Some are probably sick of hearing me talk about swim team and swimming lessons, but I just have to crow one more time. My kids are awesome. I am totally proud of them. They met this long-term challenge with so much courage and perseverance.

Lucas raced in three races last Friday at his final swim meet. He worked HARD all summer. He attended 29 practices (out of 32) and two swim meets. The practices he missed were missed because of illness. Going to swim practice four days a week for eight weeks was a lot, and he did so after long days of camp. It was sometimes a struggle and he sometimes wanted to give up, but he kept at it and finished with flying colors, and now he feels great about his accomplishment.

Here’s Lucas warming up for his meet.

Most of the kids just started diving this summer; they have a lot to learn still.   😉

At the end of the meet, the kids got to jump off the high dive. So brave!

As far as results go, well, Lucas’s team came in second during the 100-yard relay. Lucas finished smack in the middle of the pack in both of his other two races. Not the fastest, not the slowest.

This summer Asher went to 30 20-minute swimming lessons, which he hated at first and learned to enjoy. He also learned how to swim—at least a little ways to get to the side of the pool. He learned streamline position and kicking and floating and blowing bubbles and diving for things underwater.

He can use a kick board or a noodle now and can jump into the pool from the edge or diving board and swim to his instructor.

And he learned that if you work really hard, you can have a lollipop.

I spent about 57 hours poolside and driving so they could do this. It was hard for me to drag them unwillingly along, especially on those hot days when I didn’t want to go either. It was hard to hear “I hate swim team. I wish you would just let me quit.” And it was hard to say in reply, “I’m sorry you feel this way. You made a commitment. And besides, Wilsons don’t quit.” To Asher’s almost constant plea, “WHY do we have to do swimming lessons? Why?” I learned to answer simply, “Because it’s summertime.” Somewhere around the sixth week he stopped asking that. Phew!

Many thanks to the two grandmas who took the boys to swim a handful of times so I didn’t have to do it. That help was a sanity-saver!

We’re all feeling pretty accomplished.

Lucas is pretty sure that these chickens are meant to be lap chickens—at least Midnight.

Avalanche and Snowdrift graze in the backyard. The hens are enjoying morning and evening ranging hours. Alas, they are displacing the mulch in my flowerbeds a lot. I’m wondering if I could coax them to the school field two doors down and back again (but I would be afraid of off-leash dogs).

Lucas’s garden is about to overwhelm us with juicy red tomatoes. Just this week they are turning red.

A magical moment at Sacramento Waldorf School just before the summer camp play began. The oak tree at the Oak Stage is magnificent.

A backyard visitor graciously paused for my photo. I’m pretty stoked about this shot.

Evening picnics on the lawn are fun. There’s a bit of sandwich-eating, a bit of snuggling, a bit of wrestling, a bit of coaxing the hens to eat out of our hands, and …

… a good bit of airplane rides with Daddy.

The Wicked Kings of Bloon is written and illustrated by Steven Kellogg and is copyrighted 1970. Kellogg is the author and/or illustrator of many books for kids, as you can see on his website, including Is Your Mama A Llama by Deborah Guarino, a favorite in our house. As you can see, I have had Bloon since I was young enough not to realize that I shouldn’t be writing “Scool Book” on my books. My hardback copy was purchased for $1.00 probably about 1975, but that’s really just a guess.

Kellogg’s artwork is amazing—rich and colorful, textured and emotional. To my eye, it appears to be both watercolors and colored pencils.

The story contains several morals, the main one being that war is wrong and doesn’t make anyone happier.

“Bloon is a summer land of warm golden fields and tiny villages. The gentle folk who lived there spend their days walking through the flowers, telling silly stories, and snoozing in the sun.”

The citizens of East Bloon are happy, simple people living in a bucolic world near the Land of Monsters, but that isn’t a problem for them at all …

… until “the meanest hag of them all,” Hepzibah, raises her twin sons, Horridge and Heathfern, to despise one another. See how wicked she is? She’s about to mow down that flower!

“‘HORRRRRRRRIDGE! Horridge, you little wretch, why can’t you do anything right? Why can’t you be like Heathfern?'”

“‘HEATHFERN, you ugly beast, why are you so clumsy and awful? Why can’t you do anything right? Why can’t you be like Horridge?'”

That would do it, don’t you think?

By the time the boys were twenty, they had flattened their miserable shack with their fighting and Hepzibah kicked them out. “‘I hate you,’ hissed Horridge. ‘I’ll get you,’ spat Heathfern.”

Horridge left the Land of Monsters and came to the peaceful village of East Bloon, “where he found the happy villagers giggling, tickling each other, and dancing around the square.” Horridge decided he wanted to be king of East Bloon, so he threatened the villagers. “‘Unless you make me your king, I will topple the tower of your town hall at dawn tomorrow!'” And with the help of a powerful magnet, he did. The villagers, not knowing what else to do, made him their king and brought him all of their precious treasures.

Horridge grew fat from eating all day and all night. “He insulted the ladies. He punched the village elders. He threw things at the members of his court. And still he was not happy.” One day, he spied through his spyglass the friendly neighboring village of West Bloon, only there was a fat, horrible king looking back at him. Heathfern! “‘EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-YOG!’ shrieked Horridge.” And the once-peaceful village of East Bloon began to prepare for war. “The last whisper of joy went out of life in East Bloon.”

Horridge went to the Land of Monsters and enslaved a giant, cuddly monster, wrenching him away from the arms of his beloved, to be a beast of war. “For days, the gentle creature lay in chains grieving for his mate in the mountain cave while the court blacksmiths scurried about measuring him for a suit of armor.”

In time, the fateful day of battle came. Soldiers from both East Bloon and West Bloon marched out of their fortified cities. “‘Smash them! Smash them! Bash them! Crush them!’ bellowed the kings.” The war beast of East Bloon lumbered forward, until he recognized his beloved, covered tip to toe in armor of her(?) own to fight on the side of West Bloon.

“Crying out for joy, the two happy animals toppled their riders, tore off their metal plates, and fell gurgling into each other’s arms.” This was the wake-up call that the villagers needed. They whispered and conferred among themselves, and then dethroned the kings Horridge and Heathfern, in favor of a peaceful United Kingdom of Bloon.

The trappings of war were thrown off and demolished. “The East Bloon band broke into a joyous tune and the armies flung themselves into a rousing polka.” Since the brothers could not put aside their differences and join the villagers in a peaceful life …

… the villagers sent them flying …

… right back to their hag mother.

This is the first book I can remember tackling the idea of war. That these gentle people could be convinced by bullies to abandon their happy pursuits and go to war really bothered me. I used to wonder why Hepzibah was so cruel, and how anyone could think parting those two gentle creatures was OK. I guess the story is a product of its time and it was very powerful to me.

I pulled this book out last week and read it to my boys for the first time. Lucas was appropriately aghast at the behavior displayed by Hepzibah, Horridge, and Heathfern. So, I’d say the book is still doing its job.

We are having full, full days with summer camp and day care and work for Mom and Dad.

Today there was a play performance at summer camp. Lucas was a tax collector in the “Dragon with Thirteen Tails,” performed on the Oak Stage at Sacramento Waldorf School. We also got to see a gymnastics demonstration, as the children have been doing movement and assorted gymnastics in the awesome gym.

Some days, to get out of the heat, we play with puzzles.

And with chalk in the cool morning.

Lucas goes to piano lessons on Wednesdays. This week he noodled around until he figured out the first part of Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy.” When he told his piano teacher, Mrs. Tan, she helped him work on it and learn the next little bit. I love that she goes with his interests!

We swim at Grandma’s and Papa’s house, and at swim team practice and swim lessons. Only four more of those are left!

We watch our garden grow—the things we planted …

… and the things we didn’t, like this volunteer sunflower!

And we watch and care for the chickens. Oh, how they are enriching life around here! Our first week of chicken farming has been going well. We’re all fascinated by them.

At first the chickens slept on the ground in a cuddle puddle, all higgledy-piggledy, piled on top of one another in the corner of the chicken run. They hadn’t gotten the lay of the land yet, I think. Gradually they are claiming this new space as their own. Ian had to pick them up one night and put them on the roost inside the chicken coop, but after that, they seem to get it. Last night we found them roosting just where they’re supposed to be (where it’s safest), without any help from us.

We gathered sixteen eggs in the first four days, after that, I lost count. They are averaging almost four eggs per day. They eat pretty much ALL of our kitchen scraps, including milk leftover from the boys’ morning cereal (for the calcium). I didn’t know chickens drank milk, did you?

The eggs taste wonderful!

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:

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!

You knew there was going to be at least one more chicken coop post, right? Good.

Ian has been working hard on this thing and we’re nearly there. He had to build two double laying boxes, one for each side of the coop. Without the top on, they look like this.

We are told that hens like to share laying boxes, so you don’t need one per hen. With four boxes, we will be able to expand our flock, should we find we LIKE having chickens.

Here’s the chicken coop with everything on it but the lock on the front doors and the decorations. We are thinking about putting in windows on the front doors for ventilation and light. Adding windows means adding decorative trim and that means I’ll have more surfaces I can paint. I’m thinking that no matter what, the chickens will be a feature of our backyard from now on, so their coop might as well be cute and creative, right? How many colors is too many colors to paint a chicken coop?

The laying boxes on either side have hinged tops for easy egg gathering. The coop is behind our garage building and up against the west fence, where the neighbors have really tall privet shrubs that shade my yard. The chickens will have shade during the hottest part of every day. At the moment, Ian and Lucas are outside installing the ramp the hens will use to enter the coop.

The hens we are adopting have to be out of their current abode on Saturday, 7/17. The finishing touches on the coop might not be done until after that.

I still can’t believe we’re going to be chicken owners. Wacky.

“Rest is not idleness, and to lie sometimes on the grass under trees on a summer’s day, listening to the murmur of the water, or watching the clouds float across the sky, is by no means a waste of time.” —Sir John Lubbock

This 6 1/2 inch by 8 1/4 inch copy of Cinderella has been mine for as long as I can remember. I think it belonged to my father before me. It’s a Wonder Books edition retold by Evelyn Andreas with illustrations by Ruth Ives, copyright 1954. The title page and inside front cover are decorated with “letters” drawn in blue ballpoint ink—probably they are my handiwork, but possibly my father’s.

I can remember poring over this book for hours as a girl. I was fascinated by the rich, velvety illustrations, which were different from the prevailing and still ubiquitous Disney Cinderella images. I used to wonder what exactly made the stepsisters look ugly.

Also, I used to try to decide who was more beautiful—Cinderella or her fairy godmother, with her green chiffon gown and tiny ankles. The fairy’s yellow hair and wings were captivating.

Even the horses were beautiful, and I was a big fan of horses—especially magical white ones.

But the piece de resistance, to my young heart, was the golden gown of silk that Cinderella wore. She is so glamorous and dainty.

Of course, the Prince falls madly in love with her, forsaking all of his other guests at the ball. “Indeed, Cinderella and the Prince were the handsomest couple on the dance floor. And the Prince never left Cinderella’s side.”

Cinderella flees at the first note of twelve midnight, but it is too late. The coach, footmen, and horses vanish and she walks home alone. (The little rock was holding the book open for me.)

The Prince himself goes door to door looking for his beloved, and although they try, Cinderella’s stepsisters cannot fit the sole glass slipper Cinderella had left behind on the palace steps. Cinderella shyly asks to try the slipper on. I am glad she asks for herself.

I used to gaze at this illustration a lot, too. The page begins with “A great wedding was held.” Why don’t we get to see the wedding, I wondered. How genteel that they are dining in the woods, except—they have no food. They are completely absorbed in each other. This was what “happily ever after” meant to me.

The inside back cover advertises over 150 wonderful Wonder Books, with washable covers and “new, long-life binding.” The binding on my book holding up pretty well; the spine is broken, however, and I can see the stitching. The book’s price when new was 29¢. I think whoever bought this book would be pleased. We got our money’s worth, I think.

We all had a wonderful 4th of July holiday this year, with swimming, friends, barbecue and yummy food, and fireworks of course. I didn’t feel like pulling out the camera until nighttime. Maybe it was the good conversation, maybe the perfect temperature of the swimming pool …

After dark, the Fire Sprites appeared and colorful shenanigans ensued. Some of them were so fast and so flighty that it was nearly impossible to capture their images. Often, the best I could do was to photograph their fiery flight paths and trails of sparks.

And then some of the Sprites became so tired from all the flitting about, they fell asleep. Yay America!

We went to the cabin to do some cleaning in preparation for guests. I really feel we organized ourselves perfectly to have maximum fun and minimal work time. We enjoyed Pope Beach and the Rainbow Trail on Saturday and then got to explore around the cabin on Sunday. We went back to the Rainbow Trail to see the stream profile because it was closed the first time.

Don’t they look determined? My boys are marching toward their lunch in this photo. I distinctly remember the day in the woods when my father told me that I didn’t have to step on or over every single obstacle in my path while hiking, and that if I sometimes went around obstacles, I’d have more energy to walk farther. I was probably 9 or so. My kids still choose to go up and over.

These yellow wildflowers, called mules’ ears, were everywhere, but especially in the empty field near the cabin. So spectacular!

I think these purple flowers are poisonous larkspur, but I’m not positive. Sometimes I can find pictures on the Internet that help me ID plants. (I’ve got my eye on a wildflower guide book.)

Lucas enjoyed exploring the creek by the cabin; this tiny creek joins a bigger one that was running too fast and too high for us to play in. I remember many long afternoons spent rambling up and down that creek with my cousins when I was a girl.

Asher got pretty brave after a while on the beach!

The neighbors were growing some perky mushrooms amid their new landscaping.

Here’s a scrub jay in a Jeffrey pine. Ian told me that Jeffrey pines smell like vanilla, and sure enough, they do! Marvelous! He delights me with tidbits like this pretty frequently. I’ve been going to Tahoe my whole life and I didn’t know that.

This little trip was a feast for my nose. Sage, Jeffrey pines, mugwort, and something that smelled a lot like spearmint. I never figured out where the mint scent was coming from, but the air smelled fantastic.

Shadow family portrait on the green pond algae

Asher among the wild mules’ ears. To me it looks rather like he sprouted there.