To make up for my lack of posting, I offer these pix from our hser's knitting group today.
It's been crazy -busy here, and I have not been able to get to blogging. The update is that we now have 8 chrysalises. One little caterpillar died early in it's formation of his chrysalis. We were sad about that. A couple of the geezers crawled out of the tank, but when A was counting, she noticed two were missing. She found one on the floor in the dinning room and scooped him/her back up.
The second was found on the piano. We popped this one back into the tank with his mates and within 3 hours, it began to change. The rest seem to also be doing ok. I'll try to post more pix soon.
Second caterpillar, to the left of the current chrysalis, gets into form. It's 7:30 on Friday night. Check back tomorrow.
Here (right) you can see a small caterpillar on a milkweed stem with her recently shedded skin in front of her. Click on to enlarge--it's not a bad pic. They eat these, btw. Pretty yummy, no?
We took this photo last night around 10.
We woke to this.
A writing about the caterpillars in her journal.
Here are a few pictures from the N's place this past May. I forgot my camera yesterday when we hsers met to knit . Knit we did, with some children sewing or doing needlepoint, but the pull to play outside is always intense there. Ropes hang from trees, the fields go on and on, the chickens cluck, and this time there were so many Monarch caterpillars munching through a pasture of milkweed you could almost hear them. It was the nicest afternoon, the sort that sustains me. Friends, nature, chunky woolen yarn, good conversation, emotional generosity, and the joy of watching the children play so happily together. I can't get enough of it all, and yet it is enough; more than enough.
We brought a few caterpillars home along with lots of Milkweed. One caterpillar, the fattest, has already hung upside down in a perfect J. It's tiny head moves a bit. Tomorrow there should be at least one chrysalis. Isn't that amazing? Stay tuned.
It's not fall until it's fall. The calendar says Sept 11, and that's summer. My schoolers are back at school, but my hsers and I are trying to eek out more summer. That my poor sons have had to start school still does not mean Summer Is Over, hear? Z left with his class this morning for a week in Maine. It'll feel like fall there; he even had to bring long johns and fleece. He will be out and about in nature, camping, canoing & cooking food with fire. That's pretty cool for a school boy, so I am looking at that as a bit of a reprieve from the schedule grind. N is back with a blast with homework and projects already due. Still, that doesn't change nature. There are new yellow blossoms on my tomato and cucumber plants. Green beans are growing, & the lettuce, happy with the cooler nights of late summer, is taking off.
Yet A did decide that it was time for our nature table to change seasons.
I tried to talk her out of it-- showing her the calendar, telling her the first frost date was not expected until later in October, but she found a few acorns strewn around outside and that was enough information for her. She removed the blue & pink silks and replaced them with dark green and soft orange. Stored now are the shells, beach glass, and a perfect Monarch butterfly we found so still outside. Out came the acorn fairies and Indian corn. One of our pumpkins survived the squash worms and was able to ripen. It's there as well, looking very nice. It's a great little cooking pumpkin, but it's still not fall.
You understand that it's still summer, yes?
Here are some photos of that healthy garden. Of course, since we've been back, we've seen powdery mildew rear it's ugly head on some of the squash leaves. That's always upsetting, as it's just a matter of time--will the fruit finish growing before the plant dies? And lets not talk about those greedy worms enjoying my squashes. On the advice of my cousin Allyson, a fellow-organic gardener, I have managed to save some of them by pulling up the whole plant--roots and all, cutting the dead part of the stem off, and then replanting it. You can buy some time that way. It's sad when the butternuts dotting the garden floor are still too small and unripe to harvest and you know those nasty worms are feasting. There is a lot of finger-crossing in organic gardening.
Whenever I get discouraged about the veggies pests, I look to my Hydrangeas. They are always soothingly beautiful. I can't get enough of them. A friend once told me she thought they were 'too old -fashioned'-- I just can't wrap my head around how that's bad. Hydrangeas are so lush and full, and well, luscious. Those heavy globes, those colors, that greenery. The make lovely cutting flowers. Does anything say summer in New England more than an overstuffed vase of Hydrangeas?
A couple of years ago, we planted an Annabelle Hydrangea in honor of our youngest's birth. It's done so well, and I am guessing it's because the child's placenta was the initial fertilizer. We couldn't decide what to plant, and by the time we did, she was old enough to help us dig up the soil for the root ball. Basically, what I am saying is that I find gardening to be a spiritual endeavor. To that end, if we sell our house, that bush is coming with me. It will be in the Purchase and Sales agreement. The contract will also include the two Japanese Maples that got their start in health when I planted the boys' placentas under them. They look fabulous as well. So, have a homebirth, welcome a child, plant a garden.
Are you tired of seeing this picture yet? I'm not, so here it is again. We were able to take a whole week together as a family with no outside demands. Getting everyone free for that amount of time was not unlike hearding cats. N had traveled to various parts of the US and Canada for over a month preforming with a scholastic Jazz group, and H has been traveling a bunch with his new job. I was thrilled when they could clear their calendars so we could have some fun as a whole family. The younger children, especially little brother Z, were excited to have big brother to themselves.
Instead of going away and having to deal with boarding the dogs, and needing to arrange for someone to come in and feed the cat (not to mention watering the garden), we decided to take day trips and mostly come home at night. This worked out well. As A said in the car one afternoon, "This is the best vacation ever. We get to mostly sleep in our own beds, we don't have to miss our dogs or cat, and we are doing fun things!".
This was said as she held a fist- full of some candy the kids loaded from the 'penny' candy shop in Chatham village.
Potential dental and blood sugar issues aside, I had to agree with her. It was nice to come home to the animals, lovely to sleep in our own beds after long, fun days, and the garden stayed healthy.
I'll start with something I wrote last year. Which is a cop-out for first-time blogging writer's block. At least you'll be entertained some. For those who are bothered by the wonky color and text size font change, I'm sorry. I have gone into edit about 10 times and I can't seem to get it to match. I've followed the directions, and I am able to do it in the above posts, but not this one. I think I figured it out. On Netscape it's wonky, on Outlook it's not. *I don't know why*.
Sept 9, 2005
What My Ego Means To Me: An Unschooling Tale
It's Sept 9, surely most good homeschooling parents are Doing Something by now. Of course, we've been 'doing something' all summer, but right now I mean 'More.'
What do I mean by More? Well, like maybe it's time to do some writing--you know, official writing, like grammar, not just letters and cards to family.
Maybe it's time to do a little History.
After our morning read-in, I pounce. I'm thinking, let's put some stuff in the fire. Let's Get This Ball Rolling. So we talk a little. Well, Mom talks. "It's probably time to start with some history this week. Let's make a plan. We ended with The Fall of The Roman Empire, remember? We'll get ready for Craig's new class (small group being run by a fellow hs dad who is an anthropologist) on medieval England, which starts next week." They seem to be listening so I continue. Cool. A has a question. "What babe?" I ask all cheery. "Mom, that Fall Of The Roman Emprie stuff, that's not a true story, right?"
I try not to slap myself, since well, we spent weeks reading about Rome's decline. I wasn't really reading it to A, but she seemed interested and asked a lot of cool questions. Anyway. So, gulping, I say, "Yes it was real. Any other questions?"Ani: "Yes. One more. Are we done learning for today?"
Seriously, I could actually cry. "Honey--every single thing we do is learning."
"I know, Mom. But I mean the learning when you tell us stuff. Can we go play horses now?"
I'm a little defalted-- my ego has suffered a blow, so I sniffle, "Well, of course. Have fun." And my girls race off.
I stew for a bit, visit the Well-Trained Mind internet message boards, which make me feel really inadequate. Trying to shake off the guilt, I go make myself a cheese sandwich. Then I pour hot coffee into my now cold coffee, but go back to the compture to suffer through a few more posts about 13-year old kids learning Latin and getting into Really Good Colleges after spending their 12th year of life taking community college classes.
Soon, I feel quite sorry for myself, and decide that what we need is a trip to the library. I'll feel competent as I collect some scholarly type books they might like, but may not. Borrowing books always makes me feel better. I take a giant swig of coffee as the phone rings. It is the library calling to say some books I requested through ILL are availabable for pick-up. One is The Last Days of Socrates by Plato, of all things. I really perk up. The library called at a critical point -- just taking that book out of the library will make me feel a whole lot better. Whether we end up reading it this time, or not.
I walk towards where the girls are playing. I hesitate, always careful not intrude in that world. I stop as I always stop, in case they are too deep in play to be pulled from it. Even the library can wait for this. I don't exactly know what they are saying; their voices sound like the humming of bees. They seemed oblivious to me, to my footsteps.
Their horses are placed carefully around the room, some nibbling on green wool fleece grass, others stepping into blue wool fleece creeks. There are block corrals, and meadows of green silk cloth. It feels wrong to stand here. Not wanting to break the spell, I back away softly.
Surely this is what they need right now. Other things will come, as they always do. But this time, where the world does not exist beyond the hills of flocked and plastic horses, is short in the life of a child. My children can have that whole other world, but right now, today, this seems more than enough.
I let this blessing wash over me fully, quickening my heart, sending a rush of warmth through my whole body. I reach for my mug of coffee, which has once again cooled, reminding that time passes, no matter if it seems still. I make a mental note to slow down even more. To give them time, and with that, I vow to give my children my trust.
