Spring Break

We recently took an inadvertent Spring Break. We usually hold off until May for that, but life happened. A whole slew of baby animals were born in the course of one week, and then I ended up with a nasty cold-turned-brochitis that lasted another week. Add to that a baby goat that needed help eating every three hours round the clock, the first starts for the veggie garden, and Spring Break seemed like a necessity.

So I didn't ask them to do any school work. No math, no English, no history or science. They had free reign to do as they pleased for two whole weeks.

So what did that look like? Surprisingly, it looked a lot like.... school. Not normal school. Not scheduled school. But educational nonetheless.

There was, of course, biology - watching laboring animals, discussing what happens internally when contractions happen, defining things like amniotic fluid and umbilical cord, seeing the water break, discussing instincts, helping babies nurse for the first time and milking the mamas to reduce the likelihood of mastitis, how mammary glands work, the parts of an udder and teat, and relation of all that to humans. I'm pretty sure enough biology happened that week that we could skip science for the rest of the summer... if not the whole year.

And also on the subject of biology, we had our puppy spayed. This prompted a discussion of surgeries in general, spaying in specific, and walks every two hours - which meant watching the clock and learning to read it.

For fun, The Oldest read a biography about Benjamin Franklin, and topped it off with Paddington, which was on our "to read" list. We also read several chapters of The Secret Garden, and Littlest One worked painstakingly through yet another horse book. So there was our reading, literature, and a bit of history and social studies (with both The Secret Garden and Paddington taking place in England.)

We spend at least three hours making fairy dolls out of clothespins (art and history - clothespin dolls are historical, ya know) and then The Oldest spent another several hours trying to fashion a boat that would hold clothespin dolls and not be top heavy or sink, and that would float straight (engineering and physics.)

Littlest One spent an inordinate amount of time calculating the number of animals we have, how many we would have after we sold or ate them, how much money she could make selling babies and selling eggs, estimating how many birds we will have when some are hatched. Her little brain works numbers constantly. They also played a few different games we have lying around that involve the memorization of math facts and calculated more than a few times how many days until Daddy would be home to help with everything. They paid constant attention both the indoor and outdoor temperatures, sorted eggs into dozens, and calculated gallons of milk from pints and quarts. Add to that the fact that The Oldest did at least a quarter of the cooking for two weeks, and I'd say we accomplished plenty of real-life math.

While I was sick, they did a fair amount of laundry and cleaning (home ec) and even caring for many of the animals (animal husbandry, responsibility, patience, diligence.) In general, their lives revolve around the development of character traits, and this was no different.

There were many, many hours spent wandering the hills, the pasture, the irrigation ditches, the pond, and the garden, just enjoying spring. Such small changes as sprouting tulips, singing meadowlarks, and gobbling turkeys were duly noted. I'm pretty sure that all counts as nature study.

When they did have free time indoors, they spent it playing games on National Geographic Kids. There was problem solving, math and science and history and learning about different cultures. They don't often get to play computer games, but considering we were on a break from school, that seemed pretty reasonable.

While I'm not sure I'd ever commit to 'unschooling' like so many do, I feel very confident in saying that my kids aren't any worse off for having had a longer-than-normal and unplanned break. When your kids grow up with play and learning and life so constantly integrated, they simply don't know how to divide them, and they tend to enjoy nearly all of it.

School doesn't have to happen sitting down!

Keepin' It Real

I usually do my best to keep every post on this blog positive. Because, honestly, so much great stuff happens in our lives that I can document, and I don't feel compelled to write about the not-so-great stuff. And also because this blog is primarily intended for posterity, and I don't want a big focus on all the rough parts.

But I'm also a big fan of keepin' it real. No one likes someone who pretends things are perfect all that time - after all, no one's life is perfect all the time. So, in the spirit of keepin' it real, I thought I'd write a little bit about what it's actually like, being a mom of two homeschooled daughters, on a forty acre farm in the middle of nowhere, with a husband who works away from home nearly all the time. Because that's my reality. Yes, good things happen. It's a beautiful life, because we make it that way. But being on my own all the time... well, it's not always pretty.

So, here's what it really looks like.

*I stay busy. And by busy, I mean really busy. I wake up at 5:30 am. I allow myself fifteen minutes for coffee and Facebook, and then I get to work. And I keep working, and schooling, and cooking and cleaning and working and parenting and cleaning and working until the kids are in bed at 8:30. And then I work a little more, or I spend some pitiful time alone, until I'm too exhausted to stay up anymore and I go to bed. Busy is my coping mechanism. If I'm busy, I don't have time to feel sorry for myself or miss my husband or think. So if you ever wonder how I "do it all", just know that I'm really just coping.

*There are a lot of tears. Tears because I don't know how to do something that needs to be done, that normally my husband would do but he's not here to do it. Tears because I feel inadequate to parent two girls on my own all the time, with no Daddy to help temper my maternal ways. Tears because I'm overwhelmed by the sheer amount of work that needs to be done, and that there isn't time for. Tears because my kids are doing something amazing that my husband is entirely missing out on. Tears because I hate going to bed alone all the time. Tears because I'm just damn lonely and need someone to talk to, and my someone is working on an oil field six hundred miles away.

*Going to bed is a weird thing. I sleep alone so much that, while I hate it, it's what I'm used to. And that moment that you realize that you're uncomfortable having to share your bed is a little depressing.

*My husband is working his life away, and the constant guilt that I feel eats at me every day. He works day in and day out so we can live on this amazing piece of property surrounded by this incredible life, and he doesn't even get to enjoy it. He comes home a couple days at a time, works the entire time, and never gets to just sit back and enjoy it. So when he's gone, in an attempt to temper the feelings of guilt, I work even harder, to somehow try to make up for the fact that he's doing so much and getting virtually nothing in return, just for our happiness.

*I'm a very traditional, Christian wife. I view my purpose as being a "help meet" to my husband. But when my husband is not actually here, my purpose disappears. I spend an awful lot of time telling myself that I don't need a man to take care of me, and I don't need a man to take care of. When one's fulfillment comes from meeting her husband's needs, but her husband isn't even there, one lacks fulfillment in a very deep sort of way.

*I spend an embarrassing amount of time fantasizing about selling all of the animals, selling off the farm, moving to the Even Bigger City, and living in an apartment with my kids, my dog, and most importantly, my husband. While I deeply and desperately love every animal we own, and I love milking and gardening and growing hay and being part of a small-town community and watching my kids raise 4H animals and compete in rodeos, I even more deeply and more desperately want to know what it's like to be married all the time again. And if that means living in a city, on a city lot or even in an apartment, a part of me would be willing to do it. A part of me would also die, but sometimes it seems like that would be worth it to actually experience a married relationship again.

So no. It's not all perfect. It's a beautiful life, but it's got an ugly side, too. The ecstasy of living in the most beautiful part of the country is tempered with pain of living it all alone, save for  55 animals and the two most amazing little girls on the planet. But even they don't take the place of The Love of My Life.

The Little Things

I was perusing my own blog last night, from back in 2009, reading about our lives and our adventures (and mis-adventures) and comparing it to now. Sometimes I feel like I was such a better mom then... like somehow I'm failing a little more now than I did before.

But no... no, it's not failing. True, I've lost some exuberance. I'm also older, and tireder, and most importantly, my kids are growing up. I'm not a mom to toddlers anymore. My days, while still full of exciting things, aren't filled with silly phrases spoken by a twelve month or teaching a five year old how to plant peas. Life has changed. I have changed. It's not better or worse, it's just different. I'm now parenting an eleven year old and a six year old. Toddlerhood is a fond memory of days gone by, and I've had to adapt to this new phase of "bigger kid" parenting.

It's hard sometimes, raising these "bigger kids". There's more pressure now. Suddenly I don't just have to feed them and keep them alive - I have to turn them into responsible, upstanding citizens. And time, as it is wont to do, is flying by. So we don't get to spend as much time just playing and taking cute pictures and making fun crafts. Especially as homeschoolers. We have to do math, and English, and social studies and science. They need to learn to type, and cook, and take care of themselves. And all those things take time.

Sometimes... okay, often... at the end of the day, I feel like I've not done one noteworthy thing with my kids. Nothing to blog about. (Hence the extreme lack of blogging for the past couple of years.) But I think I'm just looking in the wrong places.

We're still exploring. We're still gardening, and even raising livestock now. We're reading and creating and learning and spending special time together. I'm just not as good at seeing "the little things" as I used to be. Some of it has just become normal, nothing special anymore. Some of it is plenty important, but doesn't seem as humorous or noteworthy as things like, "This is my sister. She bites babies."

But I've gotta start writing again. This time is just as special as years gone by, albeit different. But I love re-reading our stories, and I imagine my girls will love them some day, too. I don't want them to think life is less important now than when they were little.

Heaven forbid life ever just become "normal", that I lack the ability to see how special each day is. Because that's what makes life amazing. It's not the big things. It's the little things.

April 1 - Spring is here!

It's amazing how quickly things change, if you spend just a little bit of time watching, and a bit more time helping things along. So much has happened since last month - every walk outside brings our attention to something new.

In the garden, the garlic is now upwards of 4" tall and thriving. Snowstorms every few days that lay a thin blanket of snow and then melt by noon are keeping everything nice and moist. (This also means we are wading through ankle deep mud some mornings.) The chives are tall enough to be cut and used on baked potatoes, and the thyme and oregano are nearly there. We've tidied all the beds and added composted manure (plenty of that around!) and planted the peas and spinach and lettuce and mesclun greens. The lettuce and greens are just starting to sprout, though we're still waiting on the peas and spinach. It's a little hard up here, waiting so long for things to grow. When we lived in The Big City, we'd be close to harvesting spinach already, and peas would be happily climbing trellises.

In the flower gardens, tulips and daffodils are inches tall now, green life is sprouting from the dormant perennials, and the lilac is covered in buds. Littlest One and I spent a lot of time cleaning the gardens, trimming back old growth and getting ready for the new. I love listening to her talk and dream about flowery things - her little heart has a passion for the beauty that flowers bring. She's been filling her bird feeders again, and the house finches and goldfinches and chickadees and bluebirds show their gratitude every morning as they come for breakfast.

The birds are only some of the wildlife entertaining us each day - bluebirds fighting over nest boxes, birds hopping along porch railings, driving our cat absolutely bonkers, swallows just returning from wherever it is they go in the winter, swooping across the lawn and catching what bugs they can find. But there are also deer, finally back from their own wintering grounds, sneaking into the lawn through the open driveway gate and grazing on the green grass. The elk bed down in the pasture some nights, as many as a hundred at a time, so that when the sun comes up in the morning we are surprised to see them out there, just starting to wake up for the day and move down into the trees. Marmots scamper across the driveway when we come home, owls sing their eerie songs at night when we do barn checks, and coyotes howl, often a little too close for comfort. The noise and activity is constant, and yet peaceful.

There has been much new life brought forth this month in the barnyard. Mae, our milk cow, gave birth to her first calf, a little heifer named Clara Belle. The milking does each kidded, bringing five new little kid-goats into the family. All this new life also means lots of fresh milk, and we are having to get used to a new morning routine now. Between milking, feeding and watering, shoveling manure from one stall or another, caring for the old poultry and the new poultry (5 turkeys, 3 chickens), watering the garden, making and eating breakfast and some basic household chores, we average about 3 or 4 hours of work each morning before we even start school. Eventually, this will work into a (relatively) smooth routine, but right now it sure feels overwhelming!

The kids are reminding me a lot of everything else - growing and changing. The beautiful weather has them playing outdoors now, instead of stuck inside. They are constantly exploring the hill or the pasture, racing sticks in the irrigation ditch, working on their hayloft fort, playing with dinosaurs in the pond, riding bikes, cuddling chickens or baby goats... the list of things goes on and on. Between their imaginations and the never-ending supply of outdoor activities, they are like little butterflies, flitting from one thing to another. Some days I don't hear from them until they are hungry, or until I sneak up on them and take a few pictures of them engrossed in some imagining or another.

New life, new growth, surges of activity everywhere - our world is awake again!

New Kids on the Block... err, Farm.

Kidding is officially over! I'm a little sad that the birthing excitement is over for the year, but at the same time, I'm looking forward to sleeping again.

In order of appearance, here are this year's babies:

Out of Liberty -

Elsa, (standing on the right) a dainty but playful little girl. She keeps sneaking through the hole in the wall for the barn cats to get into the hay loft, and then getting stuck. She's quite the little explorer, and is always making her mama call for her.  Elsa will be staying here with us, as I promised The Oldest she could keep one of Liberty's babies if she had a girl.

Olaf is her brother, and would prefer to lay in someone's lap most of the day under the heat lamp. He's plenty strong and healthy... he's just a lover.

Out of Aurora -

This is Sven. We missed his birth by an hour or so, and Aurora, being a first time mom, didn't quite know what to do. As a result, she still isn't sure why poor Sven keeps following her around, and she isn't letting him nurse unless I make her stand for it. But Sven is one persistent little guy! He just won't give up. And despite his slightly rough start he is happy and playful and doesn't let it get him down. He has a pretty color that is nearly impossible to catch on film in a barn, but it's sort of white peppered with a chocolatey brown color.

Out of Justice -

This is Fiona. She's the quiet one of the two, mild mannered and a bit shy. She has a stripe around her middle that makes her look a little like an Oreo cookie. Her hair is a bit longer than the others and has some curl to it. I'm kind of hoping she doesn't outgrow it. (These girls are only a few hours old in these pictures, as they were just born this morning - hence the reason they look a little scraggly still.)

And this is Felicity, full of pep and playfulness even at only a few hours old. She was bouncing within half an hour of her birth, and has continued to do so, all morning. She's curious and friendly and is a very cheerful little girl. 

Now the fun begins - nothing is more entertaining that baby goats romping and playing with one another!

Baby Season: The Good and the Not-So-Good

It has been an emotionally exhausting couple of weeks. And physically exhausting, actually.

Baby season is the most exciting time of year at our house. We wait with intense anticipation of the arrival of baby critters and the overwhelming beauty of each birth is just incredible. There isn't any better experience.

But along with the perfect, sweet, cuddly little babies comes much stress.

For the past two weeks, I've been going out every four hours to check on the barn animals, making sure no one is in labor. And yes, that includes through the night. Add to that the fact that when I wake up at night, and it takes me at least an hour to go back to sleep, and you've got one very tired mama.

After Clara Belle was born, learning to milk a cow was added to my daily list of chores. And while Mae is an amazing, gentle little cow, milking is still not coming easily. It's physically exhausting, being constantly ready to jump out of the way of a kick while simultaneously holding a bucket with one hand, milking with the other, and standing in a tense squatting position the whole time. And I do it every morning and every night. 

While the vet was out today checking test results for Mae (so far, she's healthy) he noticed that Clara Belle has some blood in her stool. She's acting healthy and rambunctious, so he didn't feel it was necessary to treat her for anything yet, and just told me to watch her. Let me tell ya, watching a baby cow for signs of illness is a worrisome thing to do. Especially when you know it could potentially be very dangerous.

Then, yesterday, our little goat Aurora had her first kid... and we weren't here for it. We got home about an hour after he was born, I'm guessing, and she had already decided she had no use for him. He tries to nurse, she butts him away. She didn't clean him at all, and pretty much refuses to acknowledge that he even exists. This means I'm going out every two hours during the day to hold her still while he nurses, and every three hours at night. Yes, we could just bottle feed him, but I'd really like to get her to accept him and I'm not quite ready to give up yet.

While the farrier was out today, trimming the horse's hooves, he mentioned that Angel, Chloe's horse, is really starting to show her age. Her feet are growing uneven, which means she's not putting her weight flat on them. That, apparently, is a sign of arthritis. He said to watch her while Chloe is riding, and if she trips and stumbles very often, it's a sign that she needs to retire from running and only walk. He also reminded me that with a horse her age, we should always be on the lookout for another horse to replace her, as she could die any time. I know that's fact - she's an old girl, but hearing it, today, wasn't exactly what I needed. I love that horse dearly, and hate the thought of losing her.

And in between all of this, I'm still trying to homeschool two kids, start a garden's worth of plants indoors and out, and keep up with general housewife duties like laundry and dishes and cooking decent meals. (At this point, I'm failing. We've been eating boxed macaroni and cheese, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and oranges. The laundry is piling up, I finally washed two days' worth of dishes today, and my house looks like no one has cleaned it in two weeks... because, well, they haven't.)

So we have one more goat to birth, and then this craziness will be done. I've some faith that she'll do well, as she was a fantastic mother last year and birthed with no problems, but at this point, I'm a little nervous, wondering what else can go wrong. I do love this time of year, love getting to experience all these amazing things with my girls, but sometimes the stress gets to be a little much. And the lack of sleep certainly isn't helping.

So here's looking to next week - hopefully a week with no troubles, healthy animals, happy babies, and some full nights of sleep!

Ah, Blessed Goat Hormones

Goats are funny little creatures. They are also - I have to admit - my favorite here on our little farmstead. I know so many folks who really despise goats, but honestly, I adore them. They are full of personality, love, and endless pranks to keep you on your toes.

Remember Liberty, the Crazy Goat? Perhaps the idea of me, running helter skelter over a small mountain chasing after a psychotic goat will jog your memory? Having to fetch her from the neighbor's house, half a mile down the road? Indeed, that was a rough time. Her being our first goat, I decided then and there I was NOT cut out to be a goat owner, that all goat owners were masochistic, and as it turns out, dairy isn't really all that important in a person's diet. At least, not ours.

Seriously. It was rough. She's never been a friendly goat. Even now - a year and a half later - she's not the friendliest. She'll let me pet her, but she isn't one to demand attention like the other two. She doesn't (ever) talk to me, she is skittish if you try to approach her. She's definitely not what I'd call "tame".

The strange thing, though, is that of our three milking does, she is my absolute favorite. Maybe because demanding isn't my favorite character trait? And she certainly has no intention of ever needing anything from me - ever.

It happened when she had her first kids, last year. She wasn't the greatest mom in the world, but we worked through that. But here's the surprising bit - it turns out that Crazy Goat is actually a natural milker. First time on the stanchion, and there she stood. Just stood! Silly goat won't let us touch her on a regular basis, but we can take all the milk from her udder that we please, and she won't complain in the slightest!

Fast forward to this year: she still doesn't really care to have me pet her. At all. Like, runs in circles around the stall to get away from me. Unless I have treats. Treats are really helpful. But yeah -she's still a wild little goat, and her use for humans is pretty minimal. Give her food, give her water, then go away.

But the moment those two, sweet little babies were out of her and nursing, she turns into this adorable, loving little goat. Twelve hours after birth, I put her on the stanchion. All she needs is to hear the milk room open and she is racing for it, on the stanchion, head locked in place and happily munching grain. And then - and I'm so not joking - she actually bent her knees out to give me better access to her udder! Seriously, Liberty the Crazy Goat was standing there, knees cocked out, so I could milk more comfortably.

This silly little goat is proof - it doesn't take a perfectly tame goat to make an incredible milker. She gave me a pint of colostrum*, and had plenty more, and didn't even so much as wiggle the whole time. And as soon as she was off the stanchion, she was content to have me go away and leave her be.

It was nice - relaxing and just milking a goat I know so well - especially after spending the last week attempting to milk a cow (which deserves it's own blog post, but I'm still waiting to see humor in it.) We both just settled in, did what we do, and were done.

So, ye with Wild Goats - don't sell yourself (or them) short. It just might be that they are exactly what you need them to be.

*Colostrum: the first milk, full of antibodies and absolutely imperative for kid goat survival. Turns out, some goats produce a lot extra. I steal what I think is reasonable and freeze it, in the event that I have another babe that might need it. I'm living in constant fear that one of our does is going to have triplets (she is wider than she is long) and having some extra colostrum on hand makes me feel a little better.

Sweet Clara Belle

When we bought Mae, my milk cow, we were told she was due in September. And then September came and went, and it was clear she was nowhere near calving.

And then October passed... and November, and December. By January, I was convinced she would be pregnant for the rest of her life. Or that she wasn't pregnant at all, and all the signs were just some sort of cow phantom pregnancy. But then a couple of weeks ago, I noticed some bigger changes - her udder was fuller, her backside looked... well, like she might be getting closer to calving. (Which would make sense. Obviously she wasn't get further away.)

And then came the happy day, when Littlest One, came running inside saying, "Mom!! Mae's got a big string of mucus hanging out of her backside! It's all the way to her ankles!" (And it briefly registered in my brain that this wasn't a 'normal' thing for a six year old to say.)

Indeed, it turns out she was in the early stages of labor. Six hours later, she was in active labor, and the girls and I were lucky enough to witness it.  Nothing - absolutely nothing - is as amazing as witnessing a birth. It doesn't matter if it is animal or human or if you've been there for a dozen of them. Everything about it is miraculous, and perfect. Especially when nothing goes wrong. And thankfully, nothing did. In fact, it was really a pretty easy birth, only about 20 minutes from start to finish, two pushes and the babe was out. (Of course, it's easy for me to say it was easy. I wasn't the one pushing. This time.)

It was beautiful. As soon as the calf was out, Mae jumped up and started licking. And licking, and licking, and licking. And then when I got close, she licked my jeans for awhile. And oh, how I wish you could all hear her. She sweetest, softest little "moos" - just like a human mama would speak sweetly and gently to her babe, this mama cow talked to her calf. I didn't get all teary-eyed until I heard that sweet sound. It was instant, undeniable, absolutely pure and true love.



Fifteen minutes later, the little calf was up and standing. Err, well, wobbling. There was much wobbling going on. But it wasn't long before babe was nursing, and mama was calm and relaxed.

Having read - repeatedly - the tendency for sweet, gentle cows to turn into demon spawn once they calve, in an attempt to protect their calf from harm, I was a little leery of climbing into the stall with her to check things out. But some things must be done. And in this case, they must be done in relative darkness. First things first  - did we have a heifer or bull calf? Considering it was a black calf lying in the darkest corner of the barn with a protective mama  hovering, figuring that out wasn't all too easy. Or certain. I felt for boy parts, and couldn't feel any... so I went to bed hoping I was right and it was a girl. I checked again three times before I'd let myself believe it - it's a GIRL!!

Oh, how I wanted a girl. Yes, a boy would fill the freezer. But a girl means we can keep her. And breed her! And have more baby cows to love! Yes, for these past many months, I've been hoping beyond hope that Mae would have a girl, and she did. And - truth - I still feel every time I go out there, making sure the boy parts weren't just hiding for the past 24 hours.

Turns out Mae really isn't demon spawn. In fact, she doesn't seem to mind my being in the stall with her and Clara Belle. (Do you have any idea how long I've wanted a cow named Clara Belle?) I still won't put myself between mama and baby, and I won't put myself in a corner where she could kill me if she really felt like it, but she is pretty content with me being around. And little Clara Belle is so sweet and friendly and interested in me. And then she looks at me, with those big eyes and those loooong eyelashes, and my heart melts all over again.... yeah.

So I was up all night, between checking to make sure little Clara was still doing alright, and laying in bed feeling giddy because I officially have a milk cow - that is really in milk. Of course, that doesn't mean I can actually milk her yet, seeing as she's never been milked before. But that's a story for a different post.

For now, I'll just get another cup of coffee and head back out to the barn to watch our sweet little calf hop all around. And for now, I'll be the happiest farm-girl in the world.



I'm sharing this post over at Mama Kautz's Front Porch Friday Blog Hop!

March 1 - Signs of Spring

March first.

The weather has been tricking us lately, making us think spring is closer than it likely really is. Spring doesn't come early in the mountains.

But with the past week being in the mid-fifties and higher, the snow has been melting so fast we can nearly watch it disappear. What was solid white just two weeks ago is now a brown-green lawn, grass matted flat against the earth from the weight of the months of snow. But even then, you can see little green blades standing tall, reaching toward the sun, trying to keep warm.

The garden is visible now - not entirely thawed, but almost. I hadn't walked through it since the first heavy snow in December. The soil is still soaked from the melted snow, but life can be seen if one looks close enough. The oregano and thyme and parsley are already green and growing, and little cilantro sprouts were tucked in beneath a thin layer of icy slush. The strawberry leaves are lifting themselves from the soil, and the tiniest leaf-buds speckle the apple trees we planted last year. It makes me glad to know they survived the winter. It was a cold one. A row of turnips I never got around to harvesting is still there - turnips now the size of softballs. I wonder if the cow would like one chopped up for a snack.

The animals all know spring is coming, too. The chickens have finally come out of their winter break from laying, and the egg basket on the kitchen counter is filling rapidly after being nearly empty the past several months. The cow and the goats' bellies are round as barrels, all expected to give birth sometime this month. We all daydream in anticipation of baby animals to play with and of fresh milk to drink again. Even the ducks seem to know spring is here, the drakes courting the hens with much enthusiasm. The puppy is permanently muddy up her elbows from all the exploring she has been doing lately, and the horses are happily wandering the hill again, looking for green bits here and there to munch on after having only hay all winter long.

The days are longer now - chores can be done during daylight hours at both morning and night, something I appreciate. I've never loved doing chores in the dark. There was a flock of sixteen robins scattered across the lawn this morning, hopping around looking for bugs in the grass. The dog is scolded each time he chases them away - he still can't understand why we appreciate him chasing away the magpies, but wish he'd leave the robins alone. Last week we saw a pair of bluebirds checking out one of the nesting boxes. Not too much longer, and we'll be able to hear the baby birds tucked deep inside, one of our favorite discoveries each spring.

It's been a long winter. Perhaps not really that long, but it's felt long. It's nice to know it's finally waning, to start dreaming of kid goats and pipping turkey poults and the coming rodeos and haying and harvesting of fresh vegetables....

Of course, it's easy to imagine all of those things, while forgetting just how much impending work must be done to get there.

But no matter. Work, in the spring, doesn't really feel like work!

I Heart Homeschooling.

Homeschooling is amazing. It brings you these incredible days where you are sure you are a failure one minute, and the next minute you gaze in wonder at the intelligence of your children.

Our school day started out with math (which was surprisingly not painful, considering The Oldest is learning to find common denominators.) Then came English. The Oldest wrote me four synopses about things such as The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere and the parable of the Good Samaritan. Littlest One was doing the same thing she always does: phonics charts, reading from a beginning reader, and then copy work. In two years, she still does not remember that N-E-W spells "new". Nor did she remember the words "would", "oh", or "unto". It was a painful lesson. The kind that convinces you, as a homeshooling mother, that your child will still not be reading when she is entering high school. (Because homeschooling mothers are known for putting undo pressure on themselves, and then buckling under said pressure. It's what we do. We're really good at it.)

But then, life happens. Discussions happen. Over lunch, Galileo's experiment at the leaning tower of Pisa came up. I remember hearing about that in the 8th grade. My teacher telling us that, if we were allowed to climb up onto the roof and drop a bowling ball and a marble, that they would land at the same time. I never did believe him.

Well, we didn't have a bowling ball, but we had a huge bouncy ball and a marble. So we dropped them from the deck, two stories above the ground below, and Littlest One kept watch. Indeed, they did both land at the same time.

From there, I thought I'd be all awesome and explain gravity and terminal velocity. Except that at about that moment, Littlest One (who is SIX!) piped up. "Eventually, everything will go as fast as it can go, and it won't go any faster."

And there's terminal velocity, in six year old terms.

"The balls landed at the same time because they're the same shape. So they push the air away the same."

Right.

So what would happen if I dropped a feather and a hammer?

"They wouldn't be the same, 'cuz they're shaped different. The feather makes more friction."

Seriously? I had to look it up. She was right.

"What would happen if I dropped a feather and a hammer and I was standing on the moon?" (The school book told me to ask that. Never would've occurred to me otherwise.)

"They'd fall the same. 'Cuz there isn't any air on the moon, so there's no friction."

I had to look that up, too. How on earth did she learn that? Her sister read something about it in a National Geographic magazine and told her about it. I Googled the video of the Apollo 15 astronaut demonstrating it. They were fascinated.

Why am I doing the teaching here? Clearly, the ten year old is more capable. Granted, I can claim having taught them about friction. We had an awesome time with that one!

Later tonight, she explained the process of amputating a horse's leg due to infection from a dog bite, and then creating a prosthetic leg and teaching it how to walk again.

Um, seriously? Yeah, it was in a book her sister read to her, one Grammy gave her for Christmas. So they were playing "amputated horse leg" in the living room. Because that's what homeschoolers do for fun.

This morning at breakfast, we used the computer to take a virtual tour of the New York Metropolitan Museum of Art. (We just finished reading aloud the Newbery award winner From the Mixed Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler so it fit in nicely.) Using the mouse to move through the museum, The Oldest pipes up, "Look! There's a model of Brunellesci's dome!" Ehhh... huh? She looks at me like I might be stupid. "Brunellesci. The Renaissance. Remember?" Uh... yeah, no. But apparently I read something about that to her once. Glad to know it stuck.

Homeschool is incredible. Stressful, and difficult, but incredible. They spend so much time delving into subjects that interest them, and then sharing those subjects with one another, playing them and discussing them and pondering them. The teaching that I do hardly touches the amount of learning that they do, through each of those mediums.

So about that trouble with reading? I'm pretty sure it'll come. Some day there will be a book that details the discoveries of some great inventor or scientist, and she's going to be desperate to know what it says, and she's going to read it. The hardest part of homeschooling is letting go of the standards and goals you've got in your mind. Because you can set as many standards as your heart desires, but your kids aren't going to meet them the way you planned for them to. They'll get there in their time, taking their route, and achieving so much more along the way than you ever could have even imagined.