Refuge

My mother's day was spent exactly as I requested it: a bike outing at Ohiopyle State Park, riding the rail trail there. The experience increased my craving to go on a long-distance bike ride - an overnight, plus - but also increased my realism level about this.

First, no matter how fun I think it is going to be, no matter how happy I am, there will still be whining. Despite the fact that Emily first biked at age 4 and Hazel at 5, despite their general intrepidness, they still were far happier to stop at streamside than to keep on biking to new and beautiful scenery.

Second, the importance of preparation. We learned early that kids can be lured anywhere with a backpack full of food, but beyond that, though I had a tire patch kit, Brian had to take Hazel's tire to the river to find the hole. Next trip I'll have liquid soap for that; next trip I'll have kid-size innertubes, too.

The trip, whether I manage to plan it for this year or next, will involve difficult moments and triumphs, and nature will be both the fun and the refuge. Emily, above, was grouchy at the long distance (0.5 miles in) and sitting alone. But below, 3 stops later, she's happy again. We fixed the flat on Hazel's bike; we stopped for ice cream; we went farther than we thought they could. We all won, especially me.

Home and away

In A Weed by Any Other Name, one of the occasions I write about is a garden bed at Boyd Community Center, where we held a bulb planting one September in honor of Emily's 7th birthday. It sounded good on paper: we had dirt cake (the photo wasn't ours; we were too overwhelmed to take pictures), gave the kids shovels and bulbs, the party favors included flower bulbs and pretty kid-sized hand trowels, and they planted a flower bed which continues to give our family, and perhaps others who visit the community center, a great deal of happiness each spring.



But in reality, the party was hot, and the ground was hard, and the kids' interest level in the featured activity was slim to none. I ended up digging most of the holes, the kids whined about "how many more do I have to plant?", and I ended up replanting a number of bulbs which didn't quite make it underground.



The more long run problem is that since then, the bed had become infested with Canada thistle and wild garlic. (both infestations are discussed in the book, so I won't repeat the descriptions here) I have tried to interest the girls in helping me maintain the beds, but they have expressed Zero Interest. I figured that was my fault, for being too pushy.



But yesterday evening I was at Boyd for another event, and the director told me a story that made me think better of all these memories. At their afterschool program, the children are putting in a vegetable garden (which they will continue to maintain with their summer camp program). The director had come in to explain which couple of weeds the children should pull, and first, Emily breaks in to say Shouldn't they pull the wild onion too? And then Hazel breaks in to say We'll need gloves to pull the thistle, because it has prickers. A little while later, Hazel beckons the director over, and shows her the long root she got from a thistle plant she pulled, and they marvelled together at it.



I looked at the bed, after hearing this story. There are still patches, and it is still infested. But Hazel wasn't kidding when she told me that she pulled a lot of thistle yesterday. And apparently they don't mind weeding, as long as it is in good company, and they can be the resident experts, instead of mom.

Not neat and tidy gardening

Despite my membership in the garden club, my gardening veers more toward the surprise style than the orderly beds of lines and patterns. Surprise means that I plant the seeds, vaguely remembering what I planted last year in that spot, and then fail to label or record the seed types afterward, meaning that whatever comes up is a surprise.

Some years, I think I just end up with an edible mess. Last year, my fencing didn't go up until after my snap peas had been beheaded by deer. I planted potatoes as an afterthought, and chard, and tomatoes, all of which did well, but I was determined to do better. This year, I have thriving potatoes and dill, onions and a few lettuce (plants gone to seed last year), thriving snap peas within their fence, rhubarb, and sunflowers - all before tomato planting, which I will dare to do next weekend, a few days before our frost-free date (I'm betting on global warming giving me a few extra days).

In most of my beds, too, there is also something else coming up - weeds? Oddly enough, I don't know what the seedling is, but in addition to the identifiable friends, there is another I don't know, but hopefully will soon. It might be pokeweed, given that the compost I use has some large pokeweed specimens growing nearby, and which I have never watched growing from seed. Whatever it is, as soon as I identify it, I will have a lot of weeding to do.

Waiting, weeding, and hoping: these are my tasks in the May garden. Waiting, to see what the heck I planted. Weeding, as soon as I distinguish friend from foe. Hoping, that the garden will offer something newly appealing to my picky girls, that they will finally try my purple potatoes, that they will understand the appeal of onions, or that I can coax them into eating strawberry-rhubarb pie before they dissect the rhubarb out of it. Hoping, that the disorder will become something magical, the predictable miracle of food growing from soil.

Toad Prince

At Squaw Valley Park this morning, we found a number of toads, including this lovely one, who decided Emily was just his type. You will notice the way his arms are wrapped around Emily's hand. For those wishing to give their children a different version of the birds and the bees, this position is called amplexus, and precedes the male fertilization of the female toad eggs.

As you can see, I think it is as fun for Emily as it is for him.

Monkey bars in a skirt

Ser has written about how Henry has his own distinct taste in clothing, and Hazel is a lot like Henry in this respect. When Emily was little, she generally accepted my choices for her clothes, but further, I tended to view dressing her with the same practicality I use in dressing myself. Matching meant neutrals with bright colors; appropriate clothes for play were overalls and tshirts. Emily either tends to agree with me due to her own native instincts, or I have pushed her into it - I like to think we are just alike.

But Hazel is an Oursbourn, like her paternal grandmother, and clothes which match to her don't follow the rules I know. At first, when she was 2 and insisted on wearing dresses everywhere, I thought, mistakenly, that perhaps Emily was my outdoorsy child. But that was narrow minded of me; Hazel has taught me something different.

Girls who run and get muddy, girls who stomp in puddles at the bus stop, girls who climb and swing on rope swings and do monkey bars: these are not tomboys anymore, as I once happily considered myself. Hazel is a Girl, and she plays Outside. She has taught me something I didn't know about nature and nurture, and about self-expression and identity. Being a girl doesn't mean putting your dresses on the hanger before playing outside.

Dresses, too, are washable.

Earth Day

This morning and early afternoon featured classic Earth Day weather in Pittsburgh - cool and wet. But, as you can see from the sky in Emily's photo of her sister's south side, by sunset the skies were clear, and the late afternoon was beautiful for a trip to the playground. I am such a wimpy parent about homework on evenings like this, when it seems that being outside just can't get all the time it deserves. Tonight I have given up on Emily working on her book report - we are saving it for Sunday afternoon, apparently, given our schedule between now and then. I'm hoping for cold rain on Sunday, beginning about 4 pm., lasting until that book report is done. Even if it is on Shel Silverstein, and he does deserve better.

Turn off the TV week?

Today Emily brought home a flier from school, with fun facts (average 2-11 year old child watches 1000+ hours of TV a week?!) and a signup for Turn off the TV Week. I have so many thoughts about this, I hardly know where to begin.

First, last week might have been seen informally as Turn On the TV Week for my daughters, since they spent a week with grandparents, and therefore had access to TV. They watched all their favorite shows and several new ones, familiarizing themselves with the modern genre of talent shows. I see this as an important aspect of their education: cultural literacy. In addition, as you can see, this enables my dad, even when he is only home from his rehabilitation hospital for a couple of hours, to catch up on the world of Emily's thoughts. He does this with the same willing acceptance he showed when he listened and enjoyed music with me in my teenage years.

Second, the irony of the timing could hardly be greater, because on Monday I have an appointment with their principal for me to be a complainer. I have spent 4 years now hearing about indoor recess on any remotely wet or cold day, or "blacktop recess" if it was wet yesterday and the ground is still muddy. This is, to me, outrageous, especially on a safe, clean school campus of at least 20 acres, with lots of open, green space to play. I have spent the last year waiting for the new principal to change this problem, after making a very gentle comment at the year's beginning, but I've given up waiting and hoping and am now about to be demanding, with scientific papers and books and the power of persuasion which I may not have, but have to try out.

Tuesday Emily will take her turn off the TV week form to school, with my signed commitment to have our TV off for the week. Not too hard - we just got a TV at Christmas, but still have no stations, no cable. I can't claim screen-limit virtues - we watch plenty of movies at home, and the girls play computer games and watch pirated TV on YouTube. But I can say this: I am very happy that the TV on is still a celebration for the girls, while TV off is the state they take for granted.