Just what happens around here when Mama buys photographic lighting?
Science
07/14/2014
01/11/2014
Making John Waple Proud!
Way back when, when James was just a wee nipper of a lad and a member of the Third Thetford Venture Scout Unit he would participate in the annual Christmas hike. It was by its own description rather cold brass monkeys weather, but was good for agitating the soul, blowing out the cobwebs and getting everyone moving. By tradition it was held in the first few days after Christmas, and is not to be confused with the annual spring camping trip, where both eggs and washing up liquid froze.
The purpose of this entry, though, is not to dwell in yesteryear's memories, but to create our own adventures, and with that thought we bundled up and headed out.
We hare been hearing from several separate people of late about the Basin Creek Trail (gorgeous views of Stone Mountain Rock, here in NC and the waterfall - you must try it). Yes it was cold (actually fridgid). Yes one of the girls was totally washed in anguish at going in in the cold (and you can probably guess which one). Yes, we took to the trail with our teeth gritted, determined that we were going to enjoy this hike (because sometimes you just have to have the courage of your convictions and get out there). Could I say that by the time we got there everyone was happy? No, not really... but eventually, eventually there was a five minute break where I think a grin was cracked!
One of the small and insignificant problems with the Basin Creek Trail is finding the trail head. We knew that it would be about a mile and a half down an access road (a very pleasant walk in itself) and we had planned to turn around at three miles no matter how far we had gotten...
Why do we go out in the cold? for the same reason we head out in the heat... why would you miss opportunities to be out on a sunny day, to be fascinated by ice and miss the worlds longest ice slide. No, she still was determined not to enjoy herself, but I feel that it was lacking in its initial intensity by this time!
How can you fail to not be fascinated by iceicles taller than you are? and how would you know about them unless you went out to find them? How would you know how heavy they felt unless you held one? you just do not learn this stuff by sitting at home and letting it come to you through a television producers decision.
But this, ladies and gentlemen, was our downfall, possibly not quite at this very moment but a moment very like it. A glorious trail with glorious scenery and with a glorious streak of ice running along it the entire way was not only fun but addictive. No amount of 'use a stick to poke it, not your feet' or 'if you get your feet wet this is going to be a long hike' were sufficient to get the message across. (I do think sabotage played a wee small part... I WILL NOT have fun, therefore I need to make sure I don't!) And feet, okay... just one foot, accidentally on purpose, pushed its way into a too-thin ice pool and there we were... with wet feet (foot). Did we stop? hell no! too many warnings had been given at this point!
Emma did find a glade of creeping cedar, sheltered from the wind and with a sunny spot to keep us semi-warm while we ate. you can not hear it, but the creek gently gurgled along just to the side, and best of all was the guilt-free Christmas chocolate binge that you can only every eat with the glorious satisfaction of knowing that it will be worked off within moments. Not only was it a guilt-free Christmas chocolate binge, but it was a guilt-free ENGLISH Christmas smarties chocolate binge.
Continuing on our way we passed the one and a half mile mark with no trail head found... and a reminder broadcast every minute from the owner of a soggy foot that it was indeed very soggy, until we hit a snag... a very wet snag:
The trail head for the Basin Creek trail is just on the other side of this stream? lake? river? and its 2 miles into the hike people, 2 miles not one and a half!
There were two ways of crossing - by rocks, strategically placed, or tree and rope bridge.
And you can tell that we are growing up (finally) and getting a little wiser (I did say a little) because we totally made the correct grown-up decision:
The decision not to cross.
John Waple would have been proud! the children, well take a look - Emma is showing us just how easy, simple, dry, and 'doable' crossing would be - and in typical fashion pulling the cords of her boundaries as far as possible. Maggie's realization of what this meant needs NO interpretation - it was the happiest she had been since eating a whole tube of smarties in one sitting! We had no spare clothes, no change of shoes, if someone fell in (and trust me - there is ALWAYS someone who will fall in) it would have been a terribly cold 2 mile hike back to the car, so at this point we turned around.
We headed home.
We all gave piggy backs.
How is it that hikes are always shorter on the way home than they are on the way in? It defies the laws of physics... some day I am going to write to Steven Hawkings and ask him about that!
We were not discouraged... actually it has become a trail to finish. It might take many years of gaining a few more 1/2 miles with each outing, we may have to get the children used to carrying clothing as well as their own foood, we may have to buy foot warmers... but we WILL get to the end of this trail one day... and then we shall start on all the others that run out of this same access road - and there are many!
but for today we all tumbled back into the car, turned up the heat and defrosted while we drove through Stone Mountain Park. We rumbled past the deer as we headed towards a few mugs of steaming hot chocolate.
But we will be back - it has been placed on our calendar in INK no less.
01/05/2014
Adding Sence and Sensibility to the weekends!
Quite frankly my little family seem to be breathing a sign of relief that since I have returned to work I am no longer expecting them to be in a high state of excitement the moment a weekend or holiday comes around, but am sensibly lighting the fire and picking up a book or two, or three!
We have been getting out and about, but in a much more dignified manner... my only problem these days is keeping up with posting it on this little blog of ours... which brings me to my new years resolutions: firstly to update last years posts that have been sitting on the camera card, and then secondly, to try and keep up with our outdoor excursions as we have them... here goes!
Last September we took a delightful jaunt on a new trail (for us) hiking up to the top of Pilot Mountain:
It was a big adventure for the girls seeings as it was the first 6.5 miler they had both completed. We followed the Grindstone Trail from the shade of Pilot Mountian up to the top - which ended up leading us through some pretty sorry woodlands. Just about a year ago Pilot Mountain State Park had a planned burn that had been gusted out of control and grown slightly larger than anticipated... a great deal larger.
As we hiked, the evidence of the fires was never far from us:
And my heart was saddened at the loss of such magnitude... but the further we walked the more we noticed that there was color that we were missing, life was being breathed back into the land, and Mother Nature really did look after her landscape
And we started looking for other colors, colors of the fall and signs of returning life
We did a bit of this:
And we dug around for these:
We looked up:
We glanced down:
and celebrated a fabulous fall day - full of life and color and the outdoors... and this was one trip where my muddy girls ended up with very little mud at all just soggy socks from creek trapsing! It was a good day.
08/23/2013
A New Hobbie
The Birds are flying fast around our bird feeders - in fear that their feathers are going to be plucked as they feed
At the Highland festival a week of two ago Emma found a booth that sold feather quills and ink. she gleefully bought one, watched the accomodating chap trip the feather and has now become something of a 'quill technician' herself.
Her friends are all receiving endearingly ink splattered missives, but she is having the best time ever!
03/07/2013
Our Featherd Friends
Looking out of the kitchen window this morning I watched as the birds flew in for breakfast and realizaed that soon, very soon nests would be filling up with fluffy goodness... it reminded me of this post from about two years ago...
The look on my mothers face said it all - apparently keeping meal worms in the fridge did not seem as exciting to her as to my 7 year old, and just to prove exactly how exciting they were, E opened the box, took out a pinch and dropped them in the aquarium for the frogs.
The frogs remained painfully unexcited at the prospect of an early dinner, but eventually flicked a casual tongue in their general direction and they were gone. My mother was impressed, she said so, and then with hugs and kisses, home she went.
The next day, after an overnight drenching, the sun was out and the girls with it, but it wasn't long before they were both back inside with concern written on their faces. At sometime during the storm nature had dealt a cruel blow to a feathered family and a baby bird had been dislodged from its nest, needing to be rescued. We have actually been in this position so many times; and the results have always ended with such heartbreaking failure that the healthy lesson of life earned always seems so unkind, but this little foundling was different, it was just a little older than the average waif.
We watched from a distance all morning while its mother flew between her flock, feeding and fussing over them all in turn.
All afternoon our cat was cuddled and entertained inside in an attempt to divert his attention from an easy meal.
And during our supper the girls fretted over him being outside by himself all night. Countless plans to keep him company were hatched and denied.
They went to bed.
The next morning he was their first thought and little eyes cautiously scanned the garden anxious for what they might find. Curiosity was rewarded for there was mama bird feeding her little one, not only that, but she was giving him our meal worms from the bird feeder.
I think we all thought the same thought at the same time, only being the other side of 40 I dismissed it as soon as it drifted in. When you are 5 and 7 these ideas don't seem to be so fleeting and it doesn't occur to them to suppress them.
A meal worm was gently held by each of them as they tip-toed through the grass, wet dew clinging to the bottoms of their fairy pajamas. They stopped when they could see him, uncertain of what to do next.
Instinctively, E dropped to her knees and slowly shuffled along. The bird hoped once or twice, but amazingly was not alarmed by her presence. She held the wiggly worm between her little fingers, stretched out her arm and quietly offered it. Seconds passed, then a few more, and then in an amazing blink the baby bird took it. Just like that. Time stood still. There was a silence. We dared not breath for fear of breaking the spell.
The littlest of the little ones, M, reminded us in hushes tones that it was her turn, and reluctantly E came crawling back. At 5 you lack somewhat the confidence of a 7 year old, and although she was just as patient and careful as her older sister, the meal worms slipped through trembling fingers just at the crucial moment. It was, however, appreciatively gobbled up by its hungry receiver.
Over the next couple of days we watched as our little feathered friend grew strong from our meal worms. We did not try and feed it again; we appreciated the fleeting moment and cherished its memory. Then one day, he was gone, flown away with the rest of his family, and instead of being unhappy over his departure, my wonderful girls were delighted that out of all the baby birds we had tried to help, one had finally made it.
02/22/2013
A walk in the woods
Unless you open the door you will never discover what is out there...
Unless you open the door you will never realize that the next season is on its way
Unless you open the door you will never find sunbeams dancing on the breeze
unless you open the door you will never discover with whom we share this plannet
Unless you open the door you will never follow deer tracks to where the trail ends
Unless you open the door you will never experience the intrigues of the wild
and the life and death struggles of surivial
If you never open the door, they will never walk through...
09/15/2012
Gardening with a difference!
With the hope of prolonging a weekend that had been spent with her Grandparents, and thus avoiding saying good buy for an extra ½ an hour, E convinced me to accompany them to the local garden center which they had planned to visit on upon returning her to us. We really do not need more than a moment of thought to be persuaded into a visit, and so after planting her weekend bag by the door we departed.
Only 5 minutes away, our favorite floral paradise awaits; colors blaze, possibilities abound, and as you pass the rows you can but dream of their potential. Well, I can but dream, J has taken to giving house plants their last rites as they are carried over the thresholds of our front door, and I have taken to apologizing to them, as once bloomed they then loose all interest to live and wait patiently to be turned into compost. E, on the other hand, seems to have not only been born with a green thumb, but has a prodigious ability to will all plant life to propagate rapidly, happily and in abundance.
The garden center, on this visit, had finished for the season and was winding down. The plants were worn down also, and as we looked around all I felt was the heat of the day bouncing up from the concrete and reflecting back at me from the empty plant stands. Mentally writing this trip off I stumbled across E talking animatedly to a sales assistant, and following their gaze I discovered water tanks containing pond plants.
“Could they grow in a bowl? In the garden? On the deck? How much water did they need? Sunlight? Would they flower? Did they need fish? Did they really need a pond? Should you feed them? Could you just plant them anywhere? In regular water? Really?”
Nine year olds very rarely are on intimate terms with their local gardeners, and the sales assistant was doing her best to keep up. Out of season hours closed the store 5 minutes later and we drove home, but I could see the wheels turning, and that evening scuttled in a corner not only had she spent her own weekly pocket money, but had neatly convinced her sister to do the same.
And thus the water garden was born.
Pennies clutched tightly, they stood the next day, in deep and revenant silence contemplating their selection. Already a tank had been hosed down and gravel added as ledges for the plants. It was a tough choice, for each only had enough to purchase 2 plants, but imagine their delight when upon reaching the check-out desk they realized that they could afford many more; due to seasonal sales the plants were dramatically reduced in price and each ended up with armfuls.
Now sitting on our deck is an oasis of paradise surrounded by hot and tired potted plants. The tank is thriving, indeed flowering with abundance, and requires very little care, definitely a project worth repeating says E, and if you stop by long enough she is very willing to discuss her plans for the full scale pond that she has already drawn up!
05/04/2012
Lizards, Frogs and Venus Fly Traps
Sandwiched between the Oxford dictionary and a pot of freshly sharpened pencils is a small aquarium. Living inside are two lizards which the girls rescued from the cats. The lizards were rather stunned (indeed one had already lost its tail) once the cats had been persuaded to content themselves with toy mice and I was mentally picturing where in the garden their holes would be dug, but no, they were placed in their new home, a shopping list was produced divided into needs and wants, and both girls left for school.
Directly above the lizards, on the next shelf, is a larger aquarium full of wiggly tadpoles waiting to be pronounced frogs. When this point occurs no one knows; is it the ability to breath through lungs? The disappearance of the tail? When it can cram an entire meal worm into its mouth in one gulp? “Hop-a-long” as he was christened yesterday is lording it by himself for now, but not for long… the others are catching up fast.
The definition of “study” according to the afore mentioned Oxford dictionary is:
- “A room used or designed for reading, writing or academic work”
- “The devotion of time and attention to acquiring knowledge on a subject by means of books”
I prefer to keep our books in a very cozy and inviting book nook and leave the study as a room in which to study, to question, to watch, to touch, to talk about and to live with that which we want to learn about.
My better half – Mr. J has just about managed to control his eyebrows over the last 20 years; they no longer shoot up into his hairline when a stray gets brought in and declared part of the family, and although he may prefer to remain aloof over such adventures I still remember last years foray into the exciting lives of Venus Fly Traps.
They had been set up outside a local produce shop, and on impulse I bought a couple and left them sitting on the deck. The girls had been interested about the plants; they had listened politely to my lecture, and then ran off to play.
Sundays around here are usually pretty quiet; we enjoy a large relaxed lunch, and if the weather is decent we set it up outside. This was such a day, the table cloth was crisp, silverware gleaming, wine glasses overflowing, and in the center of the table in lieu of flowers someone arranged the fly traps.
We sat down to eat and predictably it wasn’t long before we had uninvited guests. The food was covered and disappointed the flies buzzed lazily around until one was tempted to settle on our flower arrangement. We all watched with baited breath as it landed on an open trap, and was imprisoned.
I’m pretty sure that my parents Sunday dinners had never (and I really do mean never) seen such excited children; J and I were pretty excited for that matter, and we all sat there eagerly discussing plants and food chains.
Obviously the trapped fly must have been sending out warning signals because all other winged beasts were staying well away. Flushed with excitement, J showed the girls how to tickle the leaves closed and we all sat totally entranced with the magic. (I am not sure at this point whether to mention that a fly was caught and fed to the carnivorous monster… but it was… and the girls were amazed!)
Looking back and revisiting such events, or watching as they unfold before me, I have to ask myself if the same spark would be ignited if these were lessons learnt from a book, or gleaned from a television program. It worries me that for so many children time outside is limited. We tell our children that they must recycle; they must not damage this earth that we live on, that they are supposed to live a green life. It is all very well telling them all of this, but without understanding why, I am not sure that they will.