The May Afterschool Enrichment Guide ebook, published by Little Acorn Learning is now available!. Publisher Eileen Foley Straiton creates marvelous ebooks that are perfect for homeschooling, preschool programs, and families. They are full of crafts, stories, poems, songs, activities, caregiver meditations, recipes, holiday celebration ideas, and more. Little Acorn Learning also publishes seasonal and festival ebooks, childcare menu guides, and lesson plan guides.

For this May ebook, I was delighted to create an original song, a bee and honeycomb mobile craft tutorial, a tutorial on making a Mother’s Day yarn necklace, and a piece about hosting a very scientific and super-sweet honey-tasting party.

Here is a peek at what the May guide contains:

Week One, May
May Day, Dancing

~Enjoy a May Dance Song
with Sheet Music!
~Make a Miniature Maypole for
Your Nature Table
~So Many Verses and Songs to Share with the Children
~Meditate on Living Your Life in Rhythm Like a Beautiful Dance
~Practice the Pennywhistle or Flute and Play ‘A Dance’ (click to hear
sample above) – also Recieve the MP3 Version to Listen!
~Make a Finger Woven Mother’s Day Necklace
~Learn About Walpurgus and Celebrate
Spring in the Swedish Tradition
~Read Books that Were Handpicked for You to
Celebrate the First Week of May!

Week Two, May
Flowers, Unfolding

~Make Felted Flowers
~Share Verses and Song Celebrating Growth
and Blooming Life
~Grow Eggshell Seedlings to Transplant into
Your Garden
~Make Flower Crowns to Celebrate Beltane
~Design a Beautiful Flower Window Star
~Make Edible Flower Ice and Share a Pitcher of
Colorful Lemonaide
~Meditate on Blooming in Your
Current Conditions to Bring Joy
and Love into Your Surroundings
and Find a Life of Peace

Week Three, May
The Bee, Community

~Read Sweet Stories About These
Beautiful, Life
Spreading Creatures
~Host a Honey-Tasting Party in Your Own Backyard!
~Sing Songs of Honey, Nectar and Bees
~Make a Honeycomb and Bee Mobile
and Hang it Over Your Nature Space
~Play ‘When Bees Come Out’ (see sample above)
on Your Penny Whistle or Flute and
Receive the MP3 to Listen!
~Bake Honey Buns and Serve with Fresh
Honey Butter
~Make a Commitment to Get More Involved in
Your Local Community

Week Four, May
The Caterpillar, Transformation

~Make Caterpillar and Butterflies Out of Nature
~Create a Wool Caterpillar
~Needle Felt Butterflies
~Make a Cocoon
~Share a Story Verse as You Introduce Your Creations
to the Children
~Make a Pom-Pom Caterpillars
~Transform Your Current Situation by Living
Colorfully in the Present Moment
~Play a Sweet Caterpillar Cocoon Game using
Silks with the Children
~Sing Songs and Fingerplays of Butterflies,
Caterpillars and Change

http://www.littleacornlearning.com/index.html

May I present to you the thoughtful writing of my dear husband, Ian, on answering our son’s question about the death of Osama bin Laden. This is the first time I’ve managed to talk Ian into letting me publish his writing on Love in the Suburbs. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did and welcome him as a guest blogger.

~~~~~~~~~~~

“Dad, who died?”

It’s May 2, 2011, the day after your birthday. We have had an exhausting weekend celebrating your 9th. We’re eating breakfast and the radio is on. Usually I turn it off while we eat but this morning I left it on. Last night’s news is still playing out: NPR with their mix of studious research and golly-gee man-on-the-street reporting. You figured out that someone was dead, and that this was somehow a good thing, and the cognitive dissonance prompted you to ask:

“Dad, who died?”

On September 11, 2001, I was working as a computer tech for an online seller of insurance. It was a job that I wasn’t excited about. What I was excited about was that you were due to be born in May of the following year. We had only recently discovered that your mother was pregnant and we were trying to figure out what that was going to mean to our lives. I got in my car like usual, turned on the radio, the disc jockeys were talking about something that had happened in New York, a fire or some sort of accident. By the time I got to the office they were talking about an attack, possibly missiles. At the office, we watched on TV as the truth was slowly discovered. Four passenger planes had been hijacked and turned into missiles: One slammed into the side of the Pentagon, two slammed into the World Trade Center skyscrapers, and one ditched into a field in Pennsylvania. We were stunned, as we imagined the blood on the airplanes, we saw on TV people leaping to their deaths from the flaming buildings. The office closed early that day, and I was left wondering what sort of world I was bringing children into.

“Dad, who died?”

When you were about 5 years old we brought home a picture book about a fireboat. It started out describing the history of fireboats in Manhattan, but as the city developed, fireboats were retired. In the 1990s, a group of friends restored an old fireboat. “How wonderful!” we said. We identified with the group of friends who enjoyed sharing big projects together—and then we turned a page, and there were the two towers in flame and smoke again. Your mother and I burst into tears; you were mystified. It had been years, but the image of the burning towers overwhelmed us. We recalled the evil perpetrated on our country, but also how that evil had affected our country since. (The book would go on to tell the story of the friends sitting in the harbor for days, pumping water onto the site of the fires. There were many stories of courage and sacrifice that day.)

“Dad, who died?”

When I was a kid Americans did not torture, even in war time. Americans did not gather intelligence on other Americans, and we did not wage preemptive war. As the years after 9/11 unwound we saw exactly how dangerous fear could be. American fear allowed a corrupt and silly President to be manipulated by oil companies into starting a war in Iraq. American soldiers, which is a fancy way of saying, “your neighbors and friends” were risking their lives and dying simply to adjust stock values. As our leadership claimed necessity we saw hundreds of thousands of Iraqis killed, no weapons of terror, and vast amounts of American money flow to crooked contractors connected to those same leaders. This led many of us to despair that America as we knew it was over, that we would never again see a free election, we would never see an end to fear and manipulation.

“Dad, who died?”

OK, I know this is stupid, but sometimes when I see ’90s sitcoms set in New York City, like “Friends” or “Seinfeld,” and they show the skyline during a cutscene or credits, and I see those two towers, I cry.

“Dad, who died?”

The object of the terrorist is to convince the population that the State is as horrific as the terrorists say it is. If I can control your fear, I can control you. This is deep mindfuck territory, and it works. Americans gave up so much of who we were because of our fear of what this man and his followers could do. I have never been afraid of terrorism, but I have been regularly frightened by the behavior of fellow Americans. After 9/11, civil discourse and intelligent discussion were derided, and ignorance and jingoism took center stage. When President Obama was elected, the fearful went mad. It is said that a black man must be twice as good as a white man in order to be treated as an equal, and after watching the patience and humor of Barack Obama, I think that is true. People said he was “un-American.” Fools without the wit to meet the man in a substantive debate demanded proof of his citizenship. Whereas a white neighborhood organizer would be congratulated on his dedication to his community, Obama was called Hitler. It was all simply racism, which is just another word for fear.

“Dad, who died?”

Parents are the worst sort of fear mongers. You see, we have these little bits of our hearts running around in the world. We call them children, and people say, “Oh, you are such a good person to have children. I could never have children. I am far too selfish.” That’s just silly. You see, having children is a very selfish act. It is the only way that we can project ourselves into the future. Parents have a very narrow focus: Our children are really all we care about. So when someone threatens our children, our better judgment goes out the window. It shouldn’t surprise anyone that the most powerful women in the Republican party constantly point to their fears for their children: Fear is the only card they have to play.

“Dad, who died?”

According to the LA Times: “Osama bin Mohammed bin Awad bin Laden was born in Saudi Arabia, in 1957, the seventeenth of the 54 children of the founder of the Bin Laden Group, a construction company. His father, Mohammed bin Awad bin Laden, was a Yemeni immigrant … The elder Bin Laden was a devout Muslim, raised in the fundamentalist Wahhabi sect. He had at least eleven wives. Osama was the only child born to Alia Ghanem, a beauty from Syria who preferred Parisian fashions to the veil. As a foreigner, she did not rank high in the family pecking order. Some members of the Bin Laden clan have said her status was so lowly that she was known as “the slave” and her son as “ibn al abida” — “son of the slave.” In 1967, when Osama was about 10, his father was killed in a plane crash. His share of the inheritance reportedly was about $300 million.”

“Dad, who died?”

American students read Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird. It’s about race and justice and fear and humility. There is a small episode in the text where the father, much to the surprise of his children, shoots a rabid dog in the street. He doesn’t like to do it, and it brings him no joy; he does not celebrate the destruction of a living creature. But it must be done, a rabid dog cannot wander the street.

“Dad, who died?”

When I was 9 I asked my mother why there were bad people in the world. She told me that people aren’t bad, but that sometimes they don’t get enough love, and that leaves a hole in their heart, and they do bad things in an attempt to fill that hole up. She told me that for some people, being bad was the only way that they could ever be important.

“Dad, who died?”

“… we know that the worst images are those that were unseen to the world. The empty seat at the dinner table. Children who were forced to grow up without their mother or their father. Parents who would never know the feeling of their child’s embrace. Nearly 3,000 citizens taken from us, leaving a gaping hole in our hearts.”

“Dad, who died?”

Today I am looking at your mother over the breakfast plates. How do I answer this question? I start and stop a couple of times. A monster, a rabid dog, a “bad-guy,” a man who, through his cunning and violence, showed us the worst of ourselves. A terrorist, not simply someone who uses violence, but uses violence so that the victims of that violence will become monsters. Here was a man who spent his life developing a worldwide network of hate, just to throw it away on one simple murderous act that ripped the conscience and self-respect out of our nation.

“Dad, who died?”

Well son, no one to worry about. He’s dead and buried in the sea; and it is my fervent hope that as we forget his name, we will remember who we are.

Easter morning breakfast, including homemade apricot “sunny side up” pastries, from [amazon-product text=”Artisan Bread in Five Minutes a Day” type=”text”]0312362919[/amazon-product].  My family ended up joining us here for an early Easter morning celebration.

Treats from the Easter Bunny. On Easter Eve, we put out fresh carrots on this rock. In the morning we always find nibbled carrot ends, fresh fruits, flowers, and Easter baskets full of goodies. This year, there was a gift for the boys to share: a butterfly garden for watching caterpillars turn into painted lady butterflies!

Asher was quite amazed by the chocolate bunny in his basket. (Funny thing is, after eating a couple of bites on Easter Day, my children haven’t mentioned their Easter candy since, even though there is plenty leftover.)

Unwrapping the butterfly garden.

Here’s Asher showing off the bunny and egg I made. Lucas got one, too.

Early morning egg hunt. There were some coins in the plastic eggs!

Around the middle of the day, we had some free time to go for a nature walk. We revisted Miner’s Ravine in Granite Bay. It sprinkled on us a bit. The boys ate plenty of miner’s lettuce.

We found the trail blocked by an enormous fallen pine. Lucas thought we should forge through the branches.

My love.

At Miner’s Ravine there is a huge outcropping of granite. Lucas nimbly ran up it. He also climbed trees. We saw lots of butterflies and beetles, munched on miner’s lettuce, and wandered for a little while.

Then we headed over to grandma and grandpa’s house for an Easter afternoon. VoVo made yummy ham for sandwiches and Aunt Kellie made a gorgeous salad. The boys hunted (the same) eggs again and they came away with toy motorcycles from Easter baskets. It was a wonderful holiday.

Last month, our dear third graders performed a play called Noah and the Flood. There were two sweet casts, one for the morning performance and one for the evening performance. These photos are from the evening performance, which was held at sunset one day near the end of March. That’s dear, pious Noah above. She did a marvelous job with a ton of lines.

Here are the wicked, doubting townspeople harassing Ham, Noah’s good son, who helps to build and stock the ark with animals. I think these townsfolk kids might have had the most fun because they got to skip about the stage, teasing and making fun of Noah’s righteous family and doubting that there would be any consequence for their bad behavior.

This is Noah’s wife in the foreground. She was clearly on board with the whole ark-flood project. Her daughters-in-law, in the background, were less enthused. And yet, despite their bad attitudes, they were saved from the rising waters.

Such a good boy was Ham. Noah had two other obedient sons as well.

They went out into the world to find two of every animal, reptile, and bird to put on the ark to save them from the terrible flood. Lucas was very happy to be a mouse. (I think he still misses Emily Mouse.)

This is the angel that convinced the other angels that not every human was wicked, and perhaps they should save one righteous family. This darling boy really got into his role and delivered a stirring performance.

Two third graders got to man the floodwaters and the subsequent rainbow. With a very long rainbow silk, they created a glorious rainbow over the saved people and animals at the end of the play.

The play’s finale was the “Rise and Shine” song you might remember:

The Lord said to Noah:
There’s gonna be a floody, floody
The Lord said to Noah:
There’s gonna be a floody, floody
Get those children out of the muddy, muddy
Children of the Lord

Rise and shine
And give God the glory, glory
Rise and shine
And give God the glory, glory
Rise and shine
And give God the glory, glory
Children of the Lord

April 29, 2011

Dear Lucas,

It’s practically the eve of your 9th birthday. Tomorrow we will spend much of the day cleaning our home, baking, and decorating to get ready for your birthday party—your first-ever slumber party.  It will be a busy day, and not all fun stuff. Together we will succeed in making the space ready for five of your dear friends.

This year, you have asked for a homemade apple pie instead of a birthday cake. I am surprised by this; somehow it seems too much like me and my preferences for it to be your wish. So often I see our differences and dissimilarities most clearly. But there are moments when I see myself in you, like when you get nervous before a big event and begin to wish you could be elsewhere, or like when you pore over a new book, exploring it with your hands and running its cover against your cheek, or like when you express your outrage when someone acts in a way that hurts you, accidentally or not. All of these characteristics in you remind me of myself.

I have seen you grow so much this year it boggles my mind. (I suppose I say that in every birthday letter I write to you. It is always true.) In the last year, I have seen you learn how to read music (both treble clef and base). I have listened with eager ears as you have learned to play songs on our piano, sometimes struggling, sometimes leaping forward in great ah-ha moments of inspiration. Your fingers are at home on the keys; your ear is better than mine ever was, and you seem to memorize songs after hearing them only a few times. This is both a tremendous asset, and also a liability because you are capable of skating along at times, not having to pay attention to the notes on the page. But I understand. It’s a foreign written language, and it’s so much easier for you just to remember all the sounds. You are getting better at paying attention and focusing on the music. You don’t like to work at it, and yet, when you master the task, it’s clear that you feel very proud of yourself. You have tackled some tough songs this year, including one called “Hogwarts March,” from a Harry Potter movie. I am pleased to see you working hard at piano—I mean, of course I want it to be enjoyable for you. I also want you to learn how to go after something you want, try and try and try, and earn your reward. You have been playing for a year now. You have said at times you want to quit, but then you seem to buckle down and achieve the next goal, which fills you up and readies you for more. I’m not inclined to let you quit because you’re good at it.

Another skill that seems to have ballooned is your reading. This gives your father and me so much joy we’re filled to bursting. You are unlocking the greatest thing ever, word by word, book by book, and you seem to know it. You say, “I’d rather read the book first before I see the movie.” You and your school friends discuss books! You come home with requests because so-and-so said such-and-such book was the greatest book ever. You know what ragged right means. You want books because they’re funny, or a bit creepy, or mysterious, or clever, or long and with sequels. And I am in heaven.

Still, I hold back a bit. I don’t push books on you because my showing too much enthusiasm for a story can ruin it. Secretly, I buy books for you all the time, and store them so that at the perfect moment I can give you one as a special gift, or just a now-you’re-ready-for-this surprise. It makes me feel like Santa Claus, and each time you unwrap one or I pull one off the top shelf, I hold my breath. Will you feel the same draw, the same magic as I do? I long to share this feeling with you, to have this one thing at least tie us together in companionship our whole lives. But even more fervently I wish that you will fall in love again and again with reading.

Reading is a big part of third grade, as are spelling tests. You have been bringing fourteen spelling words home to study most weeks this year. When we all remember to work on them together, you tend to ace the quizzes. I’m finding it’s surprisingly tricky to encourage you to care about whether you do well. Often you do, so that’s great. But not always. So we are all learning to negotiate new concepts of expectation. We parents are learning how to negotiate new concepts of parenting. Because you go to Waldorf school, you haven’t been struggling with homework for years already, for which I am grateful. We are not in the habit of having to work on school tasks at home. See? The spelling words are our mutual training ground. Not only do you have to get into the habit of doing schoolwork, but we have to get into the habit of helping you develop good habits! (That teacher of yours is quite clever.) I admit we have a ways to go in this area. Next year, you will have homework to do regularly.

***

May 1, 2011

You remain, as ever, exceptionally creative. Perhaps the best part of this characteristic is that you aren’t afraid of it. You go with your creative impulses without hesitation. I see this in your engineering of objects, in your drawings and paintings, in your imaginative play. There is nothing too big, too hard, or too wild for you. You also seem to seek out the different path. The Moken Kabong shelter project was a good example. You were tasked to build a human shelter model based the shelter of a genuine people. You were the only child in the class to build a boat shelter. While belonging is important to you, you take your individuality seriously. I really like that about you.

You love dragons and ninjas, secret agents and explorers. You love science perhaps more than anything. You want to be a Mythbuster or a chemist or a doctor when you grow up. Something sciency, no doubt. Sometimes you say you want to be a veterinarian.

You are fond of games now, especially complex ones with many rules. You are becoming a good chess player, playing sometimes with adults. I need to remember that you need opportunities to play games. Since gaming isn’t my favorite way of spending time, I need to hook you up with others who do enjoy games. Fortunately, we have a lot of friends who enjoy such things. And your dad is a great sport about this stuff; he’s always ready for a game of chess or whatever.

You invent plenty of games, too, creating cards with creatures that have magical and elemental powers. You talk of hit points, damage, spells, and +4 strength, +1 armor. The games are not confined to paper, though, for your creatures ride on your shoulders and you can fling them into battle, with sound effects and physical confrontation. Asher is a willing participant in all your fantasy worlds. Since you answer his every question about the game with complete confidence, he is content to play by your rules most of the time. Just don’t tell him he has lost all of his powers! On a recent car ride, you and Asher played a verbal quest game like Dungeons and Dragons—I think you called it Tentacle—where you were the GM and Asher had to make choices in his quest. Sometimes his choice was wise and he was rewarded by leveling up. Other times he was penalized, like when he fought and killed a good luck dragon. I suppose you have played this with your friends at school, but I was amazed at how engrossed the two of you became in the game. You were both thinking on your feet, so to speak, and it was awesome.

You (perhaps with friends) have invented a martial art, formerly called Twidlywinkies but recently redubbed “Hai-ya!” The first iteration of this martial art has been around a year or two, but you’ve recently been training your brother in Hai-ya. You are taking him through the ranks, awarding him new belt colors (playsilks) when he does well. Rainbow belt is the highest achievement, after black belt. There are five styles of Hai-ya, from what I’ve gathered: Dragon, Crane, Tiger, Panda, and Snake, which you conveniently swiped from the Kung Fu Panda movie. You say you are training several school friends, too. You would dearly like to take martial arts classes, and we may be coming to that sometime this year. The discipline you would learn in such a class would do you good, I think.

You enjoy shooting hoops, walking on your stilts, and riding your scooter and your bike. We have been letting you ride around the neighborhood alone a bit. Recently you rode off to the local park for a solo adventure. You love to climb trees and every time we go to pick up Asher from preschool, you shimmy up Ms. Pati’s grapefruit tree. Daddy has seen you climbing up our redwoods in our backyard, which are a bit too little still, I think. Now you can do the monkey bars! (You tried for a long time without success, so this is a big accomplishment.) So far, you aren’t interested in playing organized sports. You lament about not having enough free time, though your time is mostly your own. Filling it with sports practice I think would be odious to you. I wonder if and when you will ask for this, and if it’s our fault that you show so little interest in sports. Have we raised you to be just like us?

Overall, I have to say this last year has been much easier than previous ones. You are not as challenging as you used to be, or perhaps I should say, you aren’t challenging as much of the time. You seem in some ways less spiky than before, and are quick to show affection. You give compliments pretty freely, which is a delight. You often tell me and Dad that we are “the best parents ever.” Usually, when we are frustrated with you, it is because you are frustrated with your brother and are fighting with him. You and Asher provoke each other like crazy. You react to him as if every little thing was the most horrific offense, which naturally feeds the fire. You give him such delicious rewards for bugging you, so he does it as often as possible. We are trying to teach you to disengage, walk away, and ignore it when Asher needles you. I fear your choleric personality is a big obstacle. But siblings fight. Brothers fight. And Asher now is a force to be reckoned with.

But I have to also say how much love and devotion I see in your relationship with your brother. Asher looks to you for leadership, for courage, and for a role model. He would like to do everything you do and tries hard. You two are thick as thieves, as they say, completely intertwined with one another. You are best friends and worst enemies, as the cliché goes. You hate to be apart from one another, long to be together, and yet when you are, there is a maddening pattern of good, beneficial play and then angry bashing. We roller-coaster through our days like this and it drives us bananas. You are like powerful magnets, drawn together and compelled to play out dramatic hurts, betrayals, forgiveness, and camaraderie again and again, from dawn until sleep. It is difficult to live with, but I think it’s good relationship training. You are learning trust, how to negotiate, what consequences come from acting badly toward someone, how to forgive and be forgiven.

Sometimes you ask to have your own room again, and I feel bad that I took over your old bedroom for my office. I know sometimes you would really like to get away from Asher and have some private space. You are coping as best you can: You have claimed three personal “desks” in the house as your private places. You and Asher still sleep together sometimes, though, so it cannot be so bad.

A few months ago, you went through a rough patch and were feeling quite depressed and maudlin. You would sometimes get upset and say things like, “I shouldn’t even exist. I don’t deserve to live.” We tried hard to hold you safe and let you feel all your feelings. This “9-year change” business is hard, and dramatic. You seem to need us to acknowledge your pain, but also to act confidently through it. We don’t spend much time trying to convince you to feel differently, for that way is useless and also gives too much attention to the theatrics. We just hold the space in which you can (safely) suffer and try to show you that the suffering is temporary and that we love you despite it. I don’t know what more is in store for us in this changing stage. You’ve just turned 9, so there may be more pitfalls to negotiate this year. But no matter: We love you always.

I admire the way you make friends, Lucas, and I must say, it seems to me you have made some good ones. Your school buddies are great kids, and you get along well even with those classmates who aren’t your best friends. You are especially good in one-on-one situations to my eye. I’m proud that you are considerate, that you remember your manners, and that you make friends with adults as easily as you make friends with kids. You are warm and open, eager to share your experiences and eager to learn from others. I am proud that my friends like having you along, that they tell me what a fun, clever, ingenious kid you are.

***

May 2, 2011

The party is done now. It was a rollicking good time; “best birthday party ever,” you said. There were balloon fights and stick fights and spy-on-the-parents secret agent games. We watched “Mythbusters,” we ate Daddy’s marvelous hamburgers and you and your friends devoured a whole watermelon in mere minutes.  You and your buddies stayed awake until midnight.

We were all pretty wiped out by the next day, your actual birthday, so we spent a kind of low-key day, enjoying each other’s company, and opening presents from me, Dad, and Asher. You are thrilled that we gave you your own, first pocket knife and have kept it with you every waking hour since then. We expect every stick within a two-block radius to be whittled by you in the coming months. You have already carved for yourself  and your brother new wands, with which to have magical duels. Daddy was certain that you are ready for this; it’s a big responsibility to own and use a knife. We trust that you will take it seriously, and not use it recklessly.

We spent the evening of your birthday at Papa and Grandma Syd’s house. You begged to go swimming—the water was 62 degrees—and we let you. You proudly showed Papa your new pocket knife and he admired it. At the moment you’re enjoying time with VoVo and Aunt Kellie and you’re probably receiving more gifts.

There is no question about it, Lucas. You are beloved. Lucas, you are such a mysterious treasure to me and your dad, and every moment we find ourselves having to stretch and grow alongside you, just to keep up. You are delightful and warm, courageous and sensitive, and oh-so smart. You are our shining sun, our inspiration, and our initiator, for without you we wouldn’t be who we are today. We love you for everything that you are and everything that you are becoming. Happy birthday, my dearest light.

Love,

Mama

I mentioned before that we were planning to plant a tree in memory of Nana and in celebration of Earth Day. Well, the four of us had a brief little memorial ceremony, and it was lovely.

* barley, to sanctify the earth

Dear Tree,

Blessed be.

* libations of water, to water the tree and signify our pure intentions

Nana’s favorite color was blue, not pink, and in her later years she wore more gray and silver than anything else. But Nana so enjoyed Easter, and I think she would be pleased with this pink dogwood because it will always bloom in springtime. May it live a long and happy life like she did.

(Many thanks to Starhawk, Diane Baker, and Anne Hill for their inspiration in the ceremony, which was adapted from Circle Round. Thanks to Ian for digging the hole.)

Dyeing Easter Eggs is always so much fun. I like the kitchen science aspect of using natural dyes and I love how naturally dyed eggs turn out. I also love the colors of conventionally dyed eggs and so do my kids, so we often end up doing both.

This year, we dyed both store-bought eggs and home eggs (of three colors) from our hens. Some were whole and others were blown. For the natural dyes, we used yellow onion skin (a totally reliable, works-every-time natural dye material), beets (less reliable), and red cabbage (which yields blue eggs instead of red).

Here we have cabbage- and beet-dyed eggs on the left. An onion-skin egg is in the lower right corner, and the green eggs are undyed. That’s how they come out of the chicken! The beet-dyed eggs are a gorgeous mauve at first, but they quickly fade to a grayish pink. I need to find out if there’s a way of fixing the color. In our excitement, we forgot to do the yellow Turmeric dye.

While we were going about the business of dying eggs, we decided to dye some wool, too. Lucas just recently finished his clothing block at Sacramento Waldorf School’s third grade. He learned to spin wool to make yarn, and has it in mind to spin at home. We figured, wouldn’t it be even more fun to spin yarn from wool we dyed ourselves?

Meanwhile, we also used the conventional food dyes on some eggs. Since many of our eggs were blown, we had to hold them down in the dye baths.

Asher thought this whole thing was pretty cool. “It’s SCIENCE!”

Our egg dying kit came with a kind of sponge paint for dramatic effects, and both kids enjoyed doing that, too.

Lucas made a rainbow egg.

And we lucked into this black egg—now we need to market the secret of black Easter eggs to Goth Kids everywhere! It’s not what you might think. This is a green Araucana egg dyed in a purple dye bath. Lucas dubbed it the “Easter Bunny of Doom!”

And this is to be expected. Such glee!

Easter in the Woods

This dawn when the mountain cherry lifts

its frail white bloom among dark pines,

and chipmunks flash small happy paws

along old tumbled boundary lines,

this golden morning when the vixen

nuzzles her five young foxes forth

to roll in ferns in the Easter sun,—

again the woods know soft green birth.

Snuffed by a puffball infant rabbit

are yellow violets by the spring;

among half-opened apple buds

a wood thrush tilts his head to sing.

Risen is He! And they are His,

who scamper under warm blue skies,

who nibble little fists of grass,

and gaze on earth with shy glad eyes.

—Frances Frost

O thou with dewy locks, who lookest down

Thro’ the clear windows of the morning, turn

Thine angel eyes upon our western isle,

Which in full choir hails thy approach, O Spring!

The hills tell each other, and the listening

Valleys hear; all our longing eyes are turned

Up to thy bright pavilions: issue forth,

And let thy holy feet visit our clime.

Come o’er the eastern hills, and let our winds

Kiss thy perfumed garments; let us taste

Thy morn and evening breath; scatter thy pearls

Upon our love-sick land that mourns for thee.

O deck her forth with thy fair fingers; pour

Thy soft kisses on her bosom; and put

Thy golden crown upon her languished head,

Whose modest tresses were bound up for thee.

We’ve had a very rainy, floody spring, but finally some plants in my garden are really starting to look good again. Some spots still look like hell; naturally, I don’t feature those in photos. This area above, where we planted ground covers last spring, took a beating both from the summer heat and the flooding rains. But these little plants seem to be trying to make a comeback. This is called chocolate mint ajuga.

I have one, solitary California poppy and I love it. These come back year after year and I’d love to have more of them.

This spectacular flower is a fancy poppy—oriental? I don’t know for sure. I planted a bunch of seeds last spring, but it seems only two plants grew. Still, this is a showstopper and I’m inspired to try again.

My white dogwood is getting big. This picture was from a week or so ago. Now the tree’s blossoms are fully white and big. I love them in all of their stages, though. I thought this tree was going to be a pink dogwood and it took a few years for it to start blooming and reveal it’s true nature. As it is not a pink dogwood, I have resolved to have another pink tree in the backyard.

My two purple robe locust trees are blooming like mad now, and the biggest, fattest black bees are buzzing around them constantly. These trees grow so fast and tall—I like that in a tree, given I’m not fond of waiting.

Mint. Some people hate the stuff, but I think it’s so pretty and useful. It’s wonderful to walk outside and pluck some leaves for iced tea or lemonade, or for a special garnish. My children walk past this plant and pick leaves to munch on.

This is my new dogwood, which we are planting for Earth Day. It is, in fact, very pink. The variety is called Cherokee Chief.

There’s other stuff blooming as well, like Spanish lavender, which is a great investment for its extended blooming time, and azaleas, which bloom only in March/April/May. The scarlet verbena is blooming nicely now, but I have to admit the hens’ scratching about has made the verbena look a bit scraggly. My watercolors rose is gorgeous, and the hybrid teas are in bud. All of the daylily transplants I did seem to have taken off. They’re still small, but surviving! This is great news for me because I have lots of mature plants that can be split and spread about into blank areas of the yard. This was my first time dividing them and I’m encouraged to do more of this. Free flowers!

We did a lickety-split Earth Day art project today. This is a quick, fun project for all ages. It couldn’t be easier and chances are pretty good you have these items on hand.

Materials

paper coffee filters
washable markers
spray bottle with water

Tutorial

Using washable marker pens in blues and greens, color your coffee filter with continents and oceans. Although it can be fun to think about the shapes of the Earth’s real continents and try to draw them accurately, this isn’t at all important. You just want to create a “blue-green marble,” like our planet as seen from outer space.

Marker ink seeps quickly into the coffee filter, which is meant to absorb moisture. You don’t even have to worry about the white space in between marker pen strokes.

When you are satisfied with your continents and oceans, lay your coffee filter down flat on your table surface and spray it lightly with water from the spray bottle.

The ink will begin to run together and spread, like a watercolor painting.

I recommend that you don’t spray too much water on the earth; if you do, the colors may get very mixed and muddy. Stop while you’re ahead, as soon as the earth is saturated. This is difficult for children, because spraying is so much fun! My kids kept picking up their earth. I think this contributed to their colors mixing so much.

Leave your wet earth on the table top to dry. We did ours outside and they were dry within 20 minutes or so. As they dry, they may try to blow away.

As soon as your earths are dry, they can be taped up in a window. If they are too wrinkly for your taste, gently iron them on medium heat (and without any water spray or steam). Of course, you may wish to make a whole solar system, or perhaps yet-to-be discovered planets of your children’s own invention. Have fun!