The turtle story

A few months ago I entered a contest in an online children's magazine called the "Amazing but True" competition. The idea was to write something Amazing, but True about the world around you. I chose the story of the snapping turtle that tried to lay eggs under our back porch a few years ago.
It's a timeless story.
And wouldn't you know it, I won first place in the "for ages 3-6" catagory.
The story can be found here, but I'll tell you those aren't my photos. Our turtle was much, much bigger!

2010 resolution and a thought for a Sunday afternoon

Last night while our husbands watched the football game and the women played spud and otherwise corralled the many children, we also chatted about where we were going on Sunday morning.
This church, that church. "I'm thinking of heading to "Our Lady of the Holy Mattress," said one very honest friend. I kept my mouth shut, but secretly had plans to head to my favorite place to spend just about any morning. The Woods.
We took the kids on a four-mile trek up and down the hills and valleys of Wooster. If you think that Wooster doesn't have hills, you've never been to Wooster Memorial Park. You should go. It just may surprise you, and kick your butt all in the same wonderful visit.
Down the ravine, across the creek, up the other side, etc. etc. etc., we were about 3/4 of our way through and I had a revelation. When you're in the woods, the air must be better and a little more oxygen gets to the brain. It lets you think, put things into perspective, and reflect on everything that isn't in your normal life. Maybe it's the fact that you can't see anything but trees and dirt or maybe it's that cell phones don't work down in the thick of it. Maybe it's just one of those cosmic things.
In any case, here's the glorious thought I had: (Thanks to kerc for the initial idea!)
"I've got our New Year's resolution for 2010. We're going to spend 10 nights in a tent and hike 100 miles next year."
This, I think, should be very doable. 365 days to get it all done. I'll buy a notebook, keep a log. If it goes well, in 2011 we'll shoot for 11 days and 110 miles. And so on, and so forth.
I realize some readers are thinking that I'm absolutely crazy, that any night in a tent or any measure of wooded walks that hit the three digit mark (toting three kids along, mind you) makes me completely off my rocker, a half a bubble left of plumb, a few raisins short of gorp.
This is where I come clean.
There are things you know deep down, the things that make you feel absolutely at peace with yourself. These things make you happy, give you energy, and become an obsession and/or passion. Some people go ga-ga for horses. We all know at least one horse person, the kind who wear western clothing in non-western places. They've got horseshoe stickers on the backs of their pick-up trucks and talk about their animals more than their kids.
They love horses. And that's wonderful.
There are also the people who are really passionate about politics. Their bumpers are covered with political stickers and can change any conversation into a debate about health care or government funding.
"I made chicken for dinner last night. It was delicious."
"Good thing it wasn't undercooked. You'd have to go to the doctor, and then you'd have to wait four hours and get poor care all because....yadda yadda yadda...." (I tend to block it out.)
There are the school sports people, the ones whose entire lives revolve around home vs. away games and that name their pets after school mascots.
There are the ocean/beach people, who would sell everything they have just to live in a shanty where the roar of the surf puts them to bed every night.
I am, I declare, someone who belongs in the woods.
I love the smell of dirt, walking on a bed of pine needles. I get all googly when I see an odd mushroom or a chipmunk run across the trail. Creek crossings send me sky high and stopping for a quick break on an overlook is as about lovely as it gets.
Last weekend on a short hike I got a bug in my eye that went in so far I had to pick it out with a Q-tip. And you know what? I didn't care.
I have poison ivy on the back of my leg and a skeeter had a nice dinner on my neck today. Don't care.
It's all part of finding that place in your life where you belong and it makes you so happy that people start referring to you as "that" person. The beach bum, the horse lady, the democrat/republican. The woods girl.
I'd better go get some stickers for the back of my car.

The end of the summer, and saving sunflower heads

Around here, the poison ivy is starting to turn. Even a walk around the neighborhood shows me the yellowish creeping up the trees, and although I'm all for the poison ivy dying off, the end of summer is always bittersweet.
The kids are back in school...and the kids are back in school. We had such a great summer, but I'd by fibbing if I said I needed a break.
The bean plans are done...and the bean plants are done. As much as i love the snap of a fresh bean, I'm getting tired of picking them.
The sunflowers are dying...and the sunflowers are dying. Our sunflower house this year was so wonderful. Small, but wonderful. We had a few really big sunflowers grow, including the extra ones we put at the edge of our little garden, which is right out my office window. One particular flower took a hit or two or three from the western wind and as a result never quite stood up straight. When the plant decided to droop over, it made a perfect resting spot of thie little birdie, a nuthatch, I think. I have watched this little guy day after day, come to this flower, reach under and pluck out a seed. Then he sits on the top, a perfect little perch, and feasts away. Over and over, like it was just supposed to be there, like it was supposed to happen.
It's a fair reminder of the change of seasons, and of the season of change. My children, they grow. My beans, they freeze. My sunflowers, in their death bringing the feathered friends as much happiness as they brought me during the peak of the summer.

I've never before saved sunflower heads to use as actual bird feeders, but since we have quite a few this year I'm going to give it a try. From what I've read, I'm going to let them mostly dry on the stem. If the birds eat the seed, well, that's OK because that's what I'm planning on using it for. If they get too hungry, I suppose I could cover them with some garden netting. The head needs to be brown, and the back yellow. Once that's done, I'll just cut the heads off and save them in a dry place. Mildew, apparently, isn't good for the birds. There's a quaint craft on the Martha Stewart site I might throw together, someday when I'm missing summer and the snap of a fresh bean.

The sunflower house! It bloomed!

We came back from vacation to find that our sunflower house, though on the puny side, had bloomed! So excited, I made the kids run out for a photo without changing from their travel clothes (stained, dirty, smelly, etc.)

It is marvelous. Small, but marvelous.

I have learned a few things from this year's sunflower house, my first successful one. I have learned:

- Plant seeds in dixie cups. Plant a lot more than you think you'll need. You can always use them somewhere.

-Plant more than you need. Some might not make it.

-Protect the ones you plant. Sharon Lovejoy recommended talcum powder. I used baby powder...and a small fence. Keep those bunnies away!

-Plant in good soil, and in good sun. This one mostly is for personal reasons. Living on the edge of the woods, I planted the house too close to the woodline this year. Next year, it will be out in front, away from all of the trees. And I will haul in bags of soil, instead of just planting the seedlings in the lawn. Not a lot of nutrients left in the soil there.

-Tell your friends! Give them seeds! These are beautiful things, too nice not to share with the world. I may be out of my league here, but I reckon the more sunflowers this world had, a better place it would be.

The essence of her childhood

I have three children.
The first, a girl, always wears skirts and dresses. She wavers on the girly side, and her idea of playing outside is making flower dolls and writing poetry about the birds.
The second, a boy, is as rough and tumble as they get. He currently has poison ivy on every limb, scrapes and bruises, and can identify all of the plants in our little patch of woods.
The youngest, a girl, remained a bit of a mystery in her early days. At a few months she began her relationship with the dirt, the one who always rolled off the blanket to feel the mulch and the grass.
My friend joked, "this little girl is going to be a perfect combination-- wearing dresses and playing in the dirt."

She couldn't have been more correct.

Barefoot and clad in the sweetest of dresses, she has unofficially claimed the blue shovel as her own. She works with her brother diligently as he attempts to dig out a rotten stump, or to China. Whatever comes first.

While mowing the lawn the other day, I noticed at the turn of every corner, the two of them working in the back of the yard and even though it meant another pull start of the mower, I ran to get the camera and snap this picture. For whatever reason, I have a feeling that this one will grow up and look back at this shot and call it the essence of her childhood. That's what it is for me.

A Wilderness Walk is a Birthday Present Indeed

Every year for my birthday and for mother's day I have only one simple request.
A hike.
This year's birthday is no different, but because the forecast is calling for rain on the actual day, the children and I took an early adventure. They were happy to get woken up with the mention of a breakfast stop at the donut shop (Michael's Bakery-- dangerously delicious) and before I knew it they were waiting in their boots in the car. The presents were starting already.
A drive down to The Wilderness Center was filled with singing my favorite songs, and upon arrival we even got our favorite parking spot, which isn't anything special but somehow we find peace in routine.
We grabbed the 'trees' Family Pack from the shelf and headed out on the Wilderness Walk, a 1.75 mile trek that was a piece of cake for the older children, but an impressive task for the 19 month old who hopped along most of the way. The Family Pack supplied ID materials as well as a lovely storybook about trees, so when we reached the pond that had pretty much dried up in the summer heat, a perfectly placed bench was waiting for us.
Fruit snacks, water bottles, story book, and surrounded by three kids and one thousand mosquitoes, my present didn't need to be wrapped at all.
It preferred the fresh air.
Along the way, the smallest one who is quickly earning the nickname of "rocks" must have stopped every 20 feet to pick up another small rock. Bless her, she thought she was sticking them in her pocket, but instead fed them all through a loop in her brother's hand-me-down cargo shorts.
I took a pebble myself, for her collection, and to remember the wonderful way I celebrated my birthday.

Plaster casts of Animal Tracks

We're going through a bit of a dry spell these days around here, but earlier in the summer the ground was a perfectly soft substrate for animal tracks. At the end of the street there's a patch of land that is either puddle or desert, but animals always pass through that spot on their way to the neighboring farmer's field. Deer, raccoon, and turkey are what we normally find there, and it has become a daily ritual to take a walk after dinner with our first stop being the stomping grounds.

Over a few trial runs, I think we've just about perfected the casting process. I wrote a full article about it here, complete with detailed instructions.

Do a rain dance, and while it's pouring, go get yourself some Plaster of Paris.