What are we really after?

"Genius is more often found in a cracked pot than in a whole one."

E. B. White

I've been doing some thinking lately about what it is, exactly, I hope to accomplish with this whole learning at home business. There are the obvious answers--children who can read, write and compute, of course. And then there are the extra credit answers--the ability to write creatively, reason intelligently and to become the kind of people that everyone wants to have on their Trivia Night team.  

But with the obvious and the hopeful outcomes aside, what am I really hoping will emerge?

As I've thought about this I've decided that, until just very recently, I have put an inordinate amount of weight on tangible intelligence.  You know, the kind that everyone can see and admire (or loathe, depending on the circumstances).  The kind about which grandparents can boast to their friends.  The kind that justifies to your friends (whether the parents of public, private or homeschooled kids) that you are not ruining your kids potential and that you are "qualified" to do this learning outside of the norm.  The kind that, according to popular wisdom, gains you entrance to great institutions of higher learning and, as a by-product, even more admiration and respect.  After all, that's how I did it.  Those were the expectations placed on me by those whom mattered most and they were the hopes that bolstered my actions and hard work.

Only because of the incredible clarity that comes with hindsight am I able to pose this question, to myself and anyone else:

But what did I really learn?  Really?

I obviously learned how to do what it took to progress from one grade to the other.  I learned how to stay out of trouble (there was that one really bad instance my sophomore year, but that was the exception) and hang out with "smart" kids which helped show others that I was serious about my education.  I learned how to take my natural interests (scouting, volunteering, political activism and public interest) that I would have pursued regardless of outside pressures and turn them into vehicles for personal advancement (college applications). And I learned that if I kept on this path of "do right-ness", that I would most likely succeed and earn the love and respect of people.  

In many ways, those were valuable lessons.

And, in many ways, I was successful.

Successful at playing the game, that is.

But what if this intelligence we're after has nothing to do with all of those things I mentioned?

What if I want, more than anything in this world, for my children to not be intimidated into playing a game that doesn't really have winners?

When my son discovers that other kids his age have already "covered" a particular topic, how do I want him to respond?  Do I want him to quickly read up on the subject so that he can be considered on par with their "age appropriate" subject matter?  Do I want him to be able to say, "Oh yeah, I know that too"?

No.
Well, that's what my better self would answer.
The person with whom I'm most acquainted, the person within whose skin I've lived most of my life, would say, "Well, that would be the way to know you were on track."  But I'm beginning to know better.
I'm beginning to see how to respond in that way would be playing the game.

If I want this education business to be more than what I experienced, my children have got to be motivated by something much deeper.

He is more than welcome to run out and read up on the water cycle or fractions or Alexander the Great.  Go for it.  Be my guest.
But only if he wants to do it for himself, borne out of his interest and his desire to know more. 
Because the truth is that to do it for any other reason is to play the game.

I'm tired of games.

I am beginning to suspect all elaborate and special systems of education. They seem to me to be built upon the supposition that every child is a kind of idiot who must be taught to think. Whereas if the child is left to himself, he will think more and better, if less slowly. Let him come and go freely, let him touch real things and combine his impressions for himself, instead of sitting indoors at a little round table while a sweet-voiced teacher suggest that he build a stone wall with his wooden blocks, or make a rainbow out of strips of colored paper, or plant straw trees in flower pots. Such teaching fills the mind with artificial associations that must be got rid of before the child can develop independent ideas out of actual experiences. - Anne Sullivan

Things I LOVE about Spring

Spring has officially moved into these parts but it has an inferiority complex of sorts and thinks it is Summer so it has been, well, hot.  Like 82 degrees hot.  Five days in a row.  Then some more days in a row.  My perennial herb garden on the side of the house looks like it has always been there and I could easily begin harvesting leaves for meals if I wanted to.  Creeping thyme, lavender, tarragon, chamomile, sage, oregano and a gargantuan horseradish plant (I know, not an herb but...).  We're looking to add rosemary to the perennial bed and then we will have basil, cilantro and parsley in our other small bed by the house.  That bed is also coming into its own with brussel sprouts, turnips, broccoli, cauliflower, lettuce and spinach.  And we haven't even tilled or sowed the "real" garden yet!  The tomato seedlings for that plot are growing upstairs in our window sills.  I have to give all credit to my husband, John, for making this all happen. I take care of the herb and flower beds but he does all the dirty work for the vegetables.  Growing things, and growing them well, takes work, yes but it is oh so very worth it.  We are still eating tomatoes and squash from our freezer and last night I made pasta with pesto that John had frozen at the end of the season last year.  So, the cycle begins anew.  I wanted to take a moment, though, to simply list some things that make my heart glad.  It has been said that "thanksgiving is the soil in which joy thrives" and thus, I want to share some of my joy.

Things I Love About Spring:

1. The return of the Eastern Phoebes that have come back, once again, and built a nest in our barn's lean-to, only feet away from last year's location.  They craft beautiful places to lay and raise their young, perfectly "nest" shaped, covered in green moss and lichen and cleverly located on top of a empty light box in our rafters.  We can sneak a peek inside if we bring a ladder.  Last year, every one of their eggs hatched and fledged successfully.  We're hoping for the same outcome this year.

2.  The deafening songs of, first, the Spring Peepers and then the chorus frogs and bull frogs.  Our neighbors across the road have about a 5 acre lake for their backyard and so we have access to a wonderful natural observatory.  We explored the edges quite a bit towards the end of winter and we have enjoyed watching the plant and animal life come alive with the warming temperatures.  We're hoping to do a lot of fishing from the banks this spring and summer.

3.  The way the woods behind our house fill up with green foliage, almost overnight, and provide an instant natural screen that obscures any evidence of a subdivision behind us.  One morning, last week, I woke up to discover that we lived "in the woods", not plopped down in the middle of development.

4.  The fact that my boys want to be outside constantly.  Sometimes, it is just to sit on their rope swings in the walnut trees and quietly think and observe.  My dad always wonders, "What are they thinking about?"  The proper answer would probably be just another question, "What aren't they thinking about?"  Sometimes, I'll find them stretched out in the grass, soaking up the sun like a lizard.  Other times, I'll find one of them talking to the chickens, asking them about their day or what they are up to.  Aidan has stated, on numerous occasions, that he is able to understand the chickens and that they, too, can understand him.  I don't doubt it one bit.
August insists that we eat lunch outside every day, which is fine with me.  Maybe this year I can find the perfect cafe table at a garage sale and we can dine in true alfresco style.  I did fine some great little glass lanterns (clear and green) in the dollar bin at Target.  They only had three left, all of which I bought, and I would have bought more if I could.  Now, August insists that we read outside, by candlelight, before bed.

5.  The fact that, because we choose our home as our base for learning, we can fully succumb to the sickness of "Spring Fever" and take everything outside.  Or we can make "outside" our focus for the day.  The flexibility to enjoy this glorious season is such a gift.

I'm sure I will add to this list but I just wanted to share a little of the joy.

Have a beautiful Spring.

For the love of writing

I just finished reading  The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows.  I absolutely loved it, despite it's stupid name.  When I first saw it on my mom's table, I wrote it off as one of those cheap novels that is written specifically for numerous dumb-downed book clubs that have sprung up all over the place (thanks Oprah.  Oh, and I'm not referring to the Capitol View Manor Book Club of which I was part or the Jefferson City book club that I have visited!).  It's unfortunate name hides a wonderful tale.
It was one of those books where, about halfway through, you're suddenly struck with the awful realization that the book will eventually end.  And then you find yourself completely conflicted.  You can't put the book down because you absolutely must find out what happens next yet, to devour the book means that you will soon finish and that, you realize, is simply unacceptable.  So you begin to ration your reading in order to make the book last longer.  It's as if you believe with your whole heart that not turning that last page will somehow keep the characters and places and everything else wonderful about your new found world...alive...indefinitely. 
It did end, though and I did mourn my great loss at not having another page to turn.

But I realized something about myself as a result.

The book is composed entirely of letters between various individuals.  Every character is introduced and fleshed out through the letters that they exchange with others in the book.  It was a fascinating concept, to say the least.  And it made me yearn for the time when folks exchanged lengthy correspondence.  It has truly made me want to stop using email for anything other than business exchanges and appointments.  The internet and technology are wonderful tools, don't misunderstand me (I write a blog, for crying out loud!).  It's just that we have all but lost our ability to let loose our thoughts via a medium that demands more than 100 character statements.  Twitter seems to be the technological equivalent of "twaddle"-- the word that Charlotte Mason used to describe "dumbed down literature with an absence of meaning."

So, what I learned about myself from reading this book is that I really do want to write.  And not just letters.  And not just blog entries.  I want to write more.  I always used to think that I didn't have it in me to write a novel.  I'm not a great teller of tales, per se.  But I do love to write about people I know and places I love and things I observe along the way and there's no reason that I couldn't tweak those a bit and form them into more than just journal entries.  I would like to write essays, too.  I think of Barbara Kingsolver, one of my favorite authors, and how she writes gorgeous novels (Who else thinks that The Poison Wood Bible is one of the best books in the world?) and telling nonfiction, as well.

This is all good and fine, I suppose, but I know that I have issues to overcome for writing to ever become something that I really "do."  Thus, I am going to start with correspondence.  Real, tangible, paper correspondence.  The boys and I are going to participate in The Great American Postcard Swap.  The group is currently being finalized but once it is finished the festivities will begin.  We will start with Alabama and the family from that state will send one postcard to the other 49 families that are participating.  Each week we will move onto the next state.  Our only requirement is to send a Missouri postcard to everyone else on the list one time but at the end of it all, we will have postcards from every other state.  How fun!!!

Further, I have chosen to participate, myself, in something called Postcrossing.  It is a postcard swap on a grander scale.  Once registered on the website, your name is put into the database.  You receive a name and an address of someone from anywhere in the world.  Once you send them a postcard, you log it onto the website and then you are eligible to receive postcards.  And so it continues, as long as you want to participate.  I've already received my first name and address--a young woman in Russia.  I am so excited about this new adventure and we've got to put up that huge world map so we can start pinpointing all the locations from which I get postcards.

So, if you're lucky, you just might be getting a real letter from me sometime in the near future.

You've been warned!

The Silk Route

I wish you could have joined us this morning.  As I've mentioned previously, the one constant in our learning adventure has been the study of history.  We are currently studying the Middle Ages and we just finished reading about Marco Polo and his journeys East with his father.  A suggestion in our activity book was to set up a mock Silk Route in your house.  The travelers were to start off with a map of the route and continue on a journey that would take them through the Taklamankan and Gobi Deserts, the Tun-huang-shih and Loyang-shih oases and down the Yellow River, triumphantly finishing in Peking.  Aidan approached me last week, all but begging me to have us do this activity.  Admittedly, I thought it sounded extremely cool and I promised him that I would follow through.  Today was the day.
I busily set up the stations throughout our house, constructing signs designating the various stops and then adding my own ideas to the mix.  I drew up a scroll of instructions and warnings and sent them on their way.  The first oasis provided them with raisins and dates and fresh water.  Don't pay attention to the fact that this was really just our teeny bathroom.  After each of their treks across a desert they found themselves at an oasis.  The second rest stop, the Loyang-shih, offered them ginger snaps as a snack and a note that told them that this was made from one of the many spices they would find in the East.  I got a big, "Thanks, Mom!" for that.  After they picked up their oars and made their way down the Yellow River (really, as they climbed the stairs to the second floor), they found themselves in a Chinese Marketplace.  There I was, waiting for them.  I decided to dress up and my costume ended up a conglomeration of many cultures.  I wore a brown skirt with embroidery and shiny sequins on it, a yellow shirt with more embroidery on it, a crazy belt that we made while living with my parents (braided from some psychedelic fabric my mom had around), a string of jingle bells, and a muslin turban upon my head.  I offered my weary travelers ivory (dominoes), gold jewelry and spy glasses (Mardi Gras beads and party favors), precious gems (colored glass rocks), silks (I simply raided our dress up box) and exotic animals (rubber snakes).  They, in turn, offered me gold doubloons, Argentinian coins, jeweled rings, gold pieces (fool's gold) and diamonds (found on our property--not real, unfortunately).  We had so much fun that we did it twice. They really took their trading seriously and they offered comparable items for their purchases.  At the end of it all I got the greatest gift of all.  Aidan turned to me with his gorgeous smile and said quietly but with conviction, "Thanks, Mom.  This was really fun."
I must agree.
I hope they never forget about the Silk Route.

Pictureless

Perhaps you've noticed that my posts as of late have come sans photos.  I hate that because I love to help create a mood for what follows by sharing a glimpse into our life via photographs.  Well, their obvious absence is due to the fact that we are in deep doo-doo with regards to our computer.  We have completely, utterly, unbelievably run out of memory.  I mean totally.  I can't even upload one stinking picture.  Although we have a decent internet connection you would never know it.  All of our "energy" is taken up by everything lurking on our computer. "Everything" meaning--all my pictures.  Evidently, my camera upgrade last March did a whopping job on our computer's memory capabilities.  I believe John said something to the effect that all of the pictures that we had on the computer up until the new camera purchase (3-4 years worth) didn't take up the same amount of space on our hard drive as did just the last 10 months of pictures taken with our new camera! Yikes!  I guess that's the cost of better picture quality, eh?  It certainly doesn't help that our CD burner doesn't work so we can't save our pictures via that accessory.  We purchased what we thought was a second hard drive last month but it turns out that it seems to be only for backing up, not saving permanently.  That doesn't help us.  So, we have to figure out what to do next.  I would be lying if I didn't confess that both of us have let our minds wander into the land of "maybe we should just get a new computer..."  That would definitely solve one problem but.....really, that's not a very green solution.  I shudder when I think of adding to all of the technological refuse that has become such a problem in our day.  To our defense, though, the way computers are made these days it doesn't always make sense to try and fix your old one, especially when you can get new ones for cheaper and cheaper prices.  Blah!!  I just want to take pictures and share them with all of you.
Any computer experts out there who want to throw in their two cents on what might be the best course of action?  I would love to hear from you!

Freedom

Freedom is nothing but a chance to be better.

-Albert Camus 

The past week has actually afforded us several days of sunshine, which has been a foreign concept as of late.   We truly have been resigned to a winter palette these last few months--gray, white and black.  These colors, and the settings which they frame, can be beautiful in their own right and, believe you me, I've done everything in my power to look upon them with such eyes--However--the lack of any alternative, any hint of color that would be classified as "one exuding warmth" has been completely and utterly absent.  The sunshine of the past week has had to pierce through the cold and frost but, once penetrated, the effect on skin and soul has been remarkable.  As the slow thaw proceeded I realized that I had almost forgotten that Spring might come.  Really.  There is, I believe, a defense mechanism that kicks in, somewhere around mid January, and its sole purpose is to protect one's heart from the mistaken hope that warm weather exists--now, in the future, or ever.  That is the space within which we've been residing, all the while resigned and reticent.  Spring?  Such is the stuff of dreams!

Thankfully, God is full of grace and love and light and he longs to share that with us silly, shortsighted humans.  So, deep in the space of winter he shines down pure, thick sunshine.  The cold is still present, but it doesn't matter.  The sun rules.

We have discovered, for ourselves, a tract of land behind our property.  It is about five acres and it is hemmed in on two sides by the backyards of two different subdivisions.  We had heard that there was a man who owned this land and that he wanted to develop it but in order to do that, he would have to buy access and right of way and, thankfully, no one has granted him that privilege.  So it sits.  Parts have been cleared of timber, in hopes, I imagine, of future building, but the majority of it remains fairly free of human footprints.  Well, sort of. 

"Our" creek flows through this land and gradually, it gains volume and girth.  The first few hundred yards of land and creek are full of reminders that not everyone shares our love for wild spaces, nor do they see it as sacred and worthy of care and attention.  The creek is littered with tires of varying sizes (beginning with a spare and moving on up to a tractor size), the occasional plastic bottle or aluminum can and, oh yeah, a motor boat.  I wouldn't have believed it, either, if I hadn't seen it myself.  We are still scratching our heads on that one.  But, once you get past those initial indiscretions, it opens up into something closer to the original layout.

The day that we "discovered" it, the ground was still covered in snow and the animal tracks were everywhere--squirrel, rabbit, raccoon, opossum, deer.  Oh, and dog.  Our dog's tracks, since we had brought her along for the adventure, and that of other dogs, most likely from the marauding dogs of our neighbors (one of whom managed to snag himself a chicken dinner from our yard).  The boys kept calling themselves Lewis and Clark and they dubbed Beulah as their very own "Seaman", scouting out new lands and unknown flora and fauna.  Cries of "Mom, look at this!" and "Oh wow, how cool!" pierced the air again and again.  I think it was somewhere within the first hour of this expedition that I realized what I was feeling.

Freedom.

The boys and I had set out on an adventure, by accident.  What started out as simple curiosity led to much more than we had planned.  And that was okay.  In fact, it was more than okay.  And in that freedom, in that letting go of expectations and directives, we were becoming something more.

At one quiet point, as Aidan and I were standing watching the water trickle beneath the ice forms in the creek while simultaneously imagining what variety of animals might be making their home in a huge pile of sticks and leaves, he turned to me.  "I just love this, Mom.  I love being out in nature and being quiet and observing all that is out here.  It just  makes me feel better as a person."

Truer words were never spoken.

Finding Balance...continued

Well, the last few weeks have found us following our hearts.

I decided to abandon a formal structure to our days and just see what happened. We would only do what the boys asked to do. I would respond to any and all requests but I would not push an agenda of any kind. It was a de-schooling exercise, per se. I wanted to give the boys, and myself, the opportunity to shake the whole bottle of creek water and see what settled after the water cleared. Here is just one example of what remained.

Aidan and August LOVE history. Not only that but, evidently for Aidan, the amount of time that I invest in reading and exploring the subject with him is in direct proportion to the amount of love he feels that he receives from me!
?!?!?
In a weepy moment recently, Aidan started bemoaning the fact that he was, "just sad about his life" in general. When I began to wade through the sweeping generalizations that he was throwing at me it slowly became more and more clear that what he was really upset about was that we had stopped reading from our history book. "You've stopped spending time with me reading history," were his words. Because he loves the pursuit of kings and kingdoms and eras and epochs, because this is so much his passion, the fact that we were no longer partners (albeit, temporarily) in that journey represented some grand withholding of love. The simple act of sitting down and reading through our history book (or any other history book for that matter) and discussing it with him is a way that Aidan receives love.

Yikes.

This kind of turns everything on its head for me.

Could it really be that this education, this learning, this whole way of receiving what the world has to give us is, first, rooted in love?
I believe the answer is a resounding Yes.

Once this incredible realization was made, more began to unfold, in time.

We've been reading our fool heads off. Any and everything. Nothing has been off limits. Full access has been given to all literary mediums. And for the first time, Aidan began reading fiction books independently. He has always read non fiction books independently but I was often curious as to whether he would ever make the switch to fiction himself. He has always loved fiction, don't get me wrong, but only when I read it to him. He could sit and listen to story upon story read aloud, either by me or audio book, all the day long. But picking up one of those same books and reading to himself was not something he chose to do. I suppose part of that is because much of what we read aloud is on a higher reading level than he could do on his own, so he just defaulted to listening, rather than reading. But suddenly, he is lapping up books by the armful. His latest obsession is the Magic Tree House books. Now, his reading ability is much higher than these books, I realize that. But what I've also come to realize is that he is using these books as tools. He has chosen books whose topics are reflective of those which we have already studied in history. So when he reads (very easily) these books , he is reinforcing the facts that he has previously visited through our reading of history. He's making the information his own in a way that speaks to him. An added plus--I've caught him reading aloud to his brother. This morning, I found them cuddled up on the couch together reading about Vikings.

This is the kind of thing that I cannot come up with on my own. I can't plan for this or pencil it into a lesson plan (figurative or real). This is an organic creation, arising when all of the right ingredients come together, unfettered by me and my dictates.

But don't get me wrong. I will not be just an innocent bystander. I can't help myself. I love to discover new things--new birds at our feeders, new words in the dictionary, new ways to make the greatest pizza dough in the world, new ways to add numbers in my head. And I will continue to share these with my boys as they come along. That's just the way I roll. In fact, I'm beginning to think that one of the greatest contributions that I can make towards my boys' education is to show them me being myself.

Again, it is all about balance. I refuse to make this adventure in learning a mere copy of someone else's experience.

We are just going to have to continue being ourselves.

Rabbi Zusya said that on the Day of Judgment, God would ask him, not why he had not been Moses, but why he had not been Zusya. ~Walter Kaufmann