Mother's Nature Journal: Coming to our senses (and a new sense of equanimity and community).

Autumnal Equinox 2015

This is a picture of our suzuki violin lesson on Orcas this morning.  E.P.'s violin teacher turned him out to pasture when the confines of the studio tipped his scale - at about the 15 minute mark.  The chores got done.  The goats were happy.  And, E.P. made it to school late, a bit smelly, wet - and....regulated. (phew)

After a summer of stuffing my intellect with information about sensory "issues" I am ready to fall into the experience of embracing what we've got.  On this island I've seen already how willing our community is to catch, embrace, and help hold you up - all of you - however you come...the uncomfortable and challenging bits and all.

This autumn I am ready to trust in the power of this place and, like the leaves, let go....

Mother's Nature Journal: I think they are ESPECIALLY what the planet NEEDS right now.

This is a picture of how E.P. showed up for his assessment yesterday.

The feeling that I am "raising a different species" permeated our 36 hour off island adventure.

It really helped me stay flexible and engaged with the borderland of "special needs" meeting "cultural expectation".  What if my kid(s) are "special needs"?  (So far both could be labeled with "sensory seeking" on the sensory processing spectrum and from yesterday it is very clear that E.P. is going to have a few other labels, which ones - I think I may be surprised by.)

What if what they have is indeed adaptive?  That happens.  For real.  Humans evolve (they always have) and the fittest survive.

So far, what is happening internally for my children pushes them to regulate best with frequent free play in the wild/nature.  What that is doing is creating the exact "love" for the natural world that environmentalists are suggesting we must cultivate in coming generations for us (and other species) to survive and heal/save the planet.  Their instincts also push them to stay together as a family pack more than the cultural "norm" (some of the questions the psychologist asked made me realize how much E.P. instinctually fears life outside our pack - more so than other children his age.) I cannot deny that the needs of these children, since I've been given the privilege to be able to listen and respond to those needs, are creating different beings.  Ones that stand out when I get them in public.

Here's what I noticed this trip off island:

E.P. gave a gift to every person he met - and inadvertently awakened gift-economy and sharing urges in people:  

Just one example (he gives gifts ALL the time to almost everyone he spends time with, seriously, and he is a TRUE gift giver in the sense that he gives the very thing that is MOST important to him at that moment).  He worked super diligently on a rainbow and pot of gold picture all morning in the hotel and then gave it to the guy that worked the front desk upon check out.  The guy, so touched, offered for the kids to reach in to his (refined sugar and artificially colored ;-) halloween trick or treat basket (they are ready early at the hotel apparently).  They looked at him like he was magic incarnate at that moment.  Total joy and wonder.

My favorite moment of the entire trip was when after 4 hours of intensive testing that pushed E.P. into his most extreme behaviors, E.P. was desperately searching through his backpack as I was rushing him out the door (I was giving into the social training of respecting the psychologists time and the next patient waiting).  He gave me his angry snarl that i know means "back off!" and kept looking until he produced a second pair of vampire teeth and ran over to the psychologist and said, 

"Here, these are for you, they've only been worn once."  

The psychologist received them with a sincere "Thank you!  Now I am all ready for Halloween,"  and E.P. left the potentially completely bizarre childhood memory of being mentally poked and prodded with a smile that authentically says, "I feel connected and good."  The kid is AMAZING.  

E.P. experiences the environment as a third party present in all of his daily life:  

We brought our own reusable cutlery (thanks to an Aunt Alice gift) and camping plates to the free hotel breakfast bar.  E.P. hates styrofoam.  This could be easily checked off as "just" a sensory thing - yet he will tell you how styrofoam is the WORST product in the world because it doesn't fully break down EVER yet breaks down small enough to harm and plague sea animals.  Yet even with special sustainable tableware the automatic make-your-own-waffle machine had no appeal to him at all.  It was like he saw the sea of beige non-living food and just turned off.  The boy who can never stop eating wanted no breakfast.  Unfortunately his "turning away/off" from the food looks like him "turning on".  He tried to engage what was presented and just kept banging into frustration after frustration. Spilling, knocking over, claiming things weren't perfect enough….until, "ding! ding! ding!" I clued in…WE DON'T BELONG HERE.  And, really, who does?  NOTHING we were given in that room was aligned with "life".  It was dead, nutrition-less food with a backdrop of morning news.  And I would have eaten it if my son's behavior hadn't given me a stomach ache.  Literally.

Yes, he has sensory issues.  And yes, they are in line with saving the health of ourselves and the planet.  

I find that amazing.

About 10 years ago my work with women in recovery started down a path that leads to the wild.  My Red Tent on Rose Avenue happened.  Then I needed my own Red Tent for pregnancy, childbirth, and early-childhood mothering…and I didn't have one. I consoled myself by creating plans for it in the future - so I would be able to offer to other women what I didn't have and desperately needed.  One of the first things I began on was the children's curriculum that would be naturally nestled within the red tent.  It is and will continue to be my most pressing and current work because I think it is even more needed than a red tent.  Our children's futures are still malleable when it comes to our collective environmental fate…but not for long.  (Alarm bells are ringing loud and clear but we've normalized them or drowned them out or entertained them away.)  Life on the island is slow and quiet enough to rest the senses so that upon re-entry into the mainland and mainstream you hear the sirens LOUD AND CLEAR.  Their fate is starting to set but if we put our all into it we can still affect the necessary changes…Today I am reveling in what I've been warming up to all along: this idea that I was GIFTED a naturally wild boy (tears in my eyes) to help me become who I am supposed to be in this second half of my life.    

My questionnaires at the assessment had extensive questions about E.P.'s birth and pregnancy - and it made me realize HOW wild, natural, and "perfect" it all was…and it made me realize what I knew immediately after his birth.  I was birthed into a new being "Mother of E.P." the same moment E.P. was born. I remember specifically, calmly, trying to discern if I was on a birthing bed or my death bed when I was ready to begin pushing him out - and I was 100% unafraid - just open at that moment. Everyday mothering E.P. is reliving his birthday - but unprotected by the natural hormones of labor I often go to fear rather than curiosity.  Today I am choosing for curiosity.  I am choosing to believe in nature's laws rather than the culture's and see my son (and daughter) as gifts to a planet that desperately needs them exactly as they were made.  Today I am choosing to REALLY mean it when I say my children are my truest teachers.  I am excited for what we are meant to do together and all the change and hope that is still possible for the planet.  

How: The Sense-able Garden

Our adventures in edible education.

The Warthog School's Sense-able Garden

We’ve found some of the most magical moments happen spontaneously in the garden.  Its when hands are busy shelling peas that a profound personal truth seems to pop out too.  The garden reflects our different states from fallow or fertile.  It recovers our natural spontaneity and surprises us with its sports.   It is the ultimate experience in usefulness.  The garden makes sense even when our lives don’t.  And, if we allow it, through color, texture, smell, and taste it will make us a sense-able species again. 

Our Sense-able garden, along with our local farmer’s market, supports the meals our children help prepare, serve, and enjoy in our Loose Leaf Kitchen.  In doing so, it nourishes our children’s growing bodies as well as their souls.    

To name just a few of the invaluable eco-literacy lessons and magical practices we sow:

Understanding how nature sustains life

Empathy for all forms of life

Making the invisible visible

Embracing sustainability as a community practice

Anticipating unintended consequences

And so much more!

How: The Sounder Supper Club

Planted and picked in The Warthog School Sense-able Garden.

When it comes to food we are all about growing culture: from home-made yogurt to encouraging our children to honor the important ritual of shared meals.  At The Warthog School we believe that the kitchen is where our children can best digest an education in sustainability so we include them in every step of the process from planting a seed to setting their seat at the table.  

Sit down dinners are as important as extended community for helping a child to feel rooted in “place” - so every Wednesday we combine the two.  Prepared with local and seasonal produce and shared with “the people in their neighborhood” this supper club helps children steep even more deeply in the seasons while anchoring them in an all-ages community.  It nourishes their bodies and souls.  On the Wednesdays closest to the new moon, our dinner is by candlelight (to honor unplugging for at least one day a month) and on the Wednesdays closest to the full moon our meal is followed by a little dance party to appreciate and celebrate all the goodness in our lives.  At our table relish is a noun and a verb - and it is also homemade.  

Click here for Supper Club Calendar and to join us in the fun

Wednesdays, 5 pm

Prepared in The Warthog School's Loose Leaf Kitchen.

Mother's Nature Journal: Wild Child

The surge of life force is almost overwhelming to me as we near the sun's zenith.  This close to nature I can feel the planet's pulse like a low blood-pressure head rush.  Solstice is an experience of the poles, in summer: extreme light, extreme vitality.  As I drive Ban-ko and E.P. to camp I realize summer solstice is the experience of my son.  Unbridled wild fire.

I worked for a decade as a yoga-therapist with women in recovery.  When I left that work, I held a child's hand in each of my own and a new mission in my heart - one focused on prevention and girls. I got to work in planning a new red tent that would protect girls and their authentic-selves rather than shelter them later in life while they struggled to recover what they had lost.  I began my revolt with vigor by preparing a "Girl's Gone Wyld" curriculum to reclaim what I believe is one of the most valuable treasures our culture has plundered; the authentically wild woman.  As my second child entered preschool I saw a window of opportunity opening for me to begin my new path.  I used the newly free hours in my day to start the very first stitches of a new red tent.  Almost immediately my first initiate arrived.

And he was a boy.

When my window of opportunity opened, my son flew back in.  By kindergarten, only one first step away from our nest, and my son was ready to come back.  It turns out that a "healthy relationship with going wild" isn't something that just needs to be healed and reclaimed for women and girls.
From what I've seen so far it is an equally complicated culture wounding that is inflicted even earlier on boys.

Our family's need-fire this summer solstice illuminated that my path into the wild must be forked with my attention to prevention being divided equally between both boys and girls.  While I raise this next red tent to help protect the natural wild-life of girls and women, I will also need to raise something to protect my son from the harsh judgments and treatment that often accompany his "hyperactivity".  It is my charge to protect two children and their birthrights to be healthfully wild.

Why Warthogs?

Because childhood is naturally magical and wonder-full.

It is especially so when a child is given a supportive environment that honors and nourishes their capabilities and potential.  We are born to wonder, we are naturals at enchantment, and yet rather than being encouraged to grow these gifts we are usually educated out of them.

We’ve created an environment, that true to the roots of the word education, is supportive of “drawing out” the knowing in each child.  It is an environment that embraces “place” and is filled with loose parts, open ended play opportunities, emotional coaching, and nourishing food.  Each day plays out in front of the mirror of nature as a seasonal curriculum ever directs the children to reflect upon the macrocosm surrounding and supporting them.

Why Warthogs? Because a wonder-filled Childhood nurtures ecological literacy and affinity for life.

Warthogs live together in a sounder and occupy a home-range where they either wallow in mud or huddle together to cope with environmental changes.  Drop in on us on any given day and you will see that we’re encouraging our children to do the same.  Our children share something in common with the warthog: they are both susceptible to extreme environmental temperatures and changes.  A shared situation that will be the defining challenge of their lifetimes.

Born at a pivotal time, the class of 2030 and beyond are in line to inherit unprecedented ecological hardships.  We believe that they deserve a childhood and an education that will prepare them to be the stewards that will transform and prevail rather than despair in their inheritance.  It is up to us to provide them with what they need, which we believe is ecological literacy.  

Ecological literacy cultivates the type of intelligence tested by “what you do when you don’t know what to do.”  A type of intelligence that will be duly tested by the future our children must boldly, yet lightly, step into.  We believe ecological literacy can begin at home, as a way of life, and at a very young age.  It is a serious matter that begins by getting serious about play and the wonder and creativity that it cultivates.  It also requires that we take very seriously our children's innate biophilia. 

We believe that this in-born affinity for life is their greatest gift and our greatest hope.  It is as essential as clean air and fresh water for all of our futures.

The Warthog School is a chance to give our children the childhoods that they deserve while helping them prepare for the future ahead.  As long as nature is still willing to hold us, with our children hand-in-hand, let’s wallow in the mud, huddle together over all the loose parts, and build from our imaginations the new possibilities this world needs. 

Mother's Nature Journal: World Water Day and Fire From Scratch

World Water Day
March 22, 2015

Having left the southern California drought in August, and endured three horrified drive-bys of Lake Shasta since our departure, World Water Day is officially on our calendar from here on out.  About seven years ago I attended a fund-raiser where I heard an environmental activist say, "The color we should all be talking about in school isn't green...but blue."  Water.

Not so much in honor of World Water Day as simply a well timed necessity - E.P and Baan-ko spent Sunday March 22 building a bridge over the now impassable "boggy place" in front of our cabin stairs.  Following the direction of their Uncle Issa they stacked cedar planks on wood blocks and piled woodchips over pvc piping to better distribute the drainage.  It was a great conversation starter regarding learning about our new watershed here on Orcas Island (which is the Salish Sea that extends into Canada.)

I spent the time that they labored on their bog-bridge finally getting the photos together of our spontaneous meeting of "wilderness Jamie" - which, like so many good beginnings, came out of the water.

Two weekends ago a family sunset walk turned into a spontaneous skinny dip (which is not uncommon for E.P and Baan-ko.)   Narrow but surprisingly deep pools had formed behind leaf spackled "beaver dams" they had built earlier in the afternoon.  Backlit by "magic hour" light we reveled in something super-natural taking place as we watched their little bodies baptised by the early spring pools.  One's childhood creek is as powerful and holy as the Ganges - E.P. proved this as he burst into an energized "Om Namah Sivaya! Om Namah Sivaya!" to carry the initial exhiliration of the polar plunge out of his body.  As both kids stayed and soaked (longer than any adult would dare) sanskrit was exchanged for Elizabeth Mitchell's "Spring has sprung" which eventually encouraged a fanciful exit dance and an almost desperate streak to the bathhouse in search of warmth.  Which is where we found it - Wilderness Jamie.

Fire from Scratch

Obsidian.  

Cedar branches, logs, and bark.

Bow drill.

The perfect exhale.

A spark.

First, small dry cedar branches are consumed.

Then knife chopped cedar kindling is added as fuel.

Finally axe chopped cedar pieces are stacked log-cabin style.

For hours our fire by friction roars.

It took an hour longer than the ten minutes it usually takes us to prepare our cookout fire.  The kids were ravenous yet didn't mention a peep.  EP chopped a cedar log with an axe, then a hatchet, and then a knife creating logs, kindling, and finally the popsicle-stick sized pieces necessary to ensure our spark would eventually blaze.  With nest making right up Baan-ko's alley, after impressing upon her the sharpness of the obsidian, we let her do all the scrapping of the inner cedar bark from which she molded a sturdy yet soft nest of cedar fluff.  Her skill far exceeded her four young years of age.  With all the props in place the magic show took center stage as Jamie used his whole body (foot holding one piece of wood, one hand holding the dowel, the other hand the bow) to create a red hot ember from friction.  We were quieted by the communal quest for flame.  He had already warned us that he doesn't always succeed in creating an ember.

There was a group gasp when we saw the glowing red wood drop into the nest Baan-ko had prepared.  With the care extended a newborn we passed nested ember from cupped hands to cupped hands.  Jamie told us how to bring the glow to flame, "blow on it like you were blowing on a spoonful of soup, carefully, so that the soup doesn't spill off the spoon."  We all tried our best, but only Jamie's exhale worked.  Breath. Smoke. And like magic truly worthy of a curtained stage - the nest was suddenly alight.  He had a handful of fire that he quickly got to an awaiting pit.  We were breathless and silent. 

And shortly after we were fed both body and soul.

The kids learned that we aren't as entitled to cooked food and warmth on demand as modern conveniences have lead us to believe.  With our success they tasted a new flavor of gratitude - one forged by cautious optimism and teamwork. A "need-fire" in the truest sense of the term.

Mother's Nature Journal: The Natural Magic of Childhood

A plum blossom promise that spring is on its way.

E.P. and I just made our first fire in the big stove in the yome.
He is fascinated and repelled by flames and that tension is ever present.  One must pull on an extra layer of patience when the boy picks up a match box. Today he is frustrated by how I am constantly bringing his burning paper back to the center while he is insistent on making small fires around the edges of the stove.  If a mother is an expert at one thing it is tending.  The fire represents my mother work - pulling the rolling marbles all back to the center again so that they may immediately all roll willy-nilly out from the center in a chaotic, entropic dance.  To be a mother is to be Sisyphus.
I stay patient.
I silently thank myself.

Soon our fire literally roars.

Warmth. And time for me to return to my task at hand - getting all of our items put away in their new home - the Warthog School for the time being is now is session in the yome.

Originally his plan was to play with trains but I hear him say aloud to no-one in particular, "I think I'll just sit and watch the fire."  The power of the flame.  Entrancing.  Naturally meditative.  It lasts a moment and then he is off.  He has an idea.

I am up at the wash house and I suddenly notice that he is alone somewhere between me and the cabin and he is unafraid.  He usually never leaves my side on the land.  Spooked by an imagination that has been kept powerfully in tact, he is a boy who still wants to be close to my jeans and muddy boots. I cross paths with him as I am returning with my laundry load.  He has a heavy cast iron pot with a half-gallon milk carton, honey, and a whisk.
"I'm making a special treat.  I'll wait for you so you can tell me how much honey to put in.  We are going to have warm milk and honey on the fire."

To watch what comes next is to see a primitive, instinctual, tea ceremony channeled from hundreds of years ago.  If you focus on the milk sloshed onto the wood floor however you will miss the brilliant spontaneous enactment.  If motherhood is something else - it is constant choosing.  Choosing for "yes", and "and", and for having an experience, messy, overwhelming, and exhausting as it may be.

He pours me a mug that is way too big and I receive it with the deep reverence it deserves.  I believe it was transferred through a plastic funnel and a mini dutch oven from the play kitchen before making it to my mug.  It seems that when you are five, the more steps there are, the more in depth the process gets, the better.  Frivolity is a happy good word like joy and glitter.  Who cares when the play kitchen utensils last got washed, did you see how cool the milk looked coming out of the funnel?  It is over an hour later that I feel the full affect of his sweet gift and my heart is warmed in a way I never knew before motherhood, "You know mom, I wanted to have milk by the fire because I wanted to be like Frog and Toad."  I know exactly the chapter he is talking about.

Today was a display of the natural magic that I knew would arise in them if only I could carve them out a safe space to be held by nature.  An imagination nourished by animal allies rather than defined by cultural icons.  Time and space to be bored, and alone, and wandering, and wondering, long enough to be deeply spontaneous and creative.  Today, by the light of Imbolc, I saw illuminated a treasure; naturally occurring "affinity for life".   Yes, I shared some off the top narrative about today's holiday; I mentioned the pregnant ewe's who will be birthing by equinox (the "in the belly" history of the "Imbolc" holiday).  I talked about sympathetic fires being lit for the sun as it slowly gains dominance over the winter.  They were sparse fragments from which he managed to weave the rich and meaningful frog and toad tea.

Natural magi, children are the teachers, not the students, of the Warthog School.