Today Seth was the cooking boy and we brought sunflower seeds.  I originally had the idea to bring this snack when we still had sunflowers in the garden to bring  to class.  However, the sunflower snack was postponed and the idea seemed academic upon revival today.  Not to mention that after tasting the seeds out of the oven Seth asked me if we could bring some different seeds for him to eat.  All this did not bode well, but the snack was a huge success.  The kids seemed to like eating the little seeds, playing with the seed heads and they even ate the sunflower sprouts.  Here is what we brought:

Pre hulled sunflower seeds, baked at 325 for 8 minutes on baking trays.  We served them in paper baking cups.

Sprouted sunflower seeds, sunflower seeds in a few inches of dirt.  Ours only had 5 days to gestate, but this was good because the seeds were still on the sprouts and enhanced the effect.

Sunflower seed heads.  We saved these big heads from the summer garden.  We let them dry fully inside so that the birds would not eat them.

We augmented with the last of the tomatoes that the kids harvested in the garden.  These were not part of the official snack, but they are so pretty I can’t not include a picture!

I like the camera because photos help me see blurred, bright or empty spaces.  I never think we should stop experimenting with composition.  Even today Seth and I were remarking about the “odd” negative spaces in a block construction we had made.

Apples have so many varying textures, colors and demeanor.  These photos really capture the different flavors, states of growth and decay.

Wilder Ranch Harvest Festival.

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.

Seth and I were unable to see each other on the actual Harvest Moon, but we started our own harvest on Monday afternoon.  We hitched a ride with Martina to our class field trip at Rodoni Farm Pumpkin Patch in Santa Cruz County.  This year Aydin and Seth were all about “the haul”.  They set about piling as many pumpkins as possible into their wagon.  Needless to say we purchased an entirely different set of pumpkins that were selected for their edible qualities.  The boys found ornamental crook neck squash that looked like guns, and Seth was able to pay for those with a dollar from my wallet.  I’m not sure how he purchased the ammo.  I love the energy at the pumpkin patch, the sun is brilliant, the sky is clear and the pacific reflects the children’s joy a thousand times over.

On Tuesday Seth was eager to harvest at his own home.  Seth and his cousins had taken care of “harvesting” most of the pumpkins and squash from our garden (see below).  This fact did not deter Seth, he marched straight to the beans and got started with his harvest.  At a certain point in the late summer beans just become too much to keep up with.  Ours had definitely gone by, and Seth spent a good half hour picking the seeds from the pods and collecting them in a jar.  He told me we were going to save them for planting next year, however I saw them getting hauled around in a Playskool marine mammal rescue truck after dinner so we’ll see.  We were not the only creatures harvesting.  Lots of little birds were busy eating seeds from the sunflowers.  We had to take long breaks from harvesting to watch them chow down.

Our garden has graciously yielded so much his summer, we are truly thankful.  In all it’s glory we managed to miss all sorts of little treasures.  Tuesday was all about treasure hunting.  We found a few more peppers, a passel of little eggplants and basil galore.  I stayed up late on Tuesday night and made tons of pumpkin seed pesto to hold us till Christmas.  Our week of Mommy Seth Harvesting ended on a perfect note.  Daddy Jim picked Seth up on Wednesday and we all talked for a long time.  Jim harvested all the straggling tomatoes which he carted off in a bike helmet for cooking.  I said goodbye to my loved ones for a few days, and goodbye to this garden for the summer.  It is time to layer compost these beds, and let them dream the winter away till we meet again in the spring.

Man dens can be quite dingy and disorganized.  Since I spend two weekends a month at Ryder’s, I decided that was enough time to warrant an intervention.  The house is fashioned of slump stone with concrete floors.  Overall it has a very 70’s vibe.  However, there are a few saving graces like the awesome sun room where I have my office, and the retro Heath tile counters in the kitchen.  After spending a year frequenting this place the house finally spoke to me.  It had to be fresh green, it called for graphic nature and bright white.

The little side table was a Calderon cast-off in sort of a dark cheapo mahogany.  I painted it white (all ID Grads cover your ears) and in the same stoke distressed the paint with a sander.  It holds the room together nicely.  It adds that feminine touch that all caves really want but are too proud to come out and ask for.  The bed got a complete makeover.  I even made the trek to IKEA for the right pillows at the right price.  After letting them off-gas  I clothed them in Herb by Jessica Jones.  I found an abandoned white sheet set in a closet, and quickly got those laundered.  There is a dark dusty fireplace here too, so I found the fire screen outside, I cleaned it thoroughly and whipped up a little mosaic to cover it…ta-da instant dinge-be-gone.  The fabric is mainly Green Pressed Leaves By Erin McMorris.  I thought this pattern best reflected the spirit of the house, but I had to turn it on the bias anyway.  The best surprise of all was all the little ceramic plates that appeared here and there as I sorted through the detritus.  The artist is Pat Oyama.  Her work is has a light earthy quality.  Now that they are all hung together on their own wall we can properly admire each piece, it’s own little visual poem.

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

So here is my first little (post kid) oil painting project.  The duo was based on squares from a little quilt I made a while back.  Upon closer examination the quilt seemed to be sort of fresh and hopeful.  However in the process of putting the oil paint layers on I realized that I had to bury that dream.  I guess having those failed ideals of home and nesting buried in this painting is good.  I now have ruminated on the experience, changed my expectations and hung the duo over the fireplace at my new digs.

On Tuesday we hosted the ALS Association Bay Area Chapter fund raising luncheon.  This event sort of snuck up on our little household.  We only collectively realized this was actually happening a week before.  The fairy garden was awash in dry Bishop’s Lace and the “lawn” was a bit frayed around the edges.  The party was a good excuse for us to overhaul the untended spots.  Mattie forked up the dough, and we bedecked the fairy garden in brand new perennials; Chocolate Cosmos, Dianthus and Coreopsis,  to name a few.  Even the abandoned succulent garden got a face lift.

I thought before hand that I would be fine with this event.  Seth unearthed his hoard, and bedecked the garden in fairy stones.  He wore his shirt that I painted with Grandma Belle when I was six.  We both gave our little speech about how mom was an artist, and her legacy lives on in us.  However, when it was time to leave for the park I felt relieved.

I don’t seem to relate my mother’s ALS experience and death with her.  I remember and cherish all my memories of her, but when forced to confront ALS I skirt the issue.  I can’t even get my brain to concentrate on it.  When you tell people that you mother died of ALS, you might as well have turned a search light on a deer.  ALS is currently an incurable disease with only one outcome.  As humans we survive by not dwelling on the unpleasant and unfixable.  It is easy to be a cheerleader for cancer because lots of people survive it.  No one survives ALS.  That said, I really admire the staff of the ALS Association.  I think they have one of the hardest jobs/life experiences, yet they were all so confident and professional.

Although the event was filled with faces and people, I couldn’t help but notice the empty chairs.  Every time I noticed an empty chair I envisioned my mother sitting in it.  I saw her reading, cutting with scissors, dialing a telephone.  I saw her doing all the subtle quiet activities that make up most of our lives.  The nature of ALS is subtle.  Although each transitional stage of ALS has it’s drama, the disease forces subtlety on everyone.  Days become slow and quiet, and those giving care are forced to listen more closely for the slightest movement that signals a need of their loved one.

Our garden rejuvenation, although cheery reminded me nothing of ALS.  I left feeling that our efforts had no connection to the event.  I have no regrets, I’m sure that everyone thought it looked lovely.  However, next year I will have a much better idea of how to reconnect with my experience of ALS.

Spending four days in Butano Canyon last weekend was incredibly visually peaceful.  The light there is not just filtered it’s layered.  Take this naturalized hydrangea bush.  A hydrangea inside a bamboo grove, inside a redwood forest, inside a rocky canyon, inside dry hills, inside coastal mountains…  You get the idea micro climates nested in micro climates, paintings nested in paintings, the ultimate in refined light.