Late Summer




Just on principle, I am opposed to praise songs. But right now, an album a friend recorded is playing. It’s the two-year-old’s favorite music.  So for me, it’s like having my friend give a mini-concert in my living room (albeit, again and again and again and…).


And the afternoon sun is slanting in the sky with that feel, that particular atmosphere of Fall-on-it’s-Way.


Cicadas are whirring, the five-year-old coming back in the house, nose stuck in a book.


I have a fall-ubiquitous pumpkin-flavored latte to hand.


The two-year-old’s playtime toy–a bag of rice–is spread out all over the floor.


Nonetheless, this is one of those vignettes I’d like to bottle up, to paint, to record, to add to my memories of other Late Summer poignancies.


8.20: Homeschool, Pt I



Head in the clouds 5 year old doesn’t notice you, playing Keep Away from him, trying to snub him because he wouldn’t go down the Ridiculously Tall Slide (listen, kiddo, I wouldn’ta done it either).


He walks by you and calmly says, “No, I’m not the monster”.  He thinks you’re playing your own game, like he plays his own games; intent as he is on showing me how he can go down the Normal Size slides, he doesn’t realize you are teasing him.


Curly-headed with such clear blue eyes, such a powerful inner life, such a stunning mind. He’s protected from you by his own alive world.


How would it be if he were in school? He’d be the one at the edges of the playground, kicking rocks, not noticing you playing Keep Away. He wouldn’t notice, not at first. But years and years of other kids playing Keep Away, how would that affect him?  How could my quiet voice and support, my love however strong, how could that offset the hours and hours of his day spent being teased for not going down the Ridiculous Slide, for making up his own games and rules, for holding back from you and you don’t like that. For being told to stop talking, to obey the class rules, to stop getting up from his chair, to keep his mind on his work, no you have to do THIS now and if you finish early, just put your head down on your desk and you can only ask a question, we don’t really care about what’s going on in your head, what you are thinking. If you can’t ask a question, then please keep your hand down.


Hours of his day, day after day, for years.


How could I possibly offset that?  What happens to fragile little psyches that have to deal with that torment.


So I will keep him home here with me to learn, to “homeschool” if by “homeschool”, you  mean “world school”, where the whole world is his learning resource and the breeze comes through the window and the encyclopedias clutter the floor and table and he is free to do his half-skip/half-gallop with his head cocked to the side for all the world like a frisky young colt dancing in a field for sheer joy of being alive whenever he needs to rush out and feel the sun on his face, where art can occur at the drop of a hat and every day is Music Day and Dancing Day and Gym Class without the awkward lining up and being picked last for the team.  And he can join other young friends for a creek stomp and pick up baby crawdads and see the inside of a river mussel or go to the museum, and learn, learn, learn, all the time constantly learning, driven to learn with his insatiable need to know Everything.


And he’s free to be in his inner world and dream dreams and think huge, big, enormous thoughts. And nobody taunts him with Keep Away because of it.

State Fair Side-by-Side Taste Test



The Deep Fried Butter tops the Deep Fried Brownies.


Mmmm. Butter.




Just Peachy


We picked the last peach today.

I didn’t realize they would be gone so quickly. I left them on the tree as long as I could as if somehow they would miraculously be given extended life, go on for as long as I wanted.

I lost about half of the production to fruit drop. Animals got to them on the ground.

I thought there were more. I was going to bring the rest in today, put them in a bowl, savor them slowly.

There was one left when I went out into the misty, cool morning yard.


Miles said, “Can I have it?”, never having wanted any that I offered before until now, until the last one.

We shared it, dripping, juicy, cool from the morning air, superlatively sweet, the last peach of August.

This is What “Loss of the Heartland to Development” Looks Like

This is what it looks like when you see it every day…













First snow

I guess winter’s here.

Blackberry lily



There’s still fun to be had, though!

Golden day

What is it about fall that is so poignant, so soul-drenchingly rich in bittersweet? It’s the color of the sunlight at just that right angle and the feel of the air, warm but with just the slightest undertone of crisp, the glorious last hurrah of the garden’s bounty, the golden tones of the sounds that waft through the rich air

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