We visited the Tunnel Mills campground in the Tahoe National Forest over the summer solstice weekend. A bunch of friends came and we had a wonderful group campsite all to ourselves. I never managed to have my camera with me when we were playing and rock hopping down by the gorgeous creek, so you’ll just have to take my word for it: it was a truly spectacular, magical place of huge, broad leaves, water snakes, clear, cold rushing water, warm boulders, dancing sunlight, and a million shades of green.

We had our Midsummer bonfire (which I wanted so badly), plenty of relaxation, games of Magic the Gathering and poker, reading, music and singing, shared potato chips, and friendship.

It was a little too chilly at night for my taste, but the warmth that these fine people bring to our lives makes it well worth it.

My Midsummer blessing for you is that you find the people who most uplift you, inspire you to be your best self, who understand you, encourage you, and delight you … and then hang on to them. Learn to be the very best friend you can be because love and connection, joy, trust, and forgiveness is what this one perfect life is all about. And we are all still learning.

It’s a celebration around here. There was a big class party for the sixth grade. The first graders had a swim party yesterday. They are done for the year, and are dreaming of lazy days of pure fun. In honor of this special day, the last day of school, I present this evocative poem by Whittier.

Blessings on thee, little man,
Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan!
With thy turned-up pantaloons,
And thy merry whistled tunes;
With thy red lip, redder still
Kissed by strawberries on the hill;
With the sunshine on thy face,
Through thy torn brim’s jaunty grace;
From my heart I give thee joy,—
I was once a barefoot boy!
Prince thou art,—the grown-up man
Only is republican.
Let the million-dollared ride!
Barefoot, trudging at his side,
Thou hast more than he can buy
In the reach of ear and eye,—
Outward sunshine, inward joy:
Blessings on thee, barefoot boy!

Oh for boyhood’s painless play,
Sleep that wakes in laughing day,
Health that mocks the doctor’s rules,
Knowledge never learned of schools,
Of the wild bee’s morning chase,
Of the wild-flower’s time and place,
Flight of fowl and habitude
Of the tenants of the wood;
How the tortoise bears his shell,
How the woodchuck digs his cell,
And the ground-mole sinks his well;
How the robin feeds her young,
How the oriole’s nest is hung;
Where the whitest lilies blow,
Where the freshest berries grow,
Where the ground-nut trails its vine,
Where the wood-grape’s clusters shine;
Of the black wasp’s cunning way,
Mason of his walls of clay,
And the architectural plans
Of gray hornet artisans!
For, eschewing books and tasks,
Nature answers all he asks;
Hand in hand with her he walks,
Face to face with her he talks,
Part and parcel of her joy,—
Blessings on the barefoot boy!

Oh for boyhood’s time of June,
Crowding years in one brief moon,
When all things I heard or saw,
Me, their master, waited for.
I was rich in flowers and trees,
Humming-birds and honey-bees;
For my sport the squirrel played,
Plied the snouted mole his spade;
For my taste the blackberry cone
Purpled over hedge and stone;
Laughed the brook for my delight
Through the day and through the night,
Whispering at the garden wall,
Talked with me from fall to fall;
Mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pond,
Mine the walnut slopes beyond,
Mine, on bending orchard trees,
Apples of Hesperides!
Still as my horizon grew,
Larger grew my riches too;
All the world I saw or knew
Seemed a complex Chinese toy,
Fashioned for a barefoot boy!

Oh for festal dainties spread,
Like my bowl of milk and bread;
Pewter spoon and bowl of wood,
On the door-stone, gray and rude!
O’er me, like a regal tent,
Cloudy-ribbed, the sunset bent,
Purple-curtained, fringed with gold,
Looped in many a wind-swung fold;
While for music came the play
Of the pied frogs’ orchestra;
And, to light the noisy choir,
Lit the fly his lamp of fire.
I was monarch: pomp and joy
Waited on the barefoot boy!

Cheerily, then, my little man,
Live and laugh, as boyhood can!
Though the flinty slopes be hard,
Stubble-speared the new-mown sward,
Every morn shall lead thee through
Fresh baptisms of the dew;
Every evening from thy feet
Shall the cool wind kiss the heat:
All too soon these feet must hide
In the prison cells of pride,
Lose the freedom of the sod,
Like a colt’s for work be shod,
Made to tread the mills of toil,
Up and down in ceaseless moil:
Happy if their track be found
Never on forbidden ground;
Happy if they sink not in
Quick and treacherous sands of sin.
Ah! that thou couldst know thy joy,
Ere it passes, barefoot boy!

—John Greenleaf Whittier (1855)

Yay, Summer! Indeed!

We’ve just finished spring break. It’s been two weeks of lots of fun for the kiddos, starting with a glorious day at Point Reyes National Seashore. We have a tradition of ringing in the spring by going to the beach.

Lots of Magic: The Gathering games were played. And even more card sorting and organizing and deck building.

We made some funny pictures.

Mama worked a lot, but I got to work here for some of the time. My garden is beautiful right now and I’ve hosted two parties to make my friends see it.

We saw these handsome fellas. They and their girls had the run of the school campus while the students were away.

We watched Cosmos and snuggled.

Lucas had baseball practice on several perfect April days. And for five days he got to do an archery camp that he loved, with two hours of practice a day and games and fun contests.

These are just some highlights. I can’t seem to keep on track here at Love in the Suburbs lately. I’ll try to do better. Happy spring, and Happy Earth Day, everyone!

My son has gone away. He is with his Waldorf class and two teachers at Steiner College for the week, working with and for the master biodynamic farmer (who probably has an official and better title than the one I’ve just used). The sixth grade kids are farming, fulfilling CSA orders, feeding and caring for animals, and camping out—four nights and five days.

Aren’t they beamish? Aren’t they mighty?

The rain came down in buckets yesterday, day 3. Then it hailed. A little tornado touched down a few miles northeast of here. Let me assure you, we do not get tornadoes here, except for yesterday.

I am amused by my own mixed feelings of worry and delight that this special camping/farming adventure became an honest-to-goodness adventure in weather, a test of endurance in the wet. I worry a little that my son is/was cold and miserable. But I don’t really think that’s what is happening. I believe my son is having a fantastic time. I believe Lucas is out there having the time of his life, actually, being tough, learning how competent and capable he is, working hard, and being silly among all of his friends. I believe they are bonding. Even if the kids have moments of misery or homesickness, I believe this trip will be a highlight of Waldorf primary school, among a whole galaxy of sparkling, magical Waldorf school experiences.

I believe that. I won’t get to know until Friday afternoon, when I pick him up. Until then, I hope, while the rain continues to fall.

I also believe that this is more a test for us parents than a test for our 11- and 12-year-olds. I believe it is meant to prove to us that they are growing up, and can handle more (far more) than we give them credit for. They can handle themselves. They have a solid foundation that we have painstakingly built for them, and from this they are launching themselves. (Whether we’re ready or not.)

What a wonderful thing! What a beautiful, odd thing!

So, this little fellow, who only rarely is without his brother, is having a week of only-child status.

He doesn’t mind too much. He’s had extra attention from mama, and visited with grandparents. Papa even took him to the ice-cream parlor, just the two of them. He can play with all the LEGOs. Plus, the crazy weather gave us the opportunity to collect hailstones in a big bowl and then do color science with food dyes—my little potion-maker!

Having only one child to care for this week has felt odd. And being with this little guy, without big brother around to influence or direct him or make him feel like he has to act older than he is, is beautiful thing, too.

* A night out dancing and celebrating with my sparkling friends.
* Grandparents who take my boys overnight so I can be with adults at a nightclub.
* Friends who figuratively put on their wellies and step into the muck to help others, who sacrifice and do the work and give so much of themselves.
* Visiting my mother-in-law over coffee, and admiring how she has already thriving vegetable garden seedlings under a grow light in her dining room.
* New-to-us chairs from my parents; they’re more comfortable than any chairs we have, even if they are a shade or two too purple.
* Working all together on housekeeping chores that might not be fun, but that make our living together easier and our home the haven we want it to be.
* Giving away wonderful games and puzzles to my sweet nieces.
* A brief visit from my brother and his girlfriend, who brought us the chairs.
* Gardening time: I planted pansies, divided day lilies to make two new clumps, planted forsythia, planted two irises that have been in pots a while. I was able to divide each iris into several groups.
* Watching my garden come alive again with new shoots, daffodils, magnolia, and azaleas blooming, and tulips coming up. My plum trees are clothed in flower clouds, too.
* Rain. Yumptious, sloppy, wet rain that soaks the ground and demonstrates our persistent drainage problems.
* Flower and seed catalogs that come in the mail.
* Being done with basketball season, but also feeling so grateful for all Lucas learned, for his wonderful coach and teammates, and for a wholly positive experience.
* Having work to do, even if it’s not very interesting. I’m learning more about surgery than I ever have before.
* A reunion with my husband; although I hate it when he goes (and I try not to whine), I love it when he comes home.
* Taking my dad to a Ladysmith Black Mambazo concert this week
* Little Fur audiobooks, which are entertaining my little son while he’s home sick today.
* Window stars.
* Fractal vegetables and welcome-home dinners.
* The sixth-grade Waldorf curriculum, which is so brilliantly meeting our son.

• RAIN. My garden looks so grateful, and bulbs are starting to pop up from the soil.
• Sleeping in until 8:30 a.m.; waking to hot, fresh coffee.
• Grandpa’s 68^th birthday, and gathering around a table with my new beautiful nieces.
• Work that comes when you need it, even if it comes all at once in a big rush.
• Dog-sitting a sweet little girl for a sweet friend.
• A creative friend who spends his precious free time hanging out and playing Magic with my kids, conjuring a magical duel between wizards.
• A husband who does laundry and cleans the kitchen while I work on the weekend, even though he’s sick.
• A young friend who gives my older son a taste of big kid adventure—exciting paintball wars in the rain and mud.
• Basketball games, even when we get skunked by a team two years older and two heads taller than our boys.
• Little boy who says, “Mama, put your arms around me; it makes me feel safe,” and then tells me precisely how much to keep the bedroom door open and “check on me in four minutes,” every single night.
• Big boy who lately seems more interested in hugs than usual, and who is learning how to write essays.
• A grandfather who braved an outing alone with the boys for the first time.
• Trudging through the muddymuck of the chicken coop to feed the hens; finding that their laying has increases ever so slightly.
• Realizing that I live with Tigger—irrepressible, indefatigable, bubbly, bouncy funfunfun 7-year-old!

“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

Today. Some rain may fall today.

Almost two weeks ago, Jeff and I went for a hike up to the North Fork of the American River, where it flows into Folsom Lake. Water levels are so terribly low. All the pale and red dirt you see should be covered by the river.

While the rest of the country freezes to death, California is so very thirsty.

We are in desperate need of rain here in California. We basically haven’t had a winter at all. Most days are in the 60s, sunny, and completely pleasant. It means that we’re out and about and active, which is nice. But our lakes and reservoirs are woefully low. When the high temps (100+) come this summer, we’ll be very sad about having had so little winter rain.

The sky is currently cloudy and we’re hoping that the “storm door” will open with a rain in a couple of days. We thought it would be fun to do a quick craft project to make a rainstick. Maybe it will help the rains come?

Materials

• poster tube, or paper towel or wrapping paper tube
• nails that aren’t quite as wide as the diameter of your tube
• hammer
• cardboard
• scissors
• pencil
• dry beans or peas
• masking tape
• decorating supplies such as mod podge and tissue paper, or paints

Tutorial

The nails you use should be not quite as wide as the diameter of your tube. Nail them straight into the tube in a helical pattern all the way down the length of the tube.

Watch those fingers! Hammering is such a good time. Kids should hammer often, I think. Make sure everyone gets a turn!

You can kind of see the spiral pattern of the nails in this photo.

(My boys jumped at this project. I think it was the chance to use the hammer.)

Insert your dry beans (or peas or rice or pebbles—use whatever you like). We used dry chick peas because that’s what we had on hand. Once the beans are inside, place your hand over the open end of the tube, turn it, and listen to how they sound when they run through the gauntlet of your nails. Experiment with using more or less beans until it sounds like rainfall.

If your tube came with end caps, great. Ours had one, but we had to make the other. Using a pencil, we traced the tube end onto a piece of cardboard and cut out the circle. We trimmed it until it fit neatly on the end of our tube. When we were sure we had the right rain sound, we put on the end piece and taped it down with masking tape. Make sure both tube ends are completely secure.

Then we taped over all the nail heads all the way along the tube. We didn’t want any nails working their way out of the cardboard later.

That’s it. The rainstick is done and functional now. The rest is decoration! Asher enjoyed this next part a lot; 11-year-old Lucas was happy to let Asher finish it.

We used tissue paper in watery colors and mod podge to decoupage the outside of our rainstick.

After it dried completely, we added stamped designs, which you can see in the top photo. Alternatively, you can paint your tube with acrylic or tempera paints to decorate it, or draw on it with sharpie markers.

We hope this gray sky will open up and produce several weeks of decent rains. As much as we enjoy these short-sleeve temperatures and sunny days, we need to splash in some puddles! I asked my kids if they thought our rainstick would have any magical effect and bring the rains. They chuckled and said, “No. But it was fun, Mom.” Still, I’m hoping …

The Sun in Winter

Pale sun goes sailing
Through the frozen sky;
Trees raise to him their arms
As he goes by.
Haste, sun, grow brighter
As the days go past;
Wake from their sleep the buds
And leaves at last.

My day started with a gorgeous trail run with my friend.

The kids played with the neighborhood boys, and just at sunset, Ian got to explain to the kids what the winter solstice is—that the earth’s axis is 23.5 degrees tilted to the plane of her orbit, and thus we have seasons of more sun and less sun, and that after this shortest day, the hours of sunlight each will get longer for the the next six months.

We declined a party invitation with regret, and celebrated at home on Saturday evening. It was quiet. It was cozy.

It was a little dark, just as I wanted it to be. The candlelight was lovely.

We had a meal of Greek avgolemono soup, fruit salad, green spinach salad with little yellow squash suns, and a honey suncake for dessert. Simple and delicious. I had a vision, so the kids and Ian just relaxed while I prepared it. I loved the part when I called them in to eat, and everything was glowing, perfect, and pretty. I only wish the boys had enjoyed the soup more.

And I convinced my darling boys to do some art with me. We painted these pretty sun symbols. Now we can hang them to remind us of how grateful we are for the sun’s warmth and light. They could be Yule or Christmas ornaments, or a kind of mobile. I don’t know yet. But I love them.

And as for our furry friend, Solstice the dog—we celebrated his second anniversary in our home. He got some new treats and a new rope toy. We adore him.

I’m going to take a break from all the winter holiday stuff to tell you about an adventure we had earlier this month. As a gift to my elf-fantasy-archery-sword-loving son I bought an online coupon for West Coast Falconry’s basic falconry lesson way back in May. I bought three coupons—our younger son is too young—and we finally were able to redeem them on December 7. OH MY GOODNESS, I am so very glad that this deal caught my eye because it was everything we could have hoped for!

West Coast Falconry is in Marysville, a bit more than an hour’s drive from where we live. We drove up with our friends Tate and Lady K, who also bought the same coupon. We all learned so much and had a blast.

We worked with Shvak, a Harris hawk. Jana is a master falconer and she has been working with Shvak for nine years. She and two other women taught us about the history of falconry (the earliest mention of falconry is from 10,000 years ago, in the Epic of Gilgamesh!). (One woman, Shawna, frequently teaches at Effie Yeaw Nature Center and both of my sons have been in her classes before. It was neat to see her in her element here.)

We got to see Shvak fly for treats (quail heads). Hawks are very careful about not expending energy without a reward. This makes them discerning hunters.

And we all got to call Shvak and she flew to our glove. Then flew to the next glove. She is amazingly light—only 2 pounds!

Whenever I held Shvak, I got that glorious heart-in-throat feeling. Being so close to a creature so wild, so exquisitely specialized, so alien and fierce filled me with exultation.

Here Ian is holding Don Diego, whose full name is Don Diego Alejandro Santiago Saragossa Inigo Montoya Del Gato. He is two-thirds the size of Shvak, weighing only 1.5 pounds.

Just look at this proud boy with Diego!

Harris hawks (Parabuteo unicinctus) are native to the Southwest US. They live in the desert and hunt cooperatively, somewhat like wolves, we learned. This is unique among birds of prey. Our teachers told us that the Harris hawk has revolutionized the sport of falconry around the world, making it a sport you can do with companions. Other birds of prey are territorial and will fight.

We learned also that Shvak has a crushing strength of 500 psi in her talons. Learning falconry and becoming licensed is a very intensive process that includes a long apprenticeship, exams, and inspections. And a trained falconer must capture a juvenile bird from the wild in order to raise it and train it to hunt. Birds raised in captivity aren’t allowed to hunt.

Hawks fly low to the ground to take advantage of thermals before rising to land on a person’s hand.

This is a lure; it’s how the falconer calls the bird back. When the hawk sees this she comes immediately back and attacks it. This is the posture she uses when she takes down her prey.

She knows from training that doing so will bring yummy, organ meat rewards.

It was a delightful and interesting hour. I hope we can go back another day and either take another class or do the Hawk Walk. It is truly a unique and stirring experience to be near these birds.