adventures in home-making

"Celebrate Something", a poem by Emily Wheeler.

The king takes a ride down small rapids in the Cahaba River as lily pilgrims flock through 
the shoals. Photo credit goes to Kevin Gray.

If only the absence of the co-worker whose life’s dull plot 
     you know by heart,
or the shiny nose on the tiny bust of the great dead man 
     on the lobby wall.
Lean away from the desk, instead toward the window, its view of a bend
in the tracks where the bullet trains whoosh by, blurring
present and past and the many years you hope to have ahead.
Then walk home at a loll, letting the lush profusion of nasturtium
and the sound of the phrase itself re-instill the loyalty to beauty
that work downplays, savor the way trout tune their flex to turbulence
to survive the whitest water, as well as the triumph of mystery
in the stutter-step flight of a common butterfly,
which evades understanding and so ensures the simple questions
will continue to be asked, for example, how does it fly and did your wife know
by placing the pot of night-blooming tobacco at the back door
in her absence its perfume would moisten your sleep
until her return; and isn’t it luck that each ladder in the cherry orchard
wedges so safely against a tree of almost any shape,
long marriages are like that;
and the urge to be wholly known, the places it takes us,
the villa among the black pines where the table out back is laid for two,
you and a beloved, sweet cakes, warm milk, and ten sorts of dates await you
when you rise refreshed from the blue dreams of early morning that waft
like smoke out the bedroom window, open to allow the breezes of love
to envelop you all night long—can you recall the way?

The kids you see.

It was one of those mornings when everything went just as planned. I even remembered to pack extra snacks and refill the water bottles for everyone.

But the perfect plan didn't quite buy me time to sit back and savor it all as it happened and whirled around me.

Snapping photos removed me from the pictures taking place only to bring me back right now. These are the kids you see- the little people who learn as much from our cynicism as they learn from their Sunday school books. 

The kids you see are growing and searching for answers to questions we have learned to dismiss- questions about friendship, confusion about why wars exist, queries about bellybuttons and caterpillar legs. Parenting the kids you see doesn't mean teaching them about a world so ugly and crass they would rather die than live there. It means helping them to find beauty in each other and hope in the common ground we cultivate and weed together.

Looking at the photographic evidence, I notice tiny details that whizzed past in all the action. Micah hovers nearby seeking safety in the group- she craves unanimous decisions and worries over who is on "her side", often losing sight of what the sides are staking. I am baffled by the way in which she craves the conflict which upsets her.

Last night, I stared at the stars for a little while trying to decide what my role as a parent should be.... Or my role as a teacher. What should I teach her? What am I missing?

The girls always seem more conscious of the camera than the boys. It's as if their smile counts for greater currency in the exchanges of everyday life.

Max imagines something else.....But the girls are fixed, posed, preparing their best smiles (the ones that balance ease with happiness). I am suddenly aware of the way in which my request for their smiles creates a prison reflected in prisms of lights.

J.'s hand rests against her old sister's stomach. Is it protective? I don't know.

The kids we see reassure us with the tiny touches that exist in a world that still dares to wonder. If you've watched  reality TV show lately, chances are that your ability to wonder is slowly being scrubbed away. We should treat those TV shows as the dirty secrets of darkness that they are- nothing worth talking about and certainly nothing the mind of a child should ever have to see.

The kids you see are vulnerable to the contagion of laughter and giggles. D.'s huge grin lights up the landscape- and then radiates out from the faces around him.

Do we find ourselves turning towards the most radiant smiles? It's as if those huge smiles hide a special secret or insight into the joy of life. That's why the big fake smiles are so distressing to me- because they parody something very real and true, something raw that grabs us deep in the pit of the stomach. 

The kids you see are more real than you or me. They don't need to be trained in the fine art of despair. They don't need to know that their value as people will be determined by their social status or professional striving or how many marathons they manage to run. What they need is to be seen as the kids you see. Those. There is nothing "better" they could be than what they are at this moment.

Cahaba lily photos and a free printable learning packet.

We ran into a number of friends and neighbors at the Cahaba Lily Festival this past weekend. Today, one of our kind neighbors shared the photos she took of our family while we played in the Cahaba. I am so grateful to Linda for taking these photos (I hardly ever get pictures of us all together) and sharing them with me so I can share them with friends and family. Here they are:

The water was chilly- but I couldn't resist the first river swim of the season. Although it doesn't look like it, I am wearing a swimsuit in this photo.

Micah and Milla "swam" or waded in their shorts and spent most of the time collecting tiny, spiral-decorated shells in more colors than we could imagine, including green.

I was the only without shoes- and I deeply regretted my folly. There is nothing more slippery than bare feet on river rocks. As you can see, the gentleman in the kayak persistently tried to do the same flip in the rapids. It was very cool to watch.

Max on his return from touching a lily. I think this is the moment he realized that a "short-cut" through the hearty poison ivy patch lining the river bank would be no short-cut at all.

Max and Patrick set their hearts on a small stream of rapids which empties into a pool. Yes, they rode the rapids. Yes, Max could not get enough. Yes, the lady watching the kids on the banks was very, very jealous.

Kevin caught a few photos of the kayak king while Patrick walked Micah back from the rocks to the beach, where Milla had happily rearranged all the river rocks and shells collected. 

Our experience left us with much more to learn and explore about the Cahaba lily and its river. So I created a small lesson plan with readings, questions, and activities all about the Cahaba lily. You can download a copy below.

Cahaba Lily Learning Packet (PDF)

Here's a screen shot from one of the pages in the learning packet, which includes information about the noctural hawk moth that pollinates the lilies.

The Cahaba Lily Festival: A best-kept secret.

Those Saturday visits to West Blocton always leave the ruffling of favorite memories in their wake. Actually, the Cahaba Lily Festival is not a secret at all- it is well-publicized and you can find details at the Cahaba Lily website. 

We arrived in West Blocton one hour after we rolled out of Saturday morning bed at 10 am. The streets were closed to traffic so the entire Coryell Caravan wandered around and chatted with some of our favorite artists, including Sue Blackshear, who was displaying her paintings.

Inside the Cahaba Lily Center, folks from all walks of life were enjoying homemade food and the company of fellow lily-lovers. We missed Larry Davenport's morning lecture, which gnawed at me quite a bit since Larry is one of the naturalists who helped put the lily on the map. Larry began to study the Cahaba lily in 1989 "as a candidate species for a threatened or endangered listing with the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service". What began as a small project turned into a fantastic flower reconaissance as Larry "expanded the known lily populations in Alabama, Georgia, and South Carolina from an initial 10 to 70.”

Milla dangles her pony bag as she takes in the streets of West Blocton.

But it takes a community and a dedicated citizenry to save a river and its fairy tale flowers. Around 20 years ago, Dr. Randall Haddock and other local lily lovers formed the Cahaba River Society, a state-wide model for cooperative and sustainable ecological preservation. At about the same time, the tiny town of West Blocton began their festival to honor the local lily. For Haddock, "the lily immediately became symbolic of the beauty, fragility, and certainly the resilience of the Cahaba River itself.

Patrick and Kevin discuss paddling the Cahaba as Milla weighs her options of possibly touching more art.

Conservation photographer Beth Maynor Young, who has taken some of the most famous photos of the Cahaba lily, describes it as "pompous" and daring enough to dwell in the middle of a river in rapids. But she can't cloak her respect and awe for this persistent, fragile flower. Beth has expressed her sadness over the fact that the Cahaba lilies grew in so many Southern rivers located along the fall line back in the days before the dams.

Milla found a few paintings on the sidewalk that no one seemed to be guarding. She took the opportunity to "touch that purple", as she put it. Then we loaded up and set out for lunch along the banks of the Cahaba at the Cahaba River National Wildlife Refuge. You can get there by driving approximately six miles east of West Blocton on County road 24. Access is provided by a gravel road on the south (right) side of Bibb County Road 24 approximately 250 yards past the refuge entrance sign. Prepare for river clay-colored dirt roads.

The king had packed a picnic basket so we sat down along the banks of the Cahaba to snack and read brochures about local life along the Cahaba. We learned that the area in which we were picnicking was greatly impacted by previous human actions. Coal mining first occurred within the area that is now the refuge in the mid-1800's. Piper #2 underground coal mine cut through the refuge. A portion of the area was strip mined in the mid-1900's. This mining pit is still visible today.

Following the depletion of coal within the refuge area, commercial timber companies purchased most of the area that is today Cahaba River NWR. Most longleaf pine left following coal mining days were cut and, over the years, replanted to loblolly pine. Efforts at longleaf pine restoration are currently underway- exciting!

We spotted a few specklings of Cahaba lilies off in the water. At this point, the earnest plotting began- "I'm going to cross those rocks and then swim to that lily patch..." and so on.

Photo taken by Alan Cressler.

So what's all the fuss over a flower? The Cahaba Lily is also known as Hymenocallis coronaria. The plant grows in rivers across the southeast United States. Current populations exist in South Carolina, Georgia and Alabama, where it is sometimes referred to as the Shoals Lily because it grows in shoals.

Photo taken by Alan Cressler.

At 182 miles, the Cahaba River is the longest free-flowing river remaining in Alabama. It is also one of the favored living locations for the aptly-named Cahaba lily. The Cahaba River houses 64 rare and imperiled plant and animal species, thirteen of which cannot be found anywhere else in the world. In fact, with 131 fish species, the river holds more than any other river its size in North America. In defiance of the dams, the river and the lily stand together every spring.

Hargrove Shoals, located near the small town of Centreville, contains the single largest lily concentration in the world. Marking the center of the river and roughly a center point for the state, this is where the lily-lovers come to seek her enchantment year after year. 

The flowers bloom between early May and late June. They usually open late in the day and begin to wither the next day. In most cases only one flower will open each day. The seeds take shelter in the crevices of rocks found in swift-moving currents. In this sense, each lily is a momentary marvel.

Max had no qualms about mingling with all the lily-spotters out in the shoals. He eventually made his way over to the farthest patch of lilies all on his own as I tried to keep the girls from eating snail shells that looked like candy. 

See that lily patch up in the left hand corner of the photo above? That's where Max claims to have touched one of the lilies with all the smugness of a medievalist on a pilgrimage. Granted, it takes at least 30-45 minutes of carefully stepping over slippery rocks and through knee-deep rapids around plants and small crevices to earn the right to see a lily up close.

If you missed the festival, you can still learn about the lily at the Cahaba Lily Center in West Blocton (driving directions here). My sources for this post include a brochure from the Cahaba National Wildlife Refuge, an article in Flower Magazine, the 2013 Cahaba River Festival Flyer, the US Fish and Wildlife Service, and various kind persons who take pleasure in passing on what they know.

On our list of things to do in West Blocton this month: Hike Piper Trail in the Cahaba River National Wildlife Refuge. Only one mile long and one way in with the same way out makes it toddler-friendly. Benches dot the trail, and two overlook platforms allow you to look down at the Cahaba River and get a birds eye view of the lilies below. The entrance to the trail is one mile east of River Trace Road on Bibb County Road 24.

Reading Russians.

A husband and wife should never read divergent Russian authors at the same time on the same nights swapping out the same chairs. Especially not if the same husband and wife agree on "The IT Crowd". There are too many foreign ghosts in the castle right now. It's time for a dance party to exorcise them.

The Phantom Tollbooth: Exploring figurative language and cool new words.

The order of the day nestled around Norton Juster and chess problems. Read Write Think has a great free lesson plan on "Finding Figurative Language in The Phantom Tollbooth:". The printable figurative language chart led to some mutual and fun head-scratching.

Figurative Language Chart (Read Write Think)

We played around with it after Max recorded his most recent podcast, a reading of Chapter 2 in The Phantom Tollbooth. You can listen, share, and enjoy below. I love to download stories like this to my iPod for listening during car trips or quiet times.

MAX READS CHAPTER 2 OF THE PHANTOM TOLLBOOTH (MP3)

"Expectations is the place you go before you know where you're going."

More free learning to explore

The Phantom Tollbooth Literature Lapbook (Homeschool Share)
Phantom Tollbooth Musical Adaptation and Worksheets (Ariel Theatrical)

Playing around with balloons: The let's-see-what-happens version.

There is more than one way to play with balloons. Just ask the residents of the Coryell Castle, who have numbered at least 27 different ways to play.

The only part that no one wants to do is the blowing-them-up bit. And Vanilla offers no help at all.

Milla had a few pop in her hands, and so she is being a little careful with those mysterious colored soon-to-be-bubbles this time.

"Mommy, looookeeeee..... They stretches....." If only I could stretch out those words in print the way Milla stretches them out like popsicle songs with her little squeaks and squeels. No emoticons suffice.

Beautiful lttle Micah, queen of the sullen expression and rapid-race-across-the-yard-with-balloon skills. For a few moments, all I could see was a blur of motion and her red balloon bobbing. 

Primroses.

Max has determined that our garden friend is none other than the showy evening primrose, also known as Oenothera speciosa. Of course, we had a little help from Carol, who explained that primroses are not poppies (we were hot on the poppy trail). Once this was established, the rest came easily.

Oenothera speciosa Primrose Handout (PDF)

A beautiful prim little plant, no? Carol said she used to make leis from it when she was a child- she strung them together using the hollow hole in the center. I can only imagine how pretty it must have looked.

A visit to Hewett's Honey Farm.

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

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

HONEY FARM FIELD TRIP HANDOUT (PDF)

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Beeautiful honeycombs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Being a civil libertarian in the context of community.

On Saturday, May the 18th, Westboro Baptist Church is planning a picket on The Campus of The University of Alabama. Like everything planned by the Westboro Baptist Church, this picket will be targeted against social diversity and will probably attempt to blame social tolerance for the tragedy of the April 2011 tornadoes. Although it is disgusting and sad, and everyone should sign any petitions to this effect, I believe it is very important that they be granted legal permits for this event. 

Wise citizens of Tuscaloosa are planning a counter-protest (you can learn more here), which I plan to attend with my kids. Because the most important part of civic education is not the part that occurs in the abstract- it's the part that occurs on the streets when we are confronted with intolerant ideas and ideologies.

Little people who aren't equipped to counter the hate in the flesh will not recognize it when it calls their name.

In his prophetic book,The Unsettling of America, Wendell Berry expresses concern about the rising, career-oriented elitism and its effect on the ties that bind local communities and fellowships. He notes correctly that learning ideas in the abstract prepares us for resume-building and sycophancy but does not enable to actually understand and participate in the civics of everyday life. Berry warns:

It must not be forgotten that, divorced from the practical, the liberal disciplines lose their sense of use and influence and become attenuated and aimless.

Towards the end of the book, Berry hones in on the importance of an "intelligence" which is holistic and experiential- based in life as it has been lived rather than life according to the text-based guidebook- rather than an "intelligence" based on access to constantly-changing facts, statistics, and experts. Since I have been guiltier than most when it comes to consulting the guidebooks, this observation is especially important to me.  Berry describes the current notions of intelligence (obvious even in the way we test children in schools and train them for fact-oriented, regurgitative "thinking") as follows:

This intelligence protects itself from the disruptive memories and questions of experience by building around itself the compartmental structure of the modern university, in which effects and causes never meet. The experential intelligence is a tyrant that is saved from the necessity of killing bearers of bad news because it lives at the center of a maze in which the bearers of bad news are lost before they can arrive.

But it is imperative to understand that this sort of intelligence is tyrannical. It is at least potentially totalitarian. 

A book-bound, abstracted form of "intelligence" is not a good breeding ground for ethics. Unlike calculus, ethics must be lived to be meaningful. Ethical intelligence requires habituation and habitation- a feel for the soil and ecology of life and community. When Westboro (or any form of ugliness and hatred) comes to town, you look them in the eye and say, "I firmly disagree".  

As those who dissent under totalitarian governments know, there is some comfort to be drawn from humor. What is tendered by extremists as "sacred" is very vulnerable to satire. So reading Landover Baptist's critique of Westboro reminds me that both extremes are silly. In a talk forum following the talk forum about how "Pregnancy through rape is a gift from God", "True Christian" shares a video from Westboro and writes:

Just look here what these liberal so-called "Christians" has to say about God's nr. 1 favourite country, you could almost think they are from Chechnya or something. God does not hate America, God LOVES America, the best and most Christian country in the world. 

Of course, Landover Baptist's disclaimer (scroll down to the bottom of the page) makes it clear that fundamentalist extremism cuts across every divide of major religions:

The information presented here is Biblically accurate. Opinions concerning the technical difficulties, fitness requirements, safety, and ratings of self-crucifixion, flagellation, stoning, destroying enemies of GOD utterly, without mercy, and other activities inherent in Christianity are subjective and may differ from yours or others' opinions; therefore be warned that you must exercise your own judgment as to the difficulty and your ability to safely protect yourself from the inherent risks and dangers. Do not use the information provided on this site unless you are a True Christian ™ who understands and accepts the risks of participating in these activities. Landover Baptist Church makes reasonable efforts to include accurate and up to date information on this website, errors or omissions sometimes occur, therefore the information contained on here is provided "as is" and without warranties of any kind either expressed or implied. Viewing, reading, or any other use of the information contained within this web site is purely the voluntary will of the viewer or user. You, 'the viewer' or 'user' shall not hold the publisher, owner, authors or other contributors of The Jesus Experience responsible for any incidents related directly or indirectly to the Experience. Landover Baptist Church, et. al., assumes no liability or responsibility for your actions.

Not being a trade-marked True Christian spares me the seriousness which accompanies said views. Perhaps there is something to the statement that "if babies had guns, they wouldn't be aborted"- but the something is far more evil and twisted than anything Larry Flynt might dream up. Ultimately, my kids won't truly grasp the consequences of extremism unless they see it for themselves. And I'd prefer that their first experience be one in which there is caring, sober adult present to point out why it is so very, very ugly and so very, very wrong.

The Phantom Tollbooth: Max's homeschooling podcast.

The time has come for Max and I to bond over one of my absolute favorite books in the world. Max cackles as he reads it, and I find myself begging him to tell him which part he's reading. For the podcast today, Max is reading aloud Chapter 1 from the book- it's a bad recording because you can hear my typing click-click as he reads. So..... I might try to re-record it if Max is game. But here it is, in alls its ambient distraction, for now. Just click on the image below to listen.

 

Norton Juster shares three minutes of insight into his own childhood and inspirations for The Phantom Tollbooth in this episode of All Things Considered. He explains why his book was not entirely well-recieved by the pedagogy of the day:

Not everyone in the publishing world of the 1960s embracedThe Phantom Tollbooth. Many said that it was not a children's book, the vocabulary was much too difficult, and the ideas were beyond kids. To top it off, they claimed fantasy was bad for children because it disorients them.

The prevailing wisdom of the time held that learning should be more accessible and less discouraging. The aim was that no child would ever have to confront anything that he or she didn't already know.

But my feeling is that there is no such thing as a difficult word. There are only words you don't know yet — the kind of liberating words that Milo encounters on his adventure.

More to explore:

Phantom Tollbooth Interactive Story (Wayback Archive)
Excerpts from the story (B's Page)
Book Report Form (EdHelper) 
Discussion questions (Literary Link) 
Characters (Sparknotes) 

Princess Isla and the ponies.

Isla loved it when Micah and Milla chatted with her about the ponies and breast milk- two topics that run heavy currency.

The girls decided to set up a pony train to visit Isla because "Isla has a throne and the ponies should visit her in her throne all nicely lined." 

So the royal pony procession was carefully arranged and prepared for Princess Isla's satisfaction.

If that isn't the markings of a happy tiny ruler, I'm afraid I am clueless as to aristocratic social signalling.

Isla was, however, somewhat horrified when Milla made the ponies kiss her purple-socked feet. Just to show she's a democrat at heart, I suppose.

Sailing in Maryland with Bunicu and the boys.

Me and Bunicu on Transylvania.

Nine years of incessant change and sweetness spiked by the realization that I am not the ideal mother I always thought I'd be. 

As Bunicu sails across the seas somewhere with his wife and friends, I am reminded of a time when we visited him for a weekend sailing trip near Baltimore. Patrick, Max, and I savored every moment of sunshine and little breezes tickling the sails into laughing. 

Max loved steering the boat, and Patrick made sure to be the arms when my own were full. Of course, Max needed reassurance that no big fish could bite the boat underneath.

And so it goes. Parenting is the long nights and the tortured hours of not knowing where or how to step next. There are truths about life and our world that I can't "kiss away" or change. There are truths about "success" and what it means to thrive, however artificially, in the time of incandescent light bulbs. 

There are moments  and realities that aren't mine to re-wire or demystify. Though he certainly isn't secretive, Max has "secrets" these days- things he can't quite express but often wants somehow to share or discuss with me. Watching a child grow into his own agency- his own moral compass- is both exciting and brutal. We want to make sure we've done everything "right", presupposing somehow that our "right" is the "right" and that "right" absolves everything else.

Absolution and answers are ultimately a mercy which we share with ourselves and others.

As I type, I can't keep this line out of a book I'm reading from dancing through my head. The line isn't an absolution, or an answer, or even an attempt at lightening the burdens of being. It's just a line that echoes- a line from a Vietnam veteran in a post-war rap therapy group trying to come to terms with the dimensions of existence and integrity. After serving in Vietnam infantry, the veteran returned to the US and dealt with his experiences by getting involved in Vietnam Veterans Against the War, one of the most courageous groups of warriors to walk the White House lawn.

It takes courage and grace to admit that we did what others told us to do for fear of being held responsible or accountable for the consequences of failing to follow. As a parent, recognizing the damaging effects of physical and emotional violence required me to abandon fast-and-easy behavior-modifiers like spanking and verbal humiliation. It also put me in the category of "those who don't discipline their children" according to established practices. Sometimes people don't appreciate the difference. 

I've tried what the Ezzos said (and what my peer groups recommended) and found it to be harsh and soul-killing. I respect the decisions of others to raise their kids as they see fit. And I can't help smiling as I finally get around to sharing the quote from the long-haired Vietnam veteran who decided to stand up and speak out against what he had seen and done:

When they give me flak, I tell them, "I was in Vietnam. I fought your dirty little war there. Now don't tell me how to cut my hair."

Be part of Budburst's Summer Solstice Event!

Something fun to plan for the summer solstice on June 21st this year. To participate in Budburst's Summer Solstice Event, all you need is an internet connection and a desire to learn more about the plants around you. Of course, the super-eager can also make use of the phone app. So here's what you do:

First, go online and register for free.

Then choose a plant to monitor. Our opinion is that native plants are the most rewarding.

Determine your plant's location using latitute and longitude. You'll need this to add to the report forms.

Next, download and print the appropriate plant report form. Report forms exist for wildflowers, evergreens, deciduous trees and shrubs, grasses, and conifers.

Finally, submit your observations to share with other participants and plant lovers across the world.

Learning about the periodic table: Ten great online resources.

The days of periodic tabling have arrived in the Coryell Castle. It's a challenge to teach because it wasn't always my strong point, but Max has been pushing to learn it despite state standards that don't map it to our academic year. So here's how we're doing it:

1
My favorite introductory video on the periodic table is this one.
11 mnutes of engaging combination of history and theory which provides much of the information needed to group the elements by class on the worksheets below.

2
Peridioc Table of the Elements (PDF)
Colorful and color-coded. 

3
Periodic Table of the Elements in Pictures (PDF)
Print as 2-sided document. An excellent resource. 

4
Periodic Table with Symbols (PDF)
Simple chart to help kids memorize the symbols and names of each element.

5
Color-Coded Periodic Table Worksheet (PDF)
Kids can color-code the element classes. It has an area for a color key for alkali metals, alkaline earth metal, transition metals, metalloids, nonmetals, halogens and noble gases. 

6
Name Game- Finding Elements (PDF)
A fun activity to be completed alongside a periodic table.

7
 Periodic Elements Cards (PDF)
32 pages listing all the periodic elements and their properties to print front and back. There's a card for every element, with a picture on the front and words on the back. Also included are twelve two-sided chemical group cards and five two-sided key cards (symbol key and color key).

8
Atomic Orbitals Handout (PDF)
This chart shows all the fundamental atomic electron orbitals as electron probability density distributions (fuzzy clouds), which is close as you can get to visualizing what an atom really looks like. The orbitals are labeled. It describes other ways to visualize atoms, namely, electron orbits (like planets) and surfaces of constant probability (bulgy blobs). It has a small periodic table showing in which order the electron shells are filled.

9
Periodic Table of Videos
Links to a periodic table of videos in which each element leads to a video about it. Great for visual learners.

10
The atom Handout (PDF)
A great review and introduction to the atom itself.

"The Kama Sutra of Kindness: Position No. 2", a poem by Mary Mackey.

 

should I greet you
as if
we had merely eaten
together one night
when the white birches
dripped wet
and lightning etched
black trees on your walls?

it is not love
I am asking

love comes from years
of breathing
skin to skin
tangled in each other's dreams
until each night
weaves another thread
in the same web
of blood and sleep

and I have only
passed through you quickly
like light
and you have only
surrounded me suddenly
like flame

the lake is cold
the snows are sudden
the wild cherry bends
and winter's a burden

in your hand I feel
spring burn in the bud.

"The Kama Sutra of Kindness: Position No. 3", a poem by Mary Mackey.

It's easy to love
through a cold spring
when the poles
of the willows
turn green
pollen falls like
a yellow curtain
and the scent of 
Paper Whites
clots
the air

but to love for a lifetime
takes talent

you have to mix yourself
with the strange
beauty of someone
else
wake each morning
for 72,000
mornings in
a row so
breathed and
bound and 
tangled
that you can hardly
sort out
your arms
and 
legs

you have to
find forgiveness
in everything
even ink stains
and broken
cups

you have to be willing to move through
life
together
the way the long
grasses move
in a field
when you careen
blindly toward
the other 
side

there's never going to be anything
straight or predictable
about your path
except the 
flattening
and the springing
back

you just go on walking for years
hand in hand
waist deep in the weeds
bent slightly forward
like two question
marks
and all the while it

burns 
my dear
it burns beautifully above
you
and goes on
burning
like a relentless
sun.

Listen to the free audio reading at Writer's Almanac.

French coloring pages.

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

From Filles Couloriers

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

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

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

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

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

Smitten with flower press.

I found a charming little flower press on sale at Barnes and Noble and decided it was absolutely necessary for our learning this summer. It's unusual for me to be enchanted or inspired by a brand, but if it happens, it tends to be French brand. In this case, Moulin Roty.

Even the cardboard box is too lovely to toss....

The history of Moulin Roty began in 1972 when a group of 20 odd friends were searching for a common project that would provide both income and way of life. In the small French village of Moulin Roty, the friends decided to purchase an old mill that has fallen into ruins. They renovated the mill bit by bit so that their families could move in and live there together as a commune. The adventure began with screen printing and craft items (lamps, jewellery, decorative items . . . ) and ended with a worldwide commune brand. 

In 1980, Moulin Roty opened its doors as an official Cooperative (SCOP) in order to "ensure the development and the durability of the company". This status helps board members conserve the founding values of the brand : solidarity, sharing and respect. The French cooperative movement offers much to emulate and inspire its American counterpart.

Then, in 1988, a fire destroyed the entire workshop at the old mill.  The designs, stock, files and machines were completely lost. Moulin Roty moved to Nort sur Erdre, 15 kilometres away and decided to begin from scratch. This new start also gave added importance to the design and sales aspects of the company. The latter kept its status as a cooperative but became a public limited company (SA) in 1991.

In 1996, a Hungarian-Romanian gentleman by the name of Arpad Kovacs got involved in the creative aspect of Moulin Roty. He designs the large majority of their wooden games and toys thanks to the company he founded in his native village in Romania. The company offers work to 150 families and possesses unique know-how that has long been forgotten in France, especially with regards to wood and wicker.

In 2000, the first subsidiary in Great Britain is created and a strong web presence for Moulin Roty emerges.

And just to think that the Moulin Roty Botanist Set is 72 dollars worth of beautiful... We'll just have to use that cardboard box to make our own... In the meantime, even the coloring pages delight us.

Right-click to open full-size printable.

Driving through Dixie: The playlist.

Hayes Carll.

We've been doing lots of wandering along Alabama backroads lately. And the wandering would be nothing without the melodies to do thinking in our stead.

 

A quick note on the artists and tunes. Guy Clark, Neko Case, and Bob Dylan were made for aimless drives and wanderings. Morphine, the Pixies, and Cary Ann Hearst said a few things that needed saying on a good drive, so I added them as welI.

Lots of Hayes Carll. I couldn't love Hayes Carll more if I found out that he was putting on a New Year's eve burleqsue with Shovels & Rope. Oh, that's right- he did. 

Alabama Herbs: A video introduction to pokeweed.

Since Phyllis Light is the mentor of my two favorite herbalists, I was excited to find a video in which Phyllis goes on a little herb walk in her hometown of Arab, Alabama. A fascinating introduction to the ever-common pokeweed that lives so happily in the South.

"Memory As A Hearing Aid" by Tony Hoagland.

Somewhere, someone is asking a question,

and I stand squinting at the classroom

with one hand cupped behind my ear,

trying to figure out where that voice is coming from.

I might be already an old man,

attempting to recall the night

his hearing got misplaced,

front-row-center at a battle of the bands,

where a lot of leather-clad, second-rate musicians,   

amped up to dinosaur proportions,

test drove their equipment through our ears.   

Each time the drummer threw a tantrum,

the guitarist whirled and sprayed us with machine-gun riffs,   

as if they wished that they could knock us

quite literally dead.

We called that fun in 1970,

when we weren’t sure our lives were worth surviving.

I’m here to tell you that they were,   

and many of us did, despite ourselves,   

though the road from there to here

is paved with dead brain cells,

parents shocked to silence,

and squad cars painting the whole neighborhood   

the quaking tint and texture of red jelly.

Friends, we should have postmarks on our foreheads   

to show where we have been;

we should have pointed ears, or polka-dotted skin   

to show what we were thinking

when we hot-rodded over God’s front lawn,   

and Death kept blinking.

But here I stand, an average-looking man   

staring at a room

where someone blond in braids   

with a beautiful belief in answers   

is still asking questions.

Through the silence in my dead ear,   

I can almost hear the future whisper   

to the past: it says that this is not a test   

and everybody passes.

The daily dandelion.

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

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

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

DANDELION HANDOUT (PDF)

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

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

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

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

Local history investigation: Does the Memnon-Tierce house qualify as a Wright-style prairie house?

The Memnon-Tierce House in Tuscaloosa

Right now, we're knee-deep in the study of Frank Lloyd Wright's "prairie houses". In 1936, during the USA depression, Frank Lloyd Wright developed a simplified version of Prairie architecture called Usonian. Wright believed these stripped-down houses represented the democratic ideals of the United States. In fact, the only community that Wright ever helped build was one based on the Usonian-type house. To see how Wright’s prairie houses continue to influence American architecture, we explored the Prairie Styles website. 

As Max read about the Robie house and Wright's adaptation of the prairie house style to downtown cities, he mentioned that he thought Tuscaloosa might have its own prairie house "somewhere near the University". Intrigued by the prospect, I did a little online sleuthing to quickly discover that Max, of course, was probably right.

The Memnon-Tierce near downtown Tuscaloosa (pictured above) includes many features of the prairie style popularized by Wright. Technically, a prairie house usually includes the folowing features:

• Low-pitched roof
• Overhanging eaves
• Horizontal lines and rectangular shapes
• Central chimney and hearth
• Open floor plan
• Clerestory windows

I created a worksheet for Max to frame his analysis of what the Memnon-Tierce house. You can download it below if you'd like to try and determine if the Memnon-Tierce house qualifies as a prairie house.

MEMNON-TIERCE HOUSE WORKSHEET (PDF)

Like all local history investigations, the family behind the house is a story in itself. You can learn more about the fascinating Tierce family history and chase it with Rick Bragg's article about the Tierce house. 

The Tierce family in 1901 on the front steps of their home just south of North River (Lake Tuscaloosa) on Highway 69 North (Crabbe Road) .

Herbal Kids Club: Learning about wild roses.

This week's Herbal Kids Club class taught us about the wild rose, "queen of the rose family". The Rose family, also known as Family Rosaceae, is a delicious family to head. It includes apples, strawberries, pears, plums, cherries, peaches, and all kinds of edible fruits. Roses have been loved for longer than homo sapiens have known how to write- archaeologists discovered the fossilized remains of wild roses over 40 million years old. So our exploration of wild roses is also an adventure in natural history.

Rachel showed us that wild roses have five petals. Then everyone chimed in with their thoughts on the qualities of roses. We learned that they are useful as well as beautiful. The rose is relaxing and calming, good for tummy bugs, useful to help dry out and heal sunburns or oozing poison ivy. Roses can also be used to help heal broken hearts, probably through a tea or tincture. 

After the kids sat down to sketch the wild rose, Rachel shared the story of how the rose got her thorns. I wish I could recount it word-by-word, but my memory does not always serve my imagination. I'll do my best to give the gist of Rachel's tale. The story begins with the love of the native peoples for the wild Rose- a love so ardorous that they ravaged all Rose's leaves, fruits, flowers, and roots, leaving her no seeds to with which to reproduce. Poor Rose asked Mother Earth to protect her from the over-harvesting of her native lovers. Mother Earth promised that she would do her best. In the meantime, she urged Rose to go ahead and shed her remaining leaves and go to sleep for the Winter. So Rose listened to Mother Earth, shed her leaves, and retired for her winter sleep. When Winter heard of poor Rose's plight, he told Mother Earth that he might have a solution. And he set about creating new features which would protect Rose come Spring. When Rose rose to meet the spring sun, she discovered that she was covered with icy prickles on her branches and tiny, little prickles along her rosehips. Never again would the natives let their love for Rose diminish her strength because these prickles prevented Rose from greedy hands and over-harvesting. And that's how the Rose got her thorns.

As we looked at the jagged edges of the leaves, a little insect friend seemed surprised to see us. I never did figure out what sort of critter he might be.... Hopefully, a friend of the rose.

Then the kids picked roses and added them to apple cider vinegar to make a sunburn-soothing spray. Rachel also passed out handfuls of dried red roses for the vinegar- and these dried red roses are slowly turning our vinegar to a warm pink. 

One of the most ingenious games for cemeting new knowledge was next on the schedule. Rachel taught the kids to play "Wildcrafter, Wildcrafter", a cross between chase-and-tag and twenty questions. It's hard to describe, and I don't want to reveal any trade secrets, but my kids could not get enough of it. The sounds of "Wildcrafter, Wildcrafter" lit the castle yard with excitement well into the evening.

If you'd like to learn more about the Herbal Kids Club, email Rachel at atinyseed@gmail.com or take a peek at her blog. It's been a wonderful experience, and the kids look forward to our twice-a-month classes very, very much.

As usual, the learning theme took on its own momentum as the little people decided it was time to scour the cultivated roses in our yard for trimming. Everyone is covered in tiny rose-pricks, but all the pricking must have been worthwhile because the little people secretly procured some vases and moved around the lawn furniture to create a "special resting place for rose fairies on their way to other places". 

Fairies and science, always compatible and happily co-nested in the minds of little people who love learning about the world around them. So cool.

Unfortunately, our online investigations led to the discovery that rose rosette disease has been confirmed in Tuscaloosa County.  The virus is transmitted by tiny eriophyid mites that are even smaller than spider mites. While work is being done to develop a lab test to identify rose rosette disease, physical symptoms are the best way to identify rose rosette disease right now. Learn about the symptoms and see some pictures at Backyard Wisdom. 

CHASE THE BUTTERFLIES:
The Family Herbal, Rachel's blog
Why wild roses have thorns, a legend from the Salteaux (First People)
Max thought the particular wild rose in Rachel's yard most closely resembled Rosa arvensis. 
More rose legends and facts (Interrose) 
Rose color-by number page (Raising Our Kids) 
Rose coloring page (Activity Village) 

Grass stains and spring brains.

Spring fills every moment with buds and blossoms and scents of moist soil. One of the horrors of school for me was the glossy linoleum corridors that sparkled and smelled like ammonia- how dare a cleaning product compete with the grass-heavy odor of spring?

And what were those awful rubber-scented shoes on my feet- that border between my body and the feel of grass and tiny things growing? We were ALL once tiny things, growing....

So the kids can wear shoes during the day if they so choose. Or they can enjoy the feel of verdance between their toes.

Milla is torn between the soft slithery grass and those new shoes Suebee bought for her. After much huffing and puffing, she finally discovers which shoe is "left" and which is "right".

But nothing is as easy as our well-laid plans lead us to believe.

Toes can be tricky. They creep through slots and spaces that are not intended for toes or creeping. Milla's toes even venture to get tangled in things.

So Milla removes her foot, untangles her toes, and prepares to try again. 

Effortless satisfaction. Hindsight is 20/20. And Milla's momentary frustration has morphed into that smug smile.

With "success" behind her, Milla is ready to face the challenge of the velcro heel-strap- a challenge she will be first in the family to take on.

The tiny problem-solver has solved the problem of the back and now carefully works on the problem of the top strap.  

My brain is made mush by all the beauty sometimes. And it feels like an accomplishment to just sit and watch little people grow their way into the world growing around them. Life is my favorite mystery...

Exploring world culture for kids.

Yesterday, our family story, "The day the sheep came home in Transylvania", was posted as part of MamaSmiles' awesome World Culture for Kids series. There are some great photos of this unique cultural event, as well as follow-up links to learn more about life and culture in Transylvania.

If you haven't read it or seen it, please go take a peek. It was written in a way that makes a great family read-aloud, and our photos are sure to make you smile (especially the one of Max hitching a ride in a wagon). Quick, go see! And thanks to MaryAnne for putting together such a great educational resource!

Exploring azaleas in our yard.

Last week, we took advantage of the last bright breath of the azaleas to learn more about the kinds that grow in our yard.

It all started when the girls picked a few large bouquets of azaleas and offered them to us as a gift. So we put each kind a different glass bottle with a little bit of water. Obviously, the azaleas were looked different from one another, so Max decided to try and identify them.

His Guide to North American Wildflowers wasn't very helpful since most of the plants were cultivated, probably purchased from a local nursery by those who owned the castle before us. So we turned to the native azalea cheatsheat in the hopes of finding more.

And then we did the unthinkable- we put off identifying our azalea friends in the interest of learning more about their anatomy and reproduction. Max wanted to see if our azaleas had all their "flower parts" so he could determine if they were perfect or imperfect flowers.

Lest you forget, dissecting flowers is the easiest way to really learn flower parts and distinguish between perfect and imperfect flowers. We also tried to determine the specific "flower shape" of our three azaleas.

Max reminded me that we could only really see the ovules, as "the ovaries are the eggs and they are teeny tiny before they become fruits".

Max got interested in the petal shapes and spent quite a bit of time trying to decide which petal margins were ruffled and which were wavy. I think I know why they never taught us this stuff in school..... it's not as easy as it appears to classify azaleas. 

Azaleas Handout (PDF)

Using the azalea handout above, Max noted the differences in our azalea friends. We took notes and hope to head over to the Arboretum for some help later this week. 

More azalea handouts and PDF printables:

Guide to Azaleas (Alabama Cooperative Extension)
Azalea Origami How-To
Azalea Bonsai (New Englad Bonsai Gardens) 
Azalea Culture for Georgia Gardens (Your Southern Gardern) 
Azalea Lace Bug Handout (OSU) 
Evergreen Azalea Handout (Virginia Tech) 
Azalea Leaf and Flower Gall Handout (University of Arkansas) 
Indian Azalea Handout 
Azalea Toxicity in Goats (Small Ruminant Ramblings) 
Azalea and Rhododendron Diseases (Clemson) 

Collaging our way through the four seasons.

Those slippery seasons that bleed into one another so strangely in the South... We tried to capture them by whipping out some magazines and talking about each season.

Millard took the cutting very seriously- and insisted on multiple images for each season.

As the ladies passed around the coveted glue stick, I asked them for adjectives to describe each season; "What words come to mind when you imagine spring?" Then we talked about how the natural world changes during each season- how plants and animals sleep in the winter, how they emerge to find the sun in the spring, how they start packing and planning for babies in the fall....

I am grateful to the little people for teaching me this language of life- for the way in which they remind me that every tiny seed has its own needs which we can respect or disparage. Collaging in the backyard works just fine these days.

"I Remember, I Remember" by Mary Ruefle.

Excerpts from "I Remember, I Remember"

I remember in high school there was a girl named Lizette. She had black hair and a very pale face and because her mother was French she was an outsider and to make matters worse she was not the best student but was awfully good at art and took all the art classes and we worked on the literary magazine together and I liked her very much but I was afraid to be her friend because after all she was strange and I think I was jealous of her strangeness at the same time as I was afraid of it, and when we were together we read our poems out loud to each other, and in this way, through poetry, it was always safe to communicate.

I remember (much later) wondering what ever happened to Lizette.

I remember another friend in high school whose mother was an artist and their house was full of statues—the Buddha and nymphs—and the furniture looked like it was hundreds of years old and there were paintings on the wall and her mother had a separate apartment called a studio and in it were figures of clay on pedestals and in one corner an old hand-cranked Gramophone and I liked being in there but it was kinda scary too, it seemed forbidden in some way I couldn’t figure out; art was scary, strange, forbidden, and the really confusing part was I wanted it and needed it.

I remember one afternoon my friend and I were in the studio and all the clay figures on pedestals were draped with white sheets and my friend told me her mother did that when she didn’t want to look at them anymore and I was totally confused. 

I remember standing in a field in Switzerland at dusk, surrounded by cows with bells around their necks, and reading John Keats’s “Ode to a Nightingale” out loud from an open book I was holding in my hands, and I started to weep—weep is a better word for it than cry—and I remember the tears slowly streaming down my face, it was that beautiful to me, and I loved poetry that much. I was eighteen.

I remember (later) thinking that it was actually hilarious that I used to read poetry to cows, that they were an integral part of my most serious moment.
...............

I remember, two years later, reading Three Poems on a grassy slope while across the road three men put a new roof on an old house, and I was in love with one of them. I could watch the men working as I read. I remember that everything I was reading was everything that was happening across the way—I would read a little, then look up, read a little, then look up, and I was blown apart by the feeling this little book was about my life at that moment, exactly as I was living it. I remember loving the book, and that it was one of the memorable reading experiences of my life.

I remember reading Rilke’s Duino Elegies again and again and again, until I “got” them, until something burst over me like a flood, and I remember, once again, weeping and weeping with a book in my hands.
....................

I remember that I did not always know authors were ordinary people living ordinary lives, and that an ordinary life was an obscure life, if we can extend the meaning ofobscure to mean covered up by dailiness, glorious dailiness, shameful dailiness, dailiness that is difficult to figure out, that is not always clear until a long time afterward. Obscure: not readily noticed, easily understood, or clearly expressed. Which is a pretty good definition of life.

I remember, I remember the house where I was born.

I remember driving by the hospital where I was born and glancing at it—I was in a car going sixty miles an hour—and feeling a fleeting twinge of specialness after which I had no choice but to let it go and get over it, at sixty miles an hour.

I remember I was a child, and when I grew up I was a poet. It all happened at sixty miles an hour and on days when the clock stopped and all of humanity fit into a little chapel, into a pinecone, a shot of ouzo, a snail’s shell, a piece of soggy rye on the pavement.

-------------

I remember, on the first Tuesday of every year, that I became a poet for a single, simple reason: I liked making similes for the moon. And when things get tough and complicated and threaten to drown me in their innuendoes, I come back to this clear, simple, and elemental fact, out of all facts the one most like the moon itself. O night, sleep, death and the stars!

I remember the moon was covered with dust and I used my finger to write clean meon its surface, and my finger was ever after covered with a fine gray blanket, as when you pull lint from the dryer.

I remember more than I can tell. 

I remember heaven.

I remember hell.

I can't get enough of poet and essayist Mary Ruefle these days. You can read the entire "article"/poem here. For more of her word-loving ways, pick up a copy of Madness, Rack, and Honey. It will soon become your favorite book, an anthem of sorts for growing, living, and loving.

Coloring Viola, the violet herb fairy.

Color your own version as well. I'll share it for free if you don't expect too much from me.

Violet (PDF)

A Bob Dylan kind of day....

The King is resting, and I am procrastinating on all the sock sorting in the plans. Our bedroom is filled with that crisp, post-rain light that reveals every bundle of dust bordering the stacks of books on the floor.

All in all, it's a Bob Dylan kind of day- a day that straddles the line between poetry and blues. Listening to Bob is like hearing the story of the last American century in a song. His lyrics offer the best of what living in freedom means- the ability to question official narratives and owe your allegiance to nothing so abstract as a flag. And if "The Death of Emmett Till" doesn't shake you up a little, then you are only half-alive.

Bob recorded "With God On Our Side" in 1963- and its heartbreaking message echoes today in this light-covered bedroom. Don't get excited- Bob was not a "pacifist", which is a pretty rigorous ethical framework- but his "politics" emerged from the attempt to tell our history as it was lived by those Americans rarely included in the official version of events.

WITH GOD ON OUR SIDE by Bob Dylan

Oh my name it is nothin’
My age it means less
The country I come from
Is called the Midwest
I’s taught and brought up there
The laws to abide
And that the land that I live in
Has God on its side

Oh the history books tell it
They tell it so well
The cavalries charged
The Indians fell
The cavalries charged
The Indians died
Oh the country was young
With God on its side

Oh the Spanish-American
War had its day
And the Civil War too
Was soon laid away
And the names of the heroes
l’s made to memorize
With guns in their hands
And God on their side

Oh the First World War, boys
It closed out its fate
The reason for fighting
I never got straight
But I learned to accept it
Accept it with pride
For you don’t count the dead
When God’s on your side

When the Second World War
Came to an end
We forgave the Germans
And we were friends
Though they murdered six million
In the ovens they fried
The Germans now too
Have God on their side

I’ve learned to hate Russians
All through my whole life
If another war starts
It’s them we must fight
To hate them and fear them
To run and to hide
And accept it all bravely
With God on my side

But now we got weapons
Of the chemical dust
If fire them we’re forced to
Then fire them we must
One push of the button
And a shot the world wide
And you never ask questions
When God’s on your side

Through many dark hour
I’ve been thinkin’ about this
That Jesus Christ
Was betrayed by a kiss
But I can’t think for you
You’ll have to decide
Whether Judas Iscariot
Had God on his side

So now as I’m leavin’
I’m weary as Hell
The confusion I’m feelin’
Ain’t no tongue can tell
The words fill my head
And fall to the floor
If God’s on our side
He’ll stop the next war

Making candied violets with the kids.

Continuing our study of violets, we made candied violets earlier this week. You will need:

two eggs
a whisk and a bowl
wax paper
raw turbinado sugar
a mortar and pestle
20 or so freshly harvested violet flowers

First, we cracked open two eggs and removed the yolk from the egg white. (I set aside the yolk to use for a feta cheese omelette later.) We used the multi-colored fresh eggs from Laurie, and the kids noticed the creamy golden-ness of the yolk.

Then Max whisked the egg white until it bubbled on top. The bowl was set aside so we could dip the violets into the egg white later. I explained that the egg white would act as a "sugar glue".

Meanwhile, the girls talked to the violets and thanked them for being present in our kitchen and in our hands. I think they learned this from all the Native American materials we've been reading recently, particularly the tradition of thanking the animals after a hunt.

Then Max poured two tablespoons of turbinado sugar into the pestle and began the strenous process of grinding it into a finer powder. If you use regular sugar, make sure it is fine enough to stick since the weight of large sugar crystals is not happily carried by our little violet friends.

Then Micah, Milla, and Max took turns holding the violets by their stems and dipping them first in the egg white and then in the sugar carefully. Once they had dipped and sugared their violets, they placed them on the wax paper and we put them in the oven on the lowest bake setting for 30 minutes.

The taste was light, fragrant, and somewhat like a serenade to spring. Even Patrick and Kevin snacked on violets.

Weaving together botany and ecology.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Starting With Little Things" by William Stafford.

Love the earth like a mole,
fur-near. Nearsighted,
hold close the clods,
their fine-print headlines.
Pat them with soft hands --

Like spades, but pink and loving; they
break rock, nudge giants aside,
affable plow.
Fields are to touch;
each day nuzzle your way.

Tomorrow the world.

In this poem, Stafford reminds us of how a sense of wonder and environmental stewardship begins with the tiny hands of children touching, coaxing, and forming relationships with the green life around them.

"Every Day" by Ingeborg Bachmann.

War is no longer declared,
it is continued. The unheard of
has become everyday. The hero
is absent from the battle. The feeble one
has moved into the firing range.
The uniform of day is patience,
the order of merit is the sorry star
of hope over the heart.

It is awarded
when nothing comes to pass,
when the bombardment is hushed,
when the enemy has become invisible
and the shadow of eternal armament
covers the sky.

It is awarded
for the flight from flag,
for the boasting before a friend,
for the betrayal of shameful secrets
and the contempt
of every command.

Ingeborg Bachmann (1926-1973) was born in Austria. She studied philosophy at the University of Vienna, where she completed her dissertation on Heidegger. Bachmann wasa member of the literary circle “Gruppe 47,” which included writers such as Ilse Aichinger, Paul Celan, and Günter Grass. Her death came like the slow spark lying at the edge of her poems; she died in Rome when a burning cigarette ignited the mattress of her bed. 

Isla drove her mom to T-town to wish her aunt a happy birthday.

Isla, tiny trickster, always has something up her sleeve. Last week, it was a suprise birthday visit for her Aunt Alina complete with a boisterous birthday lunch at Manna Grocery, one of the few places in Tuscaloosa that I consider to be truly family-friendly.

When she was not regaling us with her fascinating tongue contortions, Isla demonstrated her certainty of ownership over nearby breasts with a snarl.

Max amused himself with reading more about the Ingalls family while the girls baked more mudpies and whipped up flower salads. They kept a wary though loving eye on their little cousin as she cuddled with Carla in the shade.

Micah came to "check on" Isla several times, and offered plenty of advice to her aunt on how to wipe Isla's mouth after she eats. Where Micah discoveted her precociousness in manners is beyond me.....

Hoping to score a snarl from the Isla, I decided the moment of self-reckoning had arrived. It was an uncomfortable position for me as an aunt, but my commitment to truth overshadowed my concern for how others might take it.

Of course, Isla did not appreciate my efforts to reveal the truth about the back of her hair. First she flashed a gang sign at me....

And then she revealed the genetic origins of her gorgeous little snarl.... 

But there is nothing that a little nuzzle from mommy can't fix....

And nothing as precious as Isla and her mommy visiting me on my 35th birthday.

Add a magical, baby-whispering and Pinka-hypnotizing Josalyn to the mix and you have what words don't suffice to describe- a simple, peaceful, beautiful day.

Metaphysics: The Spotify playlist.

Metaphysics is the branch of philosophy that investigates the general nature of being or reality, especially the being of the sensible world, God, freedom, and souls. It is sometimes synonymous with "ontology", though some philosphers would shun me for saying this.

In case you are like me and need a special amount of time each day considering metaphysical questions like: Can there be aspects of reality that are in principle unknowable? What is consciousness? Is it purely physical? Do we have those immaterial bodies known as souls? What is intentionality? Could it be a purely physical phenomenon?If so, then what on earth would ethical culpability involve? Is reality determined or does free will have a place in causation? What is freedom under these circumstances? then, here is the playlist to match the mood. 

After the playlist, I added a few notes about each song and its potential as rubric or vehicle for metaphysical speculation. Because I'm crazy like that.

 

"I wanna see the thing in itself, I don't wanna see nothing else.
I wanna see the thing in itself, I don't wanna think no more...
One suchness, ten thousand things"
Akron / Family is serious about metaphysics.

Eef Barzelay makes me wonder how we can feel something as intentional as "love" towards something we declare to be "unknown". Is there anything that is actually unknown enough to give rise to "love"?

The Stars want you to "use that head and stop to think a little, just cause you're crazy doesn't mean that you're free.."

Devendra Barnhart really stumps me with the "eyes are the stems of space" thing.

Rancid ventures into the diving area with their little quip- "nihilistic feelings are movin', if I try real hard, I'll see right through them." I want to keep this at the level of metaphysics without wandering into the realm of superhero syndromes and I resent Rancid for making it difficult for me to keep them separated. 

Willy Mason wants me to think that "the cards are stacked" and that I "don't know what I'm running from". His hard-edged fatalism leaves little room for manuveur. 

Quantic really flirts with epistemology unless you take this song to be about the nature of consciousness. Specifically, is "a presence felt" a way of knowing or is it a symptom of thinking and imagining? How do feelings relate to consciousness?

PJ Harvey's instrumental, "The End", sits you squat face-to-face with the big question- What is the end?

The Pixies make an interesting connection between watching TV and the destruction of the atmosphere. Considering this requires something akin to consciousness.

Goran Bregovic' and Eugene Hutz (of Gogol Bordello) offer their take on utopia. Quantum utopia, like most utopias, lies on the cusp of questions about free will and determinism. Does the setting up of a specific rules system model have any chance of working effectively in the realm of human social and political behavior? Is human free will the penultimate party pooper for social schemers?

The Cowboy Junkies take a hard line on the question of the supernatural. For them, the supernatural does not exist apart from the mind which creates it. Their conclusion: Demerol is more chemically accurate and ascertainable than God. I can think of a few existentialists who would disagree with their method while accepting their conclusion.

The Dave Matthews Band, as suggested by the King, throws a wrench in my speculations since I am now forced to consider how my species' evolutionary history turns consciousness into a spectrum.

Bright Eyes wants to know about time, and he doesn't avoid astrophysics. I like that in a song.

M. Ward and Zooey Deschanel distract me with the ethereal fuzz. I spend a large amount of time trying to decide if my shadow is a separate object with its own existence or merely an adjective to describe the way the light occupies the space around me. 

Exploring David Almond's book, "My Dad's A Birdman".

It's a quick read, and a fantastic one, thanks to Polly Dunbar's whimsical illustrations. 

And then Max worked on a book report summing the story and comparing the relationship of Lizzie and her father through the course of the story. He also used his reference books to create a timeline of modern human aviation (thanks to the great data in the resource back below).

My Dad's a Birdman Resource Pack (Young Vic)

Violet extravaganza.

After learning about violets at the Herbal Kids Club last week, they are literally popping up everywhere around us.

Viola sororia is one beautiful little weed. Her 5-parted petals range from violet to white and lie widely open like a curvy cowl. She grows easily in average, medium, well-drained soil in full sun to part shade.  She prefers humusy, moisture-retentive soils and blooms from April to June, and can be identified by her heart-shaped leaves.

Rather than spreading by runners, she freely self-seeds to the point of being weedy in optimum growing conditions. Viola's fruit is an elliptical capsule with dark brown seeds which grows under during the leaf during the fall. This means you can pick violets to your heart's content without worrying about whether you are diminishing their chances of reproduction. You might want to go easy on the leaves, though. 

The lovely white violet whose color we can't explain, though Max's theory is that the white violets like more sun than the violet violets.

V is for Violet (PDF Coloring Page)

Learning about violets.

A day last week began with a scheduling error on my part- the kind that involves an extra three hours to kill in a town sixty miles from home. Finally, we ended up in the right place at the right time, the Herbal Kids Club, an awesome learning experience well-worth the 120 mile trip.

Rachel began by getting everyone together and bringing Violet to life. Almost everyone tasted the violet tincture.

Micah thought the violet tincture tasted like "shampoo".

Milla didn't really express her impression of the violet tincture.

Off we went, seeking violets- I thought I heard Max humming the Violet song on his way.

There were violets everywhere, officially annoucing the arrival of spring. I notice some similar flowers of much smaller size around the violets, but Stone quickly assured me that "they are not baby violets because they don't have heart-shaped leaves." He was right.

Then we all sat down to sketch violets and violet leaves. Micah, ever the perfectionist, was not satisfied with any drawings that did not match the flowers and leaves she had seen. I tried to remind her that it was best to try and  "color an impression for yourself" rather than draw to please others.

Rachel showed us how to make violet tea. She added all the violet leaves and flowers picked by the kids to a glass jar and then poured in boiling water. Then she covered the jar and let is steep for about half-an-hour (though I'm sure steeping it longer would increase the flavor for flavor-junkies). When we tasted the tea, it was light and fragrant, very refreshing. The color was a delicate cornflower yellow.

Not everyone, however, took part in the tea-making discussion. Four little people chose to spend some time with Clover, the gorgeous free-roaming hen.

I have half the mind to buy a hen for Anna, but I wonder how Amy might "repay" me for such a generous favor....

Before we left, we learned that our hens might have fared better if they had not been cooped up in their cage. We also made violet honey and enjoyed the background hum of children at play on a perfect spring day.

35.

Laying in the spring-scented grass listening to Serge Gainsbourg slightly amazed at the aftertaste of my 35th birthday.

This is, after all, that year I would never live to see.

Seeing is a variation on being that somehow includes the living of it. And I've been so busy for the past 34 years making these choices you read as decisions, hiding behind stacks of superlatives and notebooks cluttered with secrets not sacred enough to warrant whispers, that all the mining now brings the pressure for a product.

This year, I prefer to be the figment of someone's imagination instead.

I'd like for Serge to invent me, to brush my hair. Or tangle it.

To do whatever he wants in the space between my right ear and my shoulder-blade.

I'm done with propositions.

Take me

as a prop.

[See the Draw Serge Blog, though Rick Tulka deserves credit for the particulars.]

Playing the 5 Questions Game with the Voodoo Saints.

It's not often that one gets to hear a favorite local band playing live for a fantastic local burlesque show, but such was the case in this case. I'd owned the Voodoo Saints CD for awhile, but hearing them live at the Pink Box Burlesque still somehow blew my combustile little mind.

Feeling saintly, John and Nathan answered five questions for me the other day. Granted, one of their answers was not entirely gratifying for personal reasons, including a small amount of cash and a personal ego trip. 

QUESTION #1: It caught my eye that your album was recorded in Cherokee Hills Studio. Since we live in Cherokee Hills, my kids and I place bets on which house this studio might be. Where was the mysterious Cherokee Hills Studios and how did you end up recording there?

JOHN: Well, Cherokee Hills is the street that the album was recorded on.  A very close friend of ours let us record at their house for the session…so we'll just leave it there…but you're on the right track. 

QUESTION #2: It looks like the mystery will continue.... Now I have to ask the underwear question- five bands or musicians on your playlists right now.

JOHN:  I think this would be impossible for me to answer on the groups behalf.  Everyone that plays within the band definitely has their own unique tastes as well as common grounds.  But we are all fairly eclectic listeners.  Personally, I have been listening to: Tedeschi Trucks Band, Alabama Shakes, Gary Clarke Jr., The Beatles, Mahalia Jackson.  

NATHAN: Stan Getz & Joao Gilberto, Dizzy Gillespie, Caetano Veloso, Lee Konitz, Mal Waldron. 

QUESTION #3: I enjoyed you guys at the Pink Box Burlesque show. The history was made palpable by your music.  don't think most bands have the experience of playing for a burleqsue in their repertoire. Has playing live for the PBB  influenced your music in any way?

NATHAN: I really wouldn't say that either of us are influenced by each other.  We enjoy working with Mama Dixie and the cast of the PBB, but there's no influence going on.  We just try to hit a wide variety of music that applies to each designated show, and make a complete "product" (or "theme") for each and every show.  Wherever that takes us is where we'll go.  So stay tuned and attend the next PBB show to find out. 

QUESTION #4: Why New Orleans jazz?

JOHN: Well to be quite honest, the band started as a one time thing.  We had some friends that decided to throw a “Prohibition” themed party in the fall of 2010.  They asked us if we would mind playing a few tunes during the festivities.  As a result a quick group started out as a joke playing some really, really old Jazz tunes.  Unexpectedly, we were asked how long we had been together and when and where we would be performing again... and we said "We've been together for about 20 minutes.  This was just thrown together!"  After that night, we decided to pursue the group seriously, and the rest is what you hear.

QUESTION #5: Indeed. Most interesting place you've ever played and why on earth you played there?

JOHN: Besides the group's inception at the "Prohibition" party (which is pretty weird to have a group start out from a fluke), the most interesting place we've ever played would have to be in the studio at WVUA for their Tuscapalooza on-air music festival.  As we were playing, there was a band that literally broke up at the studio, and they were slated to go on after us. So, we were asked to keep going, and it was more of a good time for us in the studio.  Laissez Les Bon Temps Rouler! (Let the Good Times Roll!).

The Voodoo Saints. If you'd like to catch them live, the Saints play at Chloe's Cup Coffees & Teas every Tuesday from 6:00-8:00PM. If you catch them with the PBB at the Green Bar later this month as a result of this post, just buy me a local beer so I can continue my study of Prohibition. If you don't live in Tuscaloosa, then you should visit for something besides the football- something like this.

In the meantime, take a listen to my favorite tune from their album. It slinks, slithers, and grins its way straight across whatever room you happen to inhabit.

Walk On Guilded Splinters (Voodoo Saints)

A few others to stream (with a reminder that you can find more on their website). 

The Pink Box Burlesque....

Poem of the day: "On Top" by Gary Snyder.

All this new stuff goes on top
turn it over, turn it over
wait and water down
from the dark bottom
turn it inside out
let it spread through
Sift down even.
Watch it sprout.

A mind like compost.

A chat about redwood trees: The podcast.

Redwood Trees: A Conversation

Redwood National Park was established on October 2, 1968 along the coast of Northern California. Together with California’s Del Norte Coast, Jedediah Smith and Prairie Creek Redwood State Parks, The Redwood National and State Parks protect 45% of all remaining Coastal Redwood trees. 

Max wanted to make this podcast to inform other kids about redwoods and how "cool they can be if they survive". It came up as an option after we read Jason Chin's book (click on the image below) and I asked him a few questions about what he had learned. Our conversation doesn't even cover half the book's rich content, so I encourage you to read it for yourself and share it with your family.

FOR PRESCHOOL AND KINDERGARDEN 
3 Different Redwoods (PDF) plus The Redwood Rap (YouTube)
Redwood Trees Coloring Page (JPG)
Redwood National Park Coloring Page (PDF)
Redwoods Bingo Game (PDF) 
Redwoods Tracks Activity (PDF) 
Marbled Murrelet Coloring Page (PDF)- letter M
Coho Salmon Coloring Page (PDF)- letter S
Exploring Redwoods (YouTube) 
Redwood Edventures  

FOR THOSE WHO CAN READ AND WRITE
> Have You Ever Seen A Red Tree? plus Teacher's Guide (K-2, PDF) 
Have You Ever Seen A Real-life Giant? plus Teacher's Guide (3-5, PDF)
Have You Ever Seen Something Thousands of Years Old That's Still Alive? plus Teacher's Guide (6-8, PDF)
Redwood Trees: Three Ancient Wonders (PDF)
Interactive Redwood Forest (Online Activity)
How Tall Is A Redwood? Worksheet (PDF) 
Imagine Redwoods Activity (PDF) 

Plastic sails and longboard love.

This morning, Kevin harvested some of that evil bamboo which is taking over our neighborhood. He dropped by this afternoon to show us what he had been working on. You have to see it to believe it, which is why I made this educational, informative, public-service video.

And kids, don't forget to ask your local city council members to ensure your safety by building a skatepark in Tuscaloosa. Because it's long overdue.

Poem of the day: "Translations" by Adrienne Rich.

Milla paints a plaster orange heart in the backyard.
Something about plaster, paint, and tiny girl hands brought this poem to mind.

You show me the poems of some woman
my age, or younger
translated from your language

Certain words occur: enemy, oven, sorrow
enough to let me know
she's a woman of my time

obsessed

with Love, our subject:
we've trained it like ivy to our walls
baked it like bread in our ovens
worn it like lead on our ankles
watched it through binoculars as if
it were a helicopter
bringing food to our famine
or the satellite
of a hostile power

I begin to see that woman
doing things: stirring rice
ironing a skirt
typing a manuscript till dawn

trying to make a call
from a phonebooth

The phone rings endlessly
in a man's bedroom
she hears him telling someone else
Never mind. She'll get tired.
hears him telling her story to her sister

who becomes her enemy
and will in her own way
light her own way to sorrow

ignorant of the fact this way of grief
is shared, unnecessary
and political

Diagnosis Dogwood: The process for helping out a friend.

Our dogwood friends have started blooming, and a few on the backyard tree still had their eyes closed this morning- a great opportunity to really savor each step of their development. Unfortunately, I am focusing on this tree today because she is suffering and needs a diagnosis.

You can see the leaves emerging like tiny fists of green from the branches below. The leaves look green and healthy, though this might have more to do with their novelty than their general well-being.

Dogwood berries turn red in September as a signal to the birds that the seeds are ripe and ready to be eaten by birds (squirrels eat them too, but they chew up the seeds in the berries). The birds swallow the berries, digest the "meat" off the seeds, and then the softened seeds pass through the bird's digestive system. Many of the white woodland dogwoods seen blooming in the spring were planted by birds!

DIAGNOSIS DOGWOOD

To diagnose our dogwood, Max and I are flipping through the field guides and looking online. For novices like us, dogwood diagnosing works by process of elimination. For example, we don't suspect Dogwood Anthracnose because the leaves are not affected- only the flowers or bracts. Yet this anthracnose is caused by a fungus, which would make it a recurring problem, and Max says he remembers the flowers looked this way last year as well.

So we did some more research on the fungus which causes anthracnose, and we found something that didn't suit our fancy. It looks like our friend is suffering from spot anthracnose. According to plant pathologists at North Carolina State University:

Spot anthracnose, caused by Elsinoe corni, affects the flower bracts (petals), leaves and young shoots. The most conspicuous symptoms are small (1/25 to 1/16 inch in diameter), circular to elongate reddish-purple spots on the bracts in early spring. The spots may become numerous and merge, losing the distinctive characteristics of individual spots. Severely infected bracts may be stunted and disfigured and fall prematurely.

Spots on leaves are very small and dark purple in color, but the centers may turn pale yellow-gray and drop out. Heavily infected leaves are smaller than normal, distorted and often killed. Infected young shoots and berries develop elongated, scabby lesions with a purplish margin. The causal fungus produces spores on the lesions, and overwinters on infected twigs and fruit.

And so we have our answer. Now time for the solution. This part led Max to a little despair, since now we must examine the extent to which our tree has been affected and determine whether it can be saved. Not exactly what I had hoped when I lured the munchkins to the dogwood blooms this morning.....

On the other hand, if worse comes to worse, we can harvest some seeds from the dogwoods in the front yard and try to plant some healthy dogwoods in the backyard. The cycle of life is not always easy to explore with kids when it involves the possible dying of a favorite climbing-hammocking-fort tree.

MORE DOGWOOD EXPLORATIONS:

Best Ever Flowering Dogwood Coloring Page (PDF from MEEEA)
Selection and Care of Dogwoods (PDF from ACES)
Cornus florida Fact Sheet (PDF from US Forest Service)
Flowering dogwood (University of Alabama Arboretum) 
How to harvest dogwood tree seeds (Ehow) 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My Southern legitimacy statement.

I love that Dead Mule requires a Southern Legitimacy Statement as biography- though I'll confess that my own is rather cheeky. And I love the new poems for the month of April. Have a look and share your thoughts.