Update: Anticipate

Over the New Year I decided to embrace a word for the year instead of making goals or resolutions.  I felt like God handed me, lovingly, the word anticipate.  I felt like I was moving away from old commitments and into new ones, just wasn't sure what the new ones were yet.  I love being aware of the movements of God in my life and living in trust as my life takes new turns.  I learned long ago not to force change, but to anticipate, hope, plan, and trust change.

So, guess what!?  I am embracing a new teaching challenge: preschool.  Never would I have predicted this career choice.  I started out in secondary education, loved my stint at the college level, but now I'm actually very excited and eager to begin this new venue for my passion of teaching.

I'm finding myself taking on some new volunteer work also.  I'm trying to get some planning and movement in the way of long-range plans for my sons' school playground.

But don't worry, I'm passing off many of my old commitments: church women's retreat, mom's Circus Teabreak's group, standing back a bit more from Sunday school leadership (although still taking my turn at teaching), found a new mom to take on the school newsletter, dropping Site Council for next year...probably not coaching my son's soccer team (Daddy says he wants too.).  So, don't worry, I actually think I'm striking a more healthy balance and focusing on fewer things and doing those few things well:  teacher, mother, wife, daughter, and friend. 

But, this transition period has been busy, and that is why there has been less writing lately on my blog.  Just thought my faithful readers would like to know.

Oops, 606 Dollars Per Family

Correction: According to Real Simple magazine, the average family spends 606 dollars on all school supplies: clothing and pencils, and that includes the whole family and not just one child.

I can see how that easily happens, and I know that will be us once all of our boys are in school. I can't even imagine what the cost will be like when I factor in sports fees and physicals etc.

We joke that I will be returning to work once they are all in school just so that we can afford to feed them, but I may have to get a second part-time job just to pay for their school related expenses.

My original post on this topic got a lot of conversation going, so now I am curious if anyone is all done school shopping

Where Art The Sun?

Where Art The Sun?

Did I really just turn up the heat? In June?
Oh this is not right.
I've tried to remain positive, ignore the gloomy skies,
But I give up! Its bad. Its depressing.
There is rust in my orchard. I've purchased a second flat of basil.

Will the berries ever ripen?
Will my legs ever need to be shaved again?
I want my annual crop of freckles.
Where the sun?

My boys are still wearing their long sleeves.
They are still playing inside.
We are going crazy, dear Oregon. Crazy!
Crazy!

I've just had a request for a fire.
They say they are cold.

I dream of a timeshare, somewhere hot and sunny.
What color is the sky, beyond the clouds?
I can't remember.

It is like a long marathon,
But we've all passed the finish line
And we just keep running, running
Running.

There is promise.
Surely this won't last.
Surely, it'll be nice.
There is hope for Saturday.

Come quickly Lord Sun,
Come.
Or I might just give in and start
Complaining.

2010 Calendar Farm Quotes Continues

"Trade increases the wealth and glory of a country; but is real strength and stamina are to be looked for among the cultivators of the land." William Pitt


"I know of not pursuit in which more real and important services can be rendered to any country than my improving its agriculture." George Washington





"When tillage begins, and other arts follow. The farmers, therefore, are the founds of human civilization." Daniel Webster


"The farmer has to be an optimist or he wouldn't still be a farmer." Will Rogers






"Farming looks mighty easy when your plow is a pencil, and you're a thousand miles from the cornfield." Dwight D. Eisenhower.

"Life on a farm is a school of patience; you can't hurry the crops or make an ox in two days." Henri Alain

2010 Calendar

Remember those black and white calendars that featured kids doing romantic things, all dressed up and carrying colored red roses? Yep, had one of those. I also had a Norman Rockwell calendar that I loved. My son gets his first calendar this year; he actually requested this. How can a mother deny that request? So, my mom found the perfect one.....an NRA sponsored calendar from my deceased Grandfather's pile. Now, I am not a fan nor member of the NRA, but it does have perfect boy pictures on it. Each month features another dog with his boy. (Oh, and a strategically placed gun.) I'm holding the whole gun/weapon thing loosely these days: I have boys. Boys seem strangely drawn toward weapons. All of our current weapons are made of plastic. Note: I'm pretty sure this calendar is not going to send my son down a path of violence.

OK, that was a lot of blabber just to say that I have a new favorite calendar this year put out by the Oregon Farm Bureau. The farmer in me sings. Each month mirrors the seasons outside my window. April=tulips. May=orchard blossoms. June=berries. You get the idea.

The best part are the quotes that accompany each month. Here are my favorites:

"The first farmer was the first man. All historic nobility rests on the possession and use of the land." Ralph Waldo Emerson

"Agriculture is our wisest pursuit, because it will in the end contribute most to the real wealth, good morals, and happiness." Thomas Jefferson

"I had rather be on my farm than be the emperor of the world." George Washington

"Life on a cattle ranch...was a fine, healthy life; it taught a man self-reliance, hardihood, and the value of instant decision." Theodore Roosevelt

"The farmer is the only man in our economy who buys everything at retail, sells everything at wholesale, and pays the freight both ways." JFK

"If you tickle the earth with a hoe, she laughs with a harvest." Douglas William Jerrold

OK, so I basically like them all. I'll make the other quotes another blog post. Keep it short, and hopefully you'll read them all.

I'm Just Not Ready

My pumpkins still gleam. I love the yellows and oranges. I'm not ready to let go of fall and embrace winter....Christmas. Plus, I really need to deep clean my house before I cover all the muck with tree and tinsel. I'm not a humbug. I do love Christmas. I love anticipating it. I start shopping in September, sometimes August...if I see the perfect thing.

We have traditions that I embrace. We make sugar cookies, gingerbread houses, we gift the boys a new ornament every year, we go to Storybook Land, listen to Christmas music in the van, read Christmas books, play with the nativity set, open one gift each night (3-5 nights before Christmas), look at lights at night....

I never do an artificial tree. I always want the real thing. We all hop on the tractor and rumble though the woods looking for our perfect one.

I know once I bring down the boxes of decor, dive in, go to a Christmas party...I'll be fully in the mood. But maybe I'm dragging my feet because I want to hold on to Thanksgiving and fall just a bit longer. I really hope I'm not growing old and getting too practical.

No Martha Stewart!

Martha Stewart would find me a complete disgrace. I did get her magazine, ages ago....before kids. I got it because it looked so---nice. Those cakes on the cover, so delicious. But I soon canceled after I attempted to make a few of her creations and wasn't even sure where to find many of the ingredients in the grocery store. Perhaps they didn't even carry those specialty items in the grocery store I frequented.

I would never make it on her staff. My ideas would be snubbed and guffawed at. But, still, I have a few good ideas, and so welcome to my version of Home and Garden/Real Simple.



Here is to little tables and art spaces for kids! My mom found this for me last summer at a garage sale for three dollars; it came with three chairs. It has saved our dinning table. Before, I was always having to clean off all their projects to make way for meal times, and then after I got meals all cleaned up....again appeared the creative messes. Also, children love to have a space just their size. Since we embraced this space, my oldest has really gotten in to coloring and drawing and writing. It also makes a perfect spot for their Lego projects. I stole the idea of a ribbon for hanging their art work on, but it is a good one!



I am so glad I gave up on trying to get their crayons back in the crayon boxes. I tried all sorts of other containers, but nothing seemed to stick until I came across this large, glass jar! It is perfect. I highly recommend it.



I am not one of those moms who created a Pottery Barn theme for my kids' rooms. I did get a bit inspired for my son's nursery....we did a simple star theme, but when we moved to our new home I was so overwhelmed by all the other rooms I needed to decorate that the boys' rooms got the shaft. However, this has actually worked in my favor.

My oldest is just now starting to care about his space and how he decorates his room. I'm so glad I didn't go all out with a Cars theme or baseball only to discover that was a passing fancy.

The catalyst for this room ownership seemed to be the shelf pictured above. What I love about this shelf is that it is fastened into the wall and is one less piece of furniture they can move around and launch themselves from. This shelf, nestled next to his bed, made him feel a sense of ownership. The first night he slept next to it he said, "Oh, I just love my shelf. It is perfect." Then he requested a ribbon for hanging art. We put it next to his bed, so he could look at it at night. Then he got inspired and requested a chalkboard. (Pictures coming later. I did a chalkboard that you paint onto the wall.) The best part is he now wants to keep his room clean, spotless! Love it! I never have to ask him to clean his room. The other day we went to the hardware store, and he picked out colors--two different tones of blue. We will work on that next month.

He started receiving posters for each birthday and Christmas. This reflects his changing likes and interests and is way more cost effective than deciding that his whole room is a theme like ships or cars or frogs. His theme: things he likes!

To add a bit of splash and color I let the boys hang these birthday table cloths. They love them; they hang above their beds. Cheap and fun. Also, easy to remove when they no longer like Spiderman or Cars.




My youngest loves cars. He also does not like to sleep in total darkness, so this race car light my mom got him for his birthday is perfect.


It gives off the right amount of light, enough to comfort, but also doesn't keep him awake.

Lastly, the thing that will not only horrify Martha but most of you....my sock drawer.



I hate finding matching socks. I find the whole thing to be rather frustrating. So, when I see a sock I just throw it into this drawer next to my dryer. Then when I can't close it anymore, I know it is time to sort....surely I'll find a few pairs.

Think what you will....it works for me.

A is for Apple

I've been doing a lot of living lately...less writing. (Although I like to think writing is living.) I've been blogging in my mind. There have been some excellent ones! Probably my best ever. Which means they will never become written word. So, here are some pictures of my living. Enjoy! We did!

Husking Corn

Husking Corn

I love husking corn,
Watching the bucket overflow with husks and hair,
Oh the soft, yellow corn hair that always seems to stick.

I sit on the back porch and face the sunset,
The summer's warm rays upon me.
I sing, or think, or talk out loud.

Then I give my dog a pat on the head and turn
To go inside.
I hear the clatter and clutter of a summer's canning.

Peaches, pears, plums, green beans...
I only eat mom's.
I hand over the corn and watch it slip into the boiling water.

Beside it is a bubbling pan of zucchini and chard.
To the right, fresh zucchini bread.
I love summer's bounty.
----------------------------------------------------------------------

I wrote this poem in 2001. I spent that summer writing poems; they mostly revolved around my farm upbringing. I do love living on our farm again. I love living seasonally. It makes each season something to be embraced. Right now we are eating more corn, tomatoes, and plums than we know what to do with, but that is OK. For a time will come, very soon, when they will be no more. It is a very seize-the-day type of life.

The picture is of my grandpa, my sister, and I. He used to come down each September and help with the corn harvest. He is now 97 years old. He still asks about our orchard and garden.

You'll notice I talk about summer in this poem. Even though school has started and the summer is waning, it is still summer. September 22nd is the first day of fall. So, embrace these last days of this warm, free season.

First Day of School: Chickens

While most bloggers are chatting it up about the first day of school, I've decided to focus on chickens.

Chickens are the IT thing these days. Nothing says sustainable, green, organic, and living seasonally than a bunch of chickens flip-flapping in your back yard.

I like to think I am joining the rage not because of peer pressure, but because I have a strange love for chickens.

We had chickens when we were little. I want my boys to experience the same. You hardly make money or save money with your own crew of laying birds. A dozen eggs from the grocery is much cheaper. (We eat an average of 5 eggs a day.) However, I do think they taste better.

Oh, and our chickens will be "pasture" feed. They will have a large yard to cluck and scratch in and get all the worms and bugs they need.

Oh how yummy and fun they will be. Plus, good fertilizer for the garden.

We are hoping to get our chickens in late October. Grandpa is remodeling the old chicken house: new ventilation system, better laying boxes, windows for more light, and new ramp for their little legs to race down into the free range yard below.

I'm feeling very Oregonian! Hope the boys are on board.

Clouds of Smoke

I am one of those people who is very sad to see field burning come to an end in agricultural history....at least here in the Willamette Valley. I grew up with its excitement. I love the smell. And, it is way better for the environment than all the chemicals farmers will now be forced to put into the soil to produce pure seed.



Actually, field burning is quite good when it comes to going green. The Native Indians in the Willamette Valley were the first to clear and clean through grass burning practices.



But, this entry is not supposed to be political, merely nostalgic. Last week I made my sons notice the plumes of smoke for the last time. I wanted them to have a foggy memory of this practice. Next year all field burning will cease on the flat, southern Valley.



I am not a poet, but I did attempt to do so with this topic.

Clouds of Smoke

The black smoke rises while
The flood of flames create rhythmic movements.

A man on the water truck,
Around the field he goes.

Into the Ark, the house,
We take all our pets.

Waiting inside...
The excitement builds.

Then it's done.
Black patches scatter the Valley.

The smell of burnt earth...
The field's cycle begins again.

The Art of Blackberry -One of August's Many Fruits

Little thorns tore at my flesh. Briars reached out and gouged at my legs. My feet were harassed. I dressed all wrong. My top, although it was long sleeved, was a favorite for the hooks and barbs. I felt like I had done the tango with a barbwire fence. I knew better than to wear my whites, so I put on some black athletic shorts. Shorts. What was I thinking? I should have worn sturdy jeans. My shoes, my faithful summer companions, were my blue Chaco sandals....perfect for the blackberry bushes to get in and attack.

Blackberries are sweet, the picking....not so much.

I've been picking for roughly three decades now. I haven't changed my method. I stand carefully and cautiously as close as I can to the bushes. I step on various branches, stamping them down so I can get even closer. I maneuver my arm through the maze to get to the plumpest of berries. My fingers are purple and black. My lips too.

I never attempt to get enough to do jam. I just want a few bowls for a crisp or to smother over a nice bowl of vanilla ice cream. I don't have the mental stamina for more picking.

I got my two bowls filled late this morning. My picking was constantly being interrupted, but so is everything I attempt for I am an outnumbered mother. I asked the boys if they wanted to join me. They did not. I knew they'd change their minds; they always do.

Once they saw me out there they wanted to be where I was. My oldest is capable of putting on his own shoes and had no trouble getting out the backdoor, across the yard and through the cut, dry grass field. My middle son does not have these skills. He stood at the edge of the yard crying. I'm glad he stopped and waited. I have ventured across the dry, yellow fields of August and it hurts. The hollow straw cuts right through bare feet.

So, I left my bowls at the picking site, and I went to get him. He wanted his shoes. We had trouble finding them. We checked multiple locations in the house. We tried the van. We finally found his shoes on the kitchen counter. Then he didn't want them. He didn't want to pick. He wanted to eat graham crackers inside.

I headed back to my task of gathering berries. My oldest was no longer there. He was in imagination world: the sandbox.

Soon my middle son was crying again at the edge of the field. This time he wanted me to carry him. No shoes. He crawled onto my back. We headed out. As soon as I set him down he was sorry. His feet hurt. Not only was the straw causing his terrible morning to be even worse, he didn't like the blackberry bushes either. He ate a few and was done. Things were hurting him, out to get him.

I carried him back.

I started picking again. This was taking too long. Surely there was a better way. I am a genius, so it only took me three decades to come up with a better picking approach. (Plus, I had only maybe 30 more mins. until my baby woke from his nap and this task would be forced to a halt.) I walked back to the yard and located my garden gloves and pruning sheers. I cut off branches with ample clusters of blackberries. I cut three to four of these goldmines at a time. I sat, squatted, and plucked the berries into my blue bowls.

They filled quickly. I was done. I call this the Snip n' Pick Method.

I might actually make two blackberry crisps this year. It was just that good.

Next time, I will wear appropriate clothing and do it when my sons are all asleep. I will wear my spelunking headlamp, I guess.

Notes: Since writing this I was able to produce one large crisp and one batch of jam, yum! I am so jazzed that I plan on heading down to the river to get more August goodness.)

A Known Place

You know a vacation has been good when you are ready to go home, but a bit sad about leaving. We spent this last week up in Idaho and Washington, enjoying the family cabin. It sits by a small lake; it is perfect. I've been going to this place for 10 plus years now. It feels very comfortable to me. I think I have almost started to say, "Our cabin," even though it is my husband's families. This cabin was actually the first place I met my future in-laws.

When my husband and I were not even dating yet, he flew me up for the 4th of July and drove me straight from the airport to meet the family and the cabin. I can still see where everyone was sitting, the lighting was low. It was dark and late out. I was nervous...it all worked out because we all still gather at this place of first introductions.

Memories continue to be made in this place. My memories span a decade, my husband's his entire life.

My family never went anywhere more than once. Our vacations were all about seeing new things. I still crave the new and the adventure into uncharted waters, but I also appreciate the comfort of the known. Coming to this place is like putting on an old, warm, cozy sweater.

When I first arrive, I always climb to the second story and sit and look at the wood ceiling. I think it is beautiful. I like to pull open the blinds and see the sun dance on the lake below. I crave and anticipate the traditions of a crackling fire, swimming off the dock, the paddle boat, the 4-wheelers, picking and eating huckleberries.....OK, so I never pick them, but I enjoy eating them. Huckleberry picking is hard work....another blog....

A year doesn't seem complete without a summer visit to the cabin. A winter of snow and fun seems empty without it including this place and the family attached to it.

I love seeing my children anticipate these same types of memories that my husband had as a child. This makes generations now gone somehow connected to the living of our boys. Even though they will never know their great grandparents, they will know a place that started with them. And in this place they will feel complete and comfortable. This will be their sacred space where they grew and discovered.

I like that.

I am home now, and it feels good to get the suitcases unpacked and clothes put away. It is good to be back to a normal routine. There is always something nice about coming home, but when we leave the family cabin it is always bitter-sweet because we are saying goodbye to a friend or even a piece of ourselves. As we drive away I always try and get one last glimpse of the red roof before it disappears for another 6 to 12 months.

This time my husband said, "It feels like the year is now complete. December never feels like the end of the year for me. August and our trip to the cabin is my time of reflection."

And so it is.

Vacation....

My sister looked around as we ate our picnic lunch, "Lifestyles of the poor and unknown." Well, we certainly weren't the Rich and Famous, and that day as we sat near the ocean at a picnic table, in the drizzle and eating soggy tuna fish, I think we all felt a little poor and unknown or just a bit pathetic.

I still have the same picnic cooler. I still force my family to eat picnic lunches versus fast food when we travel. I like it a whole lot better. When I was little I would have done anything to get to eat at McDonald's; now I do anything to not eat there.

What is stirring these thoughts? We are off! It is our last vacation before the school year takes my husband away again. I love vacations. My parents gave me that, along with the green cooler. But when I vacation, I also like to be removed from the strange blog/facebook matrix world I sometimes exist in. So, until my return.....

Just know, the most encouraging thing you can do for me as a writer/blogger is to chime in every now and then, make a comment, become a follower. When this happens my happy, writing heart sores, and I want to write more.

Of This I Have No Doubt

The thoughts keep spilling out of me. What should my first line be? There are so many directions I could have this blog take. Mainly, I want the world to know how amazing my sister is. She is a mother to a boy, age nine. This boy is not your normal son. He never quite makes eye-contact. His words and phrases are robotic, repeated.

I watched him the other day make his way through my house. He enters the backdoor. He has a certain window he always opens. He heads next to my cracker stash, maybe gets some sour cream for taste. Then he goes upstairs to use the bathroom, his preference, and then he always ends up in the back bedroom where he rolls and frolics in the bed covers. I went to see what he was up to, and there he was, his little 9-year-old frame standing up on my hope chest, with the comforter hanging from his body like a Christmas pageant Shepard. He was smiles and laughter. "OK, come here. Jump! It'll be fun." He thought it was.

The older he gets the more odd he seems. He is autistic to the core. Classic autism. As time progresses it gets harder and harder to be his caregiver, and yet my sister does it with grace and dignity.

She gets frustrated by all the information out there on how to "heal" your child of autism, the therapies, the foods/diets etc. Where are the resources for those who are living with autism? Our pastor was talking about true character, that when hard times come the true character gets squeezed out like a sponge. Her character is squeezed out on a daily, constant basis. There is never a break.



On top of being autistic, he has Pica, so he eats everything and anything. It is like he is sensing his world through taste. The other day he was doing this to a brick in their backyard. Nothing is truly safe. He's tasted her furniture, her piano, dirt, the sandbox, toothbrushes, wood chips, paper clips....

She keeps doing what she does, loving and parenting. She's the first to admit she's not perfect. She has her moments when she cries to God and asks why. When she doesn't want to do it anymore, but she does. (Didn't Christ even do this in the Garden?)

She is a woman of amazing character. I think her reward in heaven should be great, and it will be; she looks forward to the day when her son can relate and be made perfect. She has no doubts that he will be in heaven with her someday, even if he never utters a prayer. I have no doubts either.

I told her that 100 years ago people would have seen him and labeled him the crazy child, the wild child. Most likely he would have been put away somewhere.

She said that at times you feel like inside there is no one, but then you look into his eyes and you can see his soul. This is true.

I've never cried about my nephew. We knew from a very young age that something was not right. He was less than a year old when we all noticed he wasn't hitting major developmental markers. Even as an infant, when you held him, he seemed distant and removed.



I finally cried the other day. I realized that I loved him. He is part of my family. He is my sister's son, and I grieved the loss of not really getting a normal connection with him. I think I have kept my emotional distance as a way of coping.

That is what every parent lives for, connection. That is why we all get so giddy when we see our baby's first smile. When they talk. When they ask us questions. When they tell us their stories.

This never will happen for my sister, although she does say there is a unique bond between the two of them.

I am completely humbled by her. She may be a mere 21 months older than me, but she is an old soul and a mentor to me as a mother. I love her dearly, and so wish I could fix or change her burden, but I can't. I can listen. I can sympathize. I can be encouraged in Christ as I watch her live.

We often hear people say that they feel God calling them to the mission field, teaching, nursing, politics, volunteerism, but you never hear a mother say, "I think God is calling me to give birth to a special needs child." No, instead we pray for a healthy baby.

Yet, I have always heard the heart of my sister say, "Your will Lord." Always.

Of this I have no doubt.

Simply Summer

Some things are just simply summer...summer reading programs at the library, swimming lessons, sprinklers, slip 'n slides, eating raw beans from the garden, crickets at night, shorts and blackberry picking, the rattle of the canner and its steam, sunsets, heatwaves, dripping Popsicles....summer.

We are in the thick of it, the direct middle. Since my family is bound to the school year calendar, this is when I begin to notice the school supplies displayed in stores. I desperately ignore the impending doom. This is when I panic because next month is August, then it all comes quickly to a stop. Instead of living January to December, I visualize the world turning August to September.

It just seem more accurate, more right. Shouldn't the year be put to sleep when you bring in the last harvest? September signifies that for me. It is when I do my last bit of beans, get in one last taste of a fresh peach. It is when my mums bloom while the rest of my flowers begin to fade. The amber hues rejoice. The grass is rough on my toes; we've stopped watering. We are waiting for the rains of October to green it up again.

I always look forward, but I'm getting better at living in the current. There is still a lot of summer living left. There are plenty of evening swims to be had. I'm giddy with anticipation, soon I will be devouring the orchard of its plums and pears. I can't wait to smell the ripe grapes in the warm evening. There are plenty of nights to sleep with the window open and listen to the crickets sing and discuss.

The tractors have yet to sir the earth and dust the world with their discs. I can remember crossing the fields right after the first plow. I was a child and needed to play with my neighbors. They lived two fields away. My ankles would twist with delight over the large clods of dirt. It was the subsequent plowing that made the dirt smooth and soft, no shoes needed.

As a child, summer seemed endless. It felt like a whole year past in those three month. It felt like I grew up and became a whole new person for all my friends to see once school came around again.

Even as I type this now, I can smell summer breeze through my office windows, breeze in and sit next to me as I ponder it all.

Camping....Is It Worth It?

It takes at least two days. Our washroom slowly fills up with all manner of packing....suitcases, boxes, sleeping bags, tents, water jugs.... My husband and I make a perfect team. I make the lists. (Although during this last camping trip the famous line was, "We need to put that on the list for next year.) I pack all our essentials to the backdoor. He makes the essentials fit in the van. I think he has the hard part; since I am spatially challenged I leave that to him. This year we removed two seats from the van to make it all fit. I thought we packed a lot when we introduced an infant to our traveling lives, but I'm thinking two growing boys demand even more: bike, tricycle, dump truck, tractor, soccer balls, goals....these last items don't fit nicely in a box.

Then we drive. We arrive. We play. We get dirty. We don't just get dirty, we are dirt. We become one with the dust and grime. We pretend that our daily swims in the lake are baths, but they really aren't. Why do I even pack a cosmetic bag? I never use it. I barely get a brush through my hair or toothpaste in my mouth. I did pack shoes for the boys, but they never wore them. They rambled through the woods with bare toes. My oldest asked, "Why does the blood come out of the skin?" I need to bring two boxes of bandages for next year's event.

We sleep, a bit. The air mattress helps; one has a slow leak. I end up with two boys in one tent and my husband with one in the other. We miss each other. He tried to send a text message to me in the middle of the night. I hear the beep, but can't locate it in the folds and layers of sleeping bags and blankets. It was deep down in the diaper bag. It was a sweet text. I read it the next day; I would have liked getting it in the night as we both lay awake, being perfectly still to keep our kids asleep.

Bedtime? It is dictated by the sun. Morning? Dictated by the crows. Sugar limit? S'mores have no limit, neither to red vines and gummy bears. Trail mix? They pick out the M&M's.

The camp cleanup takes even longer than the set up, but it is all part of the experience. We arrive at home, totally tired yet strangely refreshed. Even the baby is dirty and needing a bath. We soak and scrub. My feet will never be the same.

My washroom is again crowded with stuff, stuff to be washed and sorted. Stuff to be stashed and put away until next summer.




Yet we all love it. It is about family and being in the moment. I asked my oldest what his favorite part was. "Everything, I just liked everything. That's all."

Me too.
But it is worth it. We love it. We plan on doing it again and again.

More posts to come.....had a great vacation at the beach....many thoughts....

White Crosses and Gambling

The two things I noticed on my drive through the mountains of Montana, and a bit of the Big Sky part, were all the white crosses.

When we first crossed the border, we were not greeted by the typical Welcome to....sign, but rather a large, blue sign explaining that wherever there has been a road fatality, white crosses have been placed.

The next thing you notice is the speed limit.....70 mph on a country road. In Oregon, and I think most states, the limit on a highway is 55 mph. I am wondering is speed is the reason for all the fatalities? Is some organization hoping that seeing all these white crosses will cause people to voluntarily slow down? I'm wondering if native Montanans have gotten used to the crosses; for a visitor it was quite noticeable and very disturbing. At one bridge there were 17 crosses. Some were big, most were small. Was it a large family with many children? A church youth van on an outing? Who were the faces behind these crosses? What was their story.

White crosses were as frequent as mile posts. I asked a friend who has a relative in Kalispell about it, and she said that the choice to speed is a high value in the state. That even if you do get pulled over, you just carry some cash in your pockets because it is very easy to pay the police off when they pull you over. Interesting. A few years ago the speed limit was 90 mph, but the federal government refused to give funds for road improvements until the state lowered the speed limit.

The other noticing I had were all the gambling establishments. Not, spanky new ones that you'd find on the various reservations in Oregon, but dives with names like, LuLu's. On the main drag of town it seemed like every three storefronts was a casino. This really cheapens the landscape, so I am grateful that gambling is not legal in my state. Who gambles at all these casinos? The state population isn't that large. Is it the same few people? It was rather depressing thinking of how this addiction is destructive and robs families of so much, even when it is just the destructive pastime of one family member.

The natural landscape of Montana is a draw for visitors and residents. I would love to go back and explore, but the two above noticings did cause me to be a bit reflective and solemn.

I'd love to hear your thoughts on Montana and places you've visited there.

http://mtlegion.org/programs/markerloi.pdf

http://www.howwedrive.com/category/traffic-safety/

http://www.missoulian.com/specials/DUI/ruin.html

Top Ten Glacier Happenings

10. Going-to-the Sun Road: this is pretty much what you do when you come to Glacier. In Yellowstone you see Old Faithful. At the Grand Canyon you peak over the edge. In Crater Lake, you take a boat trip around Wizard Island. This road in Glacier is amazing. I can't believe it was constructed in the 1930's. A little scary, 100 feet had recently been washed away, and there are melting snow waterfalls raining down next to your car as you travel up to Logan Pass. Very steep and not for those who have a fear of ledges. There are many pull-outs for photo opportunities, but the best photos can be purchased in the gift shop at the top. I found all the amateur photographers hanging out of their sun roofs and passenger windows a bit funny.

9. Sitting at the top of Logan Pass in a sudden hail storm and eating a packed lunch in your van. Also smelling a very ripe diaper while you do this and since no one wants to get out, you freeze, and change the lad.

8. Running from your vehicle to the visitor center at the top of Logan Pass.




7. Hiking the short Logan Pass Trail, so we've heard... we were freezing and decided against it. We did hike to Avalanche Lake the next day. I was thinking 2 miles total when I read the 2 mile sign. But that was just 2 miles there and didn't include the 1 mile we had already hiked. I was very proud of myself, packing 35 lbs. of child a total of 6 miles only 4 months after giving birth! But, I was totally not proud of myself when my camera battery died before we made it to the lake and ultimate view. Boohoo, I only have shots of us on our way to Avalanche.







6. Visiting St. Mary's Chalet! Beautiful architecture. Very windy though, at least the day we visited.





5. Almost seeing a bear. Seeing instead all the amateur photographers hanging out of their sun roofs and passenger windows.

4. Deciding to drive around the park from East Glacier to West Glacier, hoping the way back would be faster than the road over since our kids were exhibiting PTSD from being in the van so long, a total of 6 hours.

3. Realizing we were a little lost and ending up on the Blackfeet Indian Reservation.

2. Noticing that everyone on the Rez was lined up in all manner of car waiting for a parade....thinking/joking that it might be buffalo stampede.

1. Deciding to join the locals and wait for whatever they were waiting for.....not buffalo....wild horses! It was awesome and worth the detour. It was a kick-off for a rodeo in honor of a local rising rodeo star who was tragically killed two years ago. I actually got chills seeing the Blackfeet Indians run the wild horses through town. They were excellent horsemen. A local teacher filled us in on the local traditions and horsemen excellence. This teacher was from Wisconsin. He applied for a job in Browning not knowing it was a reservation until he came. He interviewed and accepted the job. He had been teaching for 35 years. Guess he like it.







This experience in Browning again stirred deep questions in me about my ancestors' treatment of Native Americans. The chains of cyclical poverty were so obvious and sad, and yet there was a sense of pride and community too.

I'm a huge fan of Sherman Alexi. He is my second favorite author of all time, John Steinbeck being my first. If you are unaware of what life on a reservation is like read either Reservation Blues or Adventures of a 1/2 Time Indian....or watch Smoke Signals.

Funny, the best thing that happened to us in Glacier was the one thing we didn't plan on. I love that about travel.