bits of sunshine

the first three weeks of may

these pictures are from the first three weeks of this merry month of may.  and i, well, i am writing to you from the other side of a very interesting year, my friends.  

wow.  

i didn't write for my blog very much during this school year.  because.  well.  because a lot of reasons, i guess.  i did collect many, many moments.  some moments to treasure and others to ponder in my heart. 

i just clicked back and read my post about being hired to teach for this 2015-2016 school year.  i was so enthusiastic!  i wrote things like we will be getting our awesome on and thirty years of playing school - and counting.  i don't think it could get much better!  and you know, this year really did go well.  over all.  even though this year had some very hard parts, i am really glad i had this opportunity.  my kiddos and i learned a lot.  we learned a lot about our school district.  we met a lot of people in our community.  we learned a lot about this phenomenon called country school.  the hardest parts truly were the best learning experiences.    

and my early enthusiasm was rewarded.  it carried me through a school year for which i had no prep time, a school year where i pulled all four of my grades together as we went along.  when i was really on top of things, i could go week by week.  when the time filled up, i worked day by day.  and when situations out of my control arose, i hung in there moment by moment.  and through it all, we did some pretty stellar projects and programs.  all of my students had poetry published this year, my two older students took projects to regional history day and on to state history day.  my students and all made new friends through collaborative projects and programs we attended.  we did outdoor journals, we read and read, we taught each other, we worked through personality clashes and just plain bad attitudes.  we smiled, we laughed, we chewed gum, we listened to music, we drew pictures, we made collages, we combined math, science, history and writing.  we celebrated birthdays and we ate cupcakes.  there were a lot of moments of getting our awesome on.  

and now, on to a new chapter.  tomorrow is check-out day for me.  and then my growing-up girl and i will celebrate together.  then saturday and sunday, our little family will weekend together: that will be fabulous.  

monday will be the beginning of a new week.  a summertime week.  the first week of the rest of may.  

go get your awesome on, my friends!  
love, e

 

one friday

a couple fridays ago, my kiddos and i got a day to just rest. we were home together, we took the morning oh-so-slow.  then we headed out into the sunshine.  the air was warm and buzzing with bugs and alive with the songs of meadowlarks and robins and the tapping of a woodpecker (maybe a flicker).  we wandered through a tiny portion of the long pines, and lighted upon pasque flowers and sweet peas and another tiny white flower all in bloom.  we breathed deeply and noticed.  we closed our eyes and turned our faces toward the sun.  isaac threw rocks far out into a coulee.  maddie carried an interesting bone and called to chaco over and over again.  we found tracks and droppings, bones and fur, feathers and nests, hollowed out beds and burrows.  

after a long wander, we decided to drive a ways farther up the mountain, into the wild blue.  windows down, air moving over us, ears filled with all the sounds, we drove oh, seven miles or so, until we found a dune of smooth, white sand.  "i want to touch it," maddie told me, so i stopped and she hopped out.  

she put her hand on the side of the dune, and rivulets of sand started to run, cascading down the dune.  isaac wanted to try it, too.  so i parked the car, right in the middle of the road, and isaac joined maddie.  i found a sunny rock to sit on, and chaco set off sniffing out all the stories that only a dog can smell.

we just stayed up there, out in the sunshine and the breeze, in the air that smelled of dry sand and wet sand and grass and pine trees.  the kids played and played in the sand, chaco ran here and there and over this rise and around that one, and i sat, and i stacked rocks, and i followed chaco up the road, and i ran, and i watched the kids, and i laughed, and i thought about how maddie and isaac have loved to play, just like this, since they were so very little.  

how i have loved those times when i can say yes to staying, yes to getting dirty, yes to playing longer.  and how wonderful it is, how very lucky i am to have two kids, 11 and almost 13, who still want to stay and play.  who laugh and run a dig and smile.  who like each other.  who are wonderful and beautiful and kind and funny.  

sitting in the sunshine, watching them play reminded me of some of the very best parts of my life.  and reminded me to stay.  to play.  to savor.  to breathe.  to appreciate.  to count gratitudes.  

i wish the same for you, my friends.  that you find moments to stay and play in.  

go gently and be wonderful.

pasque flowers

on friday afternoon, we went up into the the long pines, looking for pasque flowers.  

we found blue sky, singing birds, rattling grasshoppers, blooming pasque flowers, smiles, and laughter.

the sky i'm under

the sky i'm under, the sky out here, does wonderful, beautiful things. 

the sky has a way of making beauty.

the way sun and clouds play together. 

the way the wind whips through sometimes and sends clouds through a shape-changing, billowing dance.

the way the air can be so still and stable that every plane using this fly-way leaves a contrail.

the way that one can see so very, very far.  there is very little to stop and hold a long gaze into heaven.  so i let my eyes rest on the wonders of the sky.  

i take in, eat up, swallow the deeply saturated blues and golds, the fiery flaming pinks and oranges, the greys that undulate between soft and heavy, light and dark.

i am finding a home and rest for my soul under this expanse of sky. 

this evening, at the end of a lovely, warm (67 degrees F) day, i wrote a little snapshot from my backyard:  * still air * geese on the river honking out a bedding down song * a down jacket * an old jeep seat * a cup of fresh coffee * the pup that i'm still getting to know, still learning how to settle with * the owl over by the river hooting a disjointed melody * watching contrails {at least ten in the past half-hour}, what a busy sky tonight * the first stars {and planets, i think} starting to show their glittering selves while the sun put on a glorious show with encore after encore *

i sat on the old jeep seat through two whole cups of coffee, just watching the changing of cloud and color in the western sky and listening to night fall around me.  it was beautiful. 

 

a simple letter

hello friends,

these two pictures speak of simple and slow, of deep breaths and wonderful aromas, of beauty and a full heart.

the top picture is from our saturday hike.  ben, isaac, chaco, and i were out in the long pines.  stepping on thick, springy duff, filling our nostrils with the faint bourbon-vanilla aroma of ponderosa pine, resting our eyes in the twilight that always lingers under tall evergreens, and being soothed by the sighing of wind through long needles. 

the second picture is from this evening.  today, there was a happy little envelope in the mail for me, and inside was this tea {red velvet cake}.  when i saw that it was all hearts {and it was from a dear friend}, i knew exactly which mug i needed to drink from: my heart mug {from another dear friend}.  and how fitting that i should have this vintage table runner gracing the table {from yet another dear friend}.  and, oh my, is that tea wonderful.  so flavorful.  so smooth.  i brewed two full cups from the one sachet and enjoyed them both so very much.

and while i was enjoying the tea, the friend who gave me the cup {years ago, now} randomly sent me a text with a happy memory in it.  we texted back and forth throughout the evening, just little bits of this and that.  i let her know that i was sipping from the mug, and we agreed that it's good to have little things that remind us of our dear people.  little bits of sunshine and happy memory. 

these simple, slow, beautiful moments: i will keep making time for them, for these sorts of moments are the ones that fill my heart and bring me rest.

intentional choices that add health and beauty will always constitute time well spent. 

i pray that you will find some simple, some slow, some beautiful moments in your days, my friends; that some may be of your own doing, and that, here and there, you may be surprised by simple beauty, as well.

go gently and be wonderful.
love, e

 

air that is the breath of God

i don't know that a day goes by that i don't wish that i had the time to put on a pack and just walk and walk.  to walk up into the long pine mountains and let my feet carry me along a ridgeline, over hill and butte, down into valley and back up into wide, wide sky.

friday evening, ben and i took chaco up into the long pines.  i hadn't been up since november.  and i hadn't been on a hike or a wander with chaco yet.  a walk around camp crook with the leash gets us all some exercise, and it has been a good way to get our new pup acclimated to cold air, but it is nothing like being out, away, adventuring.  up in the mountains, off the leash, in the big, wide open, he bounded along, ears flopping, nose to the ground most of the time {except when he would look up to make sure that ben and i were still close by}.

the air was warm for a late january evening, into the forties (around 4 degrees for my international friends), and the wind was from the southwest, so even though the wind was constant with some strong gusts, it wasn't biting at our cheeks and fingers and toes. 

the setting sun gave us such saturation of beautiful color.  deep.  rich.  and the windswept heavens were alive with clouds of all colors and shapes and shifting patterns.

we walked and walked, breathed deep breaths, worked our way down and up again.  i ran for a bit, with chaco on my heels {my heels that were encased in lacrosse rubber boots} up the steepest part of the terrain we were to cover.  i ran and my heart pumped hot blood all through me, and my legs worked warm, and my chest filled with laughter that bubbled up and gained voice, spilling over into the fresh and beautiful air.  a girl running in knee-high rubber boots, up the steep side of a butte: funny and wonderful and free.  ben laughed behind me, following the merry chase of tiny bird-dog and not-so-very-big wife.  once at the top, we walked farther.  sometimes i stopped to take another picture.  sometimes i even laid right down in the dry grass and sage, and captured a different perspective. 

then up i would stand and walk beside ben, before trotting ahead again.  it grew darker, and we had picked a turning around point a bit farther ahead, where the ridgeline appeared to end, punctuated by more glorious sky.  i was headed to our chosen turning point, when i looked down and saw this

i picked up the strangely shaped, bleached white bone.  i turned it this way and that.  i think it might be the chest section of a bird {obviously there are large feathers right beside it}, and it seems as though there is a place for a backbone, and shoulder sockets, for wing bones.  ben and i look it all over; then walk on.  some small distance away, we find this

more feathers.  and a skull.  an eagle.  here.  on the top of a ridge.  up in the wind, in the sky.  like an offering.  like a prayer. 

this feels sacred to me.  up here.  at dusk.  in the gloaming of the evening.  we handle the skull with reverence.  i pick up some of the feathers and study the shape of them, the feel of these instruments of flight.  wild beauty.

as we return to the foot of the mountains, i think that the top of the ridge is the right place for an eagle to have died.  there, up close to the sky, in the air that is stirred and painted by the hand of God.  i think that is the right place for things to die.  out in the fresh, wild air.  breathing deep and clean and free.  i think of the people who's stories are told in the words of the bible, who went out to be under great trees or on the tops of mountains when it was their time to step from this world into the next.  i think that when it is my time to go, i hope that i am not tucked away in a tiny room with a linoleum floor and bedsheets that have been sent in from a laundry service and a window that cannot open.  for as many days as i am given, i will drink the wild air {even for just a few moments} each day.  i will open my eyes to see the beauty.  i will walk on rock and grass, pine duff and sage.  i will lie down on the earth itself.  i will breath deep.  and when it is time to go, i pray that my final breaths are of air that is the very breath of God. 

nature poetry and practicing kindness

today was a beautiful, sunny, blue sky day.  the temperature was in the twenties.  but the sun was so warm.  so very warm. 

i read the summer day by mary oliver to the kids today.  yes. summer. 

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

then, for a writing / outdoor journal activity, i had the kids head outside with two thoughts in mind.  one instruction i gave was to look at details of something particular (patch of ground, stalk of a plant, trunk of a tree, etc) as though from an insect's point of view.  {this idea came from dawn's november .: fall outside :. e-course and went along so nicely with the reading of this poem.}  the other instruction was to think how to use their details and other noticings and knowledge they have about winter to write their own version of the summer day as the winter day.  we put on coats and boots and spent about half an hour outside, noticing and writing. 

we headed inside to finish our poetry with warmer fingers.  as they each finished their writing, they brought their journals to my desk, and i delved in to their words.  sheer beauty.  i was smiling as i read, and my eighth grader said, "you like to read our journals, don't you mrs. patten?"  yes.  yes i absolutely love to read their journals.  they each have their own wonderful style.  their own wild and precious brain.  each one is becoming more comfortable with writing and sketching expressions of their thoughts, of themselves.  and i get the joy and the blessing of seeing through these journal-framed windows into their souls.

these are wonderful.  isaac's looks like it is written in a foreign language - but i have learned how to decipher his dyslexic, left-handedness and he is getting better at writing and spelling coherently.  i loved what my fourth grader wrote from an insect's perspective.  my eighth grader did a beautiful job of making the mary oliver poem-as-template truly his own.  with the exception of one line, my daughter and i kept the same lines from mary oliver's original and changed the same lines.  i looked up at maddie and said, "we must be related" and we laughed. 

{check back tomorrow, if you'd like.  in the morning, at school, i will type check below; i did type out each of the kids' poems and add them here, so you can read them, too.  these words are worth sharing.} 

it never ceases to amaze me, how each one of them creates with words.  and, when i read their work aloud, they all praise each others' work.  i love to hear them encourage one another; i love to hear their practice of kindness.  and i love their words. 

.. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 

isaac's (with the bird)

a winter day can be cold
a winter day can be warm
a gray jay flies overhead
it comes and eats from my hand
it hops toward me, it looks nervous
it flies away to the nearest tree
i wait patiently

my fourth grader's (top right)

i love being so small
in a big world.  crawling over
and up leaves climbing trees
to see the top of the
world.  in winter it looks
like i'm walking on glitter as the snow
glimmers beneath my feet
i love crawling
up trees in the
summer time

my eighth grader's (lower left)

who made the world
who made the goose, and the bison
who made the horse,
i mean the one who wears shoes and makes a squeak when the horse walks.
they trot so gracefully in the sparkly snow!
i don't know what to think.
but i do know horses are beautiful creatures
i do know how to pay attention
and how to run in the pasture with all the wind in my tail and mane.
which i love to do!
tell me how to do more.
because everything dies too fast and all will be over.
tell me how to plan for the rest of my wild and precisous,
miraculous lovely life

mine (lower middle)
(because the kids love when i do the same work they do, even multiplication speed tests - which i did on tuesday with them - oh boy!)

who made the world?
who made the eagle and the bison?
who made the fox?
this fox, i mean -
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is prancing across the open field,
who is moving quickly, then stopping, with head cocked to one side -
who is lstening and looking for a mouse.
now she sets her body, ears forward.
now she leaps into the air and lands face first into a mound of snow.
now she steps back, shakes her head free of snow crystals, mouse trapped in her jaws.
i don't know exactly what a prayer is.
i do know how to pay attention, how to kneel down into snow and matted grass,
how to be idle and thoughtful and blessed,
how to walk on, how to stop and observe.
i would love to do this all day.
tell me, what else should i do?
doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

maddie's (lower right)

who made the world?
who made the snake, and the badger?
who made the leaf?
this leaf, i mean -
the one who blew around and i caught in the air,
the one that is soft and brown,
who is wiggling in the breeze -
who fell but i caught again.
i grabbed it so hard it broke.
now it crumbles, and floats away.
i don't know exactly what a prayer is.
i know how to pay attention, how to fall down into the snow,
how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed,
how to stroll through the fields,
which is what i've been doing all day.
tell me, what else should i have done?
doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

about a day

last night, it was snowing and the wind was whipping the fresh snow into drifts when i finally headed to bed.

this morning my alarm went off at 5:25 and i looked out the window at the myriad of stars twinkling in the clear, dark sky.  it was beautiful.  

i hit my snooze button.  

a few minutes later the phone rang and a recorded voice let me know that school would be two hours late.  

that was a welcome notice.

i slept two more hours.  

school today consisted of a game of Clue, then learning about the water cycle and the hydrophere and weather (which needs heat, air and water) and Luke Howard who named the clouds with wonderful Latin words that have now been used for the past 220 years or so.  cirrus and stratus and cumulonimbus (and seven other cloud names).  at the end of the day, we wrapped up our gifts for parents and grandparents.  

i drank plenty of coffee.  and probably not enough water.  (i just poured myself a glass of cool fresh water.)

maybe tomorrow we will have a full day of school.  we will learn about Wilson Bentley and how snowflakes are formed.  we will look at the sky and classify the clouds and write in our outdoor journals.  i will mark my final grades into the gradebook.  we will make sure we are ready for our party on friday.  

tonight i will finish getting gifts ready for the kids at school and for my far-away family and friends - some to bring with on our trip, some to send off through the mail.  

i will read another of our advent passages to my family after we share a meal.  we will have candle light and twinkle light.  

i will hug my children and kiss my husband.

i will call ben's mom to plan some a bit more for our visit and my mom to tell her that i can't wait to see her on saturday morning!

go gently and be wonderful, my friends. 

 

advent thoughts :: merry and bright

sunlight through the windows as i worked on lesson planning.

this advent season has been different for us again. of course.

i am doing december as a teacher. that encompasses all kinds of shenanigans. parties and programs and secret santas and such. we had our program at school last thursday evening. it went well and was very festive and fun. maddie and isaac played a trio with their band teacher. their music was wonderful!

and they played again at the main county school last night. and they'll play again at the other country school in the county on thursday evening.

i've been incorporating december poetry and favorite christmas stories into our mornings and our language arts studies. this part of teaching is my favorite. i love sharing words and stories and ideas that strike a chord with me. i love watching my class, diverse as it is, get into reading a story, get into writing their words and thoughts, get a math concept, see the connection between the book we are reading aloud for fun and the study of where all it is taking place on the map. and while we have the maps pulled down and the globe out, let's see where these countries are in relation to each other. and in relation to us. and wow! russia is big! and it's on two continents! but the ussr was really, really big! and now, this is some history, too.

and as i look at the countries of the world, and think about the little bit that i know about what is happening now, and as i listen to my own kids and my other two students, i know that the reality of advent, the waiting for the light of the world to come and to dispel shadows with his great might and love, i know that i am living in advent. i am waiting for the arrival. and while i wait, i will do my best to shine with his light. to share joy. even when my flesh is weak. i have a safe and comfortable bed in which to rest my weary body. not a bed of hay. not a pile of rubble. not a refugee tent. always, joy and light come with the practice of gratitude.

this advent, the light is coming to me in the beautiful skies of early morning and midday and as evening falls in brilliant colors. i light candles. we have two strands of lights in our living room. no tree this year. the first year since ben and i have been married that we haven't put up a tree. but our home still feels festive. there is no snow on the ground, yet we are still merry and bright.

we are in this new place. this new town. this new state. nine hours of driving to our closest family members. so this year, we will drive. drive to my parents. drive to ben's parents. drive to our siblings' homes. drive and drive. and visit and hug and see and connect. and drive some more. two full weeks of goodness. two full weeks of not our usual christmas time. i have had mixed emotions about this. about not putting up a tree, about not being in our own home for any of the days surrounding christmas. but really, my home is wherever the four of us are together. and everyone we visit will have a tree and all the trimmings. and i am really looking forward to driving off, car full of little gifts for our family, just embarking on a little adventure.

i hope that this advent season is merry and bright and full of goodness for you, my friends.

go gently and be wonderful.
~e

hoar frost

yesterday morning i woke to a thick and beautiful hoar frost.  as soon as i was ready for the day, i stepped outside into the magic of the morning.  i breathed the cold deeply into my lungs.  i crunched ice crystals under my boots.  i captured some of the beauty with my camera.

the hoar frost clung to everything, each twig, each blade of grass, all day.  clouds moved over, breaking and joining and breaking again, and when the sun shone through, the light caused every crystal to sparkle. 

i kept looking out the window by my desk.  i'm so grateful that there is a window by my desk.  that i can see out, even when i can't be out. 

at lunchtime, i took a few moments to walk away from the school yard, to walk to the fairgrounds at the edge of town, to look out and away, to move, to breathe, to listen to silence, to capture a few more pictures of the beauty God dressed our little corner of the world in today.

really, what a perfect way to welcome december, what a gorgeous way to step into the advent season.  beauty simply found.  beauty to be noticed and intentionally captured.  this season, i am intentionally capturing the best moments.  this year will look different for us.  already, i have been playing christmas music for weeks (gasp! since well before thanksgiving!) as i prepare to play for the school christmas program - which will take place this coming thursday.  maddie and isaac and i have been doing a slough of christmas crafting in preparation for a christmas craft fair/market day - which will take place this coming friday.  i am working at doing what i can and doing that the best that i can.  there are only so many hours in a day, in a week.  and i want to enjoy those hours.  i want to help my family to enjoy those hours.  so far, we are doing a really good job of avoiding the crazy that can come along with this season.  we are enjoying our preparations.  we are working together and smiling and listening to music and laughing as we make some christmas gifts and christmas trimmings. 

one of these days, i do hope to get a good picture of the four of us to use for a christmas card.  i wish that we were all standing on the road together in the picture above - wouldn't that be a lovely christmas card?  we'll see what we come up with in the next few days.  that's one thing that i don't want to give up.  (i think that saturday will have to be the day - we should all be home together during day-lit hours.)

i hope that this advent season will be full of peace and blessings and moments to be savored, my friends.

go gently and be wonderful.  love, ~e