In the middle of the night, Ed and I talked about schools. We'd both read an article about how some kids do not thrive in schools -- quite the contrary, they suffer. What if you have such a child? Forget about the option of home schooling. Assume you are a working parent. Do you, nonetheless search for alternatives to school? In other words, do you take seriously a child's misery when she or he is forced to go to school?
Ed was such a kid. He is, perhaps, one of the most widely read persons I know, but he did not like school. I'll skip a description of what that lead to, but I do know that a pandemic type forcing of online learning would have thrilled him. I pushed back that this is only good for privileged children who have at least pseudo-supportive environments, but Ed shook off such generalizations.
I'm not talking about solutions, he tells me, at about 3:30 a.m. Those take far greater thought and discussion. I'm just saying that it should be recognized that for some kids, schools are a terrible idea.
*. *. *
Do you know the weed purslane? It sort of looks like a spider web, with little droplets of water stuck to it. We have it all over our courtyard. At least I think that's what we have. Today, I read an article in a local news source that claimed purslane leaves are incredibly healthy and should be used in veggie dishes or even salads. The question is -- how much do I trust myself in plant identification? What if what we have is actually not purslane at all, but some toxic horror that gives you hives in your stomach? (I know you can't really have hives in your stomach.)
When I worked for three years in Madison's high end restaurant as a line cook, I heard a lot from our chef about cooking with weeds. She was big on that. Forage and cook up what you find. She was one of few chefs at the time who liked to make a nice batch of nettle soup and charge you a small fortune for it. I'm far less trusting of what grows in the wild (or in our courtyard). Too many stories from my childhood of village people poisoning themselves with mushrooms and weird berries. Still, we have so much purslane! Should I be brave?
*. *. *
It's a beautiful day today. Stunning to the core. Sunny, warm, completely inviting. Still, I do only a modest garden clean up. Ed has a morning meeting and we need to fit in a breakfast before that.
(Not so busy that I can't load a whole bunch of garden photos for you!)
(Breakfast: Dance sniffs, we eat.)
*. *. *
The kids come and today their enthusiasm spills over. We feed the chickens, check for eggs, take a stroll to the new orchard. And we look up at the moon. There in broad daylight.
I do get an eye roll from one of the grandkids in response to my constant identification of all the blooming flowers in the meadow. As in -- does it really matter what that one is called? Can't we just concentrate on looking for four leaf clovers? But I like that image of a child groaning at grandma's flower obsession. It's sweet.
More super pig sketches!
*. *. *
And in the afternoon I catch up on calls and owed letters, while the sun moves gracefully from one side of the farmhouse to the other and the cats stretch lazily on the porch and the crickets make a racket somewhere in the grasses of the farmette lands.
Finally, just before supper, I take a walk -- to the development.
(stepping out the door...)
(Looking at the farmette from the back...)
I have in the back of my mind a bunch of new virus worries (not ours but of friends, exposed), but I'm keeping them neatly pushed back. I mean, this is life right now: a new question, a symptom, an exposure. Worry wont get you anywhere. Belief in good outcomes is way more satisfying. So, I believe in good outcomes.
We eat a typical summer supper of grilled stuff. It almost doesn't matter what it is, right? The taste is of the grill (even if for us, that's a cheat because we don't actually use a grill to grill foods!). With corn of course. In August, you cannot have too much of good corn.
Ed was such a kid. He is, perhaps, one of the most widely read persons I know, but he did not like school. I'll skip a description of what that lead to, but I do know that a pandemic type forcing of online learning would have thrilled him. I pushed back that this is only good for privileged children who have at least pseudo-supportive environments, but Ed shook off such generalizations.
I'm not talking about solutions, he tells me, at about 3:30 a.m. Those take far greater thought and discussion. I'm just saying that it should be recognized that for some kids, schools are a terrible idea.
*. *. *
Do you know the weed purslane? It sort of looks like a spider web, with little droplets of water stuck to it. We have it all over our courtyard. At least I think that's what we have. Today, I read an article in a local news source that claimed purslane leaves are incredibly healthy and should be used in veggie dishes or even salads. The question is -- how much do I trust myself in plant identification? What if what we have is actually not purslane at all, but some toxic horror that gives you hives in your stomach? (I know you can't really have hives in your stomach.)
When I worked for three years in Madison's high end restaurant as a line cook, I heard a lot from our chef about cooking with weeds. She was big on that. Forage and cook up what you find. She was one of few chefs at the time who liked to make a nice batch of nettle soup and charge you a small fortune for it. I'm far less trusting of what grows in the wild (or in our courtyard). Too many stories from my childhood of village people poisoning themselves with mushrooms and weird berries. Still, we have so much purslane! Should I be brave?
*. *. *
It's a beautiful day today. Stunning to the core. Sunny, warm, completely inviting. Still, I do only a modest garden clean up. Ed has a morning meeting and we need to fit in a breakfast before that.
(Not so busy that I can't load a whole bunch of garden photos for you!)
(Breakfast: Dance sniffs, we eat.)
*. *. *
The kids come and today their enthusiasm spills over. We feed the chickens, check for eggs, take a stroll to the new orchard. And we look up at the moon. There in broad daylight.
I do get an eye roll from one of the grandkids in response to my constant identification of all the blooming flowers in the meadow. As in -- does it really matter what that one is called? Can't we just concentrate on looking for four leaf clovers? But I like that image of a child groaning at grandma's flower obsession. It's sweet.
More super pig sketches!
*. *. *
And in the afternoon I catch up on calls and owed letters, while the sun moves gracefully from one side of the farmhouse to the other and the cats stretch lazily on the porch and the crickets make a racket somewhere in the grasses of the farmette lands.
Finally, just before supper, I take a walk -- to the development.
(stepping out the door...)
(Looking at the farmette from the back...)
I have in the back of my mind a bunch of new virus worries (not ours but of friends, exposed), but I'm keeping them neatly pushed back. I mean, this is life right now: a new question, a symptom, an exposure. Worry wont get you anywhere. Belief in good outcomes is way more satisfying. So, I believe in good outcomes.
We eat a typical summer supper of grilled stuff. It almost doesn't matter what it is, right? The taste is of the grill (even if for us, that's a cheat because we don't actually use a grill to grill foods!). With corn of course. In August, you cannot have too much of good corn.
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