Nature in the neighborhood

When I get a spare moment here or there, I've recently started reading Last Child in the Woods: Saving our children from Nature Deficit Disorder. While I wouldn't say it's one of those books that just grabs you with its page-turning prose, I appreciate conceptually where he is going with the book. Particularly the idea that kids need to be out in nature just being, and not always engaged in some type of big or structured activity. 

In that spirit - when it isn't raining - we've been getting out for some freeform nature exploration. Since Cassidy isn't walking yet and the ground is too soggy for crawling, I'm still the vehicle for Cassidy's nature discovery; but given her adept pointing skills, I usually have a pretty good idea of where she wants to go. The other day when the sun came out we took a slow walk around a few blocks of our neighborhood, looking for interesting bark textures, soft seed pods and smooth leaves. I discovered that English ivy might just serve one useful purpose - entertaining babies. Cassidy wanted to touch the little seed heads again and again.

When it is raining (which it often is these days), we have to forego our nature explorations and find other ways to keep busy at home...

making funny faces

or pensive faces

doing ballet on chairs

reading cards upside down

eating bread in drawers

or bringing nature inside, in the form of our CSA box

When she's outside I feel that she's more peaceful and engaged, but it's fun watching her discover the little things around the house that captivate her interest too.

On a lighter note...

Just when I thought that the Baby Einstein had outlived its useful life in our living room, Cassidy discovered a new way to enjoy it:

How you are supposed to use it (little Cassidy at 7 months):

A walk in the woods

Last Saturday, before the big rains came, we took a walk in Armstrong Woods. It is a wonderful grove of redwoods near us, and it was a perfect day for a walk in the woods. The air was pleasantly cool, still and quiet and being there filled me with a sort of peaceful expectancy.

I've been mentally returning to that walk all week, as I seek to invite some of that peaceful hopefulness back into my mind and soul. Looking over the political and cultural landscape of the US has got me down. As I've puzzled it over, what is really bothering me is this deep-seated selfishness that just seems to have taken hold and is crowding out any kind of meaningful discourse - about anything. I feel like real thought for future generations is conspicuously absent. It is like we think that if we can just cling to a past we believed worked for us, we can keep it in the present and it will continue indefinitely. But we can't and it won't. The world is changing in a lot of ways, and the best thing we can do is recognize this and work within the present circumstances and create a world that is meaningful and beautiful - to the best of our ability. But back to that walk in the woods...


One of the things I love most about the forest is the way it changes. A forest works because it changes. The biological and seasonal cycles of a forest bring renewal, life, everything that is good and needed. The last time we visited Armstrong Woods was in the summer, in the depths of our hot, dry season. The redwoods were a welcome respite from the sun and heat, but in the winter there is a richness and a depth that just isn't present in the summer - and I love that. Change in a forest is a beautiful thing. 


I also loved Cassidy's receptiveness to the beauty and wonder of this redwood grove. As we climbed up the East Ridge trail, she expressed particular interest in touching the luxuriously mossy trees growing at the higher elevations along the slope. I gave her two little twigs covered in a bit of moss and she carried them with her for the entire walk. 

I also discovered a small lone branch covered in spanish moss lying on the path and picked it up - much to her delight. Just carrying it along with me brought chuckles, but giving it a little shake now and again - pure squeals of innocent glee! Oh for the days when I could be touched and delighted by something as simple as a moss-covered branch. Those little laughs, that innocent joy, remind me of what is good and worth working for.

Robin in the rain

I've never thought of robins as particularly gregarious birds, but in the midst of all the storms we've had this last week, we discovered our backyard was hosting quite the flock of robins! The giant backyard privet (which I ordinarily despise) was filled with what, at least from the window, looked like literally dozens of robins, as they flitted between our yard and our neighbor's, and down to the lawn to look for worms. Indeed, looking out the window I saw that the neighbor's tree was full of robins too:

I have no explanation for the strange occurrence (but if you do let me know). All I know is that it made for a great morning's entertainment while stuck in the house. Cassidy and I spent a long time checking out the birds (or "cah"s as Cassidy calls them, thanks to the fact that usually most of the birds around our house are crows) from all the vantage points on the back and side of the house:

Rainy days

Here in Northern California, winter is the season of wonderful and much-needed rains. The grass is green. The air feels fresh and invigorating. It seems we've been off to a bit of a slow start as far as the rains are concerned this winter, but starting yesterday we are supposedly in for a real drenching over the next few weeks. Even though it means spending more time cooped up inside the house, in a climate as dry as this one, you can't help but feel grateful for every drop of water the winter brings.


We spent today's holiday mostly being cosy indoors, while the rain poured down outside. We made homemade bread and root veggie soup, and took turns playing with Cassidy while also trying to accomplish all the tasks that can really only get done when you have a day off. Cassidy displayed an amazing lack of cabin fever despite being stuck in the house and in the midst of her short nap days (the 2-hour leisurely naps that other mothers speak of are a thing of my dreams only). Between practicing standing on her own, and learning how to take the screw cap on and off an old breastmilk container, she had a lot to keep her busy...


Nonetheless, we took special notice when the rains broke in the late afternoon to reveal that glowing, late-in-the-day, winter light. A moment that might have passed us by if it hadn't been raining all day. We took the chance to step outside and enjoy it. Cassidy was especially excited that she might have the chance to spot a bird or the neighbor's cat. 

A new year and a blog

Two of the resolutions that regularly find themselves on my mental new year's list are to write more and to be better at keeping in touch. Going back to the first letters I wrote - to my best friend who had moved a whole hour away! - there has always been something supremely satisfying about writing down the little stories of everyday life, the things I'm thinking about, the sweet and the awkward moments. Sadly, with parenthood, a job, and the million and one other aspects of life, pen and paper letter writing has for now pretty much disappeared into the dustbin of history. 


But this year, I experienced for the first time the desire to have a blog. Despite the fact that like most people these days I spend far too much time on the internet, I've always harbored a bit of the Luddite in me and resisted the idea of things like blogging. That combined with having a web designer husband meant that websites were "his thing". Maybe now I have changed and see a blog as perhaps the only realistic way to include this kind of letter-like sharing in my life, or maybe it's a desire to finally assert my "web independence". Whatever it is, here I find myself making my first blog post. To my far-flung friends and family, I hope this will be a little window into our lives here, as Cassidy makes her first steps from baby to "big girl". To myself, here is a chance to finally make good on those resolutions.