Earth Day Every Day: 2

Earth Day Every Day is a bi-monthly series of essays I write for the Bowen Bulletin, re-published here for fun!

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A couple of sixteen-year-old sweethearts out for a late-evening walk around the lake. They had all the summer ahead of them, and no time to keep. They stopped for a long kiss on the boardwalk. Maybe it was a very long kiss, because somehow night fell, just then, and as they carried on along the trail, the forest closed around them and they were enveloped in darkness. He reached for her hand and she felt responsible – after all, this island was her home, and she should know the way back even with her eyes closed. Which they may as well have been, for all that she could see. She slowed the pace. She felt her boyfriend's arm on one side, the springy root trail beneath her, and to her left, a small log.

Oh! Wait! The trail builders had recently put these logs here, and she was sure they were all on the uphill side of the trail! She must have led him to the wrong side of the log! Thankful for the night concealing her blush of embarrassment, she said, “Just step over this little log, here...” and she did – into mid-air. Well, the mid-air part was a fraction of a second long, before she crumpled down past roots and stones and salal, came to rest on the ground and clambered quickly to stand again – this time aware of his knee in front of her face, as he stood there on the path, confused.

“Um. Actually not that way.” He helped her back up, never laughing at her, and thankfully never noticing the scrapes on her legs that she felt swelling up as they walked, this time much more slowly, along the trail. She closed her eyes. Given the fresh opportunity to be lost in her own environment, she used her free hand to navigate, feeling about at the warm summer air, the leaves, branches, and trunks as they went by. She discovered that she recognized some of the trees. She discovered that she knew by the change in slope that they were closer to the road, and by the smell of water that they were nearing the gravel spit. She became attuned to her senses in a way to which she wasn't accustomed, and delighted in the sound of her boyfriend's feet on the ground, the feeling of the breeze passing between their arms, and the glimpses of light as they neared the open alder forest. She loved the smell of the forest floor.

That was me, twenty-three years ago. I remember this often, and now try to make a habit of falling – at least metaphorically – off the beaten path. After all, falling lacks purpose, so the places I find myself are so much more surprising.

Last week, walking on the south side of the island, I picked my way carefully between thigh-deep snarls of blackberries toward the parched and crumbling moss deserts of the dry hillside. Even the blackberries were drying up, their vines like desperate brittle arms, reaching out to grab my clothing. I was so focused on the area immediately around my ankles, that I came unexpectedly upon a stand of cattails – a little marsh tucked into the rocks. What? I looked around: Pines, Douglas Fir, yellowing grass, moss and bracken, some cedars approaching death as their roots sought water in the dusty ground; insects resting on the brown-stemmed flowers. And the little stand of cattail. Their roots found some hidden source of water in the fold of the bedrock.

I looked up and discovered I was so far off the trail as to have to follow my senses back through the blazing white sun. So I stood and listened. Crowned sparrows called from various perches and the wind whipped the foxgloves so that they flopped against each other now and then. The grass whispered and my feet crunched the dried plants on my way home. I felt the stinging heat of the sun. Each of these experiences was a gift, like falling off a trail on a dark night. It is a gift just to give ourselves opportunities to discover.

Grown-up Play

Recently my sister Bree delightedly shared that she'd been at the beach building forts with our brother in law. Most of us realize, I think, how essential play is for children's physical, cognitive and social development, but what about for adults? Do we assume that once we reach a certain shoe size we stop developing? I certainly haven't. I feel like I grow every time I have a conversation; every time I cook or paint; every time I have to sit waiting in a line up and have a moment to tread in my own thoughts, and quietly observe the things around me.

Play is a time for processing prior information and experience, and it's also a chance for putting that cognitive processing into action. It's a time to experiment! We adults need that as much as our children do.

My brother is one of the most playful people I know. There's nothing contrived about it for him. It's just is who he is: always exploring; always growing.

So how can we encourage play in our lives? I am not naturally a very playful person, and am also very self-critical, especially when what I'm doing doesn't seem productive, in the classical western sense. So I need to remind myself that playing is acceptable. I also need to make space in my life and mind for play to happen. These are some of the things that help me:

Allowing: This is the most challenging, for me. Despite many years of practising this with children, and even in groups of adults, I find it incredibly difficult to just allow the ship of my intentions or expectations to go adrift, on my own activities. But when I do manage to let go, the world welcomes me with enthusiasm. Many of the best adventures I've had were those that happened when I stopped the car at a random spot and went exploring. My lack of knowledge or expectation about the place I was in allowed me to see with fresh eyes, to wander to new discoveries, to run with abandon into the water or the mud or the wind, and to look back on the adventure with delight.

Taking time: While it's absolutely possible to play on the go, to take small opportunities for delight, discovery, and exploration throughout a busy "work" day, I really treasure the experiences I've had that were unbounded by time. A whole day or a weekend is fabulous. But even just an afternoon is wonderful, too. The best way to find time on a budget, for me, is to pack up a simple dinner in the afternoon, and just go. So I'm only carrying one meal, and there are absolutely no obligations hanging over my head until the next day. I can go home and sleep whenever I want, so my time exploring is limited only by my own energy level. A group of friends and I used to go out to the pub after our adult ballet class and have a tequila. We called ourselves the tequilerinas. More often recently I seem to find myself at the beach with the family, usually some friends, and truly meagre dinner and fire supplies - and endless time. Sometimes I swim, talk, draw or sculpt in the sand or pebbles. Sometimes I find myself lying still on the darkening beach, taking time to absorb and contemplate the sounds and smells and feelings that surround me. And I don't deal with the wet towels until the next morning.

Redefining: The language we use really does make a difference to our ability to incorporate play in our lives. If we call something "work", we are less likely to relax into it; maybe less likely to enjoy it. Then again, if we call something "play", we may be less likely to value it. So for me there is a necessary balance of finding play in work - in allowing work to be fun, and in valuing play, everywhere I can find it. My friend Dave Pollard suggests calling intentional adult gatherings "Playshops" instead of "Workshops". I like it! I think I may try that terminology out this summer! After all, even when the gathering is intended to solve real world problems or develop very structured plans, the act of playing together helps us explore and find creative solutions, as well as helping us to relate to each other and the topic at hand.

Being intentional: Especially when redefining is difficult, I find that taking dedicated time for intentional play helps. It sounds like an oxymoron, to use a schedule or structure in order to go astray from patterns and expectations... but hey, sometimes I need that just to break out in the first place! Other people are the easiest way to lead myself away from my expectations: If I can get a friend to meet me at the beach I'm much more likely to stay! Taking a workshop (Playshop!) where play has an integral role (or is the entire purpose!) also is wonderful. Even taking time for individual exploration can be intentional. I used to take a few hours once a week to go out and photograph the vegetation throughout the seasons. This was different than the time I took for creative pursuits like writing and painting, because unguided exploration of the wilderness was essential to discovering new subjects to photograph. I probably spent about 5 minutes photographing for every hour exploring. And I climbed trees.

Now goodbye. I'm going out to play.

Unschooling to School: End of Year Exhaustion

Tali relaxes by building things like this ion thruster.

Please can we be done, now?!

I feel like I'm counting down the days, although quite honestly I'm too tired to bother. The end isn't close enough for that, yet.

A few weeks ago I was worried about the summer. What will he do? How will I entertain him? Now he's used to constant social interaction and activity, and that's not easy to keep up in the summer! Then suddenly I felt the nice cushy carpet of supportive energy just whisk out from underneath us, and now we're just done. Fini. Kapot. Kaput.

I see it in the way his eyes glaze over at the thought of walking to school; in the way he just... can't... force... himself out of bed in the mornings. He has no gumption to ride his bike; no desire to get together with friends. He now spends every possible moment immersed in video games, books, creative projects like the one depicted to the left, or in the ocean. It doesn't seem to matter to him that this week is exam week. His attention checked out a few weeks ago. And me? Well if I ever might have cared about exams or school outings or traditions, I couldn't care less, now. Packing lunches lost it's charm a looooong time ago. I'm pretty impressed that my boy was able to hold up for so long, and I know he'll be reinspired after a summer of creative freedom, but I am beginning to feel like this school schedule is just way too much. Too overwhelming. Too much expectation; too much monopolizing of our time and energy, and not enough space for self.

I just can't wait to relax with my kids and find our groove again. We're starting, already. Staying up late is happening, whether it suits the school program or not, and I am enjoying those late-night reading sessions, the junk-food beach meals, the lazy do-what-you want days. I miss full-time unschooling. I miss it a lot!! And I am going to appreciate this summer more than any before, just because this time I know how valuable it is.

The Growing Room

1990: During the second expansion: no wall between my room and the living room!

Our little home was once a trailer. I remember cleaning out garbage bags full of beer cans and bottles from it before we brought it to the island to live on. I believe I was about 5. I chose the nice sunny room at the front. It was tiny, but it was bright. It had a lovely white and gold linoleum floor, a sliding metal window, and was very close to the oil furnace that I don't believe we ever used. My parents installed a woodstove behind my wall, and my Pappa enlarged my room by replacing the long closet with a very small one.

During my late teens I painted my walls...

I remember many nights staring up at the pressboard ceiling above my bed, imagining swooshes of grass and wind and being both comforted and annoyed by the repetition of the pattern.

As the years passed, my Pappa enlarged my room twice more, expanding into the living room, until my room was more than twice its original size. I got another window, and even, eventually, a carpet. I grew up in that room, until I was 17 and we moved away - my family to the interior and I to my supposed adult life.

I left behind the room I was so attached to, the room that had my fears and comforts, joys and sorrows, memories and forgotten experiences embedded in its walls.

But seven years later I came back with my husband, of course. And there was no better room for a baby room than my own dear room. So we peeled off the Winnie-the-Pooh paper installed by previous tenants, and created a space worthy of our most precious treasures: our children.

The walls were cream coloured and blue with a chair-rail, and eventually I painted trees for the children, too. 

The room held their dreams and hopes and fears from cradle to crib to bunk bed, and it also held their father and me on those many sleepless nights as we grew into parenthood.

Thirteen years of growing up!

 To document the treasured history of the room, I painted it:

An old, wise, fairy-inhabited maple tree for my thoughtful son, and a fresh young cherry tree, just brimming with magical activity for my brave and adventurous daughter.

With great thanks to Rien Portvliet, whose paintings I replicated, I commemorated my childhood with my brother, my parents becoming grandparents, and the working and growth of the land. And of course I commemorated the enormous growth we were making at that time, becoming parents.

 

It's been a long time. My hair is beginning to turn grey and my chin to sag. My children are reaching for the threshold of adulthood. There are two generations of childhood in this room, not to mention the history of the families who lived here before we did, and between, while we were living away. We'll never know all that these walls hold. We won't even know each other's memories, although we do share them. And now the room is gone.

This week we are pulling it all apart. Both children now have rooms at the back of the house, and this lovely south-facing room will become our kitchen. It's going to be a wonderful kitchen, but we all felt we needed an opportunity to say goodbye to the room. So we cleared all the toys and furniture, and had a nachos picnic on the floor, while talking about our memories. The kids shared memories of games they played in the bunk bed, the various things they've drawn and written on the walls, the dreams and nightmares they've had in the nights, here. I shared memories of my childhood and teens; I showed them how very small the room was when I first moved into it, and the marks from where their Opa made it bigger for me. We talked about the times we slept in the room all together when the kids were frightened, and remembered all the evenings standing in a family hug, singing their favourite songs.  Last night we played train tracks until late in the night, when we climbed up into the top bunk to read the stories we treasured when they were very young.

Finally we took the planets down, and today even the bed is gone. The walls are coming down, and the room is no more.

But we all have history in this room. We all have memories to guide our journeys, and to treasure for their significance. There will be other memories, and hopefully a few more lifetimes of nourishing foods made in the new kitchen.

Goodbye, old room. Thank you for keeping us all.

Happy May!

Yes! It's that time of year again!

This year we had a two-tiered May Pole.

It was a little complicated, but that just made it even more fun!

And guess who got the marked May Cake!!

Adrian, the new May King!

And following our tradition, he had to jump the fire to bring us a good growing year!

We had a nice Beltane fire, lots of hot dogs and marshmallows, and various delicious foods, as well.

The summer is definitely coming in - here are some blossoming wild gooseberries...

...new leaves of the ginkgo...

...a flutter-by...

...and one of our local frogs.

We are hoping them to avoid Lughnasa, who has become a bit of a brute around the yard.

And that is how the wheel of life pans out. It's been a bit of a rough year, after the loss of a grandpa and my brother's separation from his wife. But the ribbons of life are forever interwoven.

So let the new year begin!!

Earth Day Every Day: 1

Earth Day Every Day is a bi-monthly series of essays I write for the Bowen Bulletin, re-published here for fun!

~

My son wants our family to stop using electricity for Earth Day – all day.

I want to tell him that's too difficult; I have computer work to do; so does his father. What if it's cold and we light the wood stove? That's surely worse than electricity consumption? And he'll be at school most of the day – he can't expect them to just throw the main breaker. But in his expression I don't see enthusiasm, I see concern. Maybe fear, even. He isn't suggesting this because it makes him happy; he's suggesting this because his entire generation has grown up afraid. It's an act of desperation.

Earth Day is forty-five years old, this year. It's only been global for twenty-five. When I was young, we thought it was about recycling, and maybe about saving trees. Those were doable. Those changes were within our means. We felt empowered by special plastic bins marked 'paper' and 'cans'. It's not like that anymore. Various surveys over the past few years have indicated that climate change is one of the biggest fears of our youth. They don't feel empowered; they feel helpless. Our children watch hurricane after drought after tsunami after blizzard, tearing people's lives apart; turning our beautiful world to a wasteland. They're not fooled by our blinders. They watch unfathomably large companies exploit the land, waste and pollute the water, and leave their futures barren. They watch desperate people campaigning and protesting to stop it all, and they watch those people vilified; arrested; beaten. We offer our kids treats to soothe the pain; toys and vacations to distract them. But they can't stick their heads in the sand as we do, while we truck our refuse away to be recycled, and feel good about driving a little less than would be convenient. We turn off the news when the climate disasters come on, and they chastise us for being so weak. Our children are not weak. They see our hypocrisy. They want us to shut off the power for the whole day.

What if Earth Day wasn't about cutting back? What if, instead of self-denial and negative emotion, we instead made Earth Day about abundance? I'd much rather celebrate and promote an abundance of Earth than squeeze myself into a little corner of abstinence and fear. Because you know, even if I did that, it wouldn't exactly be easy to convince other people to join me. I want to do something that makes me feel good and moreover, that makes my children feel good.

Let's be extravagant about that. I'd like for my whole life to be about celebration. I do some such things, already; I help survey for forage fish eggs as part of Ramona de Graaf's conservation work, all over our coast. It's a relatively small act that nevertheless connects me with the beach in a very purposeful way, every few weeks.

Connection is a big deal, I think. How can we protect the local ecosystem if we don't understand it? We might introduce invasive species in an attempt to help out, and create ecological havoc, as has happened frequently and on quite massive scale, worldwide. But if we really connect with the ecosystem – from the animals and insects to the plants and moss and fungi, to the bacteria, soil, weather and seasons, to our own biological and emotional place in this system – imagine what we could understand, then.

I never realized, before learning to sample for forage fish with Ramona, how populated the seemingly barren gravel is, just below the high tide line. In years of leading outdoor exploration programs, I used to head only for the logs, plant-life, and rock crevices, where I knew I could find life. I never thought about my footsteps on the beach, until I started sampling bits of it for forage fish eggs.

Imagine if every day was an opportunity to experience our own ecosystems.

It is.

This year for Earth Day I'm not going to cut the power and give my husband a forced vacation day. I'm going to make a renewed effort to connect with my ecosystem – not just for the programs I lead, either. I'm going to do it for me. Every day.

Years ago, when I had free time, I walked out every morning and photographed my surroundings. I harvested wild foods not just once in a while, but weekly. Somehow, in the meantime, I've allowed myself to get lost in a less connected life, mostly in an effort to keep up with the societal demands of my kids' lives. And I've failed my kids, in doing so. Now they come to me pleading to just not use electricity for a day. I need to listen to those needs. This year for Earth Day, I'm hitting the main breaker on the busy life. I'm going to make time to go out every single day and connect. I'll share some discoveries about our island ecosystem every couple of months. Watch for them! And while I'm out, I won't be using my car, I won't be using electricity, and I will be actively participating in my own ecosystem. Happy Earth Day!

10 Ways to Encourage Explorative Learning

It's raining as I come home. I walk in the door to encounter muddy boots and wet raincoats, bits of leaf-litter strewn about the tiles. The house looks like a tornado passed through. There are drifts of paper-clippings littering the livingroom floor, somebody's messy chemical concoction on the table, a heap of magazines barely covered by a giant blanket-fort between the couches, upon the walls of which my children and various guests are playing shadow games. I want to snap at them to clean up the mess, and I confess it's really only the presence of their friends that helps me twitter, instead, in a sing-songy voice, "Hi lovelies! Would you like a snack?" I know intrinsically that this is evidence of a few hours very-well spent, but sometimes it's just hard. Sometimes I secretly wish they went to school. I have to remind myself, during moments like these, that this is the paradise we aimed for, and I need to appreciate it!

Some days aren't as idyllic as this one. Some days my impatience and frustration gets the better of me, and some days I forget my commitment to explorative learning. Sometimes I'm afraid, and sometimes I resort to workbooks, coercion, and distraction. I have to remind myself of the good days, and of the fact that eventually the house does (sort of) return to normal, and we do (sort of) have some order in our lives. That's when we seek out the chaos again. Alix Spiegel tells us that Old Fashioned Play Builds Serious Skills, but sometimes I need to make a list to remind myself that what I'm aiming for is good and possible. Here's that list.

10 Ways to Encourage Explorative Learning
(complete with lots of excellent links you really should check out!)

Explore. As adults we often forget to explore. So it's good to be purposeful about it. We are some of our children's greatest role models, so if they don't see us exploring, why would they explore, themselves? When my son was very young, he told me that he would grow up to work on a computer. "Why?" I asked him. "Do you like computers?" At that point, he rarely was in contact with a computer. "Because I will be a Pappa, and work on the computer like Pappa does!" He didn't see any other direction for himself, and it's hard to stray from our own expectations. This was a good reminder to us of the necessity not just to explore, ourselves, but to be seen exploring. And of course, we benefit, too, since being curious not only improves our social lives and neural function, but also makes us happy.

Get creative. Dance, sing, paint, build forts, play drums on hollow logs, and tell stories. The key here is not to learn a craft, but to explore avenues of self-expression. These activities not only help us achieve psychological and physical health, but also help us reflect and develop deeper understanding of all other activities. Creativity serves to connect and integrate our cognitive, emotional, and physical selves, so that whatever we learn through exploration can be assimilated wholly. It's important, too, not to just give our children opportunities for creativity, but to be creative, ourselves. My husband makes time to play his accordion every day, and sometimes the kids join him. None of them have had lessons; they're just exploring, and in their own unique ways, they're all growing remarkably in the process.

Be approachable. Whether your kids want to know about sex, drugs, divorce, or the details of your bodily functions, try to find it within you to share. Obviously we all have our boundaries, but exploration includes a lot of mental processing of the taboo topics that come up in life, and if there's nobody trustworthy to ask about these things, where will our kids turn? I try very hard to be open with my kids, even to their embarrassment, I confess. But in return, they seem to trust me enough to ask the big questions.

Play. Have some supplies for open-ended exploration, but be willing not to use them, too. Sometimes even the greatest microscope can take away from the experience of just watching the insects live in their natural environment, and perhaps expanding on that experience with place-based creativity and play. And yes, of course older kids can play! There seems to be a misconception that play is essential for young children, but as we grow older we need it less and less. Play is slowly replaced by didactic instruction, goal-based curriculum requirements, and eventually a conformist adult life from which many of us struggle to free ourselves with workshops and activities that seek to help us rediscover our ability to play. Our children's lives don't have to be arranged according to curriculum; there are alternatives, and alternative ways to look at it all. Some schools are dispensing with subject-areas altogether.

Be willing to go the extra mile; be extravagant. Be your own, weird self. While things like healthy meals and good sleep are indeed essential, so is a bit of crazy wild freedom. Sometimes my son reads until after midnight on school nights, and I've found that it's better to let him be than to nag him. Sometimes we suddenly pack up and go for an adventure. Sometimes it's just a good idea to do something unusual. Sometimes we make mistakes and have accidents. Sometimes we get hurt, but limits are there to be tested; rules to be broken. That's how we learn to know ourselves and to self-regulate. In a world where children's freedom has declined, we need to provide every opportunity for our children to regain that freedom, along with our trust, and their own natural abilities to explore, learn, and self-direct.

Oops! This fall left Uncle Adrian muddy for the next few hours!

Get out in the wilderness. The recent popularity of Nature Schools is no fluke -- as our entanglement with technology increases we're becoming more and more aware of our psychological and cognitive need to explore the wilderness, as Richard Louv elaborates on, frequently. The wilderness does present some of the most basic threats and fears we face as humans. It is the place of woodcutters and witches, and more realistically, predators and precipices and ...epically deep mud. But these are just the most extreme of the many small challenges the wilderness presents to us, and each one of them is an opportunity for growth and discovery. Further, as we explore and learn to understand our wilderness, we develop an understanding of the interconnectedness of the ecosystem we're a part of, of our own bodies, and of our own intellect. We develop instinct, skills, confidence, and roots.

Develop roots. Carol Black says that "Every ecosystem in the world at one time had a people who knew it with the knowledge that only comes with thousands of years of living in place." And that knowledge takes time. It takes boredom. It takes getting out in the same old bit of forest that you got out in last week and the week before, and taking time just to climb a new tree; look at a new branch; hear a new character in the voice of the wind. This is how we develop deep connection and understanding. Obviously, frequent moving during childhood can not only cause significant health problems, but would also disrupt the process of developing a deep connection with a particular place.

Make time. A study out of the Universities of Boulder and Denver, Colorado has concluded that less-structured time in children's daily lives predicts self-directed executive functioning. I know many people who speak delightedly of their annual summer cottage adventures; the little fish that swam off the dock just outside the camp they attended every year. Summer seems to be the time we allow our children to explore, and for many it is the time of greatest connection; greatest memory-building. As kids, we were given time to explore, during the summer, and often taken to wilderness locations to do so, unlimited, and unguided. This was the time of building forts and escaping wild animals. This was the time of falling in love, deepening friendships, and writing in journals. During most of the rest of the year, school and extra-curriculars are so taxing on our free time, that summer becomes a beacon of hope for explorative learning. How can we expand on that, then? Wouldn't it be wonderful to explore all year? For my family, this means unschooling, and also limiting the activities we enroll the kids in, to ensure that at least a couple of days every week are free for completely free-range exploration time. It also means letting go of our own parental fears of missing out.

Give freedom. Let go of fear, and fear-based control! It's so important. Not much can be accomplished as long as we're harnessed by the fear of not-measuring-up, or of ((gulp!)) failing as parents. Most of us have ingrained in us a litany of must-haves and musn't-do's, not to mention the ever-present threat of losing our children to any number of academic, social or physical disasters. But if life wasn't full of danger, we'd have little need to learn. I would rather my children climb trees and fall a few times, than that they never learned to climb or to fall safely. We all fall. Let's do it well!

Accept. And learn to appreciate. Our kids are not going to embody the perfection we might have hoped they would. We won't create little geniuses by showing them Baby Einstein or even by following suggestions like those in this article; we won't have stress-free relationships with our teens no matter how hard we try, and we can't even protect them enough to save their lives, when it really comes down to it. Of course we should try - because we want them to know that we will always be there for them. That's the kind of security they need in order to flexibly explore their environments. But then, when they back off of the interests we thought we were nurturing; when they go to school and come back with seemingly new personalities attached... we have to accept them. After all, that is part of the security they need, too. Every day when my teenage son comes home from school I snuggle him. I find a time during the afternoon or evening to cuddle up close and listen to his stories. Sometimes he creates those times, himself. And he tells me things I didn't want to know. Sometimes I think he's testing me, so I'm careful to pass the acceptance test. Sometimes I think he just genuinely needs a sounding board, and I'm exceedingly grateful to still be that person, after all these years. That gratitude gives me the security I need to accept his developing personality, and for him to accept mine.

Let go of fear. The more we experience, the more precautions we learn to take; the more fear we develop and the more our actions are defined by potential unwanted outcomes instead of by curiosity. Kids don't have that safety net, but they also don't have that inhibition, and it allows them to explore more deeply, and in directions we adults may not otherwise go. Encouraging explorative learning is about getting down and dirty (often literally!) with whatever situation is at hand. Whether it's an unknowably deep muddy bog, a disturbingly dark cave, or a terribly upsetting subject of conversation, I try to be the safety net for my children and for the children I teach. I keep reminding myself that it's most likely going to be OK. I let go of my own fear on a continual basis, and try to keep the level of danger to what I feel in the moment is an acceptable level, knowing that they might fall, but that the experience will have been worth the fall. 

Stephen Harper's Birthday

This coming April 30th will be Beltane (Yes! Party time!) And incredibly, we have just discovered that it will also be Stephen Harper's birthday... huh.

Rhiannon just asked "How old is Stephen Harper?"

"I don't know", I said. "Maybe fifty-something?"

"Great!!" She exclaimed, with abundant joy. "Then we'll have a new Prime Minister within my lifetime!!!"

"What?"

"Because he'll retire!"

I was kind of a flabbergasted. Does she seriously understand so little about politics? "But Annie! We have elections! Hopefully he'll be replaced by somebody better this year, already!"

"But everyone always elects him. But if he gets too old he'll have to retire."

"We don't always elect him! I sure don't! Hopefully we'll have someone different, this time."

"But he's always been the Prime Minister."

"No, we've had lots..." And then I realized: Stephen Harper has been our Prime Minister since Rhiannon was 2. Poor Rhiannon, she's lived most of her life in a climate of political bullying and idiocy. She doesn't even know it can be different. Please let's make it different, this time! I am hoping for a Green-NDP coalition. Wouldn't that be something?

Happy Birthday, Mr. Harper. I hope it's so miraculously fabulous that you feel inclined to retire.

Easter Eggs!

It started with blowing and painting eggs. And enough of the fancy dye jobs - this year the kids went for straight up acrylics!

Lucky me, this year Rhiannon made an egg hunt for the adults, too! She melted down chocolate chips with orange and peppermint essential oils, and molded the concoction into my steel measuring spoons to cool. Then she wrapped the little half-eggs each in a layer of tinfoil and an outer layer of paper that she had coloured with wax crayons (so the colours wouldn't run while they were hidden in the dewey garden). They are delicious!!

The usual foiled eggs appeared in the yard, too, of course.

...and a couple of not-so-usual cardboard eggs.

Then we had our friend Cheryl's completely delicious homegrown green and brown eggs for breakfast. Soft-boiled, of course, to get the most opportunity to appreciate the eggs' lovely flavour. We only eat eggs a couple of times a year, so this is always a great treat.

Since Tali is allergic to eggs, I made him his own filled bacon eggs for breakfast. (Yes: Egg-free eggs!)

Tali approved.

To make the filled bacon eggs, I chopped and boiled potatoes, then fried those pieces with some sausage, and mixed that with some freshly-chopped apple pieces (about equal parts of each). Then I packed the mixture into egg-shapes by hand, and set them aside. I wove 6 very narrow slices of raw bacon into a small mat, lay the potato-sausage-apple shape on top of it, and continued weaving the bacon around until the whole thing was wrapped. I used butcher's string to wrap and tie up each egg, and baked them on a rack in a pan at 450F. I had to turn them a couple of times in the process, to make sure they browned evenly. Then of course I cut off the string, put lovely ribbons on them, and set them on my mother's lovely silver napkin rings to serve. :-)

Flowers are a little like eggs, right? Well I think so. And anyway they were beautiful at the table.

West Coast Accommodation Reviews

My current artistic- and life-pursuit is the MAMA Project, and for this I need to travel, both to interview mothers, and to present various aspects of the project. Because life-learning means learning in everything we do, I bring the kids with me on most trips; my husband telecommutes (usually) from the road, and we allow the MAMA Project to lead us into some wonderful life-learning experiences. In this way, the kids learn not only about their parents' jobs, but also the lives and employment of the many many diverse people we meet along the way. All of us enrich our lives, this way, and learn, together.

We have traveled down the US West Coast, all the way to San Diego, interviewing mothers in many diverse communities. Interviewing for and setting up the MAMA Project can be exhausting work, and we have been blessed by the support of various people, along the way. These people have welcomed us into their restaurants, hotels, and inns, in support of the work I'm doing, and in return I will review those who want to be reviewed on this blog.

I know quite a few unschoolers are also travelers, so... should your travels bring you in the direction of these places, do keep these establishments in mind:


Wild Shores Guest House (Ucluelet, BC)Grade: B+ -- beauty, health, wilderness, and authenticity!
We spent three nights at this lovely self-check-in guest house. We found it to be quiet and cosy, especially after we explored the small cove and island it's situated beside. The rooms are clean and spacious, the bath and electric fireplace are warm, the shelves are stocked with hot drink options, and everything is decorated with beach finds. The views from the rooms aren't amazing, but in my opinion are entirely made up for by the delights outside the door. The house we've been calling Mary's House, AKA the Wild Shores Guest House, is a perfect retreat for adventurers who want a clean, cosy space to curl up in after a day of exploring. And it appears to be one of the most affordable waterfront options in Ucluelet, too.I posted a full review to my blog: link here.

The Requa Inn (Klamath, CA)Grade: A -- beauty, health, culture, and authenticity!
We actually didn't stay in the rooms, but were accommodated by the host family, in their own home. So I can't comment on the rooms of the Inn, but I can certainly tell you about the food! We had breakfast and dinner in the dining room, and it was fabulous! This place was a delight for locavores like ourselves, and we were even privy to some of the preparation. As the kids were sitting outside they watched the chef smoking chicken ("an experimental recipe", he said), which he then served for dinner, that evening, as well as fresh-caught salmon from the river below the Inn, homegrown and wild salad, acorn cakes made with acorns that the Yurok trade with the people further up the river for their own sought-after seaweeds, and wild-indian-tea sorbet. Wow. For breakfast we had homegrown green smoothies, granola with home-made yogurt, local eggs, and various baked goods. In the afternoon, the Inn sets out a tray of warm, fresh-baked cookies for guests to enjoy.

We had totally beautiful walks in the area, as I mentioned in my blog-post at the time: link here.

The Requa Inn is certainly expensive, but absolutely worth it if you're interested in learning a bit about the place you're staying.


The Inn at Schoolhouse Creek (near Mendocino, CA)

Grade: B+ -- nice location (though a long, winding road to get there!), great food, and kind hosts

This place was lovely. The property was spacious, which really helped us relax when we arrived exhausted and a little car-sick. The cabin was laid out beautifully, and our particular cabin was also fully wheelchair-accessible. We loved the in-room jaccuzzi tub, especially, since the weather was cold and rainy when we arrived. Our cabin also had a little gas-stove, which had some trouble starting up, but the owner quickly came to fix the problem, when we reported it.

The food was great. We only ate breakfast in the restaurant, but we were impressed with the options. Guests can choose from a small buffet of baked goods, and can also order hot foods from the daily menu. Tea and coffee are always available for self-service, and guests are welcome to take their breakfast to their cabins on a tray, if they wish. We didn't, however, because it was so lovely to sit in the dining room and watch the birds and chipmunks eating outside the windows (they feed them, to promote this lovely view).

More photos and details, here: link.

The Mill Valley Inn (Mill Valley, CA)

Grade: B -- great location, and the rooms are luxurious. Breakfast buffet is huge and varied.

The rooms manage a lovely character feel, with very high ceilings, long drapes, and a tall comfy bed. They also have tiny balconies; just enough to lean out and see what is suburban San Francisco: a quiet side-street of Mill Valley. I can't say the rooms are spacious, but it hardly matters; there's enough room, and the height of the ceilings makes them feel quite open.

The dining room has plenty of space, as well as a lovely dining patio facing the forest, which we did not make use of simply because the frigid spring had still not let up! Every morning a generous spread of fruits, baked goods, make-your-own waffles, and granolas was available, along with teas and coffees, and espresso drinks from the kitchen. The atmosphere was calm and friendly.

The Mill Valley Inn is a converted building; interesting in that the rooms and dining room all connect via a suspended walkway the surrounds... the parking lot, below! It would be totally romantic if this area was actually a courtyard garden, or even the dining room, but as it is covered from the top, it serves as an exhaust-trap for the vehicles of guests. Thankfully it's a small Inn, and the vehicular comings and goings are few, so it's not really a problem. But strange!

More info and photos, here: link.

The Monterey Plaza Hotel and Spa (Montery, CA)

Grade: B -- it's absolutely high-class and beautiful; they treated us like royalty. But I missed the authenticity of the smaller places.

Well, this place was amazingly high-class. We've never experienced anything like it before. I'm not sure if it was just the manager's enthusiasm for the MAMA Project (which was plentiful and gracious), or whether all guests are treated to such opulence, but, well... we stayed in a 5-star hotel and felt like rockstars. Here's the story: link.

The Days Inn (Portland, OR)
Grade: C-. Convenient to the Unschooling Conference, but not preferable!
This isn't the most glamourous hotel, but it's conveniently close to the Washington border (and the Unschooling Conference in Vancouver, Washington!) The room we were given was on the ground floor, and had a nearly-empty liquor bottle in it when we got there; the windows were graffiti'd from the outside, where it was clear people sleep, at night (between the window and the shrubs outside), and there was an unidentified white substance caked on the blanket and TV-schedule. Thankfully, we brought our own bedding for later use, stripped the beds and slept in our own bedding. The kitchenette was functional, but rather old and worn. We used our own cooking supplies. I gave the suite a once-over with soap and dish-towels, and after a day or two we felt much more comfortable, there.

Is it dangerous? Maybe. It didn't feel that way to us, but we're quite comfortable in some potentially dodgy situations. I have a hard time getting over filth, but not humanity. People are just people, whether their lifestyle is like ours or not. We were warned by a trucker in the hallway that this hotel is not a safe place to leave one's door or window open while in the suite, or to allow children out unattended. I did find my son waving goodbye out the window one morning, and when I questioned him he responded "I'm just waving to that guy who was outside the window. I think he lives there." Not a problem. We weren't worried, but I can see how some families might be.

The breakfasts were a buffet of pre-prepared foods (dry cereals with milk, hard-boiled eggs on ice, trucked-in pastries and bread-slices, as well as fresh-baked biscuits and gravy kept warm in slow-cookers). They weren't horrible; we managed to find something for the adults in the family (the kids are gluten/egg-free), and found it interesting to sit around listening to the conversation of the many different types of people who were staying there.

The hotel staff were gracious and polite, and the housekeeping staff seemed to set up the children's stuffies with care, each day.

The Howard Johnson Inn (Tacoma, WA)

Grade: C- --  It was reasonably clean, but we didn't feel safe.

I didn't post about this hotel at the time, because I'm not happy about having to share such negative reviews, but in the interest of honesty, here is my review:

Without being ungrateful for their sponsorship of the MAMA Project, I can't say I would ever stay here again, and I certainly wouldn't recommend it to others. We walked in past a very angry-looking patron who was watching TV at top-volume in the lobby by the front-door, and glared at us. The front desk girls did not stop their conversation to check us in; they simply continued, while we waited. And what they were talking about was rather worrisome: The apparently more experienced of the two was explaining to the newer one that having the police called to the hotel was not at all unusual, and that a few times a week wasn't a big deal; usually they didn't even ribbon anything off, unlike at "the hotel down the road", where having a police incident was pretty much a nightly event. I can tell you we began to feel uncertain right about then. Then we got our keys and proceeded up the outside staircase, past a few smoking truckers on the balcony, and into our room. The room was reasonably clean, with the exception of some big dirty handprints on the wall by the door, and the towels were folded in the shape of a swan, which we found to be pretty comical, given the overall feeling of the place.

Anyway, once I made sure that the windows were locked and the beds were clean (we brought our own sleeping bags up, just in case), we did manage to sleep just fine. I believe that there was some breakfast available in the lobby, but we were in a hurry to be on our way, and didn't wish to try it.

Consent: Teaching Innate Self-Worth

I've been thrilled to see the media attention to consent, lately, especially this petition. But I haven't seen a lot about how we, as parents, foster a culture of consent in the home. And yet I'm quite sure it's the biggest piece of the puzzle. It's extremely important to be given, as children and adolescents, the tools and language to ask for and give consent, but how do we ignite the fire of self-worth in our children, so that they are prepared and comfortable using those tools and language?

There is a lot in the media - especially in the pop culture our kids are consuming - that detracts from the idea of consent, so I doubt there's much we can do to effectively counteract that, other than to build our children up from the inside, so that their first instinct is to seek consent and protect their own interests.

So how does our parenting teach or devalue consent? How about this: "Give Auntie a kiss." That's not an invitation - it's a command. Or "...if you don't kiss me, I'm going to tickle you!" Upon which the child initiates a game of kiss-denying and tickling. Some kids like to be tickled, and as consent-seeking parents we're probably careful only to play games like this with those kids who want it... after all, they're actively kiss-denying in order to get tickled. But for me this begins a stretchy grey area where consent is a game. That's frightening, when scaled up to adolescence.

My kids and their uncle playing a favourite game: Present Feet!  Every time somebody says "Prese-e-e-ent feet!", everybody lifts their feet and laughs. There can be more bonding in such a simple game of copycat than in a kiss and hug. Five minutes spent attending and responding to cues from each other builds lifetime bonds. And just as the choice to lift feet at the cue is up to each child, so are the hugs and kisses that sometimes result.

Even with infants, we carefully learn to read cues: newborns will turn their faces away or close their eyes when overstimulated or uninterested, and generally it's seen as unacceptable to continue feeding, tickling, massaging, etc. when they're expressing a lack of consent. I read a great article about this non-verbal consent-seeking among children, recently: Teaching Consent to Small Children.

I like to think I've been pretty careful with requesting consent from my children with regard to physical and emotional issues. I try to be aware of their physical needs and wishes; now that they're older I ask before posting photos or details of their lives online, and I try to make the consent-seeking between their father and myself obvious, so that they can learn by example. But I fail, too - and frequently. The places my consent-seeking falls apart are when I'm rushed (for example, coerced un-gentle hair-brushing before we run out the door), and when I'm stressed, like when I nag them to go give hugs to relatives, or to do homework or clean their rooms. I threaten them: "We're not watching a movie until your homework is done"; "if you don't clean your room, then I'm phoning your friends' parents and cancelling their visit". At the moments I say these things, they all seem so reasonable, but at the core of these threats is a disrespect for my children's autonomy and self-determination. It's hard to change, but that isn't a reason not to.

Why do we subvert consent? Why do these things matter to us so much that we're willing to threaten or hurt our own children? I think it has to do with fear. Fear of failure, maybe, on my part, but also fear of rejection. If you're a sixteen-year-old boy just venturing into the dating scene, maybe you're actually quite afraid of being rejected. Maybe putting your arm around the girl you feel attracted to doesn't feel nearly as frightening as asking her first. But maybe we can help our children feel a deep sense of self-worth, so that they understand that a rejection of touch does not demean the value of either individual, or even of the relationship.


Consent is not only essential regarding physical or sexual touch; it's important always. It's important when our boss asks us to work late. She can ask, but she can't force or coerce. It's important when we give responsibility to others: if I intend to relinquish dinner duty for the evening, I need to ask my husband or kids ahead of time instead of just dumping the job onto them, without warning (guilty).

Obviously we can't always avoid the ways we affect others' lives without consent, but the many small ways that we seek and give consent do influence the more serious situations, and the many small ways we give our children the respect and autonomy we want them to demand as adults does influence their ability to do so.

Unschooling at School

My son attends school now, but when people ask if we're still unschooling, I say yes.

I was struggling with this question for a few months - struggling especially with seeing my formerly inspired kid come home with homework he didn't want to do, and complain bitterly about the constraints put on his learning and direction by his school. That was a hard pill to swallow for both of us after six years of him choosing his own direction(s). But because of the social engagement he was getting (and loving!), we encouraged him to keep going, and take the less desireable aspects as part of the package.

At one point I was very upset at seeing him lose interest in science. He used to spend every day exploring sciences, but once in school, the directed parameters are so narrow, and yet the workload big enough that he felt he had no time to explore the things he cared about, and wasn't even happy with his teacher's admiration. He was very angry about science, and at some point told me that he just spent most of the work time in class helping other people to understand the subject matter, so he never got to do the things he wanted. I complained about this to my mother who, in her wisdom, reminded me that he's not there to learn science, but to learn to work in community, and to value the group. I knew she was right, but still struggled to accept his anger and believe he'd come through it.

Despite my fears, small rays of light started to emerge during the last couple of months. One day he came home, dropped his bag, headed for the computer and said "I have to start my novel". Huh? He claims to hate writing! What was this about? He explained that he'd been thinking of this novel for four months, and now he needed to get going on it so he wouldn't forget some parts. He also turned 13, and decided to throw his own parent-free birthday party, in the woods. I can't tell you anymore about that, because I wasn't there, but he came home glowing. I began to feel more attached to these experiences than to how he was feeling about his classes at school, and I personally began to care less about the metrics of his supposed academic progress.

His second term report arrived on the last day before Spring Break, but we didn't remember to check for it until he was in bed. "Do you want to come see?" I called to him in his bed. "No. I'll just see it tomorrow." He was absolutely uninterested! I was baffled, but read through it and realized that I, too, had become uninterested in the grades. I enjoyed reading what his teachers had to say about him, but the grades meant nothing to me. It was like a big slow wave of freedom washing over me.

Then Spring Break was upon us. And with no homework!! Most weekends since school began, he has been uninspired to say the least, but spring break was different. Within twenty-four hours he had committed to do "science class" with his sister (wherein she picks a topic she wants to learn about, and they go learn about it, together), had gone back to some of his favourite activities (reading, making marionettes, animation, and science research), and he was happy. For two weeks we never talked about homework. We just lived. It was like old times, but with a happier boy, who now has a social network to participate in regularly, and who also has the freedom of living without an attachment to academic evaluation. I feel like I have my son back again.

Taliesin and Rhiannon have been talking a lot about different types of periodic tables, data presentation, codes and languages, lately. Near the end of Spring Break they decided to draw their own periodic table, drawing from different sources to create something unique to their own vision. I took this photo because the moment I found them doing this was the moment I knew I had to write this article. This kind of self-directed, interest-led activity is the best. And by the way, the fact that this particular activity involved books and traditional school-y materials is just fine with me. There is certainly a place for those things, especially when they're wanted.

Unschooling isn't specifically 'lack-of-school', but rather a way of living. I did struggle for a few months with my son attending school. I felt like a bit of a fraud, I guess, and mostly I was just terrified of what the academic grading system would do to him. It turns out it's hard to drop into a rigid evaluative system and completely ignore the evaluation. But it is possible, and I know now that this process had as much to do with him detaching from the evaluation as it had to do with me detaching from it. We're still unschooling - just one of us goes to school right now. And he's chosen to go back next year, as well.

Unschooling is about letting go of rigid developmental and societal expectations, learning to follow our hearts, and blossom in our own unique ways. Yes, it's about recognizing that adhesion to strict learning guidelines can be harmful to individuals, and yes, it's about acknowledging that comparative evaluation can be harmful to individual progress and engagement. But it also provides us with an inherent freedom of mind, so that we can navigate those rigid systems with our innate sense of curiosity and confidence still intact. It's about valuing ourselves.