Handmade Christmas

In the last few years, I've noticed that when Christmas rolls around, gone is any desire on my part to shop. This may or may not have something to do with my overall stubborn nature in regards to societal 'Do's and Don'ts'. Perhaps I'm tired of seeing dead animals wash ashore after an oil companies 'oops' moment, or hearing about plastic garbage choking wildlife or washing out to sea. Maybe it has something to do with debt and my fear of any more of it, or the fact that most of the people that make these toys can't afford them for their own children.

Whatever this drive in me is, I've come up with something I'm rather excited about this year, and I think the kids will actually enjoy it, too. Here it is-

I've decided to make stuffed replica's of things my kids have drawn this year. My first project is a stuffed train for my four year old, Joe.

Here is Joe's train picture (he loves trains and draws them all the time). You'll notice that he's named this particular engine- Sam.



I've begun with the last car on the train~



Here, I am working on the windows- trying to get them as close to the picture as possible~



And here is a photo of the completed car with the next car in the works~



Stuffed animals (or stuffed trains) are one of my favorite things to knit. There's something about the feeling of bringing a character to life in this way.

So, here's hoping that I'll be able to finish before Christmas Eve:)

The Futility of the Christmas War

Every year. I don't get it, but every single year we see the stores gear up for sales that people stand in line for, we see Christmas Trees for sale in mid-November. We see the holiday of Thanksgiving (certainly one of the more poignant holidays, in terms of meaning, that we have) totally skipped in our market places, minus the non-superstore groceries that still count on holidays like Thanksgiving for a little monetary boost during the year...

And somehow, some way, some of us are convinced there is a "war" on Christmas.

As a child, I remember receiving cards in the mail that said "Happy Holidays". No one was complaining then, and the fact that they are now tells me this one thing: We are easily led by the powers that be. We are easily divided, for the powers that be. And... this is not a good thing.

About four and a half years ago I joined a website called Cafemom, and inside that website, I joined a religious debate forum. I don't think I've ever had a better learning experience. From the get-go, I was seeing the world through the eyes of others, and understanding began to bloom. World religions was always a favorite subject of mine in school, so it was a natural draw, this forum, and I ended up making friends there that I may not have given a second thought to in real life. Actually, I may have avoided them in real life.

Avoiding people who are different because they're different isn't something that I would call a "Jesus" thing. Probably the opposite, actually.

And this brings me to what I've noticed more often than not- for non-Christians, the message they're receiving from the majority of Christians is this: You don't matter unless you conform. You aren't an American until you conform to our primary customs. You are, in fact, anti-American until you stop being a jew/muslim/hindu/buddhist/pagan/atheist and start telling us "Merry Christmas" when we want you to. Get over it or get out.

Further, the picture people are getting from the actual celebration of Christmas goes something like this:



Rather than this:



That isn't the fault of anyone but those who participate in it. This isn't the fault of Muslims who celebrate Ramadan- occasionally- around Christmas time. It isn't the fault of Jews who celebrate Chanukah. It isn't the fault of Pagans, who celebrate on or around the 21st of December every year. It isn't the fault of the atheists, who often celebrate Christmas along with *most* everyone else.

It's the fault of laziness in communication during the holiday season. Once upon a time, people chose to say "Happy Holidays" to each other rather than, "Happy Thanksgiving, Merry Christmas, Happy Boxing Day, Good New Year" which is a mouthful. It is also the result of thoughtful communication in areas of this nation where there are larger pockets of Jewish people who don't always appreciate being told Merry Christmas for reasons that should, at this point in history, be obvious.

While we're on the subject of history, how about a little introspection on the history of modern Christmas celebration? What is the first sign that it's coming on Christmas? That's right- we're cutting down trees. Why trees? Because once upon a time- before Christianity enveloped Europe- people worshiped the sun, and on the shortest day of the year, the winter solstice, they would decorate their homes with plants that stayed green during the winter as a reminder that spring would come again when the sun god grew strong again. Similar meanings are behind wreaths, candles, mistletoe, holly, and the colors red, gold, green and silver- all things that our culture has adopted and renamed to suit our preference- and we demand that no one else does the same.

Another thing that comes to my mind is the fact that so many Adventist friends and relatives have taken on this task, full bore- and with SDA eschatology? I find it ironic for SDAs in particular to suggest that people conform or get out. Think about this for a minute if you are an SDA. What happens when we force conformity in religious matters? What happens when we are forced to conform??

Basically, what it comes down to is this. Be nice. Take folks like Bill O'Reilly for what they are; angry, frightened people interested in dividing a nation that needs, more than ever, to stick together. We are a colorful, diverse nation, and thank goodness for that - you learn nothing when nothing is different and challenges never arise. And Jesus said there would be challenges- and he said to love your neighbor, and to hand your cares and burdens to him.

He didn't say to yell at people for saying the wrong greeting on his birthday (or the day that we chose to celebrate on in hopes that the pagans of a certain region would have an easier time conforming to the new religion). See? There's that conformity thing raising its ugly head again.

Stop demanding it. More flies with honey.

A Nest For Celeste (a little review)

For the last couple weeks we've been having tea at night with our four children while we read books and just sit together at the end of a day. The first book we've completed during this new tradition is A Nest For Celeste: A Story About Art, Inspiration, and the Meaning of Home by author and illustrator Henry Cole.

The story opens inside a Plantation House in Louisiana, and inside the wall- just under the sideboard in the dining room- lives Celeste, a mouse who enjoys making baskets, and is busy making her newest creation when the two rats that live alongside her come along to bully her into finding them dinner for the evening. From here, the plot moves along rapidly, and characters are quickly introduced- one being John James Audubon, who is staying at the plantation with his young assistant Joseph Mason. Much of the human story is true- the plantation and the family who lived there, the presence of Audubon and Joseph; an accident involving Joseph- but all of it is told through the eyes of Celeste, who is simply trying to find home.

The book is illustrated with fine pencil drawings by the author, and is organized into 37 chapters.

Basically, you should give it a look if you've got kids in the 4- 12 age range at home- or, if you just like good books.

Oh, and aside from Celeste, our favorite character of the book is an Osprey who Celeste befriends. Reminding us faintly of Foghorn Leghorn, he provided comic relief in touchier moments of the book.

The Wild One

*Sigh*

For the last two years I've been helping out a particular feral cat that showed up at our trash can, regularly. I figured it was easier to feed him than to watch him tear up the trash every morning- and with that- my conscience. He is a beautiful, tawny colored tabby with intense green eyes and a nick in his ear from a long-ago cat fight, I assume.

For the first year, he was untouchable. I would see him out on the front porch, grab some food and take it out for him, while he beat a hasty retreat to the security of the middle-yard until I went back into the house. For awhile, I was able to get him close to the porch while I stood there waiting. Then I upped the ante. I broke out the canned cat food, and after that, he couldn't just wait. He had to have that food- and our trust grew.

But then he disappeared.

We had gone on vacation in the summer, and I arranged with a neighbor to leave him his daily ration of food until we returned. But he didn't eat anything. I thought the worst- he'd been hit by a car, or eaten by a coyote- whatever, he was gone.

And then, a few months later, in November, he reappeared. I was opening the door to take the trash out, and there he was. Once again, beating a hasty retreat- but when I called to him, he stopped, turned around, and waited.

Three weeks later, I was able to pet him for the first time, and as he came to trust us more, I was able to put him in the old dog kennel I had in the garage during the nights when it was so cold. Last winter, he didn't suffer frost-bite on his feet, and he actually put on weight. He came into the house for long periods during the quiet of the day- and he would nap on my desk, the first time I had ever seen actually relax. We decided to call him "Boo" after Boo Radley from To Kill A Mockingbird because it just seemed to fit.

Summer came, and I had moved Boo into the outdoor, covered kennel we have on the side of our house. There he had shelter, a place to potty, clean water and his daily ration of food. When we returned from this summer's vacation though, he was changed. He seemed angry, and I didn't know what to do. He is a feral cat, and I wondered if being kept inside something was bothering him. I let him out, and he stayed out for days at a time. He looked a shambles, he dropped weight, and once again, he wouldn't allow me to pet him- and when I tried, he would lash out. I felt guilty, and I also began wondering if male cats have some kind of weird hormonal shift in the summer that makes them anti-social and mean. Chop those suckers off- is the obvious answer- but be careful trying to get him to the vet is the caveat. I'd like to keep my arms, thank you.

Its getting cool again. And for the last couple weeks, Boo has gentled down again. He has begun sleeping once more on the porch furniture, and purring for his daily can- and accepting pets. He was beginning to look better than he had all summer, and then he came home this evening looking like he had fought five rounds too many in a boxing match. In short, he got his butt kicked, and so, that was it. Back into the kennel he went- slight protestations aside.

I don't know. It's hard to know what to do for these guys. Apparently my house has an aura recognizable to cats in need of assistance- two of my neighbors have confirmed that our house was the stray-cat house long before we ever moved here.

Anyway, Boo is safe for now.

Double Chocolate Banana Bread....or possibly Cake

I've never had much luck with banana bread. No matter the recipe I'd try, it had this bizarre tendency to burn on the bottom before the middle was anywhere near cooked through.

It isn't that I'm a bad baker. I have my moments, but generally speaking, I'm fairly decent. This banana bread issue was beginning to make me wonder if I ought to just hang up the apron. I mean... banana bread? Who has problems baking banana bread? Souffle? Of course that's difficult. Very understandable to have problems with souffle. A trained chef will occasionally have issues with a souffle. Creme Brulee? Yeah, you need a fire tool for that. Completely frightening. But banana bread?? Something referred to as a 'quick' bread?

Please.

Anyway, in a tinkering mood one day, I decided to try my luck again. Well- and I had a whole bunch of just south of the sell-by bananas drawing fruit flies. So, that was another reason. And- I think this is the one, folks. Although this recipe is huge, and makes a very large sheet-cake size thing, you can halve it to make one large loaf, or several cupcakes.

Here's the goods~

pre-heat oven to 350º and grease your baking pan with oil or butter. Butter is better.

8 bananas, mashed
2 Cups granulated sugar
3/4 C melted butter
1 Cup cocoa powder
4 eggs
2 teaspoon vanilla
1 teaspoon salt
2 1/2 tsp baking soda
4 Cups All Purpose Flour
1 Cup chopped walnuts- or more if you like. Or less. We all know someone who hates nuts.
2 Cups semi-sweet chocolate chips

Whip together all those wet ingredients at the top, and in a separate bowl, wisk together the salt, soda and flour. Add slowly to wet ingredients, and then add your walnuts and chocolate chips. Scoop into your baking dish and shove that sucker in the oven for a good 30 minutes. After that time turn the temp down to 325º and keep a close eye on it. Check again in 10 minutes and stab it with a toothpick or thin knife to gauge your progress. Keep in mind that if you've halved this recipe, baking time will change and probably lessen.

Although.. I have this one bread pan that makes everything take forEVER to bake. So, you've got to know your equipment and be willing to keep an eye on it if necessary.

This would be marvelous with a dallop of whipped cream on top. The real stuff. Not that synthetic 'cool whip' stuff that comes ready made in a plastic pail. Unless you're just that lazy. Which I can completely understand.

Happy Baking!

The Garden in the Front

When most of us think about crime, we think about an action that hurts another person- theft, murder, rape.

What we probably do not see are front gardens with vegetables growing in them, and the vegetable gardeners themselves.

When Julie Bass decided to replant her front yard with vegetables - in neat, raised beds- after replacing a sewer line, she didn’t know that she was breaking the city of Oak Park’s code for front yard planting. What she did think was that she was doing something to mitigate her grocery bill, to teach her children about food, and to ensure her family had ready access to organically grown produce. A very American notion, yes?

Not according to Oak Park city planner Kevin Rulkowski, who has insisted that the word ‘suitable’ in the code means ‘common’, according to Webster’s dictionary. (Feel free to look up the definition here, and make sure to read the comments on the bottom of the page.) In one interview, Mr. Rulkowski insists that most people do not want to “see that” in their neighbor’s front yards, leading one to believe that Mr. Rulkowski is offended in some way by vegetables.

So, Julie Bass was charged with a misdemeanor, and faced three months in jail as a result. Rather than complying with the city in order to have charges dropped, she decided to fight, and an aggressive public campaign has ensued, putting Oak Park on the map, and driving the town council underground. To add insult to injury, two misdemeanors were added for failure to license the families dogs. In compliance with this, Julie and her husband tried to license the animals (again, the law was vague, and Julie did not know she was outside this ordinance), only to find that the offices were closed on Friday, due to budget cuts. She licensed the dogs the following Monday, and was told to “bring the documents to court, and they will probably be dismissed”, according to Bass.

When she brought the documents to court, the prosecutor verbally dismissed them before going forward on the garden charges. Later on, a judge from another district dismissed without prejudice the garden charges, and the prosecutor’s office reinstated the charges for the dogs, and Bass will have to appear in court on the 26th of this month. To dismiss without prejudice on the garden charge means that those charges can still be reinstated at a later date. The case has effectively not been dropped.

Bass also attempted to obtain a copy of the town ordinances, but was told that hard copies were not available to the public. She could look up the ordinances at the library- but it is closed for renovation at this time.

In trying to reach a city council member, I have only had contact with Gerald Naftaly, the city mayor, who sent me this message; “There’s nothing obvious to you. you’re not hearing the facts, just one side. ‘you’re entitled to your own opinion, You’re not entitled to your own facts’. -- moynihan I have no obligation to anyone but our oak park residents. Thanks.”[sic] In other interviews, Mayor Naftaly said that Bass would not be put behind bars, and that the ordinance would be reconsidered if residents and local organizations object to the ordinance as is.

Now, there are people out there that believe that front yard gardens are an eyesore, but has this always been a prevalent attitude in our history? No, it has not. In fact, Americans have often gardened during times of economic stress, war, and for basic survival. Not until the peaceful post-war era of the 1950s, when people flocked to suburbia and the “American Dream” did vegetable gardening fall out of vogue- and out of necessity for many Americans. This was also a time of high taxation, and healthy employment. There is a pattern, here, folks.

But there is also a pattern of creeping control. Compliance, or “forcing compliance” have become frequently heard words that find most of us automatically nodding our heads in agreement, without any practical or critical thought on the individual issue. Today, with our food system in decline, our private property rights under scrutiny, and our jobs disappearing into other lands, it becomes apparent that critical thought is a must if we want to ensure any sort of valuable legacy to our children and their children. Compliance is hardly ever a “must”- it is more often the way in which the Bill of Rights is ignored in favor of a patriarchal government, whether at the village level, or at the federal level. It is more often something to be fought, and it is rarely “for our own good”.

At best, the folks running Oak Park at present are, perhaps, stuck in a bygone era. A time of cookie-cutter front yards and houses and families. It is an impractical mindset, and one that needs reevaluation, perhaps from the confines of forced retirement by the voters of Oak Park. At worst, they came into government with a plan to ensure their own happiness above the rights of the residents of Oak Park.

As it happens, election time is almost here, and there is a challenger to Mayor Naftaly, who has released this statement: “Oak Park is going through a very difficult time with record numbers of foreclosures, property values sinking, and crime an all too often occurrence and threat. Devoting scarce public safety resources to prosecuting a vegetable gardener does not reflect our needs. Sadly, when oak Park residents hear crime, they think of theft, arson, hate crimes and burglary- not vegetable gardens. We need city leadership to focus on jobs, fighting crime, and building safe neighborhoods.” - Marian Meisner McClellan.

Food and the Future

I've always been interested in food and the politics surrounding it, but its one of those subjects that can make one want to disconnect for awhile and forget. Problem is, that's the main problem. Right there- the forgetting, the head-in-sand moments or years that go by when we stop thinking about what is behind most of what we eat.

When I was a little girl, the grocery stores carried only very specific types of each vegetable. Want an onion? Here's a white one. Want a potato? Russet. Want some lettuce? Iceburg. Tomato? Beefsteak. Apple? Red Delicious- which I always felt was a bit of a bet, sometimes tasting like apple-y styrofoam than a crisp, fresh apple. We ate a lot of canned vegetables back then, and a good amount of frozen. I don't remember one time actually seeing broccoli not from a plastic bag. My mother grew a large-ish vegetable garden most summers, and that's where I realized that fresh is ever so much better than not fresh. I would stand in the garden in sundress and sandals, picking pea pods and opening them, and staring at the perfect line of waxy, green peas before placing each one in my mouth and delighting in that sweet taste with a texture oh-so-different than what came out of those hideous cans.

Europe is in an e-coli crisis at the moment, with 18 dead as of today, and many more sickened and threatened lives. Food is not simple. Food is not easy. It was never easy, and it never will be. The growing of it has become- for the large part- 'easier'. But that has brought with it risk and a certain level of violence that is at present uncheckable once unleashed. Do we believe that we can sterilize fields, feed livestock diets that cause them illness and just get away with it? Do we feel entitled to easy food? I think we often do.

Below are several links to further information and reading if you're interested. Change is under way, but it is also under attack. The only prevention of fruitful change is active pressure-

http://www.slowfoodusa.org/

http://www.edibleschoolyard.org/


http://michaelpollan.com/

Food, Inc.

The Garden

Fair Food Project

The Food Revolution

The Future of Food

Fast Food Nation

Food Politics

Community Supported Agriculture

The Summer I Take Back the Yard

So, a little over a year ago, I decided to go back to school, and while this has been a somewhat resounding success- if I do say so myself- I have noticed some slippage in other areas. For example, I seem to have gained the freshmen, well, ten in my case. I've tried to convince myself that this has nothing to do with seducing myself into a non-stressed haze by scrolling for hours through facebook and cafemom. No. That couldn't be it.

Then, because I went straight through last summer- full time with four children at home-more scrolling-as-stress reliever in my front room office, and there were moments- many moments- where I would look through the windows that line this room and shudder at what had become of my yard. Little creepy tendrils of stress would creep up the back of my neck, forcing my gaze back onto the comparative neatness of the computer screen. Ignore it. It isn't happening. There isn't a rainforest where a neat garden used to be, and wild marijuana is not growing profusely in the back alley. Not happening.

Another issue with last summer was the lawn mower. Yeah. I have issues with lawnmowers. They either don't start for a mechanical problem- or I just can't start them. One or the other, and both rendering the thing useless to its owner. Being in school full time did not seem conducive to using the little rotary mower (that I love, by the way), so I hired out the job, and spent 20 minutes every Thursday just waiting for the lawnmower man to run over some pile of concrete block, hidden under the savannah grass in the back yard and ruin his mower, believing fully that mowers aren't destined to live long in this little corner of the universe. Then there was the fact that the summer before had been the summer of "the storm", which will remain "the storm" until one can come along to top it. It was one of those storms that didn't do enough damage to get any insurance money out of it that we could use on the yard. All up to us. We little people vs. entire trees. Thankfully there are enough people with tractors here, that if we could just get it to the street, they'd chain it and drag it to "the pile".

So, we were recovering from "the storm", I was in school full time, the lawnmower didn't work, and yeah. Bad, bad things happened to our yard. If you decided to walk to the garage via the neat little sidewalk that runs between it and the house, you needed something to cut things down with. Shameful.

And so, this summer, I decided to take off school, opting instead for the restoration of sanity.

This morning, I drug my four children out the door- okay, they actually wanted to go out.. at first. I hung out some laundry on the line, and asked the older two boys to cut strips of landscaping fabric for the garden. This could have gone better. Instead of folding the fabric to make neat, straight lines, they allowed it to billow around, while yelling at each other for help. Guess who cut the fabric? Next, we decided to take down the poppies, which are done blooming for the year, and the little boys were actually quite helpful, taking wheelbarrow loads to the compost pile. We got about 2/3 of this done, when I decided to finish cutting the grass in the area I had suggested be mowed today. I had to do this, because the older boys had decided it was just "too hard". Hear that in as whiny a voice as possible, because that's the way it sounded. I pulled the wash off the line, as it was finally dry and asked the older boys to finish cutting down the poppies while I took the little boys inside for showers and to make lunch. Hearing fighting outside- I stuck my head out the window and said, "Do you want me to fire you two and give your allowances to your little brothers?"

Anyway, it finally got done. Mainly. I'm sure there is detritus to be cleaned up tomorrow. At any rate, the sun is out, the air more dry than before the thunderstorm that came through last night. All in all, a decent day outside.

mittens/halfmitts/wristlets/fingerless mittens- whatever!

Made these recently for my step-sister's birthday. Being a knitter of mittens and warm things is sort of... inconvenient when the people you love are born in the warm months. That said, I usually harden my heart and make them something anyway, considering the idea that not being able to use whatever it is now will just delay their birthday for a longer period of time.

Hats!

This one is going to be picture heavy, because I've been remiss in not getting to the other computer- the one all these photos were on- and downloading them myself. Why these weren't on my computer had something to do with the fact that we have too many computers for the size of house we live in. And.. we're not the most organized people ever.

At any rate, my husband took these photos for me, and they turned out so nice, I feel the need to post them everywhere.

I call them the neapolitan collection, for obvious reasons~







Note, this post and all knitting related posts can now be found at www.villagetreedesign.blogspot.com

Loss

Its the last day of school today. Last day for our school forever. Lot of tears, lot of anger seeping through- frustration.

I'm not sure what it is precisely, but there is a level of mistrust between the town that ate our school and our little village. It may not be personal but it feels that way when we overhear them complaining about the 35 extra mouths they have to feed with their taxes...which is odd, considering all of us pay into the same system and have been for years. I suppose I have to wonder where that kind of vitriol comes from? When is it okay to complain about children who've lost their school through no fault of their own. We weren't over here cheering on the decision, after all.

And then there was the guy taking pictures of the building the other night. Furtively standing on the corner with his nervous wife. What was that about anyway? We feel- in this issue- that we just simply aren't being told anything- on purpose. Feeling this way becomes the norm when previous experiences- including the decision to close the school- are done in similar fashion- as quietly and quickly as possible, with intent to disclose as little as possible, and mesmerize people with double talk. Sometimes it works- with some people it works. With others, it does not.

The children are encouraged that this change will be better somehow. It was just a few words in the principles speech today- but it struck me as false on a certain level. How is this change better for our community? How is it better that our little kids will be on buses for much longer times everyday now- away from home that much longer. How is it better that the classrooms will be larger, with fewer teachers to students? No, there IS a downside to this- just not for the people whose lives are tied to the larger place, and whose thoughts don't often remember what those of us here, feel and know.

Mostly I'm just sad and angry. I don't like people with abusive proclivities to power. They suck. And I like to be told when changes are in the works. We're grownups, and taxpayers, and parents- and we have the right to a say in what happens. We have a right to say what happens with our children's education. We have a right to say what happens in our community. Those taxes the Milford parents were complaining about are there for the taking- diverted from our community and given now entirely to theirs. Why do they believe they're shouldering this on their own? Simple minds, I suppose.

But anyway. That's that. Meh.

Goodbye to the Village School

Three weeks back I received a message on facebook (remember that for later on) telling me that our local school board would most likely vote to close down our village school.

A little history. Our town had its own school at one time. With the population dwindling over the years, we joined forces with the larger district to our west. Our school was something like a satellite of the elementary school there- we shared a principal, and decisions were made by one school board. Some of the older members of our community refer back to long-lost agreements about a representative on the board and a promise that we would never be closed. But as years went by, grades were pulled to Milford, and our little school grew smaller and smaller.

The threat of closure came up every few years it seemed. The last time had something to do with Milford- the larger town- wanting to build on to their building, and funding that with the closure of ours. This didn't go over well- we were told by a board member who lived... sort of close to Pleasant Dale that they had discussed this option in a meeting. When we confronted them, they were resistant to answer questions, and even openly mocked our concern. Eyes were rolled. Board members wondered aloud if we were allowed to ask "these questions" during "their" meeting. In the end, it came to nought- they didn't have the room, nor the complete funds to build on at the time, I expect.

So, the facebook message came along, and I wasn't surprised to get that message on a social networking site, rather than by, I don't know, a letter maybe? From the Board? To the townspeople and parents concerned? Is that too much to ask?

Guess so, because once again, we hear after the fact, and just before the vote. The way it went down was, the superintendent showed up at a PTO meeting without any warning and gave them the news.

A meeting was called- by us, by the way- requesting members of the school board to come speak to the parents. They came, and thanked us for coming to their meeting. Someone reminded them that they were asked to come- that they had called no meeting. The superintendent decided to read aloud the letter he had finally gotten around to sending out after receiving several phone calls and emails, just in case we weren't able to read it ourselves? And then they opened the floor for questions.

This was where it began to get a little heated. Concerns were brought up. Concerns for our children, concerns for our little town, concerns that we were being taxed without representation- which was really more of a reality than a concern. These concerns were met with clueless shrugging by the board chair and members.

Thing is, this isn't their town. None of them live close to Pleasant Dale- I imagine most had not set foot in Pleasant Dale for quite some time until that meeting. None of them had bothered to attend our programs- which differ from their own elementary school. Our school is at the center of our community. Nothing really brings us together like it does, and nothing will unless some significant planning and changes take place after this school year. We will lose Nature at Nightfall, the yearly Bedtime Story night, the Christmas play. All of it gone. Milford does not have these institutions, and the school board members- while assuring us that they "always mean to represent Pleasant Dale along with Milford"- never bother to show up for any of them.

We are not the first or last village that will lose our school, but it is important to acknowledge the importance of the village school to small towns. Without them, towns have a hard time attracting new, younger families, and they eventually die.

Over these weeks, I've wondered what we could have done differently. Should we have participated more fully? Should we have been louder and more obnoxious? I've had visions of throwing grapes at the board ala some mother in Detroit a few years back. (Which, by the way, I would never do, but it was fun to think about..) All this time, we were secure in the knowledge that we had our little school here- while the Milford school board always saw our school as a waste of money that had to be dealt with. We just didn't share a common reality.

This story feels familiar to me, most likely because it was foretold by Ted Kooser- Nebraska resident, writer, and the thirteenth poet laureate of the United States. From his book of essays, Local Wonders: Seasons in the Bohemian Alps~

"On the other hand, you can put just about anything over on a small community if you go about it so slowly that you do not alert the wolf in the people who live there. Want to dump some hazardous chemicals in the local landfill? Just bring it a bucket at a time, casually, as if you were carrying water to the chickens. Want to dam up a river? String out the process for so many years that the debate itself becomes a kind of stability. Want to shut down a local school in favor of busing the students to a central place? Just do it a grade at a time.
Our consolidated school district, centered in our county seat, Seward, was successful in slowly closing down services in the schools of the small outlying communities like Garland. The board, recognizing the natural wolf sight of rural people, drew out the pace of this dismemberment for so long that most of the parents in the little towns grew accustomed to the process. The school officials lopped off a few grades at a time, starting with the high school, then the junior high, then sixth grade, then fifth, and so on, not every year, but every few years. It became a matter of course. The students who lost their classrooms were picked up and bused to the big town. The process of attrition reduced the enrollment in the outlying schools, and the school board then noted with mock surprise that, because of decreased enrollment, more of the local schools' services should be cut back. One of my neighbors who still has good wolf sight observed that this was like having the school board members hold open the gate to the corral while they remarked upon how many of the horses were getting away. And so it went, just a bucket or two of this hazardous waste at a time. Sure, there was a shock of disappointment whenever another grade got shorn away, but the parents were so worn down by the inexorable patience of the board that most of them gave up. the wolf in them got old, and its teeth fell out. Its eyes grew clouded by cataracts from having watched this process go on for so many years. What the school board considered progress- consolidation- was to others the death of a valuable institution, the village school. But at the final meeting with the school board, only a handful of parents showed up. Those few people who attended were still alert enough to notice that the ashtray had finally been moved from one table to another."

{mini book review- for heaven's sake, if you haven't read this book, do it.}

So, there it is. Another loss for the little guy. Another gain for the bigger guy. Could we have stopped it? I don't know. Probably not. The economy is terrible, the money not there. But what would the picture look like if our school went past the third grade?

And what would we feel like if the discussion had happened in a more forthright manner- if we had not had to force that discussion? I, for one, would not have felt better, but I would have had more respect for the people on the Milford school board. The vision of grape pelting would probably not have occurred to me.

The Blessing of Birdseed

My desk sits in our little front room, and is surrounded on the north and east by windows that look into our front yard. This morning, as I was wrestling with a particularly difficult section of an assignment on diversity, I noticed some movement on the ground outside that north window. There were ring-necked doves, a few starlings, two jays, a cardinal and a woodpecker, a handful of sparrows, one little junco- and happiness! a robin- all pecking about hopefully on the little square of exposed earth between the two pine trees. Not seeing anything resembling food out there, I remembered the bag of seed sitting outside my front door, and went to remedy this situation.

I sprinkled birdseed liberally over the exposed earth, and came back inside. Just a few minutes later, there they all were- and are- happily pecking about under the tree, cheek by jowl, no fighting, just happy munching.

There are people out there that get angry if a starling eats out of their bird-feeder. Did you know that? Eh, not me- I'll take whoever comes along. Diversity in nature- as in society- can be enriching. We need not be afraid. We need not be selfish. Consider the birds of the air- today, anyway- they met peacefully under my pine trees.

Yarn

It seems I've always crocheted. When I was a little girl, my mother taught me the single crochet stitch, sat me down with some red yarn and had me make what turned out to be a wonky, somewhat ugly scarf. During this time, my friend Fawn, who lived outside of town on a little farm decided that she wanted to learn how to make a sweater. Being Fawn complicated things.


Myself, Shane, and Fawn on Fawn's farm circa 1985/6ish


On Fawn's farm, there was an old farm hand's house just behind her house that she used for her own personal museum, which consisted of feathers and bones, rocks and other bits of nature that she'd collected. There was one time when she'd found a dead hawk, and had attempted boiling it on the stove to remove the flesh so she could display the skeleton. So, learning to make a sweater didn't involve a trip to Kmart and the purchase of a ball of red heart yarn and some knitting needles. Oh no. She had to know the entire process, from the sheep onward. So, because my mom knew of a ranch that sold wool, spinning and knitting supplies, the four of us, mom, Fawn's mom Joyce, Fawn and I piled into the car one day to check it out.

I don't remember much about the place except for the actual store front they used to sell their wool. It was a small building that overlooked a field of sheep, with mountains jutting out of the sky on either side. The sunlight drifted easily into the little room that housed the spinning wheels, roving, and yarn. We bought little spinners like these-


and some roving and got started. Fawn produced a small ball of yarn, and that was about it. But if it didn't do much for her (or perhaps it did, and anyway, I'm forever grateful she had this idea), it did something for me. While I wasn't enamored at the time with the spinning idea, I wanted to learn to knit, but alas- no one in my family knew how. I was never sure how Fawn was going to learn- perhaps she thought she'd use a book, or maybe she knew someone who would have taught her. But with one thing and another, I never found the time to ask.

Later on in highschool, I spent hours working the front desk phone system. Before anyone is further confused, I attended a boarding school and worked part time all four years to help support myself. At night in the winter, the doors would open and cold air would blast in, and my little cold hands would get colder. I began to crochet again about this time. Instead of doing homework at the front desk, I would sit and crochet more scarves, a hat or two, a blanket- and it helped keep me warm. Another benefit was that it helped give my somewhat fidgety hands something to do, and it calmed my anxious mind. Crochet became a type of meditation.

One problem I had with crochet was that I couldn't read patterns. I say problem, but I sometimes wonder if this wasn't a little bit of a blessing. Because of this, I had to figure it out for myself, and I did. For a kid who didn't feel overly intelligent at the best of times, it gave my self-esteem a little boost. And I still wanted to learn to knit.

Years went by, and this last summer found my husband asking again and again what I wanted for my birthday in August. I honestly couldn't think of anything I really wanted or needed at the time. And then my sister mentioned that she was thinking about taking a knitting class- and this reawakened my old idea. So, my birthday present led me back to yarn. So far I've made several scarves for various people, and this time I know how to read patterns. Here are a few of the pieces I've finished since October-

sample scarf










fish hat pattern- http://www.knitty.com/ISSUEwinter08/PATTfishy.php