Posts Tagged ‘nature’

30-365 THREE

June 21, 2013

The only thing I thought tonight’s walk would have going for it was that I was wearing sandals, shorts, and a sweatshirt. Such a summer’s evening outfit, I thought, even as I stifled a yawn and cursed having to leave the house. I planned on an amble, taking it easy as I’m sore from yesterday.

Well, I didn’t count on the storm system that was blowing in. The wind was cold and fierce, and at one point I realised I was leaning into it and it was holding me. I went along to the woods/meadow I walked in the first night, hoping for shelter, and you know what? It was AWESOME. The wind was whipping the leaves of all the trees upside down, so they looked all silvery. The grasses in the meadow were rippling violently and it was just beautiful. That wind blew a smile onto my face, and I swear I opened my arms up and just smiled so wide I thought my face would crack in half.

On the way home, the wind dropped and I actually felt disappointed. In the stillness I noticed how achey my legs were – it would be a lie to say they weren’t – but then I realised I was thinking about my legs. Muscle aches. I didn’t even notice my pelvis. And that was the greatest gift the absent wind gave me. I felt like the old me, the ‘normal’ me, who was feeling the same aches and pains any other able bodied person might feel.

You’d better believe I smiled even bigger then, and the wind kicked up again just as I did. It was perfect.

30 minutes, 3.2 mph, 1.64 miles

I have to get it out.

May 30, 2012

I miss it, I miss it, I miss it.

I miss our rambling outdoor lifestyle, the fact that the only thing that existed beyond our garden was forest, hills, fields, and stream. I miss the huge old trees in our back garden, the way we had to walk down that little path on the little hill to get into the huuuuuge wild park. It was surrounded by trees with dirt paths weaving in and out – you could get to different places in the neighborhood by following them.

And our neighborhood. Oh, the jillions of kids around Snort and Coconut’s age that lived right on our street, especially my five good friends (with their assorted children) who all lived within ten minutes of toddler-speed walking. Most of them babywore, breastfed, one of them was considering home education.

Our local centre where we went for storytime (Snort and Coconut refuse to go to our new local storytime) and playgroup, where the staff watched my two turn from babies to little children. The old guy a street over who we were friendly with. All the amazing families all within reach; we knew them all.

And the bit of stream I’ve been thinking about so much in this hot weather. It meandered alongside two big lakes, and was the perfect depth to splash and wade and explore. And our ‘secret lake’, filled with the paths and trees and butterflies I thought would be the backdrop to our future years home educating.

I miss it all, I wonder if we haven’t made a mistake, but there is no turning back now. Someone else calls our house ‘home.’

I’m here in this new house, with children who cry and plead every single day to go home. Snort just keeps saying ‘please please pleeeeeeease’ and sobbing. Last night I actually had a nightmare about it. And my own deep sadness revolving around the world we left, oh, it makes it so much more difficult when my children are so very, very sad. What can I do but cuddle them, reflect their feelings, talk with them about being sad and missing one house, but still being happy at another?

I say to them, ‘I know, honey, I sometimes wish we could go back to that house, too’ but I leave out the rest of what I want to say: that I was happy there, much happier than I am here, that here I am suffering from the claustrophobia of people and concrete and too many buildings. I am not someone that can survive, let alone thrive, in a world without secret wooded spaces, streams, and friends. I suppose the friends will come (and hopefully Lauren and Ivy become regular playdates for us!), and the green spaces….well, there are lots within driving distance.

But I miss the times of laughing, tripping lightly outside in my bare feet, running down to the park. The daily walks we did, sometimes twice, in the woods, the green shadows playing over our faces.

I wanted to pepper this entry with pictures of our old home, our first family home, but just looking at them made my eyes fill with tears.

The world is our playground.

May 9, 2012


We try to spend as much time outdoors as possible. For me, I grew up on a lot of land and basically ran wild all day every day. It was great.

We love our hikes, our puddles, our dens. Flowers, blowing bubbles, looking for bugs.

It’s sad that we have to drive to get anywhere really outdoorsy, but good that we have all sorts of fantastic natural playgrounds (literally and figuratively) very nearby.

This picture was taken in a local forest (mentioned in the previous post) where they do forest school. There were a good few empty dens/forts, and we explored them all! Incidentally, I can’t wait till they are big enough for forest school. It’s the only school this mama wholeheartedly endorses!

Growing up, growing out.

April 17, 2011


You walked off side by side, smiling at the grass and trees and sun.

This is your second spring. Last year at this time you could barely sit.

Today you ran off, shouting like little dew soaked warriers, arms spread wide and smiles stretched wider.

We stood behind you, slowly walking along, watching you grow up and grow out into the world.

We talked about how we loved you both, so much. How happy we are. How awesome you are.

Thank you.

Sharing our life with you!

May 22, 2008

Marmite is all packed and ready to go:

bless her little cotton soul

Our new garden:

garden 1

The side of our garden:


Part of the AMAZING park by our house (not the park we live on, which is behind the garden, but a different one. I KNOW. That’s a whole lotta parkland.):

lakey lake

‘Anyway’ instead of ‘anywhere.’ Interesting Freudian slip, if I do say so myself.

May 16, 2008

I’ve got a friend who is eight days into a ‘walk’ from the bottom of this country to the top of another country. Reading his (too short) blog entries makes me feel like I am missing out. I want to talk to weird old men with banjos, carry my home on my back, and get tough man-blisters.

I compusively reread A Walk in the Woods, wanting oh so badly to walk the Appalachian Trail. Let’s get it clear: I’m not crazy. I have no expectations of being in a condition – financially or physically – to be able to do such a massive undertaking. But I’d be happy with just a wee smidge….if I could be sure there were no ax murderers in the woods.

I think my craving for the outdoors is getting spooky. I watched the finale of some show about people recreating pioneer life this morning, and I actually cried when the people had to go back to civilisation. Boooooooooy howdy.

I always think about writing – you can do it anywhere. And if I pulled my finger out and managed to make at least a bit of money, I might have more space and freedom. I want to go on a little retreat in the woods, just me and my wonderful laptop, but somehow real life always seems to get in the way. I have tremendous admiration for those people who have a real life that goes against everything our culture would say you need to be successful.

To a certain degree, TMD and I have that. We are both in careers where we’ll never make the big bucks. We care about people, the community, and ourselves. We want to make a difference. But sometimes I think about how I spend so much time and energy making a difference to other people, inspiring them to go out and live the life they want, and I feel thwarted. What happened to TMD’s singer/songwriter life? And her cards?

What will happen to all the words in me I haven’t written yet, and what about the ones I have? My brand of crazy is quite powerful. Intellectually I can know I’ve got strong writing skillsĀ – but I read powerful things by people who can’t write for shit, and I wonder if my ideas stack up. Are they good enough? Am I good enough? My sessions with Kleinette – and my own brain – made me try to believe that I was slow cooking. I wasn’t done yet, and that was okay.

I don’t know how okay it is.

I know that a lot of my emotional energy is completely in wanting a child. Psychologically, I’ve got the training to be able to offer some really great analysis of why that is. But you know, I’ve wanted children since I was a child myself. I don’t regret waiting until we were more settled. And most of me does believe that different parts of life just naturally slot together, that things work out.

I guess this entry is a result of being bored, locked in a house full of empty boxes with accusing stares. I’ve got a lot of time to write, and all I do is sit around thinking about how much I want to be writing. Crazy, right?

(Yes, I know that flair has a VERY bad spelling mistake. Oh, the irony.)