Every year in the beginning of July, an eclectic group of people from around the nation makes the journey to a small farmette in Wisconsin. For a few precious days, they live as a community. The children run free under the watchful eye of many adults. Meals are cooked communally with foods fresh from the large gardens and eaten in the open air cantina. Dishes are washed by people as they catch up on each others lives over the past year or get to know one another for the first time. One can enjoy a cup of coffee and conversation in the greenhouse, help install a composting toilet or refurbish an old electric CitiCar, build a hay bale igloo, shoot water guns and participate in a lively discussion on religion, politics or the environment all in the same day. Lay back in the grass under the trees while the kids play on the tire swing or in the creek or go pick blackberries to compliment the picnic in the woods. Clean off in the solar shower, just don't mind the fact the enclosure only has three and half sides. Hey, a towel hanging in the opening works pretty well. Sleep in a tent, a camper, a cot in the greenhouse or even, occasionally, a bed.

It is called The Reunion, and it is as idyllic as it sounds. It is the most relaxing vacation we take every year. I adore our dear friends for including us in the handpicked group of people they invite every year and for opening their home and their lives to the rest of us.

A glimpse of Isabella and Vincent's personalities



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Is it bizarre that I was outside repotting one of my succulent plants at 10:30 this evening?

I crave alone time. As an introvert, I need it to revitalize myself. With Simon being attached to me so much of the day, my only real chance for time alone happens when he is sleeping. Consequently, even when I am so tired that my eyes are burning, I will stay up doing things that I enjoy. I'll often water my garden at 10 o'clock in the evening, bake something once everyone is asleep or stay on the computer for far too long. My body may be exhausted, but my soul is invigorated during these quiet, contemplative hours.

I had a fairly horrendous day, thanks to a migraine I really wanted to sleep through when I had two real estate transactions I absolutely had to work today or they would be in jeopardy, so I need to focus on some positive things. It is time for another Things That Made Me Smile Today:

~ mango peach salsa
~ Vincent riding his bike without training wheels for the first time
~ Simon giggling while playing with Luis
~ an abundance of developing fruit on my tomato plants
~ hugging my husband
~ Abigail showing me that a boy from summer school (who has sent her two "check yes or no" notes) gave her his address
~ baby coos
~ Isabella spontaneously reading things to me
~ teeny, super sweet strawberries on our alpine plants

She stood over the pool in her chocolate and fuchsia swimming suit, poised on the front of the diving blocks, her toes curled around the edge. She clutched the lime green noodle around her middle as she looked down at her teacher beckoning her to jump. She shook her head and climbed down, shoulders slumped in disappointment.

She jumped off the side of the pool into the water and dunked her head under at her teacher's encouragement. Climbing on top of four kick boards, she found the courage to leap. Emboldened by this, she climbed onto eight kick boards. Taking a deep breathe, and with her teacher's coaxing, she jumped into the cool, deep water.

She eyed the blocks again and climbed up. Holding on tight to the noodle and to a second teacher's hand, she bent down to jump. Once. She straightened back up. Twice. No go. Her eyes fearful, she glanced over her shoulder at those of us watching her, smiling our encouragement. Taking a deep breathe and squaring her shoulders, she bent down again and took flight.

I am so proud of you for tackling your fear, my honey child!

When I was in eighth grade, my school received a grant to host a mini-museum. Our art teacher selected a photography exhibit, taking old black and white prints from a local bank and shooting the same locations and people in the current time. I was one of the principle photographers, and I was selected to be the curator for the museum exhibit. So began my love of black and white photography.

My parents supported my growing love for photography by purchasing a good starter camera for me, one recommended specifically by my art teacher. I was thrilled beyond words at their unspoken encouragement. However, photography was an expensive habit for a young teen, at least in the days before digital imagery. Film costs and developing added up. I knew our family wasn't wealthy, so I cut back on the number of images I shot. If our high school had offered a photography course, I would have taken it. It was a small school, though, and art classes meant all art media, at least for a freshman. I had no interest in drawing, painting or sculpture, so I never signed up for an art class. My parents divorced, and I stopped taking pictures all together. I didn't think my mom could afford to help me support my hobby, and though I was working, my money was spent on my car, insurance and the like.

Years passed, and I was busy being a college student, wife and then mother to three kids in less than five years. I still liked to compose an interesting shot, and digital made it easier, but I was so busy caring for everyone else that my hobbies and interests still fell to the wayside. I have been slowly getting back into photography for the last few years, and I feel the old passion and enjoyment returning with a vengeance finally. I've got a bee in my bonnet for a digital SLR camera; point and shoot just isn't cutting it anymore. The digital SLR has made it onto our priority purchase list, and I am excited.

It feels good to nurture something that is just for me again.

Posting this picture for Darla. This is the one I was talking about today:



Photoshop is so fun!

It is raining tonight, one of those steady, heavy, drenching rains that falls straight down from the clouds with no wind to blow it through the open windows. The parched summer earth is soaking it up. It's a Summer Solstice gift from the elements - streaks of fire occasionally lighting up the sky as water falling from air merges with earth to nourish the growing summer bounty.

I am sitting here listening to it fall, hearing it splatter off leaves, rooftops and pavement. I should go to bed so that I can follow Langston Hughes' advice and let the rain be my lullaby:

Let the rain kiss you.
Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops.
Let the rain sing you a lullaby.
           ~ Langston Hughes

Over the course of my life, I have used about 6 different brands of unscented laundry detergent. I have hung clothing out to dry in the country, in the city and in small towns. My laundry has flapped in stiff breezes and hung limply on calm days. It has baked quickly in the heat of a July afternoon and spent all day getting dry in April or October.

Yet no matter what the weather, the location or the washing method, one thing has remained constant over all these years. The smell. How is it possible that the smell of line dried laundry is always the same? Sunshine is somehow captured in the fibers of the fabric, and try as they might, scientists can never duplicate it. The unique scent is one of the simple joys of living.

Let dreams take flight,
A flight of fantasy.
Through the day, the night,
Such golden majesty.
            ~ Todd A Wentworth

There is something magical about seeing these massive, fragile creatures take to the air. Hold your breathe as you listen to the dragon's roar unleashing the fire that floats them overhead. Watch them shrink as the currents carry them impossibly high, then grow larger again as they return to skim the tree tops.

Life is better when it is full of activity and adventure, but how much can one person do? That is the question I am pondering these days.

Here is my current recipe for life:

Mix together summer school, daily swimming lessons, softball, baseball and girl scouts. Add in homeschooling, playgroup and storytime. Throw in a dash of doctor, chiropractor and dentist appointments. Stir that all together with working 20-30 hours a week and a spouse who is working 60-70 hours a week. Don't forget to sprinkle with housework, cooking, gardening, laundry and general errands. Bake on high for as long as it takes to nurse the baby through his growth spurt. Eat with gusto if you can find a spare moment.

Is it any wonder I am feeling like an overstretched rubber band?

I've been taking new photos of my sweet peas

How did I never notice how alike Abigail and Isabella look?

When we first bought our home, six years ago already, I always gardened with gloves on. The feeling of dirt on my hands irritated me. Dry dirt had a raspy feel, too hard and too crumbly. Damp dirt had a spongy feel, too moist and too clingy. Working in the earth without gloves left my hands feeling dry and rough.

I realized today that I have not been reaching for my gloves as often over the past few years. More and more, I dig into the garden with bare skin, reveling in the textures I encounter. I enjoy the connection to the earth as I work in it. The feeling of the gloves is irritating when I do put them on, and I discard them quickly.

My fingertips may be stained green, my nails may be broken, rough, and lined with black rims of dirt, but my senses have expanded and my enjoyment of the garden has grown. Like with knitting, it is now the process of gardening that I enjoy more than the product.

I have forged a deeper relationship with the natural world as the years have passed, becoming quietly passionate about protecting the earth and her resources as time has gone by. Perhaps there is a connection between the dirt on my skin and the passion in my soul.

I was washing dishes the other day, and instead of gazing out the window or talking with the kids, I started reading the back of the dishwashing liquid bottle.

If every household in the U.S. replaced just one 25 oz. bottle of petroleum based dishwashing liquid with our vegetable based product, we could save 81,000 barrels of oil, enough to heat and cool 6,800 U.S. homes for a year! ~ from the back of the Seventh Generation dishwashing liquid

What a small thing to do, but the results can be enormous. There are so many small steps that we can take in our daily lives, things that are painless for us, yet benefit the earth greatly.

It's not hard to grab a rag instead of a paper towel to wipe up a spill. Throwing leftover salad or rice into a compost bucket instead of the trash takes me only a few extra steps. Walking from one end of a shopping center to the other instead of driving takes only a little of my energy and time.

Signing up for online billing for the electric company or mortgage company saves me time in the long run and it saves all the paper and resources necessary to transport a paper bill to my door. Giving away on Freecycle something I no longer need makes me feel good, helps someone else, saves landfill space for the item I might have thrown away and saves the resources for creating a second item for the other person to purchase.

Put washable, reusable covers on a swiffer or dustmop. Use both sides of a sheet of paper. Borrow books from the library or share ones in your collection with friends.

All are small things that aren't hard to do, but the benefits can be huge if we all do them. What small thing do you do that others might not?

I don't want my children to be the people who refuse to touch a worm or a fish when they go fishing. We went camping yesterday, and the campground has a 60 acre private lake well stocked with fish. Naturally we took them fishing. Vincent has only a weight and bobber on his pole, but the girls get hooks. Since we actually wanted them the catch fish, Luis put live bait on their hooks.

He had run up to the camper to get something when Abigail lost her worm. She asked me to rebait it, but seeing as how I am one of those people who will not touch a worm or fish, I couldn't. I want to be able to touch them, but I have a major mental issue with it going back to junior high, and I cannot do it. No way.

However, if I have any hope of getting the kids to touch the worms, I can't let them know this. I told her it was time she learned to bait her hook and that I would instruct her how. Pretty tricky, I thought.

She got out the worm, broke it in half, and poked the hook through it once. Luis always likes the hook to be through the worm in two places, so I was telling her to poke the hook though again, but she wasn't understanding how. I actually grabbed the worm to show her how to position it to put the hook though again. I touched a worm. This is momentous.

Oh, the things we will do for out kids.

She grasped the concept and finished baiting her hook herself. She proceeded to do so for all of yesterday and today, and Luis taught her how to take her own fish off the hook too. Thanks to catching about 15 fish between yesterday and today, she now loves fishing and can't wait to go again. Maybe I can get her to bait my hook next time.

Things that made me smile today:

~ Simon doing the nursing in his sleep mouth movement as he napped in my arms
~ Luis picking strawberries
~ Isabella holding my hand as we walked to the park
~ Rhubarb dream bars
~ Abigail shimmying up a tree, then declaring it harder to climb than the one at home
~ Vincent decked out for his role as the dragon in Lion King (yes, the dragon) with glittery makeup around his eyes and cheeks and his hair funky with hairspray

Tonight's production of the Lion King was one of those plays that makes you know what being a parent is all about.

Homeschool art always end the spring semester with a play. The costumes are handmade, the children write the dialogue (if any) and choreograph it. This year, Isabella and Vincent's class were the actors, making costumes and doing choreography. Abigail's class was the orchestra, making drums and working on rhythms.

Abigail planned her outfit today carefully - a vaguely African print dress - to coordinate with the theme of the play. Isabella, playing Nala, requested a ponytail so her ears would stay in better and so that her hair would be out of her makeup. Vincent, with the aforementioned role of the dragon, bubbled over with excitement and anticipation.

The scene - the Swiss bandshell at a local park. Bench seating for probably a couple of hundred people is occupied by about 30 parents, grandparents, siblings and friends. A beautiful early summer evening.

The play - 8 kids from ages 9 through 14 seated along with upper stage sides, beating colorful handcrafted drums in an attempt at coordinating with a CD of music from the Lion King. About 8 more kids from ages 4 through 8 in cardboard, paper mache, cloth and duct tape painted costumes. The kind of costumes that make you tip your head and whisper to your spouse "What animal is that?" The younger children marched, danced and stood on the stage to act out the roles. There were no speaking parts, just interpretive movement and dance, performed by children whose faces were serious with the effort of concentrating on their parts while glowing with joy and pride.

It was a night for applause and accolades as well as quiet laughter and secret smiles over the costumes and acting. Outer pride mixed with a little inner sadness over the speedy passage of the years.

Foods do taste best when they go straight from the garden to the table

Shortcake still slightly warm from the oven. Vanilla sweetened whipped cream. Strawberries that were picked only 5 hours earlier. Thank you to whomever invented the strawberry shortcake.

Sometimes the universe has to smack me upside the head with a two by four to open my eyes. I should be sporting a goose egg from such a smack right now.

Simon despises the car. Trips in the car are never fun occasions for him, and long trips are torture. A homeopathic for motion sickness helps some, but it wasn't the cure-all I had hoped. I had to drive an hour yesterday, and I had been dreading it. Simon had not been himself for much of the week - irritable, grumpy, unusually attached. Deep inside, I knew this car ride would be especially wretched. It was.

We made it 20 minutes before he started crying. He nursed, calmed down, and we set off on our way. We made it a half mile. He became hysterical. He would not nurse; changing a diaper or snuggling made no difference. I spent 15 minutes trying to calm him without success.

I looked out the window, frazzled and desperate, and had a moment of clarity. We were one building away from a chiropractor. It was such a profound moment that there should have been a single ray of sunshine shining on the building, highlighting it.

The kids and I marched over.

"Do you adjust infants? Can you fit us in right now?"

I talked with the chiropractor and felt comfortable with him, his philosophy and his adjustment style. I actually liked him better than any chiropractor I have found since our friend moved away. He adjusted Simon, gave me his home telephone number in case we had any problems over the weekend, and we went on our way.

Simon made it all the way to my mother's without crying. He actually cooed. Cooed. In the car.

I frequently suggest chiropractic care for other people's children. Luis and I have been saying for over a month that we needed to get Simon adjusted, but we kept putting it off.

The universe decided to smack me into action.