I cannot over estimate how important my walks with my children are to all of our educations. Arlo will come running up to me with a flower, shouting, "This has pollen." When I ask Ivy what she is thankful for, she says, "woman's rights. Because life was hard for women back when Laura Ingalls lived, they had to get married very young and couldn't vote." Aley sings and swirls and dances. And Sol reminds me over and over that he really does still believe in trolls. (something I am so grateful for, as adolescence is peering around the corner, ready to slip him into it's fog)
Something loosens in all of us, Arlo ecstatically helps the older kiddos gather "finds" for the season's able. We all just chat and look around, and try to get a glimpse of the neighbor's cows. Yesterday, when we walked to the pond, Arlo sat in my lap as we watched the leaves fall , and I told him the story of the three bears. It is a time without clocks, or reason, or any purpose outside of the woods. And this is as it should be.
What we are aiming for, Cheyne and I, really fumbling around for, starting and stopping at, but genuinely hoping to achieve a life of simplicity and contentment and wonder for our kids. The trickiest part, folks, is striving towards those things ourselves, really savoring our walks, our books, the fire in the fireplace, the crispness of an apple, the camaraderie of community. All free. All better than any gizmo or whirlygig out there.
It's seeing the forest AND the trees.
And loving every minute of it.
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