Having a cat. Teaching tiny humans. You might think these are two VERY different experiences. But they’re not all that different. To demonstrate, I present to you a game of “Guess the audience – cat or tiny human?”
Please don’t bite my elbow.
It’s time to rest, not time to play.
Do you have everything you need to go outside?
If you want to talk, please come over here. I’m not going to talk to you if you’re yelling.
Why did you lick my elbow?
I know you always want food, but it’s not time.
I didn’t like that very much.
You can be all done.
Please don’t touch my feet. We’re about to eat.
Be gentle with the books.
You have to wear your coat. It’s cold outside.
We can’t do that right now. But here are your choices…
To continue the very necessary amusement of this seasons, I offer you a selection of my favorite Sylvan photos from the past few months.
The Winter Solstice is on December 21st. It is the shortest day of the year, meaning that it has the least amount of light and the most darkness.
And then, there’s just a lot going on in the world right now. Between election kerfuffles and protests and a pandemic and…everything else. It’s a lot of hurt. And hate.
Like I said, the world seems a little dark right now.
That’s going to change, though. After the Winter Solstice, the days will gradually get longer. The light will grow. It will get stronger. And before we know it, the sun will stream through our windows to wake us up in the morning and we’ll bask in the light long into the night. Darkness won’t seem so strong or powerful or scary.
I don’t know how the rest of the world will respond. There’s no promise that change in sunlight will get rid of hurt or hate. In fact, it probably won’t have much of an effect.
But if we focus on the permeating darkness of the world, then we’ll miss the light that is being revealed through nature. We’ll miss the kindness that this season brings out in our neighbors. We’ll miss laughter over snowflakes and we’ll miss the spark of joy in a child’s eyes as they stare at twinkling icicle lights. We’ll miss the anticipation that comes with opening gifts and giving gifts…and the hope that comes with knowing that something new is ahead.
This darkness has been dark. But it can’t last forever.
The light shines out of the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it. John 1:5
I’m stuck between a place where life feels very normal…and at the same time, life feels like some sort of alternate reality.
The normal moments are when I watch kids climb trees or cuddle my cat or look out over frosty trees from a summit. Catching up with friends in faraway places and trying new recipes. Coming home to find that there’s not one, but two pencils stuffed into my messy bun. Reading books that have been on my list for far too long and talking myself out of buying a pint of ice cream at the grocery store (maybe). Reading a silly book to students or teaching them how to make pie…
But then I glance up and see masked faces. Or I have a Zoom meeting with a parent and chuckle to myself because “that’s” what they look like! I nod at strangers on trails while hanging onto a tree at the edge of a cliff, trying to give them space and take some of my own. Exchanging stories about Mo Willems with the cashier at the grocery store because I have a pigeon mask. Having the hostess at a restaurant take my temperature before seating me.
The masks and the distance have become normal…but not in a way that I can accept as reality. But this is the reality where we exist right now.
So I will continue baking and hiking and teaching and reading and cuddling my cat. I will savor all of the moments that feel normal…and be grateful that I have those.
Cool mornings, warm days. Flannel and fleece are acceptable articles of clothing…but sandals are also acceptable at times. All-day hikes are less brutal and summits give you hints of color. The colors are growing and expanding. The change of the season is happening right before our eyes. And I’m trying to make the change slow down. I want to appreciate the leaves a little more. And savor the mid-day warmth and evening chill.
As much as I’m trying to hold on to this change, I know that I can’t make time stand still here. We’ll get to the point when the trees are bare and every day chills me to my bone. Snow covers the ground and my drive to work, instead of being an artist’s classic rendition of fall, is going to leave me with a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel with the potential to slip or slide or get stuck.
But in the midst of that season, I’ll be motivated to stay inside and coax Otis (my sourdough starter) back into a happy place. I’ll play with pie dough in more ways than last year. I’ll make soups and soups and soups. I’ll try skiing or snowboarding. And I’ll snowshoe to the top of mountains that I’ve celebrated throughout the summer. I’ll admire the glistening of snow and ice as it clings to tree branches. And I’ll stop – mid hike – to appreciate the depths of the silence that you find in the woods on a snowy day.
This change in seasons reminds me that life works in seasons…and with each beautiful change we also see challenges. Things that worry us or make us sad. There are experiences we miss from the last season and hopes and dreams for the next. But it’s essential, if we’re to continue savoring life, to find ways to enjoy wherever we are in this moment.
Mary Elizabeth, it’s a SNAIL. Come look at the SNAIL!!!
OH MY GOSH. I found a SLUG. You have to come look. Come loooook!
Come see come see, Mary Elizabeth! It’s a SLUG. NO – there’s another one. There are SO MANY SLUGS!!!
I found a SNAIL I found a SNAIL I found a SNAIL!!!
I hear these phrases. Every. Single Day.
Multiple times.
A while back, my preschool friends got really interested in slugs and snails. We learned that they like to eat leaves and they move using their one strong foot and slime. They’re called gastropods (meaning “stomach foot”) and they like damp weather. Also, they can drown.
The “learning” that surrounds slugs and snails might have ended…but we still have a tank of snails in our classroom and we still shout and scream about them every day. I could easily get annoyed by this. It happens so frequently…students in other classes have begun noticing and pointing out snails/slugs.
And I love it. There’s something magical about appreciating your surroundings. In order to really appreciate things, you have to slooow down. On one walk this week, we only saw a few slugs and snails. We realized that we had been moving too fast!
It’s easy to get into a rhythm and just let life, trails, slugs and snails pass you by. But I don’t want to be the person that’s too busy to notice all of the details…
I want to be the person that watches a butterfly sip pollen from some pink flowers and wonder if it will fly to the white flowers next.
I want to help half a dozen baby newts cross a busy trail on my way up to a summit.
I want to watch the horns on a slug bounce in and out as it senses its’ way up a tree, down a limb and across a leaf.
I want to wonder where the inchworm is going in such a hurry and whether or not it’s hungry.
I want to smell the change in elevation and notice the sounds that birds make in different seasons.
And I want to savor this summer. Despite the chaos and the unknowns and all of the challenges…the lessons you learn in the midst of that are always worth savoring.
…I drove out of Nashville. And I camped in North Carolina.
Then I visited a friend and had breakfast. Then I kept driving till I found the ocean.
And I splashed in the water and read on the beach. And I practiced being still. And I wasn’t completely sure what came next.
I drove to New York and disappeared in the Catskills for a few days. I emerged covered in bug bites (one was particularly concerning), but completely taken in by the mountains I found that were so different from the mountains that I knew.
And I kept driving.
I drove to Maine where I learned about grains and bread and natural leavening agents. For the first (and only) time in my life, I was surrounded by people who nerded out about baking more than I did. And it was magical.
I lost myself in Maine…in the food and drinks and lighthouses of Portland…in the mountains of Acadia…in the blueberries. I didn’t know what came next.
I made some weird choices and eventually found myself in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. I lived in a little cabin with other humans and spent most waking hours with other humans. But on the weekends, I found myself in those mountains and I was, again, completely taken in by mountains that were different from all of the mountains I had ever known.
For ten weeks? Eight week? I can’t keep track. It was magical. I grew in my ability to be flexible and think on my toes and I learned to work with kids who were unlike any I had ever known. And I didn’t know what came next.
So I wandered again. I went to Vermont because, well, mountains. While avoiding the freak snowstorm (from my “southern” eyes), I randomly looked up jobs in the area and tossed out a few applications. I hiked one of the 4000 footers in Vermont, then here was a quick trip to Montreal and I scheduled a job interview. In between waiting and panicking, I hiked two more 4000 footers. Then I interviewed for a job and hiked the last two 4000 footers. But I didn’t know what came next.
So I went to North Carolina. Breakfast and coffee and lunch and good company. Then to Nashville. Being in the place that I had called “home” for six years was soothing and safe. And in the midst of pouring over some nonprofit work while sitting in a coffee shop (Red Bicycle in Germantown) one morning, my phone rang and I was offered the job in Vermont. And I didn’t know what came next.
Nashville life. Holidays in Arkansas. And then a 23 hour drive to Vermont.
A job with some of the goofiest kids I’ve ever met. Days outside with those kids…in the snow, the sun, the rain and everything in between. Talking about letters and sharing my favorite books. Occasionally making up my own stories, but mostly letting kids tell me their own. And then a pandemic. A crazy roommate. Mud season. And I didn’t know what came next.
Moving into my own space. Getting a cat. Chopping off my hair. Melting snow and the end of mud season. Discovering how 4000 footers look when the snow is gone and everything is blooming. Figuring out how sourdough and I can live in harmony. Learning how to teach in the midst of a pandemic and how to offer grace to everyone I meet (including myself).
And to think that a year ago, I drove out of Nashville.
I could measure this past year in pies baked (in 6 different states??) or mountains climbed (40-50 trails) or cups of coffee (there were 10 on Moosilauke…but we really shouldn’t talk about that) or miles driven (gulp) or times I slept in my car (zero, actually) or the weird recipes I’ve tried (too many to count) or the walls I’ve climbed.
But those things don’t actually matter.
The ways I’ve grown and what I’ve learned about myself. The relationships I’ve maintained from so stinking far away and those that I’ve built along the way. The times I’ve opened myself up to opportunities that scared me and walked away knowing that I am stronger than I imagined. The figurative mountains I have climbed to come to understand my passions, my boundaries, and my priorities.
This week, I taught my preschool friends a new game. It’s basically Steal the Bacon? Or one of those other silly, team-building games that you do to build problem-solving and communication skills. We were having a hard time playing well together, so I thought I would toss something new in the mix.
When I worked in New Hampshire, I typically played this game using a yellow ball that my very first group of students named “Mr. Fluffernutter.” Since I didn’t have that with me, I asked someone to choose a rock out of the stream…and then we had to name it.
Flower.
They named the rock Flower.
It’s silly, I know. But by giving the rock a name, the students are more committed to following through and stealing the rock from me. They were successful in their endeavors…and Flower is currently in my backpack, waiting for the next adventure.
Names give a purpose to our actions and adventures and endeavors. I’ve heard it said that you only appreciate things once you can name them (I have a whole slew of thoughts on that…but we’ll save it for another day). And for many years, I’ve placed a special importance on students’ names.
Somewhere along the way, I realized that a lot of people used nicknames for kids. Or they just referred to them as a group. Or they called them Bud, Sis, Girl, Kid…and while I do that sometimes, it’s important for kids to know that you value them and their name. When I first meet a new kiddo, I want them to look at me and tell me their name. They might mumble. Or have a really hard name. Or maybe we’re in a loud room. But I want to work through all the noise to get to them and know their name. I want to say their name over and over to reinforce that I see them, I hear them, and I value them. In a world that might make up nicknames or just call them out when there is a problem, I want them to understand the power in their name.
I started reflecting on all of this last weekend when someone commented on “the guy who was killed.”
George Floyd.
I didn’t need that much context to identify “the guy.” And my knee-jerk reaction to spout out his name immediately clarified the value of #saytheirnames.
When you name someone, you see them and you know them and you value them. They are no longer a statistic or a number or an assessment score or a behavior.
It’s a reminder that they are a human being…just like you and me.
Guys…the month of May is ALMOST over. Earlier this month, I was on the phone with a friend and I realized that June was creeping closer and closer. And I turn 30 in June. And I freaked out for a minute (or five).
But now I’m fine. I think.
The truth is that this month (season?) has been so bananas that I haven’t really stopped to consider what I’m feeling or how I’m doing. The shortest of answers would be, “I’m just so stinking happy right now!”
And that’s true. Because in May, I…
Went back to work with kiddos actually in my physical presence…not just on Zoom. BUT, we’re existing under all of these new guidelines surrounding masks and sanitizing and cleaning and sharing spaces. At the end of the day though, when a kid wants to sit on top of me and listen to a story, I’m going to let it happen. And if I have to make up countless stories about weird woodland creatures that each have their own distinct voice, by golly I’ll do it!
Got a cat! Sylvan Blue is an absolute dream…who will not let me dream from 11-11:30 pm, 3-3:30 am, or 5-5:30 am. That’s when he has his super-active nighttime adventures. We’ve discussed this a lot an have yet to come to a solution. The more time I let him spend outside, the more amenable he is to keeping is rambunctiousness at a low volume. It’s a work in progress. I just drink more coffee. And he helps me clean the kitchen.
Clambered around on real rocks! I found an “outdoor adventure friend,” and she’s psyched about climbing and hiking. We started by crawling up rocks on the side of the building, but we’ve advanced to actual rocks…because there are plenty of those around! And I have ordered a bouldering pad to support more and more future adventures. Oh – and the hammock. The hammock is also an essential part of the adventures.
Foraged! There are plenty of wild edibles hiding in the woods during this time of year. The trick is finding them. No one really wants to give away their secret spot for harvesting ramps, morels or fiddleheads. I managed to stumble across some ramps on a hike one day (they were the highlight of the hike) and played with them over the next week or so. There’s something pretty magical about ethically plucking something out of the Earth and tossing it in your next batch of biscuits.
Cut my hair. I hate getting my hair cut. It’s uncomfortable and awkward and I avoid it as much as possible. Add a pandemic/lock-down on top of that and we were getting desperate (“we” – my scraggly hairs and I). So, I trimmed the ends. Two weeks later I finally let it down again and realized that there were some stragglers, so I evened it up. I think we’re in a good place now.
With all of that being said…I can’t help but celebrate the past month. It’s been a doozy…and life will continue to throw curve balls. But I’m just going to keep celebrating the little bits of beauty and joy and hold on for the ride.
My mom cooks and bakes quite a bit (I come by it honestly). When I was a kid, she was constantly whipping up something new, always tracking down the strangest new recipes to try (it’s genetic). More often than not, we were all pleasantly surprised by the turnout. But while she was engaged in whatever sort of process was required to get to that finished product, I refused to be left out of the fun.
So she would give me a little bowl and spoon, then let me go crazy. My little bowl would end up as a weird mixture of flour, water, maybe some oil and whatever spices smelled good. Or…all of the spices. I was allowed to explore all of the options in the pantry, the spice drawer and the fridge. And I’m quite sure that I never produced anything edible.
But that wasn’t the point.
The point was that I had the freedom to explore. And the freedom to fail. And the freedom to get creative when something appeared to be a complete flop! (Like my attempt at hot water pastry.)
Over the past year, I’ve done a bit more exploring. She hasn’t been a fan of that. More than once, I’ve gotten an earful for not communicating enough or for telling her about something crazy after-the-fact. But I constantly remind her that she raised me well, she taught me how to think for myself, and she gave me space to learn from my mistakes.
Happy Mother’s Day to the one who talks me through crust that falls apart, reminds me when it’s time to reset my clock, and tells me that it’s okay to love!
I’ve lived in Vermont for 109 days. There have been some pretty exciting days going on adventures with kiddos or braving snowy trails on my own. I’ve done a lot of baking and tried some new beers. But at the end of each day, I always come back to the same spot.
A tiny room in a house owned by an alcoholic narcissist (his words…which I will affirm). It’s been an interesting journey, to say the least. I never knew when I might:
Come home from work to a kitchen that’s exploded into a full-blown turkey dinner (in February)…and then wake up the next morning to find the explosion still full-blown,
Argue about a woman’s right to refuse to pick up a dude for a first date when they just met via Bumble,
Be reprimanded for setting boundaries,
Walk into a literal sausage-making party…and find remnants of said party the next morning,
Worry that the chick who works at the gas station is going to show up at the house for a “pandemic-induced-hook-up” with the roommate,
Be subjected to raps that “should have been recorded because we would’ve made bank. We could be in Tahiti now!”
Wake up at 2 am to the smoke detector going off because someone decided to smoke pot in their bedroom
Listen to the most bizarre noises from a human being at all times of the day (and that’s saying a lot because I work with kids)
Try to fall asleep to the sound of a vacuum
Have my “dinner making” interrupted by someone who suddenly needs to sweep the kitchen
Sit down to sip my morning coffee, only to be interrupted by a roommate who HAS to tell me about his dream last night…when we kissed
Wake up to find a pair of women’s boots and a purse by the front door and a car partially blocking the driveway
Be interrupted in my dinner process by a roommate who rolls in and tells me that he spent the past 24 hours in detox
Store grain alcohol in my bedroom because my roommate doesn’t trust himself with it (but he just uses to make pot gummies)
Live with someone whose normal “walking feet” sound like an entire herd of wild elephants
Like I said – it’s been interesting.
But rarely happy. And probably not always safe.
So, I’ve found ways to escape…especially since the “stay at home” orders went into place. I used the guinea pigs in our classroom as an excuse to work from school. After I got groceries, I sat in the parking lot reading. I walked up and down every street in this tiny town. And I ran (once the temperatures and snow felt less threatening).
Almost every time that I ran, I took a picture of this bridge. When “home” felt unstable, this route and this bridge never failed to make me feel secure. I slid on the ice. I watched the snow melt. I splashed through the mud puddles. I waited for the grass to grow and the sky to turn blue. And today was the last time.
Tomorrow, I move.
I move to a space that makes me feel happy and safe. And right now, I don’t need much more than that.
From Sunsets to Storm Clouds 