since he was obviously deceased, I did the only thing that made sense given the circumstances, namely, selected a swatch of linen from the fabric bin and mounted Sir Eustace into a frame for the dining room wall. 

As I hammered a nail into the wall to display our new family friend, Ellie saw it and started laughing. He loved Sir Eustace. In turn, I discovered that Sir Eustace had minimized the cost of admitting I couldn't find the cookbook either- and maybe "somewhere" was actually "nowhere", immaterial.

The Eldest just grinned and said, "That's cool, mom," when I passed over a printed recipe for banana-raspberry bread.

"Actually," I wanted to say, "Cool is your non-shaming response to my huffiness". But I didn't say it. Maybe a residue of huffiness lingered.

As the Eldest prepared his ingredients and Ellie warmed the oven, I decided to make a snack for the crying baby dolls and the five uber-cool kids in the castle. "I'm going to make some microwave popcorn," I said, hoping it sounded official. Ellie watched as I put a fabric napkin under the popcorn bag and set the timer.

"Why'd you put that napkin in there?" Ellie asked. 

"Because the spinny-dish-thingamabob is broken and the popcorn will burn on the bottom if I don't put something under it and we don't really have paper napkins..."

"Only for guests," appended the Eldest, as he mashed bananas with the meat-grinder.

I set the timer for the minimum popping time and prepared to listen for the promised "popping intervals". It took all of forty seconds for the microwave to begin smoking furiously, filling the tiny kitchen with smoke and the familiar odor of burning. Something wasn't right. When the girls dashed into the kitchen screaming "Fire! Fire!", Ellie and the Eldest immediately demonstrated proper bomb-shelter skills by throwing themselves on the floor and covering their heads with their arms. 

At this point, we torn between cracking up and dealing with the current disaster. Somehow, we managed to alternate between both fairly evenly.

Ellie found a fan in the sewing room, and set it up to blow the air away. Prophet announced the rule that "no one opens the microwave door until daddy comes him". This gave her the chance to indulge in her favorite hobby of all, namely, the enforcement of very particular, legalistic rules. I try not to worry so much about whether this rigidity will condemn her to life as a card-carrying Republican. There are other things to think about. Like the smoke.

Meanwhile, the Eldest went on baking as if nothing had happened, while Ellie theorized about the cause of the burning. "You know, it's an urban myth that aluminum blows up microwaves," he said in his most serious voice. He had the floor. "Because, actually, all it does if you put it in the microwave is make a lot of smoke- I mean, A LOT of smoke, kind of like that", he said, pointing towards the closed microwave door. 

Could these kids be any cooler? I mean, here they are, juggling crisis-management, intricate baking recipes, baby dolls that cry no matter what you do to soothe them,  and then babysitting a mom who can't even pop microwave popcorn without setting fires. Someone give these kids a gold medal.

Needless to say, an hour later, the kitchen still reeked of smoke but we snacked ourselves silly anyway, under the shadow of a somber Sir Eustace, the delicious taste of banana-raspberry bread in our mouths. 

It was Tiffany who finally made sense of the whole event- "I like it," she said with reference to the framed Sir Eustace, adding that it made a great "sports trophy". Granted, Sir Eustace was deceased when I found him, so he was more like a roadkill trophy than a sports trophy, but roadkill trophy fails to capture the budding affection (the sentiment that led me to offer Eustace the token of a "Sir").

What Tiffany didn't know, however, was that our microwave held within it a napkin lined with metallic strips, still smoldering (eventually, charred) as a result of my kitchen shenanigans.

"Whatever," I overheard Prophet telling Little B., a sigh heavy in her voice- "I guess that's why Dad always tells Mom not to worry about doing any of that cooking." 

An afternoon with an eastern tent caterpillar.

The days of bugs and fuzzy wuzzy worms are upon us. As I sit in the garden, seeking out small weeds, staking tiny tomato sprouts, some of which might yet be tender for the wider world of Alabama dirt, the kids build houses and hotels for various insects and bugs.

Hard to say how many times I paused and looked up because a little person brought me a bug.

Eastern tent caterpillar (Malacosoma americanum)

This proud friend was discovered by M. N., who held it in her palms, the tone of her voice dropping to a whisper to describe it. It is an eastern tent caterpillar, a devourer of oak and maple leaves, a furry crawler on its way to becoming a type of snout moth.

"It is called a tent caterpillar because the larvae build a tent up in the crooks of particular trees," I try to explain. The Eldest knows all the details. He picks up where I left off.

The Eldest describes the large castle he has fashioned for a cockroach who made the mistake of showing his face in the garage. He gazes at M.N.'s caterpillar longingly.

The adult moth of the eastern tent caterpillar emerges from the caterpillar-spun cocoon about 3 weeks later. The moth is reddish-brown with two pale stripes running diagonally across each fore-wing. 

Gnome wants to know when we will see the moth. I tell her that she might meet it flapping against her bedroom window one night. Because moths are butterflies that prefer to play in the dark- butterflies that don't like the light. 

"Okay mommy," Gnome smiles, nods, chews on a leaf. Our eyes meet for a brief, beautiful moment. Her expression unfurls into something light an expansive.

"You know what, mommy?" she asks.

"I know what you tell me."

"Maybe I can meet the moth on the outside of my window......"

"Hmmmm.... maybe so, Gnome."

"Because I AM a moth, too! I am a butterfly that likes to play at night!"

"So am I," I confess to this little kindred spirit standing before me barefoot, chewing on what I can only hope is a violet leaf. And so we are.

Watching a luna moth emerge and dry its wings.

It was the Eldest who first spotted the bright green friend crouched in a corner of the castle exterior.

"A friendly dragon," we determined. 

Moving closer to establish the requisite rapport, we realized that our friendly dragon was actually a luna moth recently emerged from its pupa and testing its wings in real-time. Luna moths only live for a brief period of time, during which they must first spend a day allowing their fragile, splendid wings to dry.

Things began to happen very quickly- with the same intensity of being in labor, tiny movements leading to fantastic physical changes.

I called Prophet, Gnome, and Little B. to join us.

We watched the moth's fragile wings tremble with each gust of fragrant spring wind.

We studied the perfect symmetry of the lines on its back. Then discussed the shapes we could find in its thorax and abdomen.

Suddenly, the luna moth shuddered and curled into itself. When it curled back out again, two slender appendages with golden endings emerged and remained dangling.

Gnome opens the gate carefully so as not to disturb our moth friend.

When the luna moth tumbled down from its high spot on the wall, we watched with bated breath as it climbed up the side of the wooden fence to rest at the top of the gate. Then we relocated to watch the events from the other side of the fence. 

The Eldest admired the luna moth's "featherlike" antlers, which appeared to be made of perfect, super-sensitive combs.

"I can't believe it is so perfect.... and delicate," he concluded, as he stood, transfixed, by the tiny details witnessed up close, the ones we never bother to seek unless forced before us by a circumstance.

And so we sat, and watched- the little ones resorting to dirt and stones when the waiting felt too laborious. We made up poems and rhymes, which quickly turned to songs and riddles.

Four hours and several bowls of pineapple later, our luna moth friend felt ready to fly. I won't tell you which one of us cried when it finally heaved its amazing wings and fluttered away. The whole watching and waiting was intensely beautiful and awe-inspiring. I learned more about from this brief learning experience than I have learned from any textbook or media about the sublime life of the luna moth. Profoundly grateful for what Barbara Kingsolver calls the "small things". 

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.

The Eldest tries his hand at a pantoum.

Since the Eldest decided to play with pantoums BEFORE I had the opportunity to "teach" him about pantoums, I fooled no one except myself in creating this ex-post pantoum handout on one of poetry's most obscure forms.

For a free handout and activity- Exploring Poetic Forms: The Pantoum- just click on the image below and download in PDF format. Because you should be pantoum-ing too.

 

 

An age-inclusive art lesson on value scales for kids ranging from 3 to 10.

It was only a matter of time.

You see, I'd given the Prophet her first sketchbook- and we spent a hour working on hatching and cross-hatching yesterday. Today, the sketching menu included an introductory exploration of value scales.... but Little B. and the Gnome staged a rebellion and insisted on getting their "own" sketchbooks.

"This isn't like a coloring book, girls. If you want a sketchbook, then you have to sit and sketch for extended periods of time....

"I kn-oo-ww..." sang Little B., "I wi-i-i-lllll..."

"Me too, Mommy," affirmed the Gnome, while trying to break a colored pencil in half with her teeth.

I suppressed a sigh. "Okay, I will make some extra sketchbooks and invite you two to the sketching circle with the Eldest and the Prophet BUT....." I paused for emphasis, preparing myself for the coming sternness, "If either of you begins that abominable whining sound, you will have to leave the circle right away."

Glances and giggles passed between Gnome and Little B. I wondered if this unexpected addition would diminish my ability to help the Eldest and Prophet develop an understanding of form and value. But there was no time to keep wondering- the gauntlet had been laid down. Art for all it would be.

After drafting cursory sketchbooks, I took out our seminal text- The Interactive Art Activity Book- a gift from Grandma Vicki and invited the kids to dip into it with me.

Each page was filled with tiny folds, corners, and booklets anticipating the touch of tiny hands. As we turned through the book, the excitement built up like the urge to use a restroom after drinking a large movie theatre soda.

My excitement grew with theirs.

The time had come for our spontaneous experiment.

colored pencils
paper (preferably inside a sketchbook)
a black ink pen

We discussed that a color has different shades, or "values". I realized I would need a little riddle or trick to keep them interested in a discussion of color values. So I picked up a red pencil....

ME: How many colors are in the pencil I am holding?

GNOME: One! (giggle)

LITTLE B.: (grin and giggle) One.

PROPHET: It's red. Red is one color.

Everyone agreed that there was one color in one pencil- it seemed intuitive. 

ME: What if I told you there were six colors in this pencil?

PROPHET: (scowling) That is a lie.

GNOME and LITTLE B. (giggling and nodding)

I can always count on Prophet for the black-and-white of any matter, including color theory. So I began to draw a value scale for the red colored pencil in my sketchbook- one in which I hatched and cross-hatched six values for red. The kids loved the trick. 

ME: Now it's your turn to do a little magic....

The Eldest created three value scales, using a tissue paper to smooth the edges between the transitions.

Gnome's super value scales.

For the younger ones, I created a small value scale using revealing three values at the top of their paper. Then I drew in three boxes for three different colored pencils and asked them to color the "lightest" shade, the "medium" shade, and the "darkest" shade. We focused on applying varying degrees of pressure to get the colors.

To emphasize the value in the colors, I asked them to draw a line with soft pressure, a line with medium pressure, and a line with hard pressure to the right of each value scale BEFORE they started to reveal the values. All three little ones blew my mind in their interest and dedication to getting those value scales into their sketchbooks. Little B, who tends to color lightly and hurriedly, was especially remarkable for the time and patience she put into her value scales.

They have earned the privilege of their art classes. And I'm not ashamed to admit the honor is all mine.

"Who Remains Standing?", a poem by Andree Chedid.

WHO REMAINS STANDING?

                by Andree Chedid

First,
erase your name,
unravel your years,
destroy your surroundings,
uproot what you seem,
and who remains standing?
Then,
rewrite your name,
restore your age,
rebuild your house,
pursue your path,
and then,
endlessly,
start over, all over again.

Andree is a Lebanese poetess, a woman well-versed in the art of beginning again. Given the sour aftertaste of an unintended power struggle in lapbooking with the girls today, I found myself closing the books, turning my back on the crafts, and waiting for the howl.

Standing in the room- with the girls and the toys and the half-capped glue sticks, the floor sticky with lemonade, the windows smudged with tiny fingerprints, a sketch I'd started only to find as part of someone's surprise collage- standing still in the center of the chaos, not a word came to my lips.

There was nothing to say.

Or, rather, nothing I said would have shaved the edge from the madness. Nothing would make the cut from the remainder of the well-laid plans any cleaner.

The Prophet wanted to take "portraits". I sat on the floor by the $30 thrift-store couch and gave in.

The images showed me to myself- an immobilized "modern" woman feeling her feminism more intensely with each passing minute- a still life surrounded by motion, by moving life. 

 When I reach out to steady myself, the poems are sturdier than any oak table.

It's not what we know, but what we long to know that keeps us hungry for life. The unquenchable longing is my best friend- the piece of myself I won't relinquish for any man, woman, or child. 

On days like this today, I fold my hands. If I sit still long enough, steadied by poetry, the hubbub dims and narrows, chiseled by words folding one atop the other, thickening to the density of whetstone. I wait to be sharpened. 

The surprise of snow.

During our first economics lesson this morning- one involving an experiment of crayon scarcity- a little person looked out the window and screamed, "It's SNOWING!" Pandemonium ensued.

Suddenly, the room was taken over by jumping, leaping little people seeking gloves, mittens, hats, coats, and snow, snow, snow. Obviously, our exploration of scarcity would have to make way for our immediate exploration of snow (which does tend to be rather scarce in these parts).

There's something very, very funny about snow in the south.

Of course, little B. needed to try a taste...

The Gnome reminded me of how much she "loves snow".

The Eldest led the group in various tromps around the yard to observe where the snow was accumulating."These are the places we will find snowball-making materials in a few hours..." he declared.

Extensive concern was expressed over Pinka's ability to navigate the snow and find shelter from it within the yard. So the little people pushed the playhouse closer to Pinka within reach of her lead.

Then our neighbors from up the street dropped by to see if the Eldest wanted to play in the snow. And off he went, red-cheeked and bubbling. 

Oh, how I love watching the plans of a day fall away in the face of joy, wonder, and surprise snow play...

Roamschooling the Garden of the Gods.

roamchooling: the how and why

As you may know, we are big fans of roamschooling. Since people have asked me about how roamschooling works, I thought I'd give an example of the way it plays out for us "in the field", so to speak. Every roamschool is different in that generates a variety of learning opportunities rooted in the curiosities of a particular time, place, and ecosystem. This post is a good example of how "roamschooling" works out in day-to-day life.

1. finding a roamschool "site"

On the drive back from Colorado to Alabama, we headed through Colorado Springs en route to Texas. The time had come for a little family plant-watering, so we looked for signs indicating a wilderness area or park. I saw a sign for a park named "Garden of the Gods". It was amusing enough to warrant further investigation. After following the signs through town, we noticed a strange sight- some large, pointed red rocks rising from the ground in the hills ahead. 

"I've never seen anything like it....." exclaimed the Eldest.

We decided to make a picnic of it. 

The Prophet pretends to read the trail signs.

2. nature study observations

 "So.... why aren't there any tall trees in the Garden of the Gods?"

"Obviously, Mom," began the Eldest,"this wind is would blow them over.... Which might be why I see scrub oaks over there...."

"Scrub oaks? How can you tell?"

"Because they're short and scrubby- and they grow all curvy."

"Wow, Eldest, I think you're right! Check out the mini oak leaves!"

At this point, we make a note to update our nature journals about seeing the possible scrub oak. The Eldest reminds me to take a few photos for species identification at a later time- when we have access to a field guide. Since roamschooling almost always presents unexpected learning topics (in this case, the scrub oak), taking photos reminds us of what we can explore in depth once we leave the field. Believe me, the sense of wonder and curiosity resulting from such discoveries leads the young folks to demand a follow-up.

3. sense-based impressions and keepsakes

The amazing, powerful wind swept us along.

The Prophet enjoys a rock, while the Gnome (in the background) touches the dry, arid orange dirt. We can't help commenting on the tactile surprises- how different the Garden of the Gods engages our senses.

Everyone collects a rock, a piece of a plant, some keepsake to evoke the particular sensual impressions made by our surroundings. In the car, we'll take out our keepsakes and play with them- discussing how they are particular or special to our roamschooling location, possibly sketching them or weaving stories around them.

Though it takes us a while to find a picnic location in which our food does not blow away, we finally settle near a grove of shrub oaks.

4. investigating local information resources

Exploring the displays at the Garden of the Gods park center.

Rather than beginning with the nature center or park center or flier, our roamschools begin with the wandering and the exploration of the site. This keeps us open to new impressions and allows to absorb what stands out rather than to look for what is considered to be "officially" interesting. But the official stories are fascinating as well. 

So we end our on-site roamschools by seeking more information about the site, usually by visiting a visitor's center, talking to park rangers or people who seem eager to answer our questions, and looking for fliers or brochures to prompt further learning. The kids tend to ask questions which they formulated "in the field"- questions that prove much more interesting than those they would ask had they entered the field with a prior assumption of what to ponder or wonder.

The King offers a Tex-Mex snack. So generous for a faux artistocrat.

 5. follow-up

Follow-up is all the ways in which we discuss and explore what we learned- or what we want to learn- after the roamschool has concluded. There is always a nature journal component as well as a storytelling component (in which we tell stories about things we have seen and explore the actual history of the place). Some parts of follow-up take place in the car; other parts require us to wait until we return to home base (nature identification, historical investigations, etc.).

I'll share our home base nature study of scrub oaks soon, but I did make a worksheet exploring the geology and elevation of the Garden of the God. All four kids enjoyed visualizing and coloring it.

THE GARDEN OF THE GODS COLORING EXERCISE (PDF)

 6. keep on chooglin'

The questions and interests revealed by one roamschool often sets the scene for the next. For example, an interest in scrub oaks might lead us to a visit an nearby arborist or a Japanese botanical garden. The fun of roamschooling is not static- it unfurls into further adventures and ideas. It also prepares young folks for the fine art of loving the life they lead by encouraging observation and appreciation of differences between one place and another. As the Eldest says when inspired by Credence Clearwater Revival, "Keep on chooglin'..."

Making necklaces that spell our names in Morse code- the preface to learning to code computers.

Knowing a little code never hurt anyone. Since the Eldest is currently studying the invention of Morse code, I've been enchanted by what I've learned (yes, the home educators boon- always learning something fascinating I somehow managed to overlook as a student).

A HISTORY OF MORSE CODINGS

Morse code was developed around the same time as the electrical telegraph. In 1836, artist Samuel F. B. Morse, physicist Joseph Henry, and inventor Alfred Vail created the electrical telegraph system to send electric pulses across great distances. Since the system did not give you the capacity to speak or hear noises, the inventors came up with a code which allowed them to communicate using only the electric pulses sent by the telegraph. 

Made up of dots and dashes, Morse code evolved over time. At first, the dots and dashes were printed out by the telgraph machine and read by a trained operator. As time went by, people were trained to hear the "dits" and "dahs" by ear. The news that you had a telegraph waiting meant that someone was sending a very important and timely piece of information to you. Soldiers' wives often dreaded the telegraphs when their husbands were on the battle front.

With the invention of the telephone, most people switched their attention from the telegraph to the phone. But Morse code and the electrical telegraph continued to be used for military and diplomatic communication.

SAMUEL MORSE: ARTIST AND INVENTOR HANDOUT (free PDF)

CRAFT: MAKING MORSE CODE NECKLACES

This crafting endeavor was inspired by Classic Play, a great online resource for ideas on how to play all day. 

We used this copy of the Morse code to print out and "spell" our names.

The Eldest coded for us.

We talked about how we would use the pasta to symbolize "dashes" and the beads to symbolize "dots".

It would be a pity to go through this craft without honing our counting skills....

The Prophet counted out ten beads for each of the ladies to paint.

The Gnone looked on carefully.

The Gnome lines up her pieces into "stripes" to check for broken or bum pasta.

Now the painting of pasta dashes began.

Little B. painstakingly paints a pasta shell.

Stringing our beads took a little time.  

The thin white beads were added as "spacers" between each Morse code letter.

We strung the dashes and dots backwards so the necklaces would "read" our names correctly.

The Gnome proudly displays her Morse name.

Little B. decided to make a gift for her mommy- one which spelled her mommy's name. I hope it brings a smile to her mommy's day.

Our daily tea time ritual.

Since the King usually misses our daily tea time ritual at 10:30 am, we decided to invite him to a weekend version this past Saturday. 

The ritual begins with the boiling of water, the selection of a tea, and then allowing the tea to steep in a pot as I read a story (usually a folk tale or legend) on the living room floor. On Saturday, I decided to rock the boat by reading a picture book (just to make sure the King didn't get bored- you know how guys are such visual creatures and all that jazz).

So we read Nasreen's Secret School: A True Story From Afghanistan by Jeanette Winter. Based on a true story, the book introduces us to Nasreen who lives with her grandmother in Herat, Afghanistan. The story begins by describing how Nasreen’s world changed the day the soldiers came and took hold of the city. Nasreen’s grandmother narrates the story and tells about how “dark clouds now hang over the city” and people live in fear of the Taliban. Soon after the soldiers came to town, Nasreen’s father was taken away. Not long after her father’s abduction, Nasreen’s mother snuck away to find him, leaving Nasreen alone with her grandmother in a place where women were forbidden to go outside if unaccompanied by a man. School was now forbidden for Nasreen and she sunk into a state of despair. She no longer sang, drew or smiled, nor did she utter a single word. After a time her grandmother heard whispers about a secret school for girls that was hidden behind a green gate in her neighborhood. Nasreen attends the school and discovers her voice through friendships and books of faraway lands.

After I finished reading the story, we poured our tea and sat, Indian-style, in a circle to begin our discussion. Usually, I aim a question about the book or story at each tea circle participant. This time, even the King fielded a few questions.

I asked the Gnome why Nasreen had stopped speaking, and what turned all the vegetables, houses, and gardens in her homeland into dull gray death. The Gnome seemed unsure, so her sister dropped a hint by making loud airplane noises and bomb sounds.

The Prophet asked what kind of tea we were drinking- she noted that it was "sweet". I explained that it was jasmine tea with a little honey. When I wandered through India, jasmine tea with honey seemed to greet me at every stop along the way- it's rich fragrance is hard to mistake.

The Prophet also enjoyed it when the King asked me a question to which I fumbled the reply. 

Milla used the pictures to answer a question about how Afghanistan and Herat looked different from our hometown. She noticed the snow-capped mountains, and how the girls there "wore pretty dresses".

I think the King enjoyed tea time. It's quickly become one of the kids' favorite parts of the day. If you've never tried to make room for a daily tea time, there are many reasons and many wise people to give them....

Afternoon tea (Homeschool World) 
Poetry tea time (Capture the Rowhouse)
Tea and poetry (Tinderbox)
Tea time studies (Homeschool Share)
Tuesday artist tea (Home Plate Fun)
The virtues of tea (Ambleside Online)
Afternoon tea and manners (Bramble Farms)
Preschool afternoon tea and snack (An Everyday Story)

Road-tripping across Arkansas.

On the drive to Colorado, we crossed Arkansas and stuck to I-40 all the way. First came the spectacular border crossing of the Mississippi River in West Memphis. Then came Forrest City and Little Rock, followed by Conway (where we stopped to spend the night), Russellville, Clarksville, Ozark, and Fort Smith. The little people colored their maps as I chanted out local wildlife to keep on their radar. 

GEOGRAPHY: Using maps as guides for questions

Using highway map to answer questions about Arkansas (PDF)
Key to highway map and lesson plan (PDF)
Make mystery picture postcards lesson plan (PDF)
Rivers and water resources lesson plan (PDF)
Rivers and counties map activity (PDF)
River boundaries key (PDF)

NATURE STUDY: The ivory-billed woodpecker

As we drove through Arkansas, I remembered having read about a Arkansas scientist's controversial ivory-billed woodpecker sighting back in 2005. A documentary film about "the God bird" sighting offered us a chance to hone our critical thinking skills- not to mention learning a little more about the fabulous ivory-billed and its close cousin, the pileated woodpecker, who lives in the woods near our Alabama yard.

Max colored the pileated woodpecker as I recapped the controversy over the sighting. Critical thinking skills were duly exercised. We explored the woodpecker's natural habitat, and debated whether climate change or human development had more to do with the woodpecker's demise. The never-fail Cornell ornithology hub offered a map listing possible encounters with ivory-billed woodpeckers since the 1940's and NOVA boasted a focused and thoughtful video on the sighting controversy. 

The sad part of our ivory-billed woodpecker exploration came later- a few days later as we sat by the fireplace, watching the embers, burning scissor-scraps of remaining vacation brochures. Laying on his stomach, pencil working its way through the college-ruled lines of his journal, Max turned to me and said, "Mom, all the stuff about the woodpecker makes me sad."

"Why?" I wondered.

"Because I don't know if I want to be a scientist anymore."

Not seeing the connection, I asked him to explain.

"Well," Max began, hesitating for just a second, "That one scientist in the video could not believe in the ivory-billed sighting- and he said it was because he was a scientist. And I felt sorry for him when he said that..."

"Hmmm.... but we can't always believe things just because we prefer to believe them, Max."

"Yeah, but if being a scientist means you can't believe in fantastic things anymore, I don't want to be a scientist. I want to believe in things that make me happy- things that might even be impossible." His voice trailed off as he leaned over his paper to write again. 

I tried to tell him that many scientists believe in fantastic, impossible things- that science is the poetry of the universe and life at the cellular level, that beauty need not be sacrificed to the dull standards of evidence-gathering. But I knew he wasn't really listening- his pencil never paused long enough on the page. And I knew, somehow, that his concern deserved more than a standard reply.

In retrospect, maybe I should have told him that the tension between hopeful imagination and rationalistic materialism exists in every field and career path- that this tension is a facet of every modern life more than a fact of the scientist's life. And that it is only while teaching my children that I find myself free from it....

New Year's road-trip: Going through ten different states in ten days.

En route to our mountain vacation, we drove through a total of 10 states. Courtesy of the tourism bureaus in each state, the little folks and I walked away with bags of information about American history, geography, geology, economic development, and culture. 

OUR TEN STATES

Missississippi
Tennessee
Arkansas
Oklahoma
Kansas
Colorado
New Mexico
Texas
Louisiana
Alabama

On the way, the King and I learned a few lessons about long road trips, teachable moments, and the importance of multiple good playlists. The take-homes:

Pee outdoors when possible.
Stopping at established restrooms involves walking through gas stations full of candy and glitter intended to seduce your kids (and you) into forking over a small chunk of change in return for some junk. Also, imagine all the germs and viruses you can avoid by just peeing in the woods with the song of a sparrow to lighten your load. So pack that toilet tissue and vow to find nature-made restrooms on your road trip. By the way, snow isn't a problem. In case you haven't noticed, kids will pee anywhere. It's their adult companions that crave the water wasted by those porcelain thrones we call toilets.

Nature journals.
Whenever we stopped at a rest area or even along a scenic piece of road, Max wandered around with his nature journal and made notes. The King provided the latitude and longitude as Max canvassed a brief area for local birds, trees, plants, grasses, and insects. Then, when we got back into the car, he flipped through his field guides and tried to identify each living thing while journaling them into a context (i.e. climate, geography, etc.).

Geocache kits.
Simple as having an iphone, a compass, and a geocaching log. If you have a signature stamp, bring it along as well. There are geocaches aplenty all over these fine United States. It makes a great excuse to pee in the woods for the more inhibited family members.

Printed maps and colored pencils.
Oh the things you can do with just a few maps and pencils. Encourage the writers to list all the towns they pass through on the map and then turn them into a narrative poem. Show little ones how to draw a blue circle to indicate a lake (and then mark them as you pass) or a red square to indicate a barn or a black dot to indicate a cow. Then let them make their own map adding what they observe along the way.

Read-aloud chapter books.
Long car trips are a great time to read that awesome book to a captive audience. Who needs illustrations when the scenery keeps catching your eye? I shared A Finder's Magic by Phillipa Pearce with the crew, while Max read chapters from the original Winne the Pooh by A. A. Milne aloud to the girls.

Water bottles.
Skip the juice boxes and other sugar-laden laxatives- water is the best possible drink for the road. It saves big folks the frustration of spills, sticky luggage, and endless restroom stops. Kids tend to drink water when they are thirsty, while they will often drink juices to satisfy hunger or a craving for sugar. Keep it simple. Milk at night and water during the day.

Apples and clementines.
Bring along washed apples and seedless clementines. The little folks like to peel their own in our family. As for the apples, what could make a better all-around snack?

Scissors, glue sticks, and white drawing paper.
Using all those fantastic resources procured at each stateside rest area or travel office, cut out pictures of landmarks or places in each state and pass them (along with glue stick and paper) to the little people to make their own state-based collages. Alternately, let them tell stories by cutting their own pictures and pasting them to white paper (reimaged as a blank storyboard). Then, when you make your next stop, tell everyone that he or she has to pick up all the paper scraps around their chair and put them in the trash bag if they wish to "get off the bus", so to speak. Consider cleaning up as a ticket (a get-out-of-van-free-card). 

White cardstock and stamps.
Make your own postcards using glue sticks and travel brochure cut-outs. Let the kids write a message on their creations and then use your iphone to look up addresses. Put on a stamp and drop them off at the next post office box you see. 

Good music and playlists.
There are so many ways to tie the music to the state you are visiting. For example, some cities are mentioned in songs. Travel brochures will mention which musicians hail from their state, so add a few locals to your playlists. Use the songs as segues for discussions about history and culture. Or just find a few favorite sing-alongs. We use Spotify rather than mp3s or ITunes because we can find any song in world and enjoy it without having to "own" it. You can also find lots of stories and songs for kids. 

Poems and inspirations.
Find beautiful words to add to the mix when whimsy is conspicuously lacking. The little people may or may not show interest, but it will probably stir your soul just right. Keep your own journal of impressions and observations. Everything you see becomes part of the story you discover together. 

Why we love the The Alabama Blues Project.

 

There's Max with his harmonica, his new best music-making friend, thanks to the Alabama Blues Project Summer camp. I can't say enough about this experience.

The CS Monitor carried an article describing the Alabama Blues Project as a "change agent", and we are inclined to agree. And add our own exclamation points. Here's the background:

The Alabama Blues Project was co-founded by Bond in 1995 in Tuscaloosa, Ala. It is now a nonprofit group directed by Paula Demonbruen. This year, it began providing instruction in five Tuscaloosa after-school programs, in addition to its blues club for children and programs in other schools in Alabama.

In July Ms. Demonbruen led the annual summer Blues Camp in Tuscaloosa. Former camper Jonathan Blakney, 20, came back to help teach.

"It comes out of African music," he says of the blues. "Some of the African beats and rhythms survive."

Field hollers, spirituals, work songs, simple ballads, and shout and chants were among the 19th-century forms that evolved into the blues.

Mr. Blakney and Blues Project program director Cara Lynn Teague describe how early blues players made homemade instruments. Wires were hung on a wall to create a stringed instrument, a plow handle attached to a washtub and strung with rope became a washtub bass, and tobacco tins were used to create a harmonica-like instrument.

At the summer camp, the children learn about specific blues musicians. Lowell Jeff, 13, gives a report. "This is about Microwave Dave," he says. "His first gig was in a local church in Texas."

  

You can hear blueswoman Hattie B. clapping just behind us- she's been part of the Tuscaloosa blues community for a long time and she made no secret about how much she enjoyed this event.

Thanks to the inspiring art teachers which worked with the kids on visual representations, the walls were of the performance hall were lined with self-made album covers for each of the music artists present. 

Here's Maggie Slough's amazing self-portrait.

Max poses with his awesome album cover.

Max's band warms up for their performance.

Yes, we're going to do it again- and again... for the incredible combo of local history, music, and art.  Max is still nagging me to sign him up for the fall session, and homeschoolers who have an interest should contact Cara because I know they are currently planning to work with homeschoolers more, and our excitement makes a good incentive. The website is mere mouse-click away.

Vintage Rachel Carson never seems out-of-date.

In July of 1956, Rachel Carson published an unlikely article in Women's Home Companion, a magazine generally devoted to conventional representations of the 1950's housewife and the multifaceted potential of mayonnaise.

The article, "Help Your Child To Wonder", describes Carson's experiences with her nephew, Roger, in the natural world. It remains as poignant now as it did then. I've posted a brief excerpt below- now it's time for you to follow the link and read it for yourself.

A visit to Hewett's Honey Farm.

Thanks to Candace and Mary, we started the day with a field trip to Hewett's Honey Farm in Duncanville, Alabama.

I created an information sheet about how bees live and make honey which also includes a few interview questions to ask on your field trip. Feel free to print a copy and go find your local beekeepers during this beautiful spring weather!

HONEY FARM FIELD TRIP HANDOUT (PDF)

We were lucky enough to have Mr. Hewett for our guide into the beekeeping process. He was proud to explain that Hewett's Honey is 100% organic and direct from the hive to the table, Mr. Hewett does not pasteurize his honey to prevent from granulating as most honey will over a period of time. When honey granulates simply place the container in hot water-110-120 degrees- and it will return to it’s natural state with all the health benefits still in tact.

He also refuses to "blend" his honey to develop a certain flavor or color. Instead, the color and flavor of his honey depends on the source of nectar the bees gather to make the honey. Each season has its own shade.

 

First we observed the bee "hives"- a stack of simple wood boxes hiding the kernel of mystery within. See that stack of boxes on the table? That's the magic source of the honey we took home. Mr. Hewett warned us not to get in the path of the bees as we scooted closer- bees don't like to be bothered when their legs are carrying heavy loads of pollen to the hive.

Mr. Hewett took quite a bit of time to explain the inner workings of hive civilization to us- it was fascinating and spiked with the sounds of little ones frolicking and chasing each other around.

We learned that the yellow goldenrod is the last plant from which the bees extract their food before the winter sets in. Because pollen is scarce in the winter, the female worked bees send the male worker bees packing. Mr. Hewett said this is because the male bees "eat a lot". I laughed out loud.

Mr. Hewett told Max that beekeeping is a full-time job in this season- and this job has its own workshop and equipment. Then we ventured inside the honey-extraction hut with a little bee blazed on the front door. The first thing to greet us was a set of three large metal tanks holding sweet, sticky honey.

So many instruments and tools to use, touch, see, explore, and, of course, handle....

Hanging on the wall, the classic beekeeper suit ready and waiting for the moment.

Mr. Hewett explained how the bees use these planes to build elevated beeswax tubes. Max listenend as if rapt.

As Mr. Hewett explains, there is an interesting dynamic between the little people. D. stares down from his mommy's arms with all eyes on Milla, while Milla keeps her eyes on little Sadie across the way. 

Beeautiful honeycombs.

Mr. Hewett told us that you can measure the queen bee's health by how fills and builds the honeycombs- a half-moon pattern means she is very healthy while scattered, haphazard fillings means the queen is ready to retire.

Mary bought some beeswax, which is what the bees use to make the honeycomb cells.

Then we stepped into another honey hut with a yellow door and a blazed bumblebee- only this time, we encountered rows of bottled honey.

Mr. Hewett even had flavored honey straws. Each one of the munckins picked their own flavor- and the fought over which one was the yummiest.

Max took some time to interview Mr. Hewett at in the last honey hut while all the little people were busy slurping honey from spoons. He learned that bee stings can help with rheumatoid arthritis in some cases- and that the sting is not something a beekeeper can completely avoid.

You can always pick up your own stash of local Hewett's Honey in Tuscaloosa from Manna Grocery or the River Market. You can also order online at the Hewett Honey website. We are so grateful to Mr. Hewett for taking the time and energy to share this marvelous process with us.

French coloring pages.

Because I can't get enough of the French aesthetic today.... and because there's a free ecology-based coloring project manned by French illustrators.

From Filles Couloriers

"I limit the number of washes".
From e-coloriages (PDF download)

"I turn off the lights when the sun is out."
From e-coloriages (PDF download)

"I use washing nuts for my washing." (?)
From e-coloriages (PDF download)

"I collect rainwater to water my plants."
From e-coloriages (PDF download)

"I avoid drinking bottled water."
From e-coloriages (PDF download)

Weaving together botany and ecology.

Botany has been my favorite subject this learning season, and our study of herbs only adds to the daily marvels. However, kids seeking plants in fields contributed to some pillaging of local species, so I was grateful to discover a few "golden rules" (as well as a general primer for learning about herbs with little people) at Herbal Roots Zine. Here are the practices that we reviewed today (and will review again tomorrow):

Be a good land steward. Always pick up any debris you find on hiking trails, in the woods, etc. Teach them respect and awe for the beauty of nature and set a goal to always return a setting to its pristine state. When harvesting, don’t leave a mess of plants behind. Be discreet.

Make a positive ID every time. Always double check your plants to make sure you are 100% sure of what you are harvesting. If unsure, leave it! Don’t start tasting plants and berries if you don’t know what they are.

Leave more than you take. When harvesting plants from the wild, only take what you need or a quarter of the stand, less if it is struggling or an endangered plant. Before harvesting, make sure there are other stands of the plant in the area. Never harvest from a weak looking stand.

Do not harvest endangered species. Learn to cultivate these plants in your local wild areas to help bring them back. Grow a patch in your own yard if possible for harvesting purposes. United Plant Savers offers a list of endangered species on their website.

Harvest at the right time. Don’t harvest plants out of season. Dig roots in spring or fall, harvest leaves before the flowers bloom, harvest flowers as they open, etc. Teach your child(ren) the correct harvest times for each plant you are harvesting to avoid unnecessary waste. Plants harvested out of their peak harvest time will be less effective and possibly unusable depending on the plant.

Get permission. When harvesting on property that is not yours, make sure you have permission to harvest. Double check with state laws regarding wild crafting on public lands as well. Some conservation areas allow harvesting, others do not. Each area often has its own rules about harvesting as well.

Avoid roadside harvesting. Plants growing near roadways are often contaminated with pollution from vehicles. Make sure you’re off the beaten path for healthier harvesting.

Avoid treated lawns. Teach your child(ren) the importance of avoiding yards that are sprayed with pesticides, herbicides and other chemical sprays. Also have them be on the look out for run off from such lawns that go into wild areas. Some subdivisions have retainment ponds where the run off drains to after a rain. These areas are often teaming with lots of wild plants that are prime choices for harvesting. If they are in the path of the run off, do not harvest them.

I might add that one of the most effective ways (in our experience) to demonstrate the importance of herbs to the little folks is by incorporating an ecological element into the hands-on study of each plant. Rather than talking only about the features and characteristics of the herbs, we also discuss their natural relationships as a part of a unique local ecosystem or niche.

For example, who relies on this plant for food? What important roles does it play in the system as a whole? What threatens its existence? What invasive plants also thrive in the area? How much (or how little) is this a problem in this particular field location? How might this plant be affected by climate change or natural disaster? 

MORE FREE RESOURCES ON PLANT AND HERB CONSERVATION
Project Budburst (citizen science from the NSF)
 Invasive Plants Brochure (Center for Plant Conservation)
Downspout Bog Gardens (Native Plant Society of North America)
Gardener's Tip Sheet (Center for Plant Conservation) 
Green Medicine (NPS)
Easy-to-Grow Native Grasses 1 and 2 (North American Native Plant Society) 
Invasive Plants Recipes (National Audubon Society) 

INVASIVE PLANT FACT SHEETS
Musk Thistle Fact Sheet 
Fig Buttercup Fact Sheet 
Purple Loosestrife Fact Sheet 
Black Locust Fact Sheet  
Kudzu Fact Sheet 
Porcelainberry Fact Sheet  
Princess Tree Fact Sheet  

COLORING PAGES
Dark woods violet 
Skunk cabbage 
Showy milkweed 
Woodland beardtongue   
Purple loosestrife 
Scotch thistle 
White trillium 
Wild strawberry  
Watercress 
Wild ginger 
Florida Wildflowers Coloring Book 
Utah Native Plants To Color 

A spring picnic at Tannehill with an unexpected visit from Mr. Triangle Head.

Today took us to Tannehill. The weather veered unexpectedly towards summer, and I reminded myself that once a chigger graveyard does not mean always a chigger graveyard. Fortunately, Amy, her girls, and the young castle crew distracted me from chigger PTSD. 

The girls were hungry, but Max and his ponies were itching to hit the trail. So we spread out a blanket and ate as Max wandered up and down the creek reporting back on various twists and turns in the trail. It felt like the beginning of summer- the sweat-sticky hair glued to my nape, the crimson roses on the kids' cheeks.

I only noticed a sprinkle of violets on the trail, but there were many other spring wildflowers eager to lap up the sun.

We aren't sure about this plant yet, though I've sent it along to a someone who knows all the secrets languages of plants. When we get an ID on it, I'll probably re-post along with information and a nature notebooking page. Cause I can't help myself when it comes to mysterious flowers friends.

Amy and I agreed that this was the native azalea, and I made a note to myself to see if Eugene Allen Smith was the person who had originally identified it. Anna and Milla delighted in the lemony, sweet scent of the funnel flowers (which many confuse for honeysuckle unless they've been lucky enough to learn the truth from Carol Brooks or Richard and Nancy Cobb).

The Alabama azalea, or Rhododendron alabamense, usually begins blooming towards the end of April and continues its show until the end of May, which worries me because I would hate to miss the beauty of the blooms along Hurricane Creek. Why so early this year?

The thriving shrubs of poison ivy lured us on a trail that turned away from the creek's edge- a trail that Max believed would "not be as good". We never really got to test his assertion because, after walking for ten minutes, Amy and I lagging at the rear and Max playing trail leader, we noticed Max and Anna smiling and walking back towards us.

"Hey, there's a snake in the middle of the trail- come see!"

I decided to hang out with the kids while Amy investigated. All was silent from her end of the trail, though she spent a few minutes snapping photographs. When she strolled back up with a smile, I asked her what kind of snake was sunning. She never stopped smiling as she said, "Oh, I think it's a copperhead..." 

It was time for Mr. Triangle Head and myself to exchange large vocabulary words involving whether or not we two-legged creatures should continue down what apparently was HIS trail. Being a snake works well when it comes to social skills because you don't have to bother with all that silly human stuff. He stared at me and I stared back at him. He didn't move one bit. I think I got his message, though.

Max, of course, thought we were being "silly" to listen to a snake. He insisted that it was a nonpoisonous species, but I erred on the side of Amy's intuition. I explained to Max that the snake probably wouldn't hurt us, but he definitely wanted that trail and we were just visitors to his home. Bad visitors insist on turning every place they visit into their house. Better to read the writing in leaves and accept it like our Native American friends. Sometimes, after all, being pushy and overly-analytic is equivalent to missing the point.

(Addendum: Mr. Triangle Head was determined to be a cottonmouth by someone who knows such things.)

Fortunately, Max concurred, his attention quickly taken by the sight of a fisherman up the other trail. By the time Amy and I caught up him, he had sweet-talked his way into casting the kind fisherman's line. The fisherman told us he wasn't catching anything- "just some time off"- and Amy mused about the rangers possibly stocking the stream with trout. Clearly, there is something fishy in the Tannehill waters that allows them to host an educational program called "The Fishes of Tannehill".

As Max fished, the girls wandered over to the old grist mill and started playing around the flume, which is the long wooden trough that carries the stream water from the spillway to the water wheel. 

After giggles and grunts, Micah hopped over to us to explain all the excitement over at the flume. For Micah, an explanation usually amounts to a "showing". She said, "Look!", and quickly dropped a smattering of snail shells into our hands.

Amy recognized one of the shells as the one her husband had used in his graduate research. She also explained how the shells were different species; her eyes picked up those delicate details I am prone to overlooking (not that shells are within my repertoire).

The vast chunk of our remaining time at Tannehill was spent sitting and chatting as the kids took their ponies and fairies for dips in the creek. Of course, Max had to remove shoes and socks and ford the stream at his leisure. And then, of course, others wanted to try as well. And then, of course, I was happy that spring meant wet toes and pant cuffs, pebbles in shoes, and all that other good stuff.

Each spring brings its own particular treasures. This one brings Amy and her family for a lazy day at Tannehill. I am grateful for all of the above and how it fits together in its own special way.

The perfect day that made no promise.

It didn't have to be a perfect day.

One might even say that I began the day by jinxing it. We drove to Alabaster for an herb co-op only to discover that I had mixed up the times. Suddenly, we had three hours to kill in a town sixty miles from home. 

Though I always forget to bring along food, drinks, diapers, and all the necessaries, I never forget to bring a book just in case the right meadow should present itself.

Today, I found Ruth Sawyer's The Way of the Storyteller tucked in my backpack, using the space normally taken by the baby wipes.

Perhaps I needed Ruth more than baby wipes today. Her words reminded me of my own blind spots- the way in which I use stories to "teach" rather than tell, to train rather than liberate, to "educate" rather than elucidate the intangible shaded areas of human existence. Though her book is intended to reframe storytelling as a folk art, Ruth clears many cobwebs along the way. So I sat in the grass, reading Ruth, peeling clementines, and watching the little people turn rusted old pipes into balance beams.

"Storytelling is not for remedial purpose or for training. It is not a mechanical process to be made easy and pleasant. It is not a means of presenting limited material to the minds of children. It is an art demanding the utmost of your capacity and mine for living and understanding ; it us dependent upon our power of creation; it asks for integrity, trust, and vision."

We see different things. They see a perfect line to follow like a thread. Maybe they see something small enough to master.

I see a tunnel running underneath their little feet- a subterranean world with its own songs and arguments, a passage beneath our habitual empiricism, a possibility whose darkness symbolizes comfort rather than cruelty. 

"I think stories must be acquired by long contemplation, by bringing the imagination to work, constantly, intelligently, upon them. And finally by that power to blow the breath of life into them. And the method? That of learning incident by incident, or picture by picture. Never word by word."

"Here is a sad paradox: those musical instruments invented on the pattern of the human body, and stringed to produce the most sublime qualities of the human voice, have so far outdistanced us in resonance and beauty of tone that now we turn to them to get the quality we would like to hear in our own voices." 

The story changes every time I try to touch it with a word- maybe the light didn't hover so much as it haunted, or the shadows moving quickly across the grass left us dizzy rather than lulled. Or my viewpoint went from vertical to horizontal. Where does the story stop changing? 

Ruth might say this is a problem not for the storyteller but for the writer, who must choose one fixed version to pass along. The storyteller never stops spinning or weaving, adding new colors, removing salted ones.

The storyteller is free from the bindings of one weather- free to inhabit the "whether".

What can I say? The story continues. My words don't equal the watching. The perfect day that made no promise also left me with no settled story to tell Patrick.

Maybe when the images finish pickling and I hanker for the salt, my hunger will get the best of me and today's story will hatch, shiver, shake its feather, and wander out in the world unsettled, changing each season, that chick-turned-hen I'd rather follow than catch.

Love letter #90: Fellow female homeschooling bloggers.

Sometimes, when I reading the blogs of my fellow human beings, each telling his or her story in different words under different pretexts, I am awed by the sheer beauty, courage, and humility of many homeschooling women who have embarked on this journey without the comforts and conventions of a road-map. I know that many, like myself, probably never imagined they would educate their children at home; we grow into the stages of our lives and make treasure maps when we remember how much each moment mines.

I love Jessica (Only Small Things) for her unihibited willingness to learn from her child- to throw away each theory when it proves incorrect. She embodies all the wonders and beauties of a love for learning as it LIVED rather than merely lip-synced. She also reminds us that breast cancer is (and will be) a part of life for many of us, and courage is not an abstract quality but a very real and powerful force.

I love Heather (A Handmade Life) for her inspiring commitment to natural foods and foodways- for the way in which she continues to educate me in spite of my lazy, convenience-minded selfishness.

I love Clare (The Green Gate) for the way in which inadvertently changed the course of life in such a way that I did the impossible and (gasp) got married. Her faith and patience cannot be purchased or bottled- and it's nice to be awed by such things.

I love Kelly (Freeflowing Ways) for the way in which she reveals the beauty of the world and the wild. I never read her blog without remembering that I should be outside capturing, observing, and even laughing alongside the wonders around me.

I love Brenna (Cobbled Together) for reminding me that my dibble-dabble-tinker-and-move-on mentality is an appetite and a desire that needn't be hidden or bemoaned. Brenna is the reason I tried my first plant-dyeing experiment. And she is also the reason I give myself for the value of trying many different things without insisting on becoming an "expert" or "specialist" in just one. 

I love Lucille (Mamaroots) for everything she teaches me about the values of storytelling, and how narratives shape every moment of our lives. Stories matter- they are the way in which we make sense of joy, wonder, beauty, and sorrow. My life is a more habitable turf since I started sharing and creating daily stories with my kids.

I love Sarah (Consider A Field of Lilies) for that time she told me that she needed God to tell her WHY- that she wasn't going to settle for anything less intimate. And the look on her face when she said it. I love her for her courage, her faith, her mothering, her hope, her frustration, and her endless source of crafting exploration. I love her for her seeds which brought delicious life to our garden last year- and food for our table. Maybe I'm secretly eyeing those lotion bars with more than appreciation. I love her with a looking-forward-to kind of love...

Who knows how long each of us will continue this specific journey? Who knows if we'll be online documenting it next year? What matters is not so much any stiff-necked script for our lives but the way in which we (all these constantly-changing ladies some of whom know each other and some of whom we know only by electricity) enrich, inspire, and offer hope to one another as we continue on our separate ways.

Johnny Appleseed and apple learning.

The Apple Roll Game (PDF)

Yesterday, we read The Story of Johnny Appleseed by Aliki with its lovely illustrations. Unfortunately, I got a little uncomfortable with the mythic component of the story of John Chapman's life, especially since John's relationship with organized Christianity was anything but comfortable given the radical nature of his teachings. (Straight Dope offers a more truthful account of John's life and character for those interested in such things.)

Then we read the Legend of the Apple Star from Freeflowing Ways, an inspiring blog which combines nature narratives with Waldorfian wonder. The lasses loved watching me cut an apple to reveal the little seed star within. 

"Inside every apple sleep five seed babies in their star beds, waiting for Mother Earth to give them life."

We discussed and colored the parts of an animal, and Micah explained which parts we must remove (i.e. skin, core, seeds, leaves, and stem) to make applesauce. Finally, Max helped the girls play a number-recognition game- The Apple Roll Game- which I saw somewhere online and could not quite afford to purchase (hence the cheap, Alina-generated model above).

Usually, Max will help "teach" at least one activity or book a day to the girls- I think it helps increase his confidence and ability to communicate. My thoughts on this have been greatly inspired by Grandma Vicki and the awesome Reggio Emilia.

Sorting beads with the kids.

Today we sorted and organized the jambalaya of beads. Something simple- a way to just speak and follow the thread of conversation where it leads us. We changed our categories at least twice- and then resorted everything. There is learning and education in this as well- ineffable, "unspeakable" discovery. Perhaps the greatest part is that we didn't try to categorize what and how we learned- we left the labels for the beads and contented ourselves which just speaking.

Why I teach my children poetry.

We begin each morning together on the red carpet with a poem- from sonnet to limerick to ballade to hymn and on through any form or un-form imaginable, Robert Frost, George Herbert, Eugene Fields, Lewis Carroll, Herman Hesse, WB Yeats, Eugene Ionesco, Mother Goose, Auden, the sublime rubbing shoulders with the silly.

Literary essays, novels, articles, essays, scientific papers, and textbooks enable us to explore, ponder, and discuss many beautiful things, creatures, and ideas. This is undisputable and quite obvious. No amount of rationalistic description, however, can convey to us what it feels like to be inlove or to seek the sacred in the ache of a long day. To study these hallowed chambers of life requires the assistance of poetry and song- words arranged aiming not to provide THE account but to linger upon and live and sense various aspects of the accounting process itself. 

The child who can discuss anatomy and football yet who shudders, frustrated and mute, in the face of love- finding no words to honor this experience, no form in which to share it with others- is a sad and uneducated child indeed. For he has been taught only one part of a bigger puzzle. He will gain his instruction in lust from the magazines lining the grocery store aisles, the movies, and the homogenizing banter of friends and fellows. But this burdensome lust will lack something bigger to magnify. 

To offer poetry, a daily dose, as it were, is to provide a young heart and mind with a means of reproach against the sordid banality of groupthink, the dull-witted profanity of everyday life. It arms you with the possibility of meaning and hope; it awakens and nourishes a sense of awe for the sublime and unspeakable, for the wonder and the mystery. So feed them fairies and legends, tales of wonder and magic. And put the gift of poetry on their tiny tongues so they may learn to speak about the soul stirring beneath and throughout. 

Making a necklace of kisses.

Incentivizing Micah makes me feel like a corrupt old witch. Nevertheless, she thrives under more structure than myself, so I am doing my best to accomodate it.  While starting something is easy for her, staying on track poses a challenge. Then, she gets frustrated because nothing is finished- there is nothing from which she derives a sense of accomplishment. This means incentives matter with my Micah.

Since Micah loves necklaces and jewelry in between mud and wrestling, I decided to go with the necklace idea. So I got a long piece of plastic cording and told Micah that every time she finishes a project or activity, she can add a new charm to her necklace. Only, what charms to use?

The charming French website of Tomlitoo immediately solved my problem for me with its "collier de bisous". A collier de bisous is a "necklace of kisses". And what's more charming that loads of paper kisses around your neck?

So I printed ten pages of paper kisses and told Micah she could color a kiss add and it to her necklace whenever she finishes an activity. So far, she has 12 kisses on her necklace. You can download the collier de bisous below or you can find it on the beautiful Tomlitoo website (along with many other treasures for children).

Un collier de bisous (GIF)

Is technology narrowing our perception of life?

Lowell Monke's essay, "Charlotte's Webpage", is a must-read for any parent with kids of school-going age. Originally published in the September/October 2005 issue of Orion magazine, Monke's essay preceded the day of personal kindles and laptops for every child (though one could argue the cusp was already apparent). What Monke does is to make a compelling case for hands-on learning where the hands touch something apart from computer keys and the eyes follow something apart from a pixelated screen.

"Charlotte's Webpage: Why children shouldn't have the world at their fingertips" (PDF)

Paraphrasing him would be tawdry since he expresses himself very clearly and effectively. For example:

The teacher explained that her students were so enthusiastic about the project that they chose to go to the computer lab rather than outside for recess. While she seemed impressed by this dedication, it underscores the first troubling influence of computers. The medium is so compelling that it lures children away from the kind of activities through which they have always most effectively discovered themselves and their place in the world.

Ironically, students could best learn the lessons implicit inCharlotte’s Web —the need to negotiate relationships, the importance of all members of a community, even the rats—by engaging in the recess they missed. For recess is not just a break from intellectual demands or a chance to let off steam, but also a break from a closely supervised social and physical environment. It is when children are most free to negotiate their own relationships, at arm’s length from adult authority. Yet across the U.S., these opportunities are disappearing. By the year 2000, according to a 2001 report by University of New Orleans associate professor Judith Kieff, more than 40 percent of the elementary and middle schools in the U.S. had entirely eliminated recess. By contrast, U.S. Department of Education statistics indicate that spending on technology in schools increased by more than 300 percent from 1990 to 2000.

Structured learning certainly has its place. But if it crowds out direct, unmediated engagement with the world, it undercuts a child’s education. Children learn the fragility of flowers by touching their petals. They learn to cooperate by organizing their own games. The computer cannot simulate the physical and emotional nuances of resolving a dispute during kickball, or the creativity of inventing new rhymes to the rhythm of jumping rope. These full-bodied, often deeply heartfelt experiences educate not just the intellect but also the soul of the child. When children are free to practice on their own, they can test their inner perceptions against the world around them, develop the qualities of care, self-discipline, courage, compassion, generosity, and tolerance—and gradually figure out how to be part of both social and biological communities.

If children do not dip their toes in the waters of unsupervised social activity, they likely will never be able to swim in the sea of civic responsibility. If they have no opportunities to dig in the soil, discover the spiders, bugs, birds, and plants that populate even the smallest unpaved playgrounds, they will be less likely to explore, appreciate, and protect nature as adults.

Computers not only divert students from recess and other unstructured experiences, but also replace those authentic experiences with virtual ones.

So what's the problem?

During the decade that I spent teaching a course called Advanced Computer Technology, I repeatedly found that after engaging in Internet projects, students came back down to the Earth of their immediate surroundings with boredom and disinterest—and a desire to get back online. Having watched Discovery Channel and worked with computer simulations that severely compress both time and space, children are typically disappointed when they first approach a pond or stream: the fish aren’t jumping, the frogs aren’t croaking, the deer aren’t drinking, the otters aren’t playing, and the raccoons (not to mention bears) aren’t fishing. Their electronic experiences have led them to expect to see these things happening—all at once and with no effort on their part. The result is that the child becomes less animated and less capable of appreciating what it means to be alive, what it means to belong in the world as a biological, social being.

Monke also worries that the virtual connect engenders a place-based disconnect in young people searching for a place to belong. His points about schools (see below) are being fought by an amazing group of dedicated teachers, principals, and parents in Tuscaloosa who are adding outdoor classrooms and gardens to nearby schools. I am honored to know a few of them.

Rather than attempt to compensate for a growing disconnect from nature, schools seem more and more committed to reinforcing it, a problem that began long before the use of computers. Even relying on books too much or too early inhibits the ability of children to develop direct relationships with the subjects they are studying. But because of their power, computers drastically exacerbate this tendency, leading us to believe that vivid images, massive amounts of information, and even online conversations with experts provide an adequate substitute for conversing with the things themselves.

As the computer has amplified our youths’ ability to virtually “go anywhere, at any time,” it has eroded their sense of belonging anywhere, at any time, to anybody, or for any reason. How does a child growing up in Kansas gain a sense of belonging when her school encourages virtual learning about Afghanistan more than firsthand learning about her hometown? How does she relate to the world while spending most of her time engaging with computer-mediated text, images, and sounds that are oddly devoid of place, texture, depth, weight, odor, or taste—empty of life? Can she still cultivate the qualities of responsibility and reverence that are the foundation of belonging to real human or biological communities?

And, once again, Monke returns with a thought-provoking point about the consequences of our dance with LeapFrogs rather than pollywogs.

The child pushes a button and the computer draws an X on the screen. The child didn’t draw that X, she essentially “ordered” the computer to do it, and the computer employed an enormous amount of embedded adult skill to complete the task. Most of the time a user forgets this distinction because the machine so quickly and precisely processes commands. But the intensity of the frustration that we experience when the computer suddenly stops following orders (and our tendency to curse at, beg, or sweet talk it) confirms that the subtle difference is not lost on the psyche. This shift toward remote control is akin to taking the child out of the role of actor and turning her into the director. This is a very different way of engaging the world than hitting a ball, building a fort, setting a table, climbing a tree, sorting coins, speaking and listening to another person, acting in a play. In an important sense, the child gains control over a vast array of complex abstract activities by giving up or eroding her capacity to actually do them herself.

The computer environment attracts children exactly because it strips away the very resistance to their will that so frustrates them in their concrete existence. Yet in the real world, it is precisely an object’s resistance to unlimited manipulation that forces a child (or anyone) to acknowledge the physical limitations of the natural world, the limits of one’s power over it, and the need to respect the will of others living in it. To develop normally, a child needs to learn that she cannot force the family cat to sit on her lap, make a rosebud bloom, or hurt a friend and expect to just start over again with everything just as it was before.

As a parent, I find the issues of technology to be increasingly important divides between my children and others. Some adults have even expressed amazement that I haven't started teaching them to type! No one ever taught me to type. Typing doesn't require teaching- not in this day and age. Not seriously. Children and young adults teach themselves to type when provided with the opportunity. I figure my kids will have an entire lifetime to type, text, and tweet their hearts out. In the meantime, I hope to provide them with something akin to a beautiful, natural childhood. We learn as we go. I'd love to know your thoughts on this essay and on how technology is rewiring our brains for different relationships to other humans and the world around us.

Why we have handmade holidays.

The holiday season can be a time for giving and loving. Over the years, I've found that the amount of time spent in stores purchasing plastic toys from factories in China is inversely related to the satisfaction I derive from giving and receiving holiday gifts. There are a plethora of ethical reasons for handmade holidays as well as a bevy of traditional and historic reasons- but ours tend to be a combination of all the above and more. 

Homeschooling your kids means that every hour spent shopping is an hour in which they learn to consume, buy, and associate the holidays with spending money. It is my sincere hope that the holidays will be associated with making, creating, and giving a little piece of your heart and soul (rather than your wallet) to family and friends. Handmade holidays automatically reduces the number of gifts and increases the quality of gifts.

Just click on this image to visit our burgeoning collection of tutorials, crafts, and ideas for handmade holidays.

Learning about the constitution of "cuteness" with Max.

No, this was not a history lesson. The only constitution we explored was that of "what constitutes cute". It all started with a question inspired by Milla wearing an old man wig...

Max laughed and inquired:
"Mom, why are babies so cute?!"

Alina laughed and replied:
"Many things, Maxer. Partly the funny things they do and partly the way they look."

Max nodded:
"Yeah, babies are the definition of cute."

Alina wondered:
"Hmmmm.... I wonder what constitutes cute? You want to try and find out?"

Max shrugged:
"You mean like certain rules about what makes things cute?"

Alina smiled:
"You hit the nail on the head."

Max jumped up:
"Let's do it, Mom!" 

We started by looking through books and magazines for "cute" images and pictures. Max observed that cartoons "aren't always cute because it depends on how they are drawn". Then we did some online searches for "children's cartoon characters" and looked at the image results.

When I asked him to give me a list of more cute vs. less cute characters from books and cartoons, he came up with the following:

MORE CUTE: Caillou, Jiggly-Puff, Max and Ruby, Jo-Jo the clown, Barney, Big Bird, Winnie the Pooh, Clifford the Big Red Dog, Hello Kitty, Dora the Explorer, Babar, Curious George, Mickey Mouse, Strawberry Shortcake, My Little Pony, Chicka from The Sunshine Show

LESS CUTE: Skebo the juggler clown, Rabbit from Winnie the Pooh, Bugs Bunny, SpongeBob Squarepants, Superman, Batman, Sheriff Woody, Arthur

Then we turned to Cuteify, an online activity exploring our perception of "cuteness".  Learners adjust various factors (like pupil size or length of limbs) on a face, a cat, and a hammer. Then they alter the images for cuteness (or its opposite), and explore why we find some shapes and images cuter than others. There is also a "What's Going On" web page that talks about how we've evolved to find cuteness in some places and not others, and why it's often the case that roundness equals cuteness. 

Then Max made a list of "what constitutes cute". Here it is in his words:
"Large round wavering eyes"
"Fat body with curved form"
"Short legs with fat stature"
"Short height and round body"
"Closeness of eyes to nose" 

Roosevelt State Park in Morton, Mississippi.

On our way to Jackson, Patrick decided to rent a cabin at Roosevelt State Park so we could catch some fall colors and scents. The girls quickly adopted their new home and created beds for the babies on the back porch while Max caught up on his Native American legends and myths.

Our cabin edged up to the lake/reservoir, so we had the pleasure of feeding various winged creatures in the area.

Max led the munchkins in taking this pleasure very seriously as he rushed back and forth to the cabin in search of pita bread for the ducks and our strange friend. The woods added an extra layer of cold to the fall weather- a reminder of the cooling power of trees.

Micah kept her eye on a duck that resembled a turkey and keeps circling us. She fed him long enough to earn a special piece of karma in the kingdom of duck-like folk.

Before you could say "turkey duck", he had crawled up onto the bank to discuss local bird migration patterns and the Canada geese that kept inching in on his terrain on the other bank. (I wouldn't know this if Max had not offered to translate for me.)

After wandering around the park, we came back to the cabin for dinner and then went outside for a night-time stroll. 

Geese at a different part of the park.

Everyone was super restless from the car trip, so we extended our current study of Native Americans into the night. First we learned how to sit in the dark and let our eyes get used to the darkness. Then we learned how to walk without making a sound- a skill necessary for Native hunters in search of game in the woods.

Patrick thought stepping on his heels produced the least amount of noise, while Max insisted that treading tiptoe was faster and more effective. Technically, Max was correct, but practically, Patrick was more successful. The award for "Most Native Woods Walk", however, went to Miss Micah, who managed to walk across acorns without making a sound.

Early next morning, the kids were out by the lake again to feed their breakfast to various winged creatures. I sat with them and watched them marvel over a group of ducks that dropped by to eat bread; they invented their own songs to communicate with the ducks- songs involving quacks and "heeere ducky ducky".

Patrick pointed out to us that there must be a paper mill in the area because there was a strong smell permeating the air. I joked, "No honey, someone is frying up all their chickens- that's what it smells like to me." Little did I know....

Thoughts on coloring and confessions about standardized tests.

As the girls colored this morning, Max took a few practice tests from one of our standardized test books. I read the instructions, set the timer, and provided his two sharpened pencils with a heavy feeling in my heart. In all honesty, sometimes I worry that unschooling is "not preparing Max for the real world" (to quote a family member). What if this is true? What if Max's happy, carefree childhood leaves him at a loss in our competitive, success-oriented culture?

The test is a symbol of that tension- a symbol and a measure of how what we are doing "counts" in this real world we hear so much about. As I stood next to the table feeling rather authoritarian and explaining to Max that he couldn't make a sound or ask questions or get up during the testing time, his huge chocolate eyes smirked back at me.

"Okay Mom, I get it. I'm ready."

But what if I'm not ready to know how we measure up? This question was left hanging as Max scribbled away. I wanted to stop and remind him that he needs read the instructions and follow them exactly- not to invent his own instructions or puzzles or problems. I wanted to grab him and say, "This is NOT about creativity, Max- you're being tested on your ability to do exactly what is asked in exactly one way!"

Pacing the room in my mind, I looked up with surprise when Max announced he was finished exactly 7 minutes and 45 seconds into his 30-minute section. How could he be finished? Why was I so sure that he had skipped something or overlooked something? Where was my faith in my brilliant, thoughtful child?

As I scored his test results, Max peeped over my shoulder with excitement. He got every single question right. He followed every single direction correctly. He did not cut corners or give sloppy responses. He amazed me. And he redeemed me from all the doubt and fog in my head about the way we learn in the Coryell Castle. 

I still feel pathetic for allowing the test to mean so much in my mind. All my overachieving and schooling continues to influence the way I think about learning- and it is revealed at moments when push comes to shove, when there is something to prove. But I am learning. Always learning. I grow and learn with Max.

When I asked him how he felt about his test results, I realized again the distance between his unschooled insights and my hyper-schooled perceptions.

"Mom, that's so cool. It means I did what I was supposed to do exactly right. But I don't think it says much about being smart because lots of those questions didn't make you think at all- they just wanted you to give their answer. Oh, and thanks for teaching me stuff."

No, Max- thank you for teaching me everything and not giving up on your wild, unusual, wierd, and restless mom who has been given the honor of learning with you and who is humbled every single day by your candor, your scruples, your curiosity, your love for knowledge, and your relentless pursuit of all things new and wonderful.

More Rural Studio in Alabama to chase: The hit list.

Since I've been spilling the beans about Rural Studio lately, I prefer to open the doors of your imagination to more than just our little wanderings. To learn about Rural Studio, Fred Bernstein's article is a great place to start and the back roads of west Alabama are a great place to continute.

Mockbee liked to work in Hale County because there was no building code enforcement which allowed his students to experiment with "unconventional materials and forms" ranging from surplus Chevy Caprice windshields to bales of hay. I think about this when my hopes for Rural Studio designs in Alberta City come to mind, and I hope that Tuscaloosa's new building code does not limit new construction to the tacky chain-mall style (and parking lot hell) of Midtown Village. I've noticed that much of the rebuilding in the tornado-damaged areas includes the same dull facades which promise to turn us into a generic version of the suburbia everyone is trying to escape these days.

The public restrooms at Perry Lakes Park in Marion, Alabama.

But back to the good stuff- here's my Rural Studio hit list for our roamschooling adventures this summer and fall:

1. The Glass Chapel at Mason's Bend, the hamlet near Sawyerville which includes the church built with Caprice windshields.
2. The Butterfly House in Mason's Bend. (Around 32.728822,-87.797794)
3. The Green Dirt House in Mason's Bend. (32.728822,-87.797794)
4. Harris Hay Bale House and Smokehouse in Mason's Bend. (32.727743,-87.800685)
5. The Towering Sky public restrooms at Perry Lakes in Marion. (32.694866,-87.243649)
6. The underground public restrooms at Perry Lakes in Marion. (32.694961,-87.243762)
7. The Uncle Henry House on County Road 23. (32.564669,-87.442766)
8. Butch Anthony's cool-sided Organic Farmer's Stand house of Doo Nanny repute dangling near Newbern. (32.631243,-87.499747)
9. Music Man's house outside Greensboro on County Road 19. Check out the StoryCorps.
10. The Bodark Amphitheater and Chantilly House in Newbern. (32.597870,-87.534036)
11. The Bridge House in Greensboro.
12. Rural Heritage Center in (32.271531,-87.626481)
13. The Safe House Museum in Greensboro. A must on all levels of spirit.
14. The Carpet House in Newbern. 
15. The Newbern Baseball Club field in Newbern. (32.605046,-87.529900)
16. The Patrick House in Newbern.
17. The Fire Station in Newbern.
18. The Newbern Playground in Newbern. (32.599763,-87.533956)
19. The Subrosa Chapel/Pantheon built by Carol Mockbee, Sambo's daughter, as a tribute in Newbern. (32.597915,-87.534401)
20. The Shiles House in Hale County.
21. St. Luke's Episcopal Church in Selma a stone's throw away from Old Cahawba. (32.319434, -87.105263)
22. Amos Kennedy's residence/studio in or near Akron.
23. The Dorothy Wilson House near Greensboro. (32.717882,-87.578003)
24. Hale County Animal Shelter in Greensboro.
25. The road sign fence in Greensboro.
26. The Connor House near Greensboro. (32.705366,-87.581168)
27. The Antioch Baptist Church somewhere in between places. (32.824360,-87.450448)
28. Lion's Park in Greensboro.

For more histories, details, and personal blurbs on Rural Studio, pick an asterisk and click.

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Wandering through Alabama: The map.

View Ad-free Ventures in Alabama in a larger map

My work-in-progress... A google map of sights, sounds, and places to wander in Alabama. Coming soon- the free soundtrack for said adventures. I'll keep adding, since the map is nowhere near complete. Please share any places I am missing.

A lesson about the Philippines.

Micah holds her special woven fan, which she claimed almost immediately.
It suits her Eurasian eyes, doesn't it?

The best way to learn about other countries is to travel. The second best way is to learn from those who have lived there. We are lucky enough to visit the Philippines vicariously thanks to the Garcia family. As we flipped through the mysterious treasures in the envelope, Max read to us from the booklet which provided history and context for each item. Here's what we learned.

Max reads aloud from the accompanying booklet.

We know that the citizens of the Philippines are wise enough to have had female leaders in their history. As Americans, we are still working on developing that kind of wisdom. 

We also know that there are cool beetles and special saints honored by many Filipinos.

Max holds up the flag of the Philippines.

A popular game is called "sapa". Much like foozeball or hackey-sack, you keep a "ball" in the air with your feet. Only this "ball" is not a ball at all.

The mango balls were a hit. Everyone loved them, including Milla who cried for more.

We haven't used our banana ketchup yet. We've decided to keep it until we get a family vote on the best way to use it.

Max read this book aloud to the girls, which took quite a bit of time because Micah kept asking questions and Max kept gettting distracted by the Filipino words on the other pages. It was awesome to see the language at work and to be able to compare it alongside English words. 

Our package is going out next week, so all those families waiting to learn about Romania can learn one of the most common cultural facts about Romanians right away- people haven't mastered the art of the deadline or the rush. Please forgive us for being "tardy"- we promise we'll make up for it.

Alfie Kohn on the demerits of competition.

If you are a big fan of the old winner-loser battles, then perhaps you can at least appreciate the retro-fab of this Alfie Kohn video.

Watch The Case Against Competition on PBS. See more from The Open Mind.

See what Alfie Khan and like-minded friends have to say, quite wisely in my opinion, about other education-related topics, including:

• Why increasing teacher salaries would not make up for the way in which we disrespect teachers through testing regimens
• The case against "tougher" educational standards
• Time for testing parents
• The insanity of testing mania
• How to kill motivation and cultivate nonreaders
• Why grades are degrading
• The problem with "praise junkies"

 

My unschooling podcast with Constantino.

So the podcast that made me so nervous is up and running. And it still makes me nervous.

Here it is.

Let me know what you think. What did I miss? What do you agree with or disagree with? Also, if you'd like to host Constantino overnight in your home as he continues his walk from Alabama to California, please let him know on at the website above. He has brought so much joy to my family's life and I get nervous when I imagine that he will soon be gone.

Lost in the woods and other social adventures.

Yesterday, Max and the Get-Along-Gang (who doesn't always get along) got lost in the woods behind our house. Thankfully, Ellie was carrying the cell phone which Tiffany wisely placed in his pocket just in case this case occurred. Luke, Micah, and Max led me to their location on a side street in a different neighborhood by describing their surroundings.

When the Coryell spaceship cruised up the corner, I was greeted by much hooraying, jumping, and tears. Max used Ellie's camera to photograph "the rescue", as he called it, but I don't know how those photos turned out. There were a number of hurt feelings and disappointments- Luke was annoyed with Max for "getting them lost", Micah Naomi was scared and concerned, Ellie was frustrated that their expedition had not gone according to hopes, and Max was hurt because mean words were exchanged and he "couldn't control" what was happening.

Fortunately, the conflicts eventually untangled themselves and I couldn't help feeling a sort of elation at watching them deal with difficulties and misunderstandings- the stuff of human relations. I'm doing my best not to protect Max and Micah from hurt feelings this year. Instead, we're exploring and learning different ways to express and resolve these feelings and doing our best to honor others in the process. I hope emphasizing conflict and frustration as a source of insight (rather than a battle which someone "wins") makes something close to sense for little people, especially since we adults aren't always the best models. 

No one "wins" a fight. Another way to think about it is that everyone wins when it is resolved. So "enemies" are really partners in resolving a problem whose resolution would bring them relief and happiness.

Determined and steadfast Ellie was the last man standing on the scene- and the only person who still wanted to make his way back through the woods rather than hitch a ride in the rescue spaceship.

While the older crew got lost, a few members of the younger crew played happily with the bee and flower set.

I thought it was so cool to observe how they sorted various colors onto stalks rather than creating the diverse colorscape on the front of the block box.

Milla tried to destroy their flower meadow on a regular basis, but Jenna and Micah handled it pretty well- with sighs, folded hands, and the occasional scream.

When diversity is the model, sorting is a way to do your own thing.

After Ellie and Tiffany left for a tasty lunch at home, Luke and Max played around with the string art owl while Micah Naomi entertained the younger crop and we the mothers threw together a lunch which did not exceed the quality of a school cafeteria. 

We missed so many great photos, an inevitable part of life when eleven kids from ages 6 months to 8 years are independently playing, romping, and exploring under the "supervision" of four moms, three of which are still nursing. Next time, I'm going to beg Tiffany to bring her camera.

I'm also going to keep a tighter reign on the area in which the kids are allowed to play so we don't receive any more visits from concerned neighbors who think chickens deserve a better range than little people.

Love letter #51: Citizen science.

Citizen science is a term used for the systematic collection and analysis of data; development of technology; testing of natural phenomena; and the dissemination of these activities by researchers on a primarily avocational basis. Individual citizen science volunteers or networks of volunteers, many of whom may have no specific scientific training, perform or manage research-related tasks such as observation, measurement, or computation.The use of citizen-science networks often allows scientists to accomplish research objectives more feasibly than would otherwise be possible.

Citizen science is one approach to informal science education. To capture these multiple meanings of citizen science, some workers in the field now refer to "public participation in scientific research."Citizen science is related to long-standing programs employing volunteer monitoring for natural resource management, and is often employed as a form of education and outreach to promote public understanding of science. Technology is credited as one of the main drivers of the recent explosion of citizen science activity.

(Source: Wikipedia)

This article is a great place to start in understanding how citizen science is changing our landscape as well as our learning habits. The Great Backyard Bird Count stands as an excellent example of effective citizen science. More thrilling citizen science projects that get this lady's heart beating like a DC techno beat:

The International Boiling Point Project

eBird

The Human Genetics Project

World Water Monitoring Day

Project Feeder Watch

Nest Watch

Bird Sleuth

Global Water Sampling Project

The Global Sun Temperature Project

The Square of Life Project

The Bucket Buddies Project on March 7, 2012

The Noon Day Project

Life at Hurricane Creek, a local citizen science project through Project Noah

Sometimes it's strange what you meet on the street.

Take this gentleman whom we encountered yesterday, for example. He told us that he is traveling to Nebraska on his horse because he lost his home and all his property and he has a cousin who will give him a free RV if he can make it to Nebraska somehow.

This is Buford. He's going to Nebraska as well.

The wanderer explained:

"Well, at night, I just use this rope here to stake him in a field next to me and he eats while I sleep. His food is everywhere. The only problems I've had so far are with food for myself."

Alina asks him if he will accept a $10 bill as a "sponsoring" of his journey.

The wanderer replies:

"Of course. Thank yew."

I wish I had a copy of the song about going to desert on a horse with no name because I would include it here. Instead, I'll settle for an old favorite that says something similiar. Just click to download and enjoy.

Montaigne's thoughts on education and "unschooling".

Discussing essays with Max and how the essay came to be a literary form led us to Michel de Montaigne, the first essayist. In fact, Montaigne titled his collection of 107 written thoughts (which we now consider "essays") Essaies, which is French for "trials" or "attempts". Montaigne's Essays were published in 1580, thus giving rise to the "essay", which is a literary form in which a given topic is exposed and explored through a short, subjective treatment.

Reading a few of Montaigne's essays with Max led me to read a few more on my own last night. I was delighted to find some of his quasi-ancient views on education reaffirmed my own intuitions. Was Montaigne an early "unschooler"? I'll let you decide for yourself. Here are a few excerpts from his essay, "On the Education of Children", which is addressed to a Countess friend.

If you can overlook the use of antiquated references to "races" of children in which "race" does not connote our contemporary meaning, then you might find this passage making a firm argument for experence-based learning in a holistic context:

If, as is our custom, the teachers undertake to regulate many minds of such different capacities and forms with the same lesson and a similar measure of guidance, it is no wonder if in a whole race of children they barely find two or three who reap any proper fruit from their teaching.

Let him be asked for an account not merely of the words of his lesson, but of its sense and substance, and let him judge the profit he has made by the testimony not of his memory, but of his life. Let him be made to show what he has learned in a hundred aspects, and apply it to as many different subjects, to see if he has yet properly grasped it and made it his own, planning his progress according to the pedagogical method of Plato. It is a sign of rawness and indigestion to disgorge food just as we swallowed it. The stomach has not done its work if it has not changed the condition and form of what has been given it to cook.

Montaigne emphasizes the importance of broad exposure to ideas in the development of critical thinking and reasoning:

Let the tutor make his charge pass everything through a sieve and lodge nothing in his head on mere authority and trust: let not Aristotle's principles be principles to him any more than those of the Stoics or Epicureans. Let this variety of ideas be set before him: he will choose if he can; if not, he will remain in doubt. Only the fools are certain and assured.

He who follows another follows nothing. He finds nothing; indeed he seeks nothing. We are not under a king; let each one claim his own freedom. Let him know that he knows, at least. He must imbibe their ways of thinking, not their precepts. And let him boldly forget, if he wants, where he got them, but let him know how to make them his own.... With the pieces borrowed from others; he will transform and blend them to make a work that is all his own, to wit, his judgement. His education, work, and study aim only at forming this.

Sharply critical of the rote memorization so common to schools in the trivium method, which reigned supreme as a pedagogical prop during his life, Montaigne scoffed:

To know by heart is not to know; it is to retain what we have given our memory to keep. What we know rightly, we dispose of, without looking at the model, without turning our eyes towards our book. Sad competence, a purely bookish competence! I intend it to serve as decoration, not as foundation.

He also lauds the "apprenticeship" of life as a primary means of education.

Everything that comes to our eyes is book enough: a page's prank, a servant's blunder, a remark at table, are so many new materials. For this reason, mixing with men is wonderfully useful and visiting foreign countries... to bring back knowledge of the characters and ways of those nations, and to rub and polish our brains by contact with those of others.

Exposure to a vast array of conventions, practices, beliefs, and individuals enables a child to edit and revise his own opinions- it cultivates humility, as opposed to the need to be "right" or the desire to win (which can not be motivated by a desire for truth). In this sense, education cultivates certain virtues and worldviews broad enough to accomodate new knowledge.

Let him be made to understand that to confess the flaw he discovers in his own argument, though it still be unnoticed except by himself, is itself an act of judgement and sincerity, which are the principal qualities he seeks; that obstinacy and contention are vulgar qualities, most often seen in the meanest souls; that to change his mind and correct himself, to give up a bad position at the height of his ardor, are rare, strong, and philosophical qualities.

Montaigne's views on coercion in education were astonishingly progressive for his time:

As to the rest, this method of education ought to be carried on with a severe sweetness, quite contrary to the practice of our pedants, who, instead of tempting and alluring children to letters by apt and gentle ways, do in truth present nothing before them but rods and rules, horror and cruelty.  Away with this violence!  away with this compulsion! than which, I certainly believe nothing more dulls and degenerates a well-descended nature.  If you would have him apprehend shame and chastisement, do not harden him to them... amongst other things, the strict government of most of our colleges has evermore displeased misadventure, they might have erred less perniciously on the indulgent side.  'Tis a real house of correction of imprisoned youth.  They are made debauched by being punished before they are so.  Do but come in when they are about their lesson, and you shall hear nothing but the outcries of boys under execution, with the thundering noise of their pedagogues drunk with fury. A very pretty way this, to tempt these tender and timorous souls to love their book, with a furious countenance, and a rod in hand!  

I will definitely be forcing Max to read and recite Montaigne essays in the near future. Perhaps I'll begin with this one. (Alina cackles madly before preparing for a diaper run.)

Playing with random yard objects.

Tino interviewed me for a podcast today, and I was surprised by how nerve-wracking it was to discuss my decision to "homeschool" while doing my best to not offend others. Just like marriage or love or having children or dying your hair, I don't believe there is a hard and fast answer about homeschooling. Ultimately, it is a personal choice made by individual families about what works best for them. I don't think there is any moral high ground to be had in this decision and, if there is, I want no part of it. 

Meanwhile, as I fretted over how not to alienate those who choose to send their children to schools, and how to communicate both the feelings and facts behind our choice, the munchkins found ways to play that demonstrated the properties of various physical objects when combined to create structures. Master Structure-Maker Max arranged various obstacle courses and jumping points in the backyard to test his skills. 

This was the beginning of a crawl-under tower which toppled when Milla got stuck.

The bumblebee soon joined in Max's play as Milla admired her wings.

Max created a jumping tower for the proud bumblebee, who "can fly and jump".

"Like this! See Mommy... I'm a BEE!"

Put a cooler in a wagon. Add two green plastic chairs.  The results cannot be scripted.

Now if I were Maria Montessori, I might have the kids extend their "object lessons" with characterization, sorting, a story, and additional extensions.

But I'm not Maria Montessori. I'm Alina. For now, that seems sufficiently fantastic.

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

What is place-based education and why does it matter?

Green Teacher's seasonal magazine.

Tonight, there will be a free webinar from 6:30-7:30 (CT) on “Exploring Place-based Education – What, Why, and How” for educators and interested folks. The host, Clifford Knapp, is Professor Emeritus in the Department of Teaching and Learning at Northern Illinois University. Since his retirement, he has stayed active in the field of outdoor teaching and learning by reading, writing, traveling, and teaching in the United States and abroad.  He runs nature workshops through WonderEarth. Knapp has been in the forefront of experiential learning and place-based pedagogy throughout the world. 

This webinar will delve into some big ideas about place-based education and the importance of teaching in and about local surroundings. this emerging field and attempt to shed more light on the topic. According to the Green Teacher website, which hosts an ongoing series of related webinars: 

For the first 25 minutes, Dr. Knapp will present some important concepts and raise some questions to ponder. These will include some definitions, guiding principles, and characteristics of place-based education. Other topics will include: Living Well in Place, Place Attachment, Displacement, Ecoliteracy, Bioregionalism, Pedagogy of Place, Identity, Powerful Places, and Reading the Landscape. These big ideas will be referenced so that webinar participants can follow up with additional reading. The last 35 minutes of the program will consist of a question and answer session that will likely include mention of additional resources for teaching more about your place. Come prepared to dig deeper into your locale.

Registration is free, though you might have to move a few blocks around in your family dinner hour to attend. Webinars are a wonderful way for educators and parents to learn more about how kids absorb knowledge and ideas. Take advantage of it if you can. If your schedule doesn't permit free time this evening, then explore the Green Teacher seminar archive when the moment presents itself. 

A concert at the Coryell Castle.

The tickets sold out to the stuffed animals who took over the couch. Max arranged them carefully for the folk rock concert. The sheep acted like sheep and stuck together.

From there, things functioned in a sort of reverse mode- the band went wild while the audience behaved as if they were attending a symphony performance.

Micah played her new guitar, Sweet Baby Cougar, as Max bally-hooed and tinkled away on the triangle.

Meanwhile, Milla whooped it up on the harmonica. The girl is not afraid to go solo.

Then the time came for the mouth harp jam session. 

The animals were loving it. And they weren't the only ones....

Milla was so happy to hear her own music emerging from the harmonica.

And so the day whittled itself away, my valentine-card-making plans pushed to a corner and all the details unfurling into a tapestry of imaginative play.

Playing with concrete poetry.

Concrete poetry can be slightly intimidating until you are comfortable enough to play around with it and experiment. To introduce Max to concrete poetry, I showed him how words can be manipulated to form shapes- and how those shapes lend meaning to words, which, in turn, add new meaning to the words.

Enter Tagxedo (go to "Creator"), which allows you to make pictures from words.We played around with Tagxedo for a while this morning, observing how shapes lend impact to words and make them more powerful. A few of our creations:

For our first experiment, Max chose the "swallow" shape from the menu and then we added a link to a poem by Wendell Berry to the url space.

Then I showed him how I used this to make a portrait of Tino last night by linking to one of Tino's websites and uploading an image of him. Max liked this a lot and wanted to make his own portrait of himself.

For this one, Max created a list of his favorite words, things, foods, and objects and then selected a photo of himself to provide the lining for the portrait.

Then I made my own portrait of Patrick from our gardening lesson with Neal Hargle the other day.

Now we're off to experiment with concrete poems on paper. Poetry just rocks our world.