Here are a few more ideas of how to celebrate the summer solstice. Please feel free to check out the first installment here. I guess perhaps it was the very cold, very wet spring we had this year; somehow this year I’m extra motivated to bask in the sunshine. I’m so looking forward to the summer solstice. It feels right to go big this year.

Make a Sun Mask

The mask you see above is one that Lucas made in summer camp a couple of years ago. It’s very simple—just doubled paper plates painted with copper and gold metalic paints and decorated with a few sequins. It’s iconic and it speaks to me, so it’s still on display in my home office. Your sun mask could be more elaborate, if you like, but a project like this could be enjoyed by even the smallest members of your family and for little investment in materials.

Make a Sunshine Banner

For me, Father’s Day and the summer solstice are two sides of the same coin. (That’s not the case for everyone; in China and Japan, the summer solstice is when the divine feminine forces are celebrated.) I guess I always think of Mother Earth and Father Sun (or Father Sky). Anyway, here is a project that Lucas made a number of years ago with his summer camp teachers. The kids and I are going to do this again for the solstice this year, only this time, we’ll have both Lucas’s and Asher’s handprints to make our sunshine. We’ll only need some fabric, twine or ribbon, a twig or dowel, and some washable tempera paint. And soap!

Crochet Sun Medallion Necklaces

I wish I was good enough at crochet to write a proper tutorial for this, but I fear I’d get the vocabulary wrong. I’m just a beginner, you see. But I managed to work out how to create a flat circle that looks sunshiny. I think I used single and double crochet stitches and just felt my way along, endeavoring to keep the sun round. When it was approximately 2 inches in diameter, I started chaining a chain. The acrylic yarn is leftover from another project, and it’s stretchy enough to just pull over the head to make a necklace. I’ve made two of these for my boys, and promised two more to some friends. This worked up in about 30 minutes, so someone who actually knows what they’re doing with a crochet hook could probably quickly pound out these sun medallion necklaces. Wear them at your solstice party!

Find more of my solstice ideas (and tons more) in Little Acorn Learning’s June Enrichment Guide. Click the button to go there.

Meet my two roosters, Sunshine and Chestnut.

I’ve known Chestnut (an Ameraucana) was male for a long time. I never really doubted because he acts roosterish. He now has longish, pointed tail feathers and a golden mane of neck feathers that he puffs out when he’s showing you how bad he is. I’m seeing some lovely green irridescence in some of his feathers, too. He has a striking appearance, though I don’t know if I’d call him handsome. Perhaps he is still an awkward youngster? He’s … kind of scruffy.

I was pretty sure Sunshine was a boy early on, too, because he started developing a big red wattle and comb early on and the other Buff Prpington chick, Buttercup, did not. You can see them both in the photo below. They look pretty different, don’t they? And yet, I hoped he was a she. But, it’s official as of yesterday: Sushine is definitely a cockerel. I heard and saw him crowing in a kind of teenage-trying-this-cock-a-doodle-dooing-thing-on-for-size way.

So, out of ten chicks we have raised since February 17, we have two roosters. Not great odds, if you ask me. Honestly, we didn’t want roosters at all. And I’m not at all sure what we’ll do with them. My boys say that killing and eating them is out of the question, even though that’s probably Ian’s preference. There is a slight chance that the two will get along even as adults; it does occasionally happen. But more likely, they will begin to compete for the affections of the hens.

It is not raining rain to me,
It’s raining daffodils;
In every dimpled drop I see
Wild flowers on the hills.

The clouds of gray engulf the day
And overwhelm the town;
It is not raining rain to me,
It’s raining roses down.

It is not raining rain to me,
But fields of clover bloom,
Where any buccaneering bee
Can find a bed and room.

A health unto the happy,
A fig for him who frets!
It is not raining rain to me,
It’s raining violets.

—Robert Loveman, “April Rain”

This is some of Asher’s most recent art. The top is an oil pastel he calls “Map to Burning Man.” We are not allowed to call it a drawing, or art. It’s A MAP. It’s also the first time I’ve seen any ladder (or train track) in his work.

Then, just a day or two later, he made this one—all ladders. These are considered to be a sign that a child is becoming ready to write.

Wednesday evening he sat in my lap while I was editing on the computer. He wanted to draw, so I handed him the second page of my SMUD bill with lots of blank white space, which was on my desk and within reach. After a moment, he pointed to his paper, which was still mostly blank. “Mom, is this an 8?” He face lit up when I said yes. And then he carefully drew several more.

“It is summer,” said the fairy,

“Bring me tissue light and airy;

Bring me colors of the rarest,

Search the rainbow for the fairest

Seashell pink and sunny yellow,

Kingly crimson, deep and mellow …

Bring me diamonds, shining brightly

Where the morning dew lies lightly …

With an art no fay discloses

I am going to make some roses!”

—Mary F. Butts

Lucas’s first-ever sleepover birthday party started with an epic balloon fight.

Six 9-year-olds and a determined-to-keep-up 4-year-old is a what you might call a cacophany of boys. The dozen balloons lasted almost 8 minutes.

The theme— “No theme, Mom! Just a sleepover.” The cake— “No cake, Mom! I want a homemade apple pie.”

There were antics of all sorts. There was talk of how girls trying to kiss you is the grossest thing ever. There was plenty of belching words. There were stick fights and spy-on-the-parents games. After they inhaled the watermelon, there was a rind fight.

There were two episodes of “Mythbusters,” at the special request of the birthday boy, with extra explosions.

Lucas received marvelous gifts, like a mosaic stepping stone kit, a solar cooker, a Hex Bug, paintbrushes, LEGO, and more.

He greatly enjoyed being the star of the show for a full evening, night, and morning. The boys stayed awake talking and laughing until about midnight, before they finally all fell asleep.

After the guests left on May 1, we spent some time with just the four of us. We gave Lucas our gifts, such as a solar kit, books, a basketball, wool roving and needle-felting tools, extreme dot-to-dot and puzzle books, North American animal fact cards—just the sort of things a 9-year-old needs.

But best of all—most desired of all possible birthday gifts—was this:

And thus he spent much of the day whittling. We were all a bit worn out from the festivities of the night before and so we elected not to attend the May Day festival at Lucas’s Waldorf school. (The third grade had no part to play in the festival this year, and so we left the choice up to Lucas. He wanted to whittle.)

Later that evening, we went to Grandma’s and Papa’s house for dinner. We enjoyed tacos and salad and birthday brownies for dessert. The boys wanted to go swimming—on May Day! And although it was not exactly warm, well—it was his birthday. May Day is traditionally the “first day of summer.”

The next day, which was a day off from school, Lucas got to visit with his other grandmother and his auntie. He came home with a set of woodcarving tools and more LEGO. Bliss!

It’s two weeks later now, and I can tell Lucas is supremely happy to be 9, and is really enjoying all his gifts. He has finally (and briefly) caught up to the age of his classmates, some of whom are soon to turn 10.

We all love to dance, but somehow it was our younger son who galvanized this passion into a family ritual. We didn’t set out to make it a regular part of our family life, but before long it was. We hold After-Dinner Discos—dance parties for four that let us all cut loose for a while and get the dishes done. They are one of my favorite family activities.

We finish dinner around 7 p.m. on most nights. My boys go to bed at 8 and they usually shower before bed. Most of the time, we have a lovely 10- or 15-minute window after dinner and we crank up the music and boogie. When the daylight stretches longer into the evening, I confess we party even more, and our dancing spills out into the backyard under the sky.

What kind of music, you ask? Truly, it’s not lyres and pentatonic flutes. The music we play depends on a lot of things: What mood are we in? Is it a night near a holiday? Have we been talking about anything over dinner that brings to mind a song, a style, or a period of history?

Around St. Patrick’s Day, we all kick up our heels to the Pogues, Black 47, and the Chieftains. During Christmas time, we enjoy the Pandora online radio station called “Christmas Lounge.” At Diwali, we might put on some Bollywood film music. We dance to Dean Martin and Frank Sinatra and Aretha Franklin. We shake our booties to Lady Gaga, Cher, and Pink. My older son loves the White Stripes. The little guy loves the Beatles, Bob Marley, and Shakira. I’m fond of Michael Franti and OK Go, and Sting’s music has always been close my heart. My husband is a true musical aficionado, and he always has a fine suggestion for us. Perhaps it feels like ’80s night, or maybe a little big band music fits the bill. We sometimes play a CD called “AM Radio Hits of the ’70s.” Maybe it’s time for some Goa trance or techno. Did you know you could party to a fabulous, techno remix of an autotuned Carl Sagan lecture called “A Glorious Dawn” by Symphony of Science?

My younger son, who is now 4, feels music in his very bones. He’s really got moves, and he’s serious about it, too. He works on a new dance move for a while until he gets it to where it feels just right, to where it’s a facile part of his physical repertoire. Then he works on the next thing. Sometimes I see him mimicking one of us, working out how to make his body do the same thing. There’s no instruction of any kind, and it’s not mechanical or rigid—it’s just a natural learning about his body in space, how it feels to move through the air or place his feet just so. You should see his rock star power slide on his knees.

And he is driven to dancing to just about anything. Beethoven and Mozart work just as well for him as Katy Perry. When the spirit moves him, there’s no standing on the sidelines allowed: “Dance! Mama, Dance!” If I let a little too much of my attention stray to cleaning up our dinner mess, I hear about it. “Mama! You’ve gotta dance with me!” And heaven forbid I’m feeling under the weather. “Mama, I know what will make you better. Let’s dance!”

My older son’s dancing has changed over the years. The carefree quality of his young childhood is moving away gradually. Now, at 9 years old, he sometimes performs Eurhythmy he has learned in school, or attempts some fancy footwork, like a made-up jig or tap routine. He likes to head-bang to electric guitars (which pleases Daddy to no end), and I’ve caught my son playing the air guitar more than a few times. More often than not, these days, my older son’s dancing is morphing into a kind of acrobatic martial art of his own invention, with high kicks and blocking stances. He spins, punches, and dodges imaginary assailants in time to the music.

Before I had children, I used to imagine I’d one day be one of those moms who drives her daughters to frequent ballet lessons. I don’t do that (although if my sons asked, I would). Having boys doesn’t mean I can’t share the gift of music and dance with them, no matter the cultural forces that suggest that boys don’t dance. What better way is there to bring our family together after our long days than to crank up the tunes, revel in our bodies’ abilities, and express ourselves through dance? To get our hearts pumping and put smiles on our faces? What better way is there to have fun and celebrate life?

Here’s another roundup post, which is all I can manage at the moment.

But first …

“Knock, knock”

“Who’s there?”

“Ding-dong!”

“Ding-dong who?”

“Floooooo!”

That’s Asher’s joke du jour, or rather joke of the week. We hear it a lot these days.

It’s raining. The thunderstorm the weather folks predicted is right on schedule. Holy hailstones! We are getting a wee bit sick of the rain, here in Northern California. We’re far more used to dire predictions of drought and onus of water conservation than full rivers, threatened levees, and flooding. Ian’s been running about in his galoshes, tending to pumps vigilantly to keep the water moving from our backyard, where it wants to stay, out and around to the front yard, where it can go on its merry way toward Arcade Creek. The neighbors generously give us all of their runoff, and our drainage—which I swear is like 100 percent better than it used to be—cannot keep up.

Speaking of Arcade Creek, I’m wondering if there’s a place where we can go and visit it—some kind of public land or easement where we can see and appreciate it. You see, all of our neighborhood drains say, “No dumping! Protect Our Creeks … Drains to Arcade Creek.” Asher has memorized this very important message and is keen to point out every such oval placard he sees on every storm drain in the neighborhood. This makes me happy; he’s getting an environmental consciousness at a young age. Don’t you think it would be good if we were to actually find Arcade Creek and explore it a bit? I’m betting Arcade Creek is plenty full right now.

Now, a paragraph ago I mentioned Ian’s galoshes. He’s very practical, you see. His galoshes are all black and he and bought them from Home Depot on one extremely rainy day in January. I’ve decided that I need a pair of galoshes, too—not so much because I slog about in our flooded backyard, fussing with pumps and worrying about our house flooding, but because I am, as you may know by now, a chicken farmer. If you don’t believe me, you can read here on my blog about our chickens, our chicken coop, and the ten baby chicks that we’re raising. Or, you can head on over to The Wonder of Childhood, a new online magazine published by my friend Lisa Boisvert Mackenzie. Lisa is bringing beautiful articles and inspiration on the topics of parenting, education, nourishing, living, and story, with a flourish and all the seasoning of her experience as a Waldorf childcare provider and mother. If you click on “Living,” you’ll see my article, “Raising Chicks,” detailing our chicken farming adventures. Many thanks to Lisa for letting me be a part of her inaugural issue. I’m looking forward to being inspired on a regular basis by The Wonder of Childhood. (Thank you, Lisa, for including me!)

Okay, so back to the topic of galoshes: Dang it, I need my own! Because chicken farmers, like me, need to walk into mucky chicken runs to feed hens, collect eggs, and scatter oh-so-yummy scratch for the girlies. Said chicken run was delightfully dry and clean last July when we built it. But now, almost eight months later, it’s a muddy, poopy mess. I’m really looking forward to things drying out around here! So, galoshes. I have found a colorful pair I want to by for $39.95 and a black and white pair I could live with for $29.95. What do you think I should buy? Wellies style in paisley or black and white, William Morris floral?

Okay, I’m done now. Generally speaking I’m too keen on writing about stuff, even though I admit I really like stuff. I try not to make it my focus in life.

So, on to other things…. Did I mention that it’s raining? Today, Lucas’s third-grade class at Sacramento Waldorf school was supposed to shear the sheep. Unfortunately wet fleece doesn’t shear well or easily, I’m told. I have been asked to take photographs of the third graders shearing the sheep, which is thrilling on so many levels. Although, I have to admit I’m not sorry today’s shearing was canceled because of the weather. Although the sheep probably don’t care much about the rain, and third graders (in my experience) don’t care a lick about getting wet, my camera prefers to stay dry, dry, dry.

And now, it’s dinner time. Bye!

May your pockets be heavy and your heart light.
May good luck pursue you each morning and night.

Yesterday afternoon, on the eve of St. Patrick’s Day, we did some fun things to prepare for the coming of the Leprechauns. Asher and I made brownies together. We happen to know for a fact that Leprechauns LOVE to eat brownies, particularly if you cut them into shamrock shapes!

Then we set about finding natural materials in our yard from which to make a Leprechaun house. Is it hard to see there, up against the “rock” wall of our house? It has a flag on top of the roof.

We found some lovely squarish sections of bark that worked beautifully for walls. Then with short sticks and long pieces of bark found in our garden beds, we roofed the house. Lucas came home with Daddy just in time to help with the construction.

He carefully cleared an area for an outdoor picnic table, and gently placed small stones that Asher gathered to make a cobblestone pathway leading from the door of the Leprechaun house to the picnic area.

Asher especially enjoyed gathering items to use for our project. He gathered stones, spiky balls from our liquidambar tree, flower petals, and clover. He even found a small fairy jewel that we set into the cobblestone path. The spiky balls became a kind of garden fence.

Asher picked lots of “salad” clover for the Leprechauns to eat. We all thought the flower petals gave everything an attractive, magical ambience.

Isn’t that a handsome house? We thought it looked very cozy and perfect for little fairy folk.

This is the picnic area, complete with bark table and tablecloth, plenty of salad, and bark benches for sitting on.

Our Leprechaun house is right beside our “shamrock” plant and right where we always leave out treats for the Leprechauns. So we knew they would check that exact spot. We hoped that they’d enjoy the house and have a party there!

Then we feasted on a greenish dinner of sausage and egg wraps (green, spinach tortillas) with green (brown) rice and salad. The boys enjoyed the wraps a lot! Fortunately, the Leprechauns never eat all the brownies, so there were enough for us to enjoy for dessert.

We always give the Leprechauns milk, honey, and a brownie on the night before St. Patrick’s Day. Leprechauns can be so tricky, and we find that if we leave them yummy treats, they don’t pull pranks on us. Usually, they leave gifts in return.

We were pretty confident that they would be nice this year. Doesn’t that venue look inviting?

This morning, Lucas and Asher found GOLD NUGGETS on the cobblestone path. The milk and honey and brownie were all nibbled. Only crumbs and drops remained on the plate outside. But inside! The boys found Leprechaun dolls on their breakfast plates, with new notebooks for writing in! So I guess the Leprechauns liked our treats and the house we made for them. It seems, however, they couldn’t resist being a little bit tricksy after all. We found all of our shoes in a huge pile by the front door!

I figure we got off lucky, though. Leprechauns can cause all manner of mischief. In fact, Lucas was excited to get to school to see what naughty pranks the Leprechauns did there during the night! (I confess, I think they looked around in our messy house and figured, what’s the point? It already looks like a tornado hit this place!)

Tonight we’ll be having an Irish stew for dinner with some Irish deedly-deedly-dee music. We have some fun Leprechaun stories to enjoy after dinner, too. How will you celebrate? How will you invite magic and good luck into your home?

May good luck be with you wherever you go,
and your blessings outnumber the shamrocks that grow.

Day 1: There are ten new hearts beating in my home. Welcome, little ones!

Day 2: My goodness they are noisy! They really do say “peep, peep.” They are little balls of fluff. So awesome and adorable! They fall asleep in our hands when we hold them.

Day 3: Our boys got to show their babies to some friends. They are doing great! The peeps sleep often, but wake so easily. They are pecking at each other’s eyes and beaks, but they don’t seem to be causing any harm.

Day 4: Our baby peeps are practicing their chicken behaviors. Today they are scratching and pecking in their litter and they are only about five days old. They also have rapidly growing wing feathers!

Day 4: The little ones nap a lot during the day. But now it’s evening and they are peeping up a storm! Pipe down, baby chickens! It’s sleeping time.

We have come to call this one Chestnut; she is a fuzzy Ameraucana. Eventually, she will lay green or blue eggs.

Day 5: Five days into raising baby chicks, we still have all ten. (Phew!) They are growing so fast and they all have beautiful small wing feathers now! They didn’t have these when we first go them last Thursday, February 17. And for the record, cleaning baby chicken butts ranks right up there among the weirdest things I’ve ever done. It must be done or they can die from “pasting up.” Yeah, it’s just as icky as it sounds.

Day 6: The hot topic of conversation on the Tuesday morning of a week off school is what to name our ten baby chicks. We can finally tell the two from each breed apart, except for the two yellow Buff Orpingtons, whom I think of as “the Twins.” Under consideration are the following names: Chestnut, Dawn. Lightning, Moonlight, Sunshine, Buttercup, Storm, Thunder, Summer, and Firefly. These names would go so nicely with our hens Sunrise, Fireball, Snowdrift, Avalanche, and Midnight, don’t ya think?

Day 6: Wowza! One chick, Dawn (above), was found this evening perched on the top edge of the brooder box! It’s time to rig up that top to keep them inside. A crocheted blanket clipped onto the box with binder clips will do nicely for now.

Lightning, a Light Brahma

Sunshine and Buttercup, the two Buff Orpingtons; we may never be able to tell these two apart!

Day 7: Now I see tail feathers coming in!

Day 9: The chicks are now so active in their plastic tote brooder box that their watering device is constantly getting clogged with the littler they scratch up. I’ve gotten up at 3 a.m. the last two nights to clean it out so they have access to drinking water. The heat lamp is very hot and they drink a lot! Better litter must be purchased.

Day 9: They fly.

Day 11: “Sara, the chicks are now having [unassisted] out-of-box experiences,” Ian reported. Moonlight flew up and out of the box, and then couldn’t figure out where she was or where everybody went. Ian rigged up a chicken wire box top to keep them inside.

Day 12: All of the babies now have fancy epaulets on their shoulders, like feathered generals.

Day 13: My goodness the chicks are active now—and fast! They are also easily about twice their original, just-hatched size. Firefly, a Welsummer, is still littlest. The two Welsummers have stripes down their backs like chipmunks.