handstories

wonder in the woods

    "IslandWood invites children and adults alike to discover a new way of seeing nature, themselves, and one another. In doing so, each person comes to understand their ability to change the world for the better."

    I'm back from outdoor school with the 150 fourth and fifth graders.  We all had a wonderful time. (Although I think I had the best!)  This place was amazing.  There were activities and field studies that encouraged exploration and understanding of nature and of our roles as stewards, and how to work together as a community.  

    A blindfolded night hike- listening, sensing, all the while trusting each other.

    Wandering through woods, marsh, pond, and to the harbor.

    PH experiments being conducted.

    Team building activities, such as this one.  Ten children had to get themselves from behind the sticks at the bottom to the platform, using the rope and without touching the ground.  It took planning and cooperation, but they did it!

    Group solo hikes (each child heading down the path three minutes apart, following instructions on cards on the ground to notice sounds, sites, smells, howling like a wolf, pondering a nature quote, etc.).

    Harvesting vegetables from the garden and nettles from the woods.

    Turning them into a delicious bowl of nettle soup for snack.

    Djembe drumming.  Talking of community and heart beat, and of believing in yourself when no one else does.  It was here that one of my group, a girl that had plenty of attitude and grumpiness, completely let go, drumming wildly and smiling so wide.

    The facilities were beautiful and so well thought out.  Much of it was built from reclaimed lumber or fallen trees.  This is the lobby of one of the lodges.

    A corner of my room, on a floor with fifteen girls (which was so much fun for me, coming from my house of boys).  We gathered in one room at bedtime, and I'd tell them stories- fairy tales, and silly stories from my childhood "How I Learned To Love Camping" and "Comeuppance at Disneyland".  The "uncertainty" blanket came along, to stitch on during quiet hour and layered over "serenity" for sleeping.  And, best of all, I had a bathroom to myself, for the first time in my life.

    As we lined up to leave, two black-tailed deer began to run and cavort back and forth nearby, as if they had planned this farewell for us.

    I do not have enough good things to say about  this special place, and all that I think it meant to this group of children.

p.s.

    I'm off to contemplate some trees, as a chaperone for Outdoor School with Moon's class.   Very excited about going to camp, spending more time with these children, and having someone cook for me all week!  

    Hope you all have a lovely week filled with wonder and adventure.

hope in uncertainty . . . with gratitude to Ms. B.

    Ms. B. was a no-nonsense-should've-been-a-drill-sergeant teacher at my high school.  In the spring of my sophomore year she came to English class, describing the new advanced English class that would be offered to juniors the next year.  It would be a lot of hard work and she would be teaching it.  (No one dared groan.)  I loved my English classes, I loved getting A's in my English classes, and I had no intention of signing on with her.  During fall registration, she looked at my schedule, "I don't see my class on here.  We'll fix that now."  (I didn't dare argue.)

    I have three clear memories of that first day of class which have nothing to do with English.  (Although, I learned plenty of that from her, too.)

    1.  She told us that contrary to popular belief, high school was not the best years of one's life, that they were quite often the most miserable, and things were bound to get better with time.  I was so relieved.

    2.  She shared the theory that you were most likely marry someone similar to your opposite sex parent.  I froze in fear, and took stock.  Most of the boys I'd been interested in were very like my dad.  They had his temperament and the right answers to the questions he always asked upon meeting them (while cleaning his rifle):  "Do you fish?  Do you hunt?  Do you play sports?"  Not long after this I brought K home.  His replies to the drilling, "I fished once, never hunted, and I just got cut from the basketball team."  I took it as a sign.

    3.  On the wall, to the right, was a poster with Steven Crane's quote,  "If I am going to be drowned- If I am going to be drowned- If I am going to be drowned, why in the name of the seven mad gods who rule the sea, was I allowed to come thus far and contemplate land and trees?" (from The Open Boat and Other Stories).

    I copied it into my notebook, and left that day with something new . . . hope.  

moving through the freeze

    Has anyone out there had "Frozen Shoulder"?  I guess I've got it.  It's also called  "adhesive capsulitis", which sounds much more dramatic, but who can remember that?  All to say, my left shoulder hurts- all over, from dull aching to sharp stabbing.  It's been getting worse over the last few months.  I can't even tuck in my shirt at my back with that arm.  Hopefully I am about done with the "freezing" (pain) phase and will soon move into the just "frozen" stage, to be followed by the "thaw".

    The good news is that you don't have to do anything to heal, no surgery or physical therapy, just a few stretches.  The bad news is that there's nothing you can do to heal faster, it can take up to two years, and then might move to the other shoulder!  Good grief!

    The doctor I saw was great, she asked about fiber art.  I had written it down as one of my occupations, wondering/worrying it might be the cause of all of this pain, and that I might need to cut back on my stitching, knitting, spinning, etc.  We had a lovely discussion about it all, including her sharing a friend's work of subversive knitting.     

    The best news is that I don't need to stop making (as if I would/could) . . . whew . . . so I shall stitch on, and dream of sleeping on my left side again.

connecting the dots

(one side)

    Finally, the random stars are pulled into my thoughts of a ship.

(flipside)

    There is much sailing going on in my mind lately. 

signs of freedom

    The nine-patches are almost all finished.  I had pinned sixteen of them together so that they could have an idea of what it will look like when all eighty are displayed.  "We made that?!"  "It looks so real!"  I love how proud they are of themselves.

    A Drinking Gourd, runaways would follow the North Star in the Big Dipper (Drinking Gourd) to freedom.

    The North Star above the Ohio River, which runaways would often cross in their journey.

    "brave"

    Flames of fire, to keep the runaways warm while hiding in the woods.

        Another Drinking Gourd with a shining North Star.  This one is Moon's, he hopes you'll notice that the lower fabrics are duller, and that once you cross the river of blue squares, the top is brighter with freedom.

a very nice "happy to me" day

    It began with our last sewing session for the quilt squares.  It was quite exciting as each square was finished.  Many wanted to help out friends once they'd finished their own.  The girl above has been gone the entire project, until today.  Four friends jumped in to get her caught up, she is almost finished!

     Wonderful notes from the fifth graders.  (Yes, I cried.)

    Some stitching at Blue's first game of the season.  That's him out there pitching a very good game.  They won by a bunch.  Maybe I'm a bad mom, but I start feeling bad when the other team is getting crushed, and start silently rooting for them, not to win, just to catch up a bit.  Though it's nice to see Blue so happy (he's singing Pete Seeger's "Wimowah" in the shower right now!)

    There were decorations,

    and pie.

    A very happy birthday.

signs of contentment

    I wish the light would cooperate,

I wish I could share the softness of it,

and I wish there were words for the story it holds,

"as it is, and should be" comes close.

"self-sandwich:  signs of contentment"

it's a small something

    These stitches and patches belong to a fifth grade boy who is a charmer.  He is also often in trouble at school,  but I think, even more, he is troubled by what is going on in his life outside of school.

    I was reading to his class at library time on Thursday.   There was a short sentence about sewing doll clothes, nothing significant to the story, just a moment.  Sitting in the back row, where he is often distracted and fiddling around, he raised his hand.

    "Ms. Monte!  We know how to sew!  They're sewing in the book, and we're sewing . . . we're all sewing!"

    Yes, we are.  

the moon noticed it all

    It's been weeks since I had a day to myself- no where to go, nothing pressing (except the grungy bathroom).  Hours of silence, stitching, some sunshine, and something finished!  (not the bathroom)

    "the big of moon"