Some blessings for counting:
After a great deal of hot, exhausting, sweaty work—done mostly by my intrepid and valiant husband in 100-degree weather—we now have a working coop and chicken run and chickens to put in them! We spent today putting on some finishing touches, like installing the roost, filling in holes with dirt, etc. Ian built the person-size door to the chicken run today, even though we got the chickens last night and fenced them in. Putting all that chicken wire on was a big job and we worked right up until the deadline at 4 p.m., when had to go get the hens …
… which was a funny sort of adventure in that they had to be caught and put in a big cardboard box. They were hiding from the heat under a deck when we arrived and we had to coax them out. Fortunately their confident, courageous (former) owner caught them for us and then we put our box of hens into the back of the car. Chickens in a box. Weird. I’ve had chickens in grocery bags before, but never in a box!
The boys were and are pretty excited! Lucas wants to be very near them. He held one of them today for a few moments. The hens were a bit skittish yesterday evening, but they seem to be settling in.
We have four chicken breeds: clockwise from lower left, we have a Black Sussex, a Rhode Island Red, two Leghorns, and an Araucana at the bottom right. Good gracious, it’s hard to get good chicken pictures! They’re always moving!
We have some disagreement over their names, however. It seems we Wilsons are an opinionated bunch. Let me show you how:
| Sara’s Names | Ian’s Names | Lucas’s Names | Asher’s Names |
| Henrietta | Posh | Sunrise | Chicken 1 |
| Victoria | Ginger | Fireball | Chicken 2 |
| Beatrice | Scary | Midnight | Chicken 6 |
| Minerva | Sporty | Avalanche | Chicken 8 |
| Virginia | Baby | Snowdrift | Chicken 45 |
Probably, we’ll end up using Lucas’s names most of the time. Although, I’m pretty sure the girls don’t care, so maybe we can each maintain our own pet names for them.
See how my Ian has suffered this week. He’s a prince among chicken-coup builders! Oh, and extremely tough, super macho, and manly.
Here’s Henrietta/Posh/Sunrise/Chicken 1.
Mid-morning today we got two eggs, laid in the same little hollow in the leaf litter. This afternoon, we got three more eggs, including a green-shelled one from Henrietta/Posh/Sunrise/Chicken 1, our Araucana.
I think we’re going to have a bit of trouble at first telling the two white birds apart. We’ve noticed that one has a little scar on top of her comb and they have different combs (in their shape and in the direction the fall). But I’m pretty sure Lucas has switched their names on me a couple of times already. One of them, Sporty, of course, was the hardest to catch and get into the box for transport yesterday.
The chicken run we (Ian) built (I helped with the wire!) is an area far bigger than our five hens need, but we think we want to get more birds. Also, I’m not sure how hard they are going to be on our garden and landscaping when we let them out to range, and if they start doing major damage, I may want to keep them confined in their big-enough run most of the time. Some friends let their chickens out every evening for “happy hour.”
The hens are fascinating so far, and I LOVE the sounds they make. We’ve been feeding them kitchen scraps today and they’ve devoured everything we’ve given them. We’ve also sacrificed some of our worms from our worm farm to feed our hens. We want our girls to be well nourished and also to associate their new home with yummy food.
What an adventure we’ve embarked upon! Crazy-weird and exciting. We’re chicken farmers!
Thursday was a big day for both of my children. Lucas attended his first swim meet (we had missed the first two meets of the summer due to illness) and Asher finished his second session of swimming lessons by jumping off the diving board.
Here’s Lucas (in the black shirt) doing a great backstroke. He is is becoming a stronger swimmer thanks to all this practice! This, and having fun, are our two big goals for this experience. I am also hoping that this is the right amount of team and competition for my beginning athlete.
He’s new to diving, as are many of his teammates. They are given the choice to dive from a standing or seated position.
Here’s Asher floating calmly with Miss Brittany. He has come a long way in the four weeks he’s been taking lessons. For the first time, on Tuesday, he didn’t ask my “WHY do we have to do swimming lessons?!” He just came along quietly and did the work. I think he’s finally settling into the routine of it, so I signed him up for another session! (We have to be there anyway!)
The coup de grace! Asher jumped (was helped) off the diving board with his noodle. He was cheerful until he had to walk the plank; then his face was full of grim determination. Jay was there in the water to reassure him and make sure Asher didn’t slip out of his noodle. He popped up quickly, blinked, and made his way to the ladder. We cheered like crazy!
Asher got a certificate for completing the session and a lolly. BIG treat!
Lucas reported that the swim meet was pretty cool, but there was a lot of sitting around and waiting for his turn in the water. They did a warm-up swim, then each child raced in three events, with multiple heats. In between races, they rested. During a regular practice, the kids swim for 45 minutes with only very brief rests.
Lucas’s swim meet culminated in ice cream sundays. Daddy came to see the kids swim, and so did two grandmas, so my kids had quite the cheering section.
Four more weeks to go.
My kiddos are enrolled in swimming team and lessons this summer. For eight weeks we will go to the American River College pool every afternoon, M–Th, so Lucas can be on a swim team. This team is noncompetitive; although they have “inner squad meets,” they are really only racing against teammates and their own times. This is good for many reasons, not the least of which is that we don’t have to give up every summer Saturday to competitive meets. Ours will take place on some Thursdays, during the normal practice time.
Lucas missed practice three days last week due to being ill, but this week he has rallied and is back at it, apparently giving it his all. He’s got new swim fins and new goggles and new shorts and a new rash guard and a new backpack to carry it all in. He’s a well-equipped boy. I think he’s enjoying it a lot, although it will be nice when he makes some friends there.
Asher, on the other hand, hates his swimming lessons. He has now gone to six of them and is no longer spending the time in the water with his instructor screaming (as he did his first two days). Nevertheless, he is not a fan of this experience. I can tell he is learning and becoming more comfortable in the water, practicing the skills (face in, dip underwater, streamline arms, kicking, etc.). I’ve even caught him smiling a time or two. Every morning, though, he wakes up and asks if we’re going to swimming lessons. And when I say yes, he asks, “Now?!” Since they are at the end of the day, I get to answer “Later” about a hundred times every day. He worries about it all day. Here’s a picture of him going underwater, which he would never choose to do.
His instructor is pretty and fun and she jollies him along through the twenty-minute lessons. And the point of all this is not to torture my child, but to teach him that he can be OK in the water and (hopefully) get to the side if he falls in. I remember Lucas didn’t care much for swimming lessons at this age either. Now he is a fish!
So, sports. Not really my thing, but I’m making an effort to be a “Swim Mom” this summer to give Lucas what I hope is a good, gentle introduction to a team sport experience. I’m doing my best to have a good attitude about the whole thing. Thank goodness the bleachers where the parents wait are in the shade!
Today is my birthday. I’m 38 today, although last year my husband advertised my birthday as my 25th, so maybe this is my 26th? I can live with either, really.
During my 26th year, I was married to the man of my dreams, building life-long friendships, living a mostly carefree, earnest life, and working hard to make it in the world. It was a good year full of good times and good goals. We were building careers. We were saving all the money we could to buy a home together. We were talking about having children.
Yesterday as I was walking home after having dropped Asher off at his preschool, I had a few minutes to reflect on my life. It’s easier to think about such things when the ambient sounds are birdsong instead of little-boy laser-battle sound effects.
Wow. I am really fortunate and REALLY happy!
I don’t always feel happy. Small and big things get me down. I worry. I have anxiety and frustrations and limits that I strain against very often. Sometimes this coat of motherhood that I put on eight years ago feels itchy and too tight in places. Sometimes I get hot under the collar. These feelings I experience are all true, valid, and real.
But what a life we have made for ourselves! For instance, I have time to walk my 3-year-old to school in the morning. I can pick my 8-year-old up from school in the afternoon. I have the freedom to accept the work I want, and most of the time I can turn down the work I don’t want. I haven’t sat in a cubicle for six years. When my young son isn’t with me, he is with his father, a grandmother, or our dear friends of twenty years. Lucas goes to an amazing school, where he is learning every day. I have hobbies now that I never dreamed I’d have, and a garden full of green, growing friends. I’m learning to make things with my hands. I’m developing new interests and skills all the time. Our children are healthy, smart, and vital. We enjoy our family time together. I have talented, loving, patient friends. I’m profoundly in love with my husband and he with me.
It’s a rich and vibrant life and I’m so grateful. I think 38 is just fine.
Yesterday, our fabulous surprise adventure that started with a gorgeous nature walk ended with a surprise trip to the movie theater—our first as a family since 2005, when we made the mistake of thinking that 3-year-old Lucas was ready for this type of thing and tried to see a kids’ movie on a rainy Thanksgiving Day in Eureka, California. We managed to stay only ten minutes that time, before the noise and the frenetic film content thoroughly freaked out our kid. (Oh, the GUILT!) Needless to say, we learned a valuable lesson about Lucas and media that evening and we’ve been rather hesitant to try the movie-going experience since then.
But, you know, he’s 8 now. And begging for bigger boy experiences. (He is really wanting to see Star Wars, which is the BE ALL, END ALL for all second-grade boys (even Waldorf boys), and man!—if he were any other kid … ) Although I wish to protect my son from media influences that might upset him or be too mature for him, I also don’t want him to be the only kid he knows who has never been to the movies!
So, Ian and I decided to give the theater a try, reasoning that Lucas is much older now and Asher … well, Asher just isn’t as sensitive as his older brother. He also seems more media-savvy, and is quite keen to watch anything at any time. Moreover, he’ll follow along with just about anything Lucas does, which I suppose is the karma of the second son.
We didn’t tell the boys what was up until we pulled into the theater parking lot.
“What’s this place?”
“This, dear Lucas, is the movie theater. We are going to see a movie.”
“All RIGHT!”
We saw How to Tame Your Dragon and it was great fun! Some parts were very intense and I wondered if we’d be leaving before we got to the end of the film, but my kiddos stuck it out! Lucas laughed out loud a bunch of times and Asher didn’t seem at all fazed by the scary dragons, fire, dramatic flying/falling scenes, or angry Vikings (with mysterious Scottish accents). I was happily impressed with the film’s story, and as we left my boys were chattering about which types of dragons they liked best.
[My, my! Movie tix for our family of four: $33!!!]
Isn’t life amazing? Yesterday I held a kind of vigil for some loved ones, quietly and patiently waiting for news about health issues. My two candles burned all the time I was home and until I closed my eyes to sleep. It’s good work—holding people in your heart all day, breathing small prayers past your lips and into your everyday actions. Wash a dish, say a prayer. Take a walk, say a prayer. Fold the laundry, say a prayer.
Today, we’re still waiting for important news from one loved one. So the vigil continues.
Ian and the boys are robust, lovely, and soldiering on. We have daily conflicts and challenges, things to learn, and things to work on. And yet we march forward each day to face them, process them, learn from them, and to make the world a better place through sharing our love. And we are happy.
The world keeps turning. Projects end, begin, and continue. Homework comes due (yikes!). Dinners are cooked. Metaphorical and imaginary fires (especially if you’re Baby Asher Firefighter) must be put out. What is needed? How can we help? We pick up our tools and go to work.
Some of us fake it until we can make it. Some play-act through our fear and confusion. “You need surgery, Mom. Go to sleep. I have to cut you open and take out this lump. Oh no! Here is another one. Better get that one, too, before it spreads. OK. Now you’ll be all better. Does it hurt? Here is some medicine. I’ve saved you!” Processing … My heart seems to break a little more every day … for all the good and all the bad in life.
And speaking of hearts, celebrations for Valentine’s Day are in the works. I get to make and then serve a Valentine’s snack for 27 hungry children on Friday (mmm … strawberry muffins with honey-sweetened cream-cheese topping). Tokens of friendship and love are being made by small hands everywhere. Can you hear the click of their pens, the slicing of their safety scissors in paper, the sprinkling of glitter over white glue? I can. I can hear the painstaking scratching of No. 2 pencils signing names 26 times.
We humans are a study in the paradox of steadfastness and flexibility. We turn to one another—some offering, some asking for help. We carry fears and frustrations, crippling pains, loves, and our joie de vivre through all the buffeting storms.
Isn’t life amazing? Isn’t it grand?
Edit: The news we were waiting for is Happy News!
In the season of quiet and darkness, I’m busy, busy with work—and not with the things I want to be doing. I want to be sipping tea and knitting, making toys for my children’s Christmas stockings, and celebrating the solstice. My kids are knocking around the house and into each other. I want to be out, taking photos and playing, and to be inside baking. I want to be working on photo albums of this year’s pictures for the grandparents. How retro is that?
Ian has been taking Lucas and Asher out and doing some of our errand-running, picking out gifts in my stead. This is no small feat with two small boys along for the ride. Also, there are some lovely, sparkling lights on our house thanks to Ian.
Today I had to tell some people that their deadlines are unreasonable and I can’t meet them. This is a tough thing to do and shakes my confidence a bit. I try to take comfort in knowing I am speaking up for myself and the book, and am being professional by saying, sorry, I won’t cut corners. Sometimes you have to wait if you want it done right. It’s been nerve-wracking because I’ve not heard back from the big boss. Neither, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” nor “OK. Thanks for making quality and accuracy your priority.”
Maybe that’s what’s got me feeling low. Or maybe it was my doctor appointment this morning. “Women your age should …”
Our first batch of plum jam was made on December 4th with Papa. Last night we made another big batch and we’ll have to see later tonight whether it’s gelled properly. The jam is low in sugar, sweet-tart, and full of pulpy goodness. I hope it’s delicious.
The plums we used were frozen from last year’s harvest, when Dad and I picked way more than we could process in three jam-making sessions. It was a difficult time then, full of anxiety (and flat-out fear on my part) about Dad’s upcoming heart surgery, and making jam together was our bonding activity. It was special and sweet, the first time we had ever made jam together, and laced with uncomfortable overtones of, “what if.”
The jamming has been different this year. More of a celebration. More an act of thanksgiving for me. Dad is well, perhaps not fully recovered, but nevertheless doing great despite a lot of stress and caring for his 89-year-old mother and 96-year-old aunt. He would say he’s all better now. I know he still tires easily.
I would be very pleased if I could be making plum jam with my dad for another 15 years.
Michaelmas is coming! Our school will be celebrating Michaelmas with a festival on Friday, September 25. Ian and I are both planning to be there (with my camera). It’s an especially exciting year because Lucas is in the second grade, and the second graders get to play an important part!
At this time of year, the turning seasons remind us to slow down, come home, warm up, and consider. We are happier to look inward in the autumn and winter than we were during the summer months when we were busy living and doing. When we turn our attention in, we can see our own inner dragons waiting for us there. They deserve our attention again because they’ve been patient—even faithful—waiting for us to remember them. Our dragons are our fears, insecurities, failings, worries, and procrastinations.
Many years ago I started observing that life kind of went to hell around this time of year, near the Autumnal Equinox—that major upheavals happened, as though it were time to till life’s soil and bring up our mucky muck to air it out. Jobs change. Partners change. Challenges abound. We are forced to notice them, acknowledge them, and then deal with the issues, like it or not. It’s a tough time of year, it seems, for many people because old patterns of being and behaving stop serving us the way they did before.
Change and upheaval are the order of the season, it has always seemed to me. Facing our dragons, peering into the dark and letting our heart’s light shine forth is what gets us through it. So the Waldorf/Steiner story of Saint Michael and Saint George and the dragon fits just fine with my own outlook. Sometimes, all we really need to help us understand is a good metaphor to sink our teeth into.
In honor of Lucas’s special roll in facing down the dragon this year, we are making a big deal. Second graders (7- and 8-year-olds) are emotionally coming to terms with the fact that dragons do exist in our world, within humanity, and even within themselves. Things are not always good and well-intentioned and true. We must choose right or wrong. We must notice the dragons around us and within us and we must face them down. We must take up our swords and slay the dragons or tame them so that we make make this world a better place.
My musings about dragons led me on a dragon hunt here at home. This is what I found to inspire me.
Saint George and the Dragon, by Margaret Hodges.
This is a used, paperback book I bought when Lucas was 4-years-old. I waited a long time for him to be ready for it. I gave it to him this weekend, knowing that he is being told the story at school and that he is ready for it now.
Here is a detail from the battle. Trina Schart Hyman’s illustrations are very vibrant and evocative.
Illustration from Eric Carl's book, Dragons Dragons & Other Creatures That Never Were.
Dragon illustration in the Oxford Treasury of Classic Poems. It graces the page with Brian Patten's poem, "A Small Dragon." Facing it is Lewis Carroll's "Jabberwocky."
Then I hit the armor and art books to find these beautiful paintings to share.
Rover Van der Weyden, Saint George and the Dragon, c 1432 (Flemish), found in a book called Arms & Armor of the Medieval Knight, by David Edge & John Miles Paddock.
Raphael's St. George and the Dragon, c 1506, oil on panel, National Gallery of Art, Washington. This was in our book, The Great Masters, by Giorgio Vasari.
Hope you enjoyed our dragon hunt as much as I did. May you meet your own dragons head-on this season, with bravery and compassion.
