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I’m taking a no-holds-barred approach to homeschooling these days. I feel that it is imperative that we succeed, that we stretch ourselves to our limits, and then reach beyond even that. Of course, it should be noted that, as with life, I measure our success by the amount of joy we feel.
This measurement [...]
Though yesterday started downtrodden, it quickly became a fabulous day. I immersed myself in creativity–writing in the morning, working in the studio in the afternoon, and in the last hours of the day I drove up to the Blue Ridge Parkway, which is just some ten minutes from my home. I rolled down the windows, opened the sunroof, and blasted Beethoven’s piano concerto no. 5, the second movement of which has always been pure magic to me.
I hiked a ways down Bald Knob Trail and sketched some tall Red Spruce trees, their tops ladled with the last golden light of the day. Then more driving, more Beethoven, more golden light. I drove to where I could watch the sun set–something which is impossible to see from my own home. Ah, the disadvantages of living at the foot of a mountain.
I sketched and then took some photos of a lovely grouping of hawthorn trees, some fruit still clinging to their thorny branches. Since I am no photographer I was not able to capture the golden quality of the scene. But I had fun messing around with one of the photos on my trusty computer, and rather like the result, though I won’t be able to even glance at this modified photograph while I work on the painting, as it will influence my memory of the scene.
This was a sorely needed artist’s date! When the moon is nearing full, I’ll take my kids on a late night drive on the Parkway. We can bring blankets and hot chocolate and listen to the Pastoral Symphony on the way up. Once outside, we will listen to the owls.
I’ve been journaling every morning this week. It’s been a long time. Curiously, the thrill of technology is what has enticed me back into the practice—we got a Smart Pen for my husband on his fortieth birthday, and he has kindly given me one of the special notebooks and let me use his [...]
Last night was cool enough to warrant two quilts, a delicious weight over my body in the morning. This afternoon was hot enough to warrant a dip in the river, though by the time we got there it was already late afternoon, and shadows stretched long over the bright water. The water was vigorously cold, [...]
A September breeze waltzed through this August afternoon. I recognized it immediately. I was working in my outdoor kitchen, slicing peach after peach, thumbing out the pits with a satisfying slurp, dipping the flesh in a strawberry vinegar solution. The breeze had a certain swish, a lift that August breezes don’t have unless a storm is coming. But there was no storm coming, and this breeze was playing with the flame on my stove, threatening to blow it out, promising to bring more of the same in just a few weeks.
And so it is that summer really has come to an end, and we are in those in between days, when the leaves begin to thin and last day of swimming is nigh.
After I canned another batch of peaches I took care of a few assorted tasks, all the while hearing the call of the garden. So down I went to dig up potatoes. As I did I sang “Erin’s Lovely Home”–an Irish ballad that tells one man’s woes of crossing the Atlantic during a time of famine: “there were thousands more left upon the shore/ all anxious for to roam and/ leave the land where they were born/called Erin’s lovely home.“ The humble potato, so weighty in the hand, such a blessing to poor farmers, such a loss if the crop were to fail.
Now the Moon rises above the ridge, full and round and gleaming yellow against the thickening blue sky. Katydids chant in the shadows, and the cool of evening deepens. Dinner is late, but we will be having our first meal from the finished cob oven tonight. There is no famine here, and this meal will be worth the wait.
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It is evening. Dinner has been eaten, and the children are cleaning up, or so we hope, in the kitchen. The katydids fill the forest with their pulsing chatter. I’m listening to them, and to Eva Cassidy singing “Kathy’s Song.” I can’t decide which is more beautiful. I’ll take both.
Yesterday I picked peaches. I [...]
How does one incorporate joy into math practice, other than the obvious baking of cookies every morning? I’m more of an unschooler than not, but I do believe that self-discipline and daily practice are important.
