Time to yourself is precious when you are a parent.  Especially stolen hours in nature on a Christmas afternoon.  There is nothing like clearing your head of the city and all it’s various stimulus.  This time of year is all about willow.  We are wallowing in it, at the beaver dam, on the coast and in our secret sag ponds.  The low winter sun brings out the willow color spectrum in a manner that takes my breath away.  If I were to be a plant the willow would be a tempting incarnation.  Not to mention that if I were lucky enough I might even be immortalized as a basket.

The point at which I had just about lost my patience with the suburbs was about the same time I reached for “Last Child in the Woods” by Richard Louv.  Starting to read the book and listening to Richard Louv speak could not have happened at a better time.

When we moved from the mountains to the suburbs I thought it would be fine.  I figured we would continue our routine of outdoor adventures; they would just be a little farther from our home.  Well, by the time Seth goes for three days of Mountain school, and mobile time with dad he is fairly adventured out.  When he spends time here at the house with me all he wants to do is relax, play and stay out of the car!

In the mean time I am suffering from severe nature deficit disorder (I only get to go to Mountain school one day a week .  When we lived in the mountains all I had to do was walk out the door for a healing breath of fresh air.  The solace of  forest and field was was readily available all the time.  In Mountain View (there is no view of mountains from our house) I walk out the door and am instantly bombarded with the roar of three different highways.  Not to mention the distinct traffic noise from the busy street that borders our fence.  The sky is smoggy, and although this lot is almost an acre of space, and there are some amazing old oaks and other trees in the yard, there is little sense of wilderness.

Since I am unable to get out and adventure with Seth as much as I’d like, I’ve had to find a compromise.  I had to find an outdoor destination in the yard that could pinch hit as “wilderness”.  We have several outdoor destinations in our yard, the first and most obvious being the “kid ghetto”.  This is the area of the yard that houses the play structure, sand box, playhouse and dirt pile, all littered in plastic toys and vehicles, in various states of decay.  The kids love it, but it looks like Target meets the dump covered in sidewalk chalk.  The second destination is the vegetable garden.  This is a magical place, but it is also a working place, a place where Seth is a caretaker, and like it or not is surrounded by thinking and “structure”.  There are several tween places that we use but don’t necessarily inhabit, like the fairy garden or the tree forts (adults are not allowed in the overgrown shrubs that serve as “base”).  However, there is one wild place in the yard that fit the bill to a t, that place is the Fairy Kitchen.

The Fairy Kitchen was aptly named by Lily.  After our egg hunt last spring Lily spent at least an hour playing by herself on a patch of Bermuda grass, a little spit of quazi lawn wedged between some Lamb’s Tongue and an abandoned rock garden.  Lily plopped down in perhaps the most interesting spot in the yard and started playing house.  When Geoff asked her what she was doing she explained that she was in “the Fairy Kitchen”.

Since it’s naming, the Fairy Kitchen has been a place, but not a destination.  I realized I had to change this, so I took an active role in playing there myself.  I set out little metal “kitchen” objects and began to set up house.  Seth soon caught on, and now we have Fairy Kitchen fever!  We go out there at least once a day.  At first it was me suggesting we spend time there, but now Seth initiates visits himself.  He seems to sense when I get fussy or distracted in the house and marches us out to the Fairy Kitchen.  If we are there and I am preoccupied with something else, he makes me stay in the kitchen and work it out.  He obviously senses that the Fairy Kitchen is a meditative place for me and that he should see to it that I self medicate wither I like it or not.

The thing I like about the Fairy Kitchen is that it always leads to something exciting.  After we both putz around in the kitchen for a while we get good ideas.  99% of the time the ideas are outdoor related.  It is almost as if spending time in the Fairy Kitchen is a “practice” of sorts.  Something that we do to connect to nature, gather our wits and focus on one another.  Rearing a child seems to involve lots of daily practice that fosters patience and reveals joy.  I’m sure it’s the same for Seth, because growing up is not an easy job.  My memories of growing up were always difficult between 4 walls and blissful without.

Richard Louv says that nature is a gift that if given to a child may allow the child to do something profound for the world in return.  It occurred to me early on in our Fairy Kitchen explorations that a gift of nature was given to me.  I was often left with my Grandmother Marge who lived on the loveliest hillside on the Stanford Campus.  My memories of these visits are full of wonder and magic.  She let me play anywhere I wanted in the meandering gardens.  She taught me how to suck nectar from the Vinca blossoms,  pick geranium flowers, entice a sleeping cat into play and differentiate between jays.  Grandma Marge was even kind enough to let me play house in her amazing succulent garden that lined the borders of the stairs to her front door.  She taught me how to pick just one leaf at a time and replant it somewhere else to make a new plant – such a simple action, but such a profound gift.

I’m sure I have returned her gift to the world at large, and will continue to do so for my entire life.  However, my job right now is to give the gift of intimacy with nature to my son.  We are spending time in The Fairy Kitchen to center ourselves, “checking in” with the earth every day.  Stopping and taking the time to make sense of our intentions for the day, the week and the rest of our lives.

“Can I keep that picture forever? Cuz I lost those bugs.” – Lily

Teacher Laura recently remarked that Seth definitely has “sethisims” and that I should write them down.  Wednesday was spent at the Fitzgerald Marine Reserve.  In the car Seth asked if we were going to be “starfish scientists”.   What a Seth thing to say I thought.  That said, here is a photo essay of the starfish we documented, accompanied by my favorite “sethisims”, or as I now fondly refer to them, “starfishisims”.

1.  When verging on hyperactive Seth gets a mischievous tone in his voice and says, “mommy! I am about to try and get your attention!”

2.  Conversely if he is deeply engaged in something and I try to interact with him he will look at me sternly and say, “mommy, I am loosing my temper with you”.

3.  Seth will confidently walk up to the counter at the coffee shop and ask for, “milk with room for cream please”.

4.  When he is tired, “I am out of steam…AND gas”!

5.  In the car, “So mommy how many gallons per hour is your car going”?  I have not had the heart to correct this one, and I don’t really know how to explain.

6.  SEUSISIMS  Seth’s favorite book is The Lorax by doctor Seuss.  He commonly prescribes “butterfly milk” to plants, animals and humans who do not look well.  In frenzies of imaginary destruction and dismemberment he yells, “I am going to wack you with my super ax hacker”!

2.  DE JOUR The other day in the tub I over heard Seth singing a song from school…

School Version: Love grows 1 by 1, 2 by 2 and 4 by 4

Seth’s Version: Love grows 1 by 1, 2 by 2 and 60 by 90

Seth measures love and life on a grand scale, gosh why be constrained by conventional numerical progression when you could “go big”.

I’m an unabashed, sentimental starfish mommy, and I love Seth’s language usage.  He is confident enough to belt out his opinions, questions and feelings “medum loud” when ever the mood strikes him.

…Stay tuned for Part 2 Crab Carcass Party!

At some point this week Seth told me that he has two favorite colors pink and red.  Pink is his primary favorite color, and red is his secondary favorite color.  This more or less resonated with the Seth I have known from spirit to flesh.  Seth’s energy has always seemed red to me sometimes even magenta, pink fits neatly in that spectrum.  After all, if he was always red then he would never vary from his basic mold.  Add a little white and you get shades of pink, a glimpse of character and self-definition.

Pink is all around us here in our California February.  For all intents and purposes it is spring here.  It is not the spring fever spring that overcomes the cloistered New Englander after mud season.  It is the “oh if you insist” spring, coaxed by temperate zones who can’t be bothered with the cold.  These are the zones that endure the long dry tedious summer in exchange for the miraculous few green months with winter relegated to absentia.  I’ve been to parties festooned with pink camellias.  I’ve idly observed the kids busy in the cradle of green grass and oxalis.  Gradually I’ve been toying with revisiting a memory.  If it were “wicked cold” here maybe the urgency of writing this would escalate.  Is it possible that flowers as lazy as camellias and banal as oxalis could provide insight into the core meaning of my life?

On a sunny February day at approximately one o’clock in the afternoon I sat down to play in the sandbox on our back patio.  I remember feeling weary of the humans that I was forced to endure in Kindergarten, how my mornings of stimulus gave way to the blessed, quiet afternoons at home.  The light was bright as it reflected off the bits of mint green paint that still clung to the 1950s cement.  I ran water from the hose and marveled at the crystalline nature of the substance.  I gathered camellia flowers and the impossibly yellow oxalis blooms.  After much organizing, the sand box transformed into a landscape of rivers, punctuated by floating flowers and constructed beauty.

Perhaps this process was the same as the many repetitions that came before it.  It may have taken many hundreds of hours in the sand box to get to this day but there it was, my first “ah-ha” moment.  People often refer to the “ah-ha” moment where a design is just right, just as it is – effortlessly absolute.  Well this was it for me, my first taste of creative satisfaction.  My first understanding that materials can be architected to bring about an aesthetic that mirrors exactly the vision the creator had in mind.  For an artist this cognitive realization is a moment that shapes our entire lives, we strive for it always.  Wither we are conscious of it or not “ah-ha” drives us toward meaning.

In the process of raising a child I have born witness to the hot bed of cognitive development that is the sandbox.  Although Seth consistently has an agenda I wonder if someday soon he will have his “ah-ha” moment.  Or perhaps his mind works at a different pace.  He seems to have hourly “ah-ha” moments where he pops up in joy and shouts something like, “Ya concrete!  That’s what I’m talkin’ about.”  Perhaps he is just more social than I ever was, and his creative play develops mitigated by interaction with others.  My own ideas and self-awareness were only reflected by nature.  Our sand box experiences may shape us to become very different people.

Seth won’t have the same experience as I did.  I’ve been reconciled to that from conception.  However, I can wish Seth the joy of “ah-ha” moments.  I can studiously make note that he refers to oxalis blossoms as “bell flowers”, and I can quietly indulge his love of the color pink.  I try to encourage Seth in his explorations of pink.  It may get beaten out of him later, but today he is standing his ground and keeping pink as his muse, his chromatic guide to the world of beauty and joy.  It sounds something like this ~ Ah-ha mommy!  I know…we should paint it…PINK!

I took these photos of our ornamental kale in December.  The deepest pink in the shadowed crevasses is the color of the camellias that grew next to the back patio of our 1953 tract house.  The inspiration for this post came from Carolyn Fosters writing exercise Root Memories.

Today we went to Ano Nuevo to see the Elephant Seals.  Mommy was not smart enough to make reservations for the proper observation area, so we opted to try our luck on the beach.  As soon as we got down the little stairway trail we almost ran smack into a sleeping Elephant seal.  As luck would have it this is the beach where all the reject males snooze.  I guess all the bulls that are not tough enough to wrangle their way to the breeding beach are relegated to nap here and nurse thier wounds.  The marine mammal action was pretty drowsy, sans the occasional sand flip.  Needless to say we kept our distance and Seth used extreme caution around these ton size monsters.

Every once in a while one of the bulls would roll over, or perform some interesting flipper acrobatics.  Once I got used to their size and the fact that they were not really moving, much less giving any humans the least notice I relaxed a little.  Beyond a few elephant seals was another seal.  This animal was much cuter and frankly more interesting, especially in the fur department.  Seth was thrilled to observe her because, “Orcas eat harbor seals.”

Frankly I can understand why everyone was asleep on the beach, it was hot!  We set about making ourselves at home, building sand castles, beach combing and taking in the scene.

…Until the fight broke out!  Two males were having it out down the beach.  It was a fierce, bloody splashing mess.  Of course all the humans on the beach had to go and watch.  At one point I could see fighting Elephant seals in the distance and frolicking naked 2year old in the foreground, a nice juxtaposition of species (Mia as it turned out her name was, graced us with her presence later on while we dissected kelp seeds with our pink pocket knife scissors).

The whole affair was rather upsetting.  The winner flounced about in the surf gloating.  The looser sort of washed up on the beach and lay there looking forlorn surrounded by curious humans.  It was all very undignified and I tried not to stare.

Seth was binocular man today.  He preferred to use the very old heavy binoculars that apparently belonged to his great grandfather Clifford (they said so on the side).  Even though the magnification was about 3 times weaker than the other pair, and weighed about 3 times as much as the other pair they seemed to lend an air of “serious business” that Seth was all about today.

In the end of the trip we doubled back to the interpretive deck at the freshwater pond.  The second time around I had a chance to admire the willows without the pressure of Elephant Seal pursuit bearing down on me.  I get so much joy out of willow stems in the winter time.  Although at 75degrees, one could hardly call this winter.  None the less, the willows pretended it was cool out and showed off their amazing palettes.

It’s been about nine months since we visited Natural Bridges. I forgot how convenient it is to have a kid day there. We parked our stuff on the beach and took excursions to the tide pools, the inland pond and the butterfly hollow. When we first arrived the beach was short on humans and full of birds. As the day progressed many more humans arrived, but pretty much all the birds stayed.

It was a renaissance sort of day for me. We have been doing more city things, and less days in nature. I miss this. Spending a day watching the natural world is core to my well being.

Seth was very concerned about me getting too close to the edge of the tide pools (for good reason), so I got an earful about safety. Regardless he did have a sense of wonder and expressed many times how amazing this was.

It was high tide so the deep water came right up to the rock shelf where the tide pools were. This gave us a chance to experience the way the deep water moved without having to be in it. We also go to see a pelican out fishing.

Watching the pelicans fly over was a big treat because they all have different patterns on their wings and their coloring varies radically. I love the tip feathers on their wings.

All of our excursions were punctuated by sand play. Without the distraction of anything other than sea birds and a fancy camera today I really paid attention to Seth playing. Or rather I listened to Seth playing. I knew he sings to himself when he plays. However, today I realized he is singing work songs, kinda like if Merle Haggard sang Zippity Do Da – a real “labor” vibe.

After the beach we hit the Long Marine Lab. Seth got to meet his first Rockfish in person. This seemed more exciting to me than to him. I think he was tired and the Leopard Shark sort of stole the show.

At the hands on area Seth kept taking starfish from this girl. I thought he was just throwing his weight around, but I was wrong. When I went over he gave me a long starfish stewarding lecture on how the starfish did not want to be out of water for too long or they would die. Every time I held one, he was anxious to get it back in the water lest it expire ~ snarf!

Finally out on the deck Seth found something that really caught his attention – a tool! I find he likes all activities to be punctuated by tool usage of some sort. He likes things that “work”, they bring him joy.

I like immense whale skeletons. They bring me joy. Look at the way every piece fits together and the angle of repose. This would be a great plein air subject, maybe I should roust Steph. The pelicans flew by one last time in the setting sun, a perfect ending shot.

So what do you do on a Saturday sans kid? You go for a big long hike! Yesterday we hit Russian Ridge. We were not 15 minutes into the hike when this casual coyote ambled up the trail. Russian Ridge is a great place for coyotes to live because there are no dogs allowed, so there is no one to wreak havoc on their leisurely lifestyle. In fact, the pair that we observed seemed perfectly at home with us. They didn’t seem to mind us taking photos of their afternoon amble come hunting spree.

The immediate consumption of prey sort of set the mood for the rest of the day. I forget how sudden death is in nature. One minute you are a conscious gofer and the next minute “you” no longer exists. In a matter of seconds your entire frame is crushed and stomached. Your existence is gone in the blink of an eye. It’s hard for a slow moving human to get her head around this concept. I know death happens to humans in an instant also, but it does not mean I am equipped to process that experience. I harbor the illusion that time is on my side to process all things, but it’s not.

Presumably the consumed looks something like this on the other side.

Other things on the hike had more time on their sides. The ancient oaks always cause me to pause and ponder time. Although they can be snapped up by chain saws or fire, their usual mode of existence is slow and long. I wonder about their consciousness. I wonder what they feel. How they pass their time, sacred as it is.

The terrain of Russian Ridge really emphasizes the fine line between earth and sky. That kind of place where you feel the urge to jump and fly, but are just a little too reserved. What if the chance was really there? Would you take it?

Days like yesterday are full of great light. Who needs a bright sunny day when you can have a moody, ambiguous, unpredictable cloudy day. I told Ryder that it was the kind of day where I wanted to come home from my hike, curl up with a cup of tea and read about dragons. Goddess bless I will get lots of chances to do this with Seth. There is nothing that gets the imagination aroused more than a cloudy day with unexpected colors and textures – a visual passage to the realm of fantasy.

Much of life with Seth looks like this.

True Love.

Sticks in water, another common theme in our life.

Add Uncle Cary and it becomes very serious business.

Out of the blue water, Pirates arrive!  Could it possibly get any better?

Yes it could get better becasue apparently those very pie rats need help in getting thier boats out of the water.

My brother, ever the great blue heron.

The idea of a self portrait rarely crosses my mind.  At least not until last Sunday when we all dove head first into a pile of dry oak leaves.  No one was more excited about the leaf pile than me.  A leaf pile is everything I love, a place where I am comfortable, where I can shed the cerebral and really sense the earth.  Delving into dry leaves is so sensory and human, yet at the same time that sense of self is lost to euphoria and dust.  I felt compelled to have someone take my photo.  Those moments embodied everything that is beautiful to me.  So these are my “glamour shots” if you will, photos of me absolutely as I am.

Frolicking is animal nature. When we frolic we take an active part in decomposition. We break down organic matter. A dry leaf pile is just at that tipping point, at the point where life ebbs and decomposition begins. It’s a holy place. Burying myself under the leaves I experienced what it was like to be soil, or a Jerusalem cricket, or another leaf. Covering myself with leaves helped me understand death. Bursting out from the pile made me feel so alive

Rosa and I share the same birthday.  A mere 34 year age difference between us does not seem to hinder our connection.  Rosie is 2 and blissfully engrossed in leaf play.  Alis is 36 and feeling comparable.  I find Rosie’s presence grounding.  She has an earthen stability that counters my blue sky drift.  Rosa is a good mirror.  I watch her standing up for her self, enforcing her own boundaries.  She reminds me that I too have those inherent skills, it’s just a matter of resurrecting, and putting them to good use.

I like to think of the self portrait as an honest glimpse of who I am.  So much of our energy is spent constructing who we are.  So, rather than composing an image of “who I am” and executing, I felt the need to capture the decomposition of what was really there.  Decomposition causes us to see ourselves everywhere.  We see ourselves in the nature around us and in other people, a random sampling of reflections – dissonance without composition.  These insights help us understand pieces of ourselves that are hard to access, buried under the layers of our constructed personalities.  For me, decomposition took a pile of dry leaves, my niece and a good photographer.  How might you decompose yourself?

Auxiliary Leaf Frolickers