May Cakes Recipe!

Rhiannon mixing petals and flours.

One of our many varied May Day traditions is to bake with dandelion petals. This year we made dandelion buns and dandelion pancakes. Both of them were experimental, so I have no recipes for them. I do, however, have this recipe for Dandelion May Cakes, which is usually our maypole-dancing treat.

Dandelion May Cakes (gluten/dairy/nut/corn-free)
Emily van Lidth de Jeude

Harvest a basket of fully-opened large dandelion blossoms. Before they begin to close up (as soon as they are picked), carefully pull the petals from the blossoms, making sure to remove the bottom of the petals, where the flavour is. Discard the greens and continue collecting the petals until you have enough for your needs.

Preheat oven to 400°F. Put butter or baking paper a baking sheet, and set aside.

Combine in a bowl:

• 1 cup sweet white sorghum flour
• ½ cup tapioca flour
• 1 cup (slightly packed) dandelion petals
• 1 ½ tsp cream of tartar
• ¾ tsp baking soda
• 1 tsp xanthan gum
• ¼ tsp sea salt
• 4tbsp unrefined sugar

This work this mixture with your hands until petals are fully coated in the flours, and no more large clumps remain.

Cut into the flour mixture until it resembles course meal:

• 4tbsp non-dairy butter or cream from the top of separated coconut milk

Mix up in measuring cup or small bowl:

• ½ cup rice milk or the watery part of the coconut milk
• 1 large egg

... and then pour over the flour mixture, mixing until dough forms large curds

Mix in:

• 1/3 cup currants

On baking sheet pat dough to a circle, 3/4” thick. Cut into 8 wedges, to represent the 8 solar festivals (and by extensions, the seasons, and the turning of the year). Brush top with

• 1 egg-white

Bake until just barely browned, and done, inside.

Our May Cakes Tradition:

Using a burnt stick from the Beltane fire, the children also scratch a charcoal X (rune: gyfu) into the bottom of one of the cakes, and the person who draws this lucky cake becomes the May King/Queen for the following year, is crowned with flowers. When the newly-crowned king/queen jumps over the fire, s/he symbolizes the turning of the year, and bountiful crops.

This year things were a little different; Tal was away, and I wasn't inspired to make May Day happen. So, being the resourceful person that she is, Rhiannon created May Day when he was home again! We had wild salad as usual, at a campfire dinner, followed by a very dark little maypole dance on a 1x2 with plastic wrapping ribbons tied onto it! Fabulous! Even without the traditional cakes, the colourful ribbons, etc. the real celebration is in love shared, and of course there was plenty of that!!

May 5th: Freeing Ourselves

Today -- May 5th -- is also known as Cinco de Mayo, in North America, and Bevrijdingsdag in the Netherlands. Both are celebrations of freedom from tyranny; from oppression; from war. So I find myself thinking about these things, and the ways we perpetuate states of oppression, war and violence in ourselves and our families, and the ways we can free ourselves.

Anger/Love, Fear/Trust

How do we get trapped in violent or angry situations? Why are we angry? What are we afraid of? Questions like these - questions of love and trust and fear - we carry through our lives, and I think that as we find our personal answers to these, we find freedom.

A dear old friend (Bob Bates, for those who know him) asked me a few years ago why I was once such an angry child. I was shocked that he'd noticed! I blandly said I guess maybe I was born that way, but I've been thinking about that question, ever since. I've been fighting my instinct to yell at the people I'm afraid of; to hurt back when I feel hurt, and to shame when I feel ashamed. These are common instincts, but also things I do not wish to pass on to my children. So I hope that, as my children see me take this journey, they manage to escape some of the emotional traps I am trying to free myself from.

These are some of the things I've learned:

• I can't escape pain. Pain is a natural part of life, and a reminder of my humanity. Pain is OK. I can acknowledge the pain I experience and move on.
• Because fear causes anger, resentment, and violence, I have to let go of my fears, especially my fear of pain. 
• Violence (including physical, emotional, sexual, verbal, etc.) ALWAYS comes from a place of vulnerability and fear. Always. That is, when it's perpetrated by me, or when I'm the recipient of it. If I'm the recipient, I ask myself how I am causing a feeling of vulnerability in the other person. Instead of returning fire, I ask myself how I can empower the other person, while not disempowering myself.
• Having power is not a bad thing. When I am most empowered I feel full of love and generosity.
• If I want to stop the cycle of violence, I have to stop it in myself. When violence meets true compassion and concern, it is invalidated and usually stops. Example: protesters who, in the face of police brutality, hand out flowers or shout "I love you". I've done this in a protest. It works because it reminds the police that they are human and deserving of love. So then they're empowered to give love. Of course it's not always this simple. Sometimes the angry person is not ready to let go of the anger... then I can walk away and remember that although I can free myself from anger/fear, I cannot free others. It's a personal choice. I can only stop it in myself.
• Love comes from a place of strength. Violence/anger comes from a place of vulnerability. If I feel my vulnerability and accept it before turning it into anger, I can remember my strengths and more easily redirect my feelings to love.
  
• It's incredibly hard to look through the face of violence (somebody yelling/hitting/putting me down, etc.) and truly feel compassion and love for the other person! But it's also the only way to stop the cycle.

Parenting is how we open the book of potential

and delight in its surprises!

I'm pretty slow about finding my answers. I'm not a raging success by any means. But I learn a lot from my children, especially about peace and freedom. And these, after all, are what I've always been searching for. Watching my children grow is like multiplying my own opportunities for growth and learning. All the challenges I face in parenting them; in trying to answer their questions or fulfill our family's dreams help me to grow. I experiment with new ideas and push myself beyond my personal limits because of my children. When their own plights bring me to tears of frustration or sorrow; when their own anger pushes me towards the cliff of my own fears -- I am learning.

Wild Greens Season!

Nettle-picking at Bowen's biggest nettle area.

Of course there isn't really a "wild food season", because there are wild foods available all year round. But this is definitely the season to be out picking wild greens, and scoping out the health and whereabouts of those plants we'd like to use, later in the year.

I've been running Wild Food Walks this spring, as usual. They seem to get more popular every year. Recently we also went harvesting with my brother, Adrian... hence some photos.

There are many many wild spring greens we can eat, but I would have to say the top 10 -- those plants I take time to pick by the basketful -- are the following:

• nettles
• maple blossoms
• cattail shoots
• salmonberry shoots
• siberian miner's lettuce
• sheep sorrel
• bitter cress (mustard)
• dandelion petals
• flowering currant blossoms
• narrow-leaved plantain

Then of course there are also the wild teas available right now: douglas fir tip, pine needles, sequoia, and licorice root. Also a good time to harvest these en masse, dry them, and save them for teas throughout the year. (Burdock root, while excellent for tea/coffee, should have been harvested a month or so ago.)
 

Fresh plump maple blossoms -- chop them up and eat them as a salad with a sweet vinaigrette (or plain!)

Stinging nettles -- picked with gloved hands, nettles are wonderful dried for tea, or made into pesto, lasagna, or any other delight you can imagine with a spinach-like vegetable. We freeze as many as we can for later use.

The Unschooling Father

...in this case, the fully-employed, commuting, but committed above all to his children's welfare... unschooling father. I want to recognise him and the choices he's made; the contribution he brings to the little community that is our family. These are some of the gifts he gives:

Commuting:
A few years ago, the company Markus worked for was pulled out from under him, in one of those shocking, call-everyone-into-an-office-dissolve-the-company-and-send-them-all-home experiences. He literally arrived home an hour early with a cardboard box full of his belongings and a bewildered look on his face. "[The company] is no more." They gave him a small severance, but he was in a hurry to find new employment. So he began sending out applications... and at the top of each one he wrote something to the effect that, in order to be closer to his family, he would work a maximum of 3 days per week in the city, and telecommute the rest from home. He would leave every day at 4, to get home by dinner time. He began with "My family is my priority."

Of course, potential employers and recruiters mocked him for this, advised him to take it off the applications, etc. But he held his ground. He found local contracts to keep us afloat in the 6 weeks or so that it took to find new permanent employment, but then moved to a company that respected and supported his values... and happened to be creating software that is close to his heart (resource-mapping). I can't say he wasn't lucky, but the choice he made to prioritize his family was and still is a sign of the great integrity of this man.

Markus sets his priorities in order. He spends the necessary time at work (up to about 44h/week, plus commuting time), and no more. He gives so much of himself to work, but to come home predictably and to choose to switch it off when he's not there is how he prioritizes his children. I've often asked him to find some employment that inspires him more, but he likes the security of the job he has, and it's certainly not up to me to make those choices for him. The fact that he carries our family's financial needs on his shoulders is a great responsibility -- one that I have never borne -- and I respect very much that he's able to do it without sacrificing his relationship with us.

Leading by Example:
I think I talk about this all the time on this blog; how important it is to remember that our children learn by example; that they will emulate our strengths and our weaknesses, without ever knowing they do. Our achievements and foibles and grand disasters -- even those things we try to hide, or to undo -- become a part of our children's authentic internal workings, whether they want them to or not. So of course it's important that we live the life we can feel proud of -- authentically.

Markus often looks at his life to determine whether he's living a life he wants to pass on to his children. When he brought home his old playmobil for the kids, he picked through it to remove the guns. He tells them he used to be interested in weapons as a boy, but explains, too, what he thinks about them, now. He is open to the children's questions and to their differing opinions and interests, while still remaining true to himself.

He doesn't give them all of his time. He makes a huge effort to get what needs to be done done, but also to take time for his personal interests, and to involve the children in those things they want to be involved with. Building; boat-restoration; archery. But above all, he's a good man, full of love and acceptance; everything we would want our children to emulate.

Following by example:
As the at-home parent, I am involved with almost everything the children do. With only two non-working days per week, Markus has to make an effort to achieve even a minimal involvement. So he does! Markus takes time to attend our activities when he can -- not just performances and community events, but also sometimes the classes we take, and the groups we lead. He sometimes leaves work early and makes up the time in the evening, if it means he can watch a performance the kids are putting on. He uses holiday time for working on our home and yard. He also pays attention to our family calendar and inputs our activities into his work calendar, so that, even in the office, he knows what we're doing. This allows him to stay connected to us.

And, like most unschooling parents I know, he has become good at allowing the children's interests to inspire him. He loves to join in their research and explorations; to let their fancies and fascinations pull him along. Life is a wonderful adventure, when our eyes can be opened by others' passions!

Trusting me:
It's so simple. Markus trusts me, as his partner and the mother of our children. I am the one who guides the children, counsels them, helps them make their decisions; I am the one who handles the money Markus makes; who defines our family's diet and activities and schedule. And with very few exceptions, he trusts me to do this well. As a partner in this relationship, having his confidence gives me the confidence I need to do my best. This is not to say he doesn't participate in decisions, or stand his ground when he disagrees, but the disagreements -- especially with regard to the children and their unschooled lifestyle -- are very very few. And I think that this also gives our children a kind of confidence in their choices, and in their choice to trust people, as they see that trust is a gift to both sides of the equation.

Remembering that we are all unschooling, together:
Growth and parenting is really not just about the kids. It`s about having a family of humans who are growing, supporting, and evolving, together. We are parenting ourselves and each other. Trust and confidence are things I have struggled with all my life, and having a partner who is patient with me, and generous, who has confidence in me and who puts confidence in me, who demonstrates compassion and understanding, as he also learns it from his own children -- is one part of this intricately balanced equation that holds us together.

Unschooling and Adaptability

Or...

Why We're Not Preppers: The Apocalypse is Already Here!

Organisms adapt. The world is an organism. It's changing right now. It has already changed. And by the time you finish reading this post there will be colossal changes again, some physical, some philisophical, and many of them changes in thought-patterns that will evoke their own colossal social changes, before too long. And we're adapting all the time. That's why we're not preppers. We're not waiting and planning for some apocalypse; we're finding ways to adapt to the changes that are already happening. Some of our family's choices to live more closely with the land seem to some like survivalist prepping, but really they are permanent lifestyle choices. I'm not storing food to get my family by until life as I know it returns; I'm learning to live in a way that I feel will be sustainable in the future. Because life as I know it has already changed past the point of no return. And... I like this change!! I find the challenge compelling, and the new ideas adventurous!

Yes, I store food, but that isn't survivalist preparedness, either! I have a pantry, I freeze or otherwise store any surplus produce in the summer, and I buy in bulk and keep buckets of grains and lentils, etc. -- not because I think it's all going to disappear anytime soon, but because it's MUCH more affordable, this way, and healthier: I like to eat whole grains, knowing that much of the nutrient quality is lost when they're rolled, ground, or otherwise broken and stored in shops, so I buy them whole and roll them myself, with the exception of some of my flours, which I keep frozen. That's a health choice, not a survivalist choice. Making choices for financial and health reasons is the definition of adapting to our changing world.

Big Changes: When I was in elementary school, the school got computers. One single family I knew had both a microwave and a computer. They were amazing. Now most people I know carry at least one much more powerful device everywhere they go, are connected to the Internet at all times, and have probably more such devices at home. This change has made us all aware of ourselves and our world in a very different way than was possible, before. But it's also caused (in my opinion) a whole lot of navel-gazing, and dependence on corporations and products we don't understand. Our global social structures are changing drastically, but we are losing connection to the physical world, too. Some people tell me that we're sentient beings, naturally evolving to a more sentient existence, where physical bodies and manifestations are no longer important. Well that sounds just lovely, but we're still living in physical bodies, our thoughts are still transmitted by neurons (which, the last time I checked, are living cells), even the thoughts themselves are waves; electrical impulses which affect everything around them... and quite frankly it's just much more rewarding to acknowledge this and live as part of our ecosystem instead of despite it.

What We're Doing to Adapt: 

Wild Food: I seek out, encourage, harvest and consume wild food. I also take people on wild food tours, introducing them to delicious things and vile things, poisonous plants and medicinals, ferns, vascular plants and trees and blossoms and fruits and roots... things that we can put in our mouths and taste, and others just to know about! Some of the things I show them are definitely starvation foods. But we are privileged suburbanites, pretending for a while that we could get by if we had to, while in fact none of these foods would sustain us. I bitterly suggest that if the shit really hit the fan, apocalyptically-speaking, we might kill each other over the need to fill our bellies with nutrition-poor foods, because that is what our bodies have now evolved to require. These wild foods - these handfuls of nutrient-rich greens and browns and yellows - are too much for our bodies to handle... and too little. But in getting to know the foods that surround us; in tasting the plants we might otherwise jog past, trample on, or mistake for "another prickly shrub", we integrate ourselves with our own ecosystem. We acknowledge the importance of our footsteps, and of the things we consume. We learn to appreciate and respect the soul of the earth that feeds us. And this connection is invaluable because it enriches and connects every other aspect of our lives.


Energy Efficiencies: We'd love to go off-grid, but can't afford it at this time, so we're skimping as much as possible on energy. We heat with wood. I haven't used my dryer in a year, now. It will benefit us financially, but also I'm not pouring cash into a corporation I don't align with, morally, and most importantly, I'm learning to value my resources. People think we're "living green", but in fact I think by urban/suburban standards, we're a green failure. Our carbon footprint, if you take into account our ancient Pathfinder vehicle, our wood heating, our barely-insulated home, the fact that my husband commutes to work, etc. etc. etc. is not compensated for by our garden, LED lightbulbs, and buying in bulk. Still... we keep on trying, and I do long for the day when energy-efficient living is not just a reality for the most financially-endowed.

Unschooling: Ah! Here it is! The reason this post belongs on this blog. Unschooling truly IS the big deal around here. Politically, it's a statement that WE CAN. We are raising happy, healthy, sociable and educated individuals, without the trappings (and yes I mean TRAPpings) of our government's chosen life-plan-system. The world is changing! And where education is concerned, it's headed back out of the doldrums! There was a time when putting children into big institutions was a new thing; when men looked at communist theories of working-class-creation and brought them into reality for North Americans. But that time is ending, now. People are waking up, and oh my goodness are we happy to be among the early ones! Unschooling is like wild food: you have to be partly into it for the adventure, because forging a new path is never without its challenges. But the rewards are enormous.

Unschooling is a redefinition of learning. It's life-learning. Learning about life, and learning throughout life. It's the open door to adaptability. We don't need an impending apocalypse to recognise the need to adapt. Evolution is all about adaptability, and humans have been evolving crazy-fast, lately. Unschooling gives us the tools and flexibility to move with the big changes, and adapt.

Project Shellback

Our unschooling friends are currently exploring the Pacific Ocean in their sailboat... and are just about to make their first big crossing. Sometime during the next 24-48 hours they'll leave the port at Cabo, and sail across to the Marquesas Islands! This is terrifying for us, as non-cruising friends who worry about them, but also totally thrilling, of course!

And on the way, they'll cross the equator, becoming "Shellbacks", as they do, according to maritime tradition.

In an effort to promote awareness of the oceans' importance and plight, they are offering to take people with them - virtually, and name these people "Honorary Shellbacks". All you have to do to join up is send them your name using the form on their website (very easy: type name, click send, and watch it appear on the list), and they will hand-print your name onto a tiny piece of biodegradable cotton and take it with them. As they cross the equator, they'll send all of these names into the wind and waves, and your name and intention will be forever tied to the ocean. You'll become an honorary Shellback.

Perhaps most importantly, our friends will be blogging their entire experience as they go, with reports of whatever they do, learn, and discover, along the way. They won't have capability of uploading photos until they make it into port in the Marquesas islands, but when they do they'll embellish their past updates with the photos they took, along the way.

Join them on their journey!
I present: Project Shellback

Easter Morning

The Easter Rabbit still visits our house. The wonderful people at Cocoa West (who sell soy-free chocolate) tell us that they supply the Easter Rabbit with his wonderful eggs every year. We approve!!

And to add to our celebrations of the springtime, we have beautiful sprouting oats, too!!

Unschooling Music

So, over a year ago, I arranged for Tal to take cello lessons with Corbin. It had nothing to do with cello, although I do love the cello. Tal had never tried one, and had no desire to. It was about Corbin's personality, and how I knew that Tal just needed somebody he could really connect with.

Corbin happens to be "The Wild Cellist" (and also teaches guitar), but if he were a flute-player, Tal would be learning flute, now. If castanets, castanets. You get the picture. Tal did not, and refused. "No cello." So I ambushed him with the idea. I brought him to a house where I was mural-painting, when I knew Corbin would be there, painting the ceilings. And voila! Corbin met us at the door. The conversation went something like this:

"So Tal - this is Corbin. You remember Corbin, right? What do you think about trying out some cello, now?"

"...uh..."

Corbin expertly interjects: "So you like to play violin, hey?"

"...uh. Yes."

"How do you like to play it?"

(Tal mimics holding his tiny violin like a cello.) "Or upside down."

"Oh yeah! Have you ever tried playing it with your hair? Like your own hair?"

Tal's eyes just about popped out of his head. It was like Corbin was reading his mind, and he looked away, then back, as if checking to see if Corbin was still there. Then he took on a very cool posture: "Yes?"

"Well you know, if you rosin your hair - you know, like you rosin the bow - then it'll work way better."

Tal filled with joy. And within seconds they were comparing mouth-percussion sounds and other remarkable things. Tal went to Corbin's studio to try out his cello, Corbin bought a 3/4-size cello for us to rent for Tal, and for a year now, Tal has been playing cello. Not because he particularly loves cello, but because he loves Corbin.



And he never practices. Well, never without coercion, and I admit to falling down the coercion hole once in a while, probably to the detriment of his future. He is not a virtuoso, and has repeated loudly that he will never play in public, nor will he sing with his playing. He just goes to spend time with Corbin, making up songs (which Corbin inputs to his midi program on the computer), learning to follow sheet-music together, picking out tunes Tal enjoys (but will not practice), and experimenting with awesomely odd cello-playing techniques.

So after about a year, his sister decided to play guitar, and joined Tal, for back-to-back lessons, once a week. She's much more goal-oriented, but Corbin has inspired her enough that after only a few months of lessons, she now sits around experimenting on her uncle's lovely Larrivée Parlour guitar. She's become a huge fan of Melanie Martinez (who recently rose to stardom on the reality TV show, the Voice), and tries to learn the songs she's heard Melanie sing. Corbin, knowing nothing about Melanie, sees the glowing cheeks on Rhiannon and follows along, nurturing her passion for emulating a pop star as he does Tal's passion for never doing anything the same way twice.

Now back to that practicing. I've tried all sorts of convincing arguments: "Imagine how awesome it would be to walk into Corbin's studio and say 'hey listen to what I can play!'" "Wouldn't it be nice if you could just pick up your cello/guitar and play that song without even thinking about it?" Etc. No luck. And when they do practice, because they feel obliged "Come on - I pay for these lessons! Can you please try to get as much out of it as you can?!" (I hang my head in shame...), then they run into each other for time, and someone invariably gets off the hook because the other is busy playing.

Then it hit me: Communal music!! They were both sitting around singing Hit the Road, Jack, beautifully on key and full of joy (yet another song they learned from Melanie Martinez), when I said "hey - see if you can play that together on your guitar and cello". For some reason, neither objected. They just got out their instruments and within a couple of minutes were picking their way through it! Amazing! Who knew!? In fact they've now done this two days in a row. I don't care that it isn't one of the songs Corbin has been working on with them; they got the spark and the confidence to do this from their time with him, and for that I am extremely grateful!!



I love how even when I forget, let the coercion and my own childhood experiences undercut the unschooling we try to achieve, unschooling itself is there to catch the tumbling falls. Oh isn't life beautiful!!

More Birthday Sweetness

Oh my growing-up boy. He's eleven, now.

But he's only eleven.

His mind is still open (and may it stay that way!).

 

His dreams are still guiding him. And so is his blossoming heart.

First one side...

...then the other...

...leaving one for his love. ;-)

Bonus photo, because I like it so: One lovely Pappa presenting a cake.

eleven

Today a being who once curled tiny and wriggling in my womb celebrates his eleventh birthday.

It was a wild ride, that weekend 11 years ago, and the universe is playing it back for us this weekend, to remember, so we are reading his birth-story, in parts, over the course of the weekend, and I am prone to repeating some bits:

Friday
4am: My first contraction, and a light snow falling
11am: crocuses opening in the spring sunshine, robins and woodpeckers returned; our water broke
And a long long day of labour, held close by my husband, mother, and brother, as my Pappa drove through a snowstorm to join us, in the night. I should have been pushing for hours, already, but he wasn't dropping down, and I was singing my fears and pains and exhaustion away.

All babies are born, saying God's name
Over and over all born, singing God's name
All babies are flown from the Universe
From there they're lifted by the hands of angels
God gives them the stars to use as ladders
She hears their calls
She is mother and father

All babies are born out of great pain
Over and over all born, into great pain
All babies are crying
For no one remembers God's name
There's only love; there's only love; 
there's only love in this world!

                                         ~Sinead O'Connor

Saturday:
1?am: his heart stopping, we made the decision to have an emergency c-section, and my own Pappa arrived.
1:44am: he was pulled from my open womb, the cord untangled from his strong neck, "It's a boy!", his little bum quickly held over my blue screen for proof, and (after an agonizing time of waiting, while they assessed him) placed in my arms.

That day the rest of my family came to visit, including little Hannah, her face smeared with her own 5-year birthday cake. Yes, the first two cousins in the family, and they had the same birthday!

It was a late waning moon, and a long exhausting haul over those few days in the hospital, me waiting for permission to sit up, and eventually to walk; Markus tending to our every need through 40 hours with 0 sleep, until he was wavering like a swordfern in the breeze and I was afraid he'd fall over with the baby. My Mum came to relieve him, and spent the night looking after us; loving us, reassuring me that a c-section is not a failure, and helping us all move into the present beautiful moment. And after a night on Bowen Markus returned, and spent the last of the hospital nights with me, there. That was the night the nurse stole my baby.

She wanted to give him formula, and I had refused. So had my midwife. She and the midwife had argued about it in the hallway, that afternoon. So she came back at 3am when I was crying, trying to feed him pumped milk from a cup (?!) as instructed, and told me I was too tired to be a good mother. She dumped formula down his screaming little throat, put him in a little plastic bassinet and wheeled him away. "I'll keep him for 4 hours, and if he wakes up I'll feed him more formula."

In all my life, before or since, I have never felt so angry, so terrified, and so desperate. I think I was on the verge of nervous breakdown, and I stood there in that suddenly-empty hospital room, sobbing uncontrollably: "My baby! She stole my baby! She can't take him! He doesn't even have a name!!!" Until, within a minute or two of failing to calm me, Markus left to go find our baby.

10 minutes later, Markus returned with our son, and collapsed ontop of me, sobbing, himself. I said how could I even scream for him if he didn't have a name? And Markus caught his breath up: "Taliesin". And so he was. Markus told me that by the time he got out there, they had already given him more formula, and wouldn't let him take the baby back. So he said he would just sit there with his son and protect him, until they let him take him away. And he did. And eventually the nurse got tired and let them go.

Tuesday:
We took our little Taliesin home, to a warm and cozy house, dinner cooking for us in the oven, and welcomed him to his grandparents, his dog, his cats, and his own, safe home, where no nasty nurses come in the night to take us away! It was a dark moon, and a quiet night, and our little family was born.

Things are different, now.

Tal is getting long and lanky. His shoulders are broadening. He has his first serious crush (yes he says it's OK for me to type this, as long as I don't tell who it is). He wants to go to university to study theoretical physics, and to "do research". He has greasy hair. But he's still my baby, too.

elven eleven

On Friday we replayed parts of my labour story: "Oh Tal! Curl your big self up tiny!" And I packed him into a ball on my lap and told him again about my labour. I sang the songs I sang while he was being squeezed, all those years ago. He loved it. Then we tidied the house and went to see the Tempest at our own local (temporary) Globe Theatre...

And today my growing boy woke up, got dressed, and picked up a hairbrush. I think he decided that 11 might be a good age to start some personal grooming. He's very serious about these things. Both the lack of necessity and the necessity, when the mood strikes him! He had a bowl of muesli and a smoothie made with the end of last year's frozen strawberries and apples. Food from our own garden never fails to delight us!! He called his uncle Keith and his cousin Hannah, who both share his birthday, and had (with his cousin) what I think must be a typically awkward 11-year-old boy conversation: "Uh. So happy birthday. Yeah. Thanks. Um. What did you do today? Oh. Um. Um. Oh I had breakfast, and, um. Went to the beach with friends. Yeah. So what are you going to do later? Oh. Oh. Yeah." My now-16-year-old niece was patient and gracious, and it was lovely they could share a few moments, together. Tal is now out watching his friends perform their musical, and then he'll come home to a little surprise birthday cake.

Rhiannon watering her beloved bulbs.

But lets not forget our 8-year-old daughter. It may not be her birthday, but she revels in birthdays like nobody else I know. She loves every opportunity to make people happy, but especially Tal. At two weeks old she caught his gaze and gave him her first toothless grin. She thinks about him all the time, and she has been planning his birthday gift for weeks. I can't tell you what it is, yet, because it's experiential, and some is yet to come. But she woke delighted, today. At 6:30 she had already gone out to pick flowers for his place at the table, which, of course, she had set, already, too. She had draped pillows and fancy blankets around his chair to comfort him like royalty. She had wrapped up the Kids magazine she'd just received in the mail and placed it on his plate. And she came to ask us whether we intended to get up yet.

And I will leave the last words to her:

To This Day -- Shane Koyczan

On Being Different

Math with rats at the Phantom Rickshaw.

This post is inspired by the recent experience of a girl I don't know - a six-year-old homeschooler who was called out for not being in school during school hours, and told, right in front of her father, that that was not right, and she should have someone other than her parents teaching her. The girl was distraught.

Shall I list off the ignorant, often prejudiced comments my kids have been subjected to during our 6 years of unschooling? Why yes, I think I shall, because it's a relief to share, and maybe some of you can relate. Here are the major ones, off the top of my head:

• Don't you get sick of always being with your Mum?
• You don't have any friends.
• You must be stupid since you don't learn anything.
• You must be really a genius, because you're learning about that, and I'm not. (Followed by "I don't know anything you know, so don't tell me about it", and stomping off.)
• Do you homeschool because you have a learning disability?
• You homeschool? I didn't know you were a Christian! (We're not religious at all, for the record.)
• How will you ever get a job?
• You know people will bully you if you tell them you're unschooled.
• Isn't homeschooling illegal?
• Can you read?
• Etc.

Of course, this doesn't include the multitude more comments I've received, personally, or which my children probably didn't tell me about, or which I can't remember. They also have been criticized for the clothing they wear, for not believing in God, for our family's painted car, my son for his long hair, for wearing gumboots in the city, for wanting to understand too much about science demonstrations, and even for having allergies (by people who actually told them that allergies don't exist, and fed them food they're allergic to, so that I could deal with the subsequent days of reactions). And on one memorable occasion, as the kids and I were seated in the local bank filling out their forms, together, on the day they got their first savings accounts, we were pulled from our activity by our local police officer. He glared at the three of us, cleared his throat loudly so that we all looked up from our forms, and snapped so that everyone in the bank could hear: "Shouldn't you be in school?"

"No." I said, glancing at the clock behind him. "Because my children are unschooled, and because, even if they did go to school, school was out at least 20 minutes ago." My kids grinned at me, the cop apologized, and left with pink cheeks. I later told my kids that if I'd really had my wits about me, I would have reminded him that we do not yet live in a police state, and that even if they did attend school and even if school had been in session, it is my right to pull my kids out without his permission.

We went home with a little righteous pleasure, and also a little flustered and grumpy. I shared the story with many people, because I think I needed to feel validated. Am I doing the right thing?

This is why criticism hurts - because it digs at our convictions and makes us question them.We all want to feel the arms of our social support system around us, but I think that, although we know these experiences hurt, they also help us grow stronger. We need to question our convictions! We need to re-ask the questions we think we've already answered. Maybe one day it will be right for our kids to go to school, or to try the foods they've avoided for years, or to cut their hair and get a regular job. But meanwhile, one of the greatest lessons my kids are getting from being unschooled is that of diversity. They tread the waters between their schooled, homeschooled, half-schooled, and unschooled friends, of many different ages, interests, and backgrounds, and my kids have the benefit of learning earlier than many others that there is nothing unusual or threatening about this natural diversity. I love that!

I also love that in every ignorant question is an opportunity to teach somebody. In journeying down this little-traveled path, we have the privilege of being able to report back from the front; of forging the way for others, and of pulling down some of the hurdles before they get to them. We make mistakes and tell about them, so that others can feel reassured, and maybe both we and they can avoid some of the same pitfalls, later on. That feels really good.

When I was a little girl my teacher told my mother that I was "different". That was a death-knell for my self-esteem at the time, but I credit it for my courage, now. It also provided a bit of a cushion between my ego and the incessant threats and teasing I endured. I was put in the Special Needs Enrichment Program (later called the Challenge Program), which as far as I knew meant I just had a big learning problem. People told me I was smart, but all my report cards said I was not working up to my potential. When I was a teenager I actually asked my mother if I was, as we called it then, "mentally retarded". She couldn't understand why on earth I thought that. I have come out of my childhood with a slow-growing understanding that first of all, I am not stupid (this still amazes me), and that I am not even particularly "different". I found my many tribes, and a few close and treasured friends, and that too feels really good. I'm glad to pass this gift of experience on to my children, who are, themselves, different, both from every body else, from each other and from me.

So bring on the odd questions, assumptions and prejudices, World! We don't mind answering, and we'll try to do it with compassion, because sharing is wonderful.

And of course it sometimes hurts. But luckily it turns out that my kids are not sick of me, and my arms are waiting when the pain of ignorant criticism gets them down.

We sowed oats.

Hah.

 

 Hah hah haaaa!

Ho ho.

 Hehehehee!

 

Ha ha ha ha ha!!!!

 

We sowed oats. 

 

Snow Day!

This weekend we took Auntie Julia, Uncle Keith, and the kids' 3 year old cousin, Evan, up the mountain for some early spring snow fun. And yes - it was fun!! There is nothing quite like winter sport for creating that lovely complete rosy-cheeked exhaustion!

 

 

I took this photo in the low sunlight on the way home from the mountain, today. These hang from the mirror in our car: a dragonfly from my mother and the sun and moon from my brother. They remind me every day to treasure the things I love. And I am blessed with the people and the life I have. I treasure them every single day!

Future Librarian in Practice

These days, Rhiannon would like to be a children's librarian when she grows up. One morning a couple of weeks ago I woke up to this: she was carefully going through her collection, finding duplicate books and determining which, if any, could be given away as gifts or just handed down to those less literarily wealthy.

Recent (F)unschool Adventures

The red-legged frog we found - photo by Michelle Carchrae.

Last week we explored the section of Killarney Creek just east of Magee Rd. and in the same general area where we previously found fighting barred owls and Signal Crayfish parts, we found even more excitement: a very gruesome dead deer, many broken freshwater mussel shells (also the remains of an otter feast, we expect), a deposit of lovely clay, some recent beaver handiwork, tiny sitka spruce saplings (one felled by a beaver), a bald eagle, and a Red Legged frog which I believe was getting ready to lay eggs. Some also smelled a musty smell that we think may have been the beavers, likely hiding out nearby. Of course we didn't see them...

The leg bone's connected to the hip bone!

 So today we went back again! Along the south side of the creek, we found more mussel shells, a spectacular upended tree, whose roots were encrusted with clay so that it looked like a cliff face from one side, a scattered old deer skeleton, whose bones could be pieced together again, some interesting fungi, cedar shells, and moss, and yet more evidence of beaver activity (and that musty smell, again!)

In addition to our continuing weekly outings, (F)unschool will be convening for a 3-day "camp" during March break, entitled Beach, Bog, and Bluffs. Maybe you can guess where we'll be going...

Sitting on the upended tree roots.

This was a very exciting fireworks show, with "fireworks" made of tiny broken twigs, which the audience is welcome to catch!

Fairy garments.

(This is cross-posted from the Bowen Nature Club blog.)

Imbolc

Every year we celebrate Imbolc, in honour of the early spring, by cleaning out and airing out our house. My mother calls it "Annual Freeze-the-House Day", and the name is rather catching, don't you think?

Then when the whole house is refreshed and tidied and scrubbed, and well and thoroughly freezing, and the woodstove even is cleaned and cold... we light it up and eat a hot dinner with lots of milk products to symbolize the new milk of the soon-to-be-birthing ewes. Soon we'll make our now annual visits to our friends' farm and sit with the labouring ewes in hopes of one day catching a lambing. We've never managed to witness one yet, but we keep on trying, and the chilly happy times with good friends spent hanging around in the hay in the barn are among our happiest memories!

So this year we had poached pears on walnut-breaded baked mini brie, with a tiny slice of blue cheese in-between. It was rich. I love rich food! I made it up. And I must say I was happy with it!!

In the background of this photo you can see my blurry brother Adrian and husband Markus, wrapped up in their winter coats, waiting for the fire to heat us enough, and preparing the kids' exciting grand finale: Star Trek movie!!