Playing in the Woods

"We need the tonic of wilderness. We can never have enough of nature."

(Henry David Thoreau)

Today we drove almost an hour south of our home to hike in a canyon we'd never spent time in before. 

 It makes me happy that the boys are in their element there, exploring in the woods. 

I loved watching Bruce pick up huge sticks and admiring how handsome he is when you call his name and he looks at you and his ears rotate forward and he looks, all at once, noble and majestic and friendly with those kind eyes of his.

I don't know what it is but Claire has theeeeee cutest little bum and legs right now, and watching her in her new little hiking kicks made me happy. She's getting so big. And she'll tell you: "I'm the baby of the family, but I'm not a baby. That means I'm the youngest."

I loved watching my sister and Claire and Bella and Bruce up ahead on the trail. 

I loved cold river water on my feet.

I loved the beauty of the canyon, the sideways slabs of stone, the mix of trees, the rushing water, the fact that it felt as though we were all alone in it.

That moment with my sister under the falls. 

It was cold, we were laughing, and I love that we grabbed each other's hands. 

I loved a few quiet minutes with Mia, 

talking as we strolled along together.

I loved talking with Christa about the wonder of life--from the incredible detail in a single cell, to how amazing bees are and the intricate order and precision of all natural things--and the witness these things are, to both of us, over and over, of the existence of God.

And no matter where we go, I swear we always come home with more sticks. Cuz...Benji. 

Love these boys.

Summer Night Wonder

You take perfect when you can get it,

and I caught it and held on tight tonight.

We went for a walk at dusk.

The western sky was gorgeous: pink and golden and dappled, and there was a breeze.

My oldest son has been loving on me lately, and tonight he grabbed my hand when we started to walk and he didn't let go.

I looked at Claire's cute outfit and watched her cute little bum as she walked in typical determined fashion in front of us.

Mia wore the shirt she made recently and sparkly shoes.

The boys were barefoot.

We were sharing some of our favorite memories, and we ran through a whole stretch of sprinklers a few blocks from our house.

(See the sprinkles of water on my shirt and Claire's?)

And then.

We walked a half mile to the river and the boys were commenting on how much lower the water is compared to in the spring. 

All of us walked over to see, and Isaiah and I saw it at the same time.

A beaver!

We've lived 5 blocks from the river for almost 8 years, and I honestly couldn't tell you how many times we've walked this exact stretch of road. 

But we've never seen a beaver before!

We watched him paddle around in the water and Claire, upon seeing him, exclaimed, 

"Oh my gosh, he's gigantic!" 

He settled in on the opposite bank with a stick. And even over the water we could hear him chewing it as we watched him, facing us, holding it in his hands, nibbling away. 

We stood there for a long time 

in complete wonder, admiring.

(Curses! that I couldn't get a good shot of him.)

And then, we walked home, resolving to drop in at his house tomorrow for another look. 

Claire requested we hit the sprinklers another time and we did.

The sky was stunning, and my son grabbed my hand again and held it all the way home.

Summer, I am loving you.

Nature Journaling

I love this book.  

It is a beautiful, thought-provoking, insightful read.

It almost should be its own post, because I will probably read it again and again.  

But for today, I'll quote just a few short passages: 

"This is perhaps the greatest legacy we can bestow on our children: the capacity to be enchanted by the quiet gifts of everyday life."

And this...

"Modern life calls us away from nature's rhythms, away from the kind of observation and interaction with the natural world that can quiet a troubled mind, restore a sense of well-being, and renew our connections with all life.  We spend our days inside stead, yoked to some other rhythm, bathed in artificial light, breathing recycled air, surrounded by man-made materials---concrete, glass, and plastic....As the nature writer Robert Michael Pyle has observed, many children today suffer from what he calls 'the extinction of experience.' Unlike children of earlier generations, they simply do not have the kind of direct, frequent, contact with the earth and its creatures that result in a passionate, lasting relationship with the natural world.  Our children, he points out, may have 'politically correct' responses to whales, global warming, pollution, and rain forests; they are well versed in the major environmental issues---but far less grounded in their own visceral, firsthand experiences.  Their actual physical contact and intimacy with nature is fading away.  It is not enough, then, to teach our children about nature; we must allow our children to grow up in nature."

Nature study is all about noticing the natural world; the intricate detail, the beauty that washes over us each day, the kinds of things we often take for granted.  

Do you ever wonder about losing your vision, and that glorious moment when sight was restored?  

I do.  

How magical watching a rainstorm would be, or waiting for that blue on the horizon to be washed in sunlight, or taking note of how incredible a small insect is?

Ever since these folks were small, we have spent hours and hours outdoors, one thing that makes me truly happy.  

But since we've started nature journaling, I'm hoping it will be another level of noticing detail.

Last time, we were up the canyon and sketched fall leaves.  

Today, these were the treasures we collected around our neighborhood block: miscellaneous rocks, petunias, hazelnuts (both in and out of their sheath), lobelia, snapdragons, a chestnut and a sunflower (and we stopped to admire the seeds in the head of an especially large sunflower). 

Our table, a messy array of colored pencils, crayons, and freshly cut apples.  

Listening to Pachelbel's Canon.

Benji, beginning

Isaiah, at the start

My final sketches in my book

The petunia Isaiah sketched

His drawing of it (I love how he tried to draw the veins of dark purple)

Our sunflower, and Mia's rendition of it below

Mia's snapdragon

A fuzzy little friend that fell out of a petunia we picked outside

Crawling up Isaiah's hand as he tried to sketch him

His drawing of our little friend

Benji's sketches of a tree seedling

In the same book, Katrina Kenison talks about being outside with her two boys one day as they played in a nearby stream.  After talking about their adventure, she says this:

"The world, seen through the eyes of a child, is a delicious, irresistible place.  And, for the moment, anyway, I am the lucky adult companion of two little boys, my own sense of wonder renewed each time we step out the door and look around us."

I feel the same way about my three little companions.

Evening Guests

A couple weeks ago we'd just finished a day of work.

Evening came around and even tho we probably should have already been on task getting kids to bed, they were out playing happily in the back yard.  

The sprinklers were going.

Mr. C. and I sat down on the couch and didn't want to get up.

We talked about how cute they were out there, playing.

And I don't remember what else.

But this:

Guests in the wreath at the front door.

Mr. C. spied them first and we were mesmerized, watching them flutter in and out for a few minutes.

It was the magical gift of the night.

What We're Waiting For

We hung this out a few weeks back.  Last year when we put it out, we didn't have any visitors for such a long time.  Just about the time I felt all hope was lost, they began to come.  We watched them through breakfast, at lunch, in the afternoon.  One at a time, two at a time, three and four...huddled around, pecking quickly, bumping each other.  It was so fun and magical, really.

They got so used to us being on the other side of the glass that they'd go on feeding without flying off at the first movement from inside.

We're in the waiting game again.

It had only been up six days or so when the first visitor noticed it and my heart leaped.

I thought we'd have plenty of chaps coming from that moment onward, after the announcement was made to feathered friends far and wide in our neighborhood trees.

It has been sparse, though.  I think they're still scared of us.

But we are oh so eager.

I am oh so eager.

It is one of the sweet joys of winter (mild though it has been) to watch them.

Different colors, bigger, smallish, brown or bright.

Chirping, gathering, watching wings in flight.

I hope they come soon.

And these.

My heart jumps at the thought that within a few weeks time, these beauties will stretch up through the dark, moistened soil, and brighten the world with their brilliance.  

It shan't be long, friends, til the daffodils.

Morning Guests

These are our joy this morning.

Fantastic chirping out the kitchen window.

Brilliant sunlight through crackle glass.

Marvelous in My Eyes

Do you know that I only have 126 posts to date? And I believe I came to blogdom in 2004?

Oh, well.

I do deep breathing in between each post as I take in the world around me. I have this thing about not spending too much time on the computer, because when I'm here too much, I am not really "in" my surroundings. And that really bothers me.

I need to LIVE my life, not think about it as I sit here. Maybe some of you have figured out how to do both, but I haven't yet. (I still feel like I am trying to figure out how to really LIVE, let alone handle much of anything else!)

I've been busy with spring, folks. What does it mean to you?

Yesterday was a bit chilly in Utah. I felt a bit quiet all day, and sometimes gray days are a bit hard with these boys because we can't be outside. I think we all get stir-crazy.

After eating dinner, I decided I needed a run. Even though the night before's run was not super enjoyable, I donned my black pants with white stripes down the side that I've had since 2001, my blue striped shirt and my sporty green long-sleeved overshirt. Grabbed my cozy black gloves, my iPod, and a piece of gum.

Walking out the back door, the air was crisp.

I loved every minute last night. I saw pink blossoming in the evening light, sprouting green on trees, all the while backed by the still-covered-with-snow mountains in the background. I felt at one with my body, as if my thoughts and emotions could spill freely out of my head into the air, diffusing and finding peace with the beauty around me.

I thought about my children, the beauty and love and joy they have brought to my life. Beginnings. Endings. Fears and hopes.

The first two songs that came up on my shuffle were both progressive-family songs, and that seemed to perfectly fit my mood. Sometimes I feel like I always write about the same things -- namely, motherhood, wifehood, my family. But these are the day-to-day issues for me. How can I be a better mother? How do I translate my desires to be a better wife into action? What kind of an imprint am I leaving? I am constantly thinking about these things.

It's not that I never think of anything else. I think about all sorts of other things/issues in the books that I read. But the crucial questions for me are always revolving around what I find most important in my life.

The songs marched right into rhythm. One talked about watching a little girl grow up, realizing she was the best thing that had ever happened.

I'm always reveling in that continuous revelation in my relationships.

The boys and I went to the duck pond this week. Deliciously warm with beautiful sunshine. Fresh duck poop that Benj put his hand down into and then got it on his shorts. Biting off pieces of sour cherry jolly rancher for all of us to share. Watching the ducks and birds around the pond, making music with our hands at the base of a light pole. We went up by some amphitheater-style seating benches. The boys have fun climbing up and down the stairs and walking down the aisles. I sat, bathing in sunlight and watching them, feeling a bit wistful, loving each second. We have spent all our time together this week, and yes, we always do, but I haven't tried to do other things at the same time. It has just been us, together. I held Benji's hands as he walked across the top of the benches, and he thought that was really something. I found myself thinking... "And one day they walked."

When did this happen? As quickly, quietly, and invisibly as the day they started smiling. The day they came into this world, and the few days following, when already I could recognize their individual sounds. The way those zygotes grow, imperceptibly to the eye, until, one day, you can see evidence! As fast as they started saying their first word and verbally communicating. These are hardly my babies anymore; I look and look away and look back and they are walking together, giggling together, commenting on their surroundings.

Beginnings. Celebrations. Living. The balloons bobbed on the back porch next door, where I knew there was a family bridal shower going on for Michelle, and each time I made my loop around, I looked in the front window from the sidewalk as I ran by. Looking for people at the food table, people celebrating, laughing together. Loving and celebrating and creating ties afresh. This was also a happy, wistful thought. I felt sincere joy for her, excitement.

I feel like I am always watching. There is so much to celebrate, and everyone is at different crossroads. It is exciting.

Being with children makes me see the world anew. It is beautiful, hopeful, full of wonder.

Being with friends helps me find common ground in day-to-day issues, gives me a sisterhood with other women.

Being with my husband forces me into constant growth and evaluation, building something of this relationship that became so much more than a friendship, and fast, early on.

Being a daughter and granddaughter fills me with gratitude, giving me big shoes. I feel like I step into them the same way my boys' feet fit in mine.

Being a sister gives me my best friends, women who bless my life in ways I can't possibly express.

I am feeling grateful for this circle I call my life, albeit a small one. I'm grateful for this season of spring, where I find, like always, I've got plenty to weed out. There are new flowers, too, and many residual flowers that I love -- blooming, brilliant colors with the familiar comfort of years, but without the fading.

My love in Rock Canyon

The other night I took a drive around the city, and I listened to the song Never Saw Blue Like That by Shawn Colvin (click on the link for a listen). It was late, and the darkness seemed to curl around me, making the car feel safe and warm. I pulled into the Rock Canyon parking lot, the mountains looming before me in the darkness. Gazing at the stark, cool stars, I wanted to get out of the car and hike up, up, up. Maybe it was because of the song -- but I felt very nostalgic. I thought about the night hikes that Scott and I took up that canyon when we were getting to know each other. That nervous moment, off the path, when we looked down at the river in the moonlight -- and I think both of us knew it would be the perfect moment to kiss, but we headed back to the path instead. Long conversations up that canyon in the darkness. Using our bums as sleds to fly down the hillside in the snow. Leaving my parka at the first bridge and hiking up higher, only to forget and leave it when we (literally) came running down the canyon to the car to get me home for my date with a different boy at 8:00 that night. Hiking up that canyon on a frosty February 14th, knee deep in snow, where he asked me to be his wife in the serenity of that beautiful place. Gorgeous moon, river thundering below in the quiet dark. I think we were the only two people there. And then, later, pregnant and heading up in the afternoon sunlight when burnt afternoon amber bathes the canyon. In that light, bouldering on the rocks with Scott, he turned and looked at me and told me I was beautiful.

Just being there brought all of this back. It's where we got to know each other, where my perspective was forever changed because of this man that I love. Like the song says, he figuratively made me see blue with a brilliance I'd never seen before.

My heart felt lighter, life was prettier, things were funnier, love was real and thick.

Seems symbolic that it was a canyon where much of it began. Seems the perfect analogy.

Sometimes it's rocky, but as we climb higher and higher, the vastness on either side of us is more breathtaking.

I look at our two beautiful boys. Think about what we've shared together since those early memories. Although this terrain has never been traveled before, and isn't for the faint of heart, it is what I wanted.

The dark stillness reminded me of this.

(And it made me want to hike again.)

I love this man of mine.

Outside Glories

On a walk yesterday and today, I was reminded of this poem.

I could have shouted it to the sky...


i thank You God for most this amazing
day: for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday; this is the birth
day of life and love and wings;and of the gay
great happening ilimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any - lifted from the no
of all nothing - human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?


(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

--e.e. cummings


...and it would have been perfect.




It was just that kind of day.

I love Utah in the fall.

October in Visual Review

A child looking at ruins grows younger
but cold
and wants to wake to a new name
I have been younger in October
than in all the months of spring
walnut and may leaves the color
of shoulders at the end of summer
a month that has been to the mountain
and become light there
the long grass lies pointing uphill
even in death for a reason
that none of us knows
and the wren laughs in the early shade now
come again shining glance in your good time
naked air late morning
my love is for lightness
of touch foot feather
the day is yet one more yellow leaf
and without turning I kiss the light
by an old well on the last of the month
gathering wild rose hips
in the sun

- W. S. Merwin, The Love of October

Benj's first haircut (before and after)

Walks around town -- noticing the trees

Up the canyon

Taking engagement photos for my sister Christa who is getting married next month

(This is one of the cheap ones with my digital camera. We took about 100 with a really nice one.)

Blissful boys... (gotta love it while it lasts)

Cute little niece Anna with Scott

My whole world

Isaiah

Benjamin

Me and the boys

Time with family...

The babes with their aunties Alli and Dara (also babes)

Alli, Dara and Me (sisters-in-law)

My nephew Zac's soccer game

Nate holding Isaiah, Ben holding Ben, and Tyler

Zac and Isaiah

Junebug

Me with the two Bens

Ashlynn

Daffodil

I love this picture of Isaiah with his dada

And, bringing up the very end of the month...my new haircut (and color -- something I've never done before!!):

What did you do in October?