Explorers

We are explorers. We are discovering. At least we hope that is what we are doing. . .

The children are discovering the littlest berries and egg shells and feathers and letters and words and chapter books! Amelia has now made friends with Laura Ingles Wilder and her dog Jack. She knows Stuart Little and Jack and Annie in the Magic Tree house. George Wilder will spell anything Amelia tells him to and he is full of imaginative stories.

And we love numbers. The bigger the better. If we make a word problem for the children involving eggs and hens, they can solve it!







(A mayner cow. The cow can swim. It can run, it can jump. It can go to a farmer's market and lots of people are there and it scares him but he likes it because it's fun.)

George is researching and collecting words and letters. He collects from students and philosophers and thinkers. He figured out how to build a zip line and a set of monkey bars under the shade trees. He's found a new way to play the guitar and it is such a soothing sound. Not that the banjo isn't a nice sound . . .

I am discovering that tying my shoes takes a bit longer than usual. Lucy, our sweet dog, patiently waits for our walk as I try to pull the laces, take a breath, tie one shoe, take a breath, fix the bow, take a breath. And our two mile walk is taking longer and longer, but there I discover more than I would if I were running seven minute miles. The sun rise, the deer, the changes in the trees and grass and weeds as summer ends. The wildness buried under my nose.

I'm discovering that I want to know so I can let my children know. I'm discovering the power of words and prayer and friendship.

I've dusted off Thomas A Kempis, now bound together by duck tape, and I'm soaking in every word so real and true.

We've also learned that it is hard to raise baby chicks. We started with three and only one survived, but he is hilarious and fun to watch grow. We also had a funny experience with a cornish rock. Cornish rocks are the white chickens that you might have seen going down the road on a truck and if you haven't seen that; first your lucky and second, it's the kind of chicken you eat when you buy chicken from the grocery store. Needless to say, we had one bird escape slaughter day this spring. Usually, because of the way they are bred, their breasts get to big and they can't walk anymore. Sad I know. Well, this lady refused to give up. She just hung with the rest of the chicks for a good 3 months longer than she should. We gave her the benefit of the doubt and let her live. Amelia named her Crispy. A bit ironic don't you think? Anyways, I decided to capture a few pictures of Crispy and sadly, the next day, she breathed her last. She was such a good bird, and we had thought perhaps she might be the first Thanksgiving turkey/chicken, but she would not have to live up to her name. Rest in peace Crispy!!


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