I've started a new blog here: http://unschooling52pickup.blogspot.com/
Come on over!
Thursday, May 23, 2013
Thursday, October 25, 2012
Breaking in New Shoes
It's rainy season now on the California central coast, and Andy still wants to wear his sandals to his charter program (two days a week). I've let him make his own decisions regarding clothing, footwear, etc. without too much interference since discovering unschooling. Sometimes I offer information, or suggest he go outside himself and check the weather.
Today I was in a gnarly mood, and I bluntly told him that sandal season was over, and that socks and shoes would protect his feet better from the rain. Did he want to have wet feet?
He told me that his new shoes hurt his feet, which was why he wanted to wear sandals. Without thinking, I impatiently informed him that all new shoes have to be broken in. I said that after a time or two of wearing them, his feet would adjust, and the shoes would start to feel more comfortable. I suggested he wear band-aids on his heels to help. With my tone and manner, I made it clear he didn't have much of a choice, so he complied and put on his new shoes.
Thinking about it now, several thoughts were swirling through my head. First, Katie was crying, and I was in a hurry to get out the door. Next, I was more concerned about what the teacher and other parents would think of him wearing sandals than his own comfort. Third, I felt angry that his new shoes would go to waste because he wasn't willing to deal with some discomfort. Finally, I wanted him to submit to my authority and experience of having worn shoes for 37 years. I knew better, dammit!
Of course, now I'm questioning myself. Do all new shoes have to be broken in, really? Is this true? Perhaps it's just my feet, or the shoes I've bought... and if I think carefully about it, not all new pairs of shoes have bothered my feet at first. Perhaps the shoes that hurt at first were really not so great for my feet, after all. Or perhaps there are ways to "break shoes in" without having to wear them all day. Perhaps there's a gentler way. And how could I forget that I just finished reading Born to Run, which questioned the safety and efficacy of the modern running shoe, and advocated a return to barefoot running?
By telling my son my experience of the world, assuming that his experience would be the same, and expecting him to comply, I deprived him of a chance to learn and discover on his own. Our experience this morning certainly didn't empower him. And it left me feeling frustrated.
If he comes home today with hurt feet, he might be angry at me for forcing him to wear new shoes. I certainly don't want to be the target of his anger, and I certainly don't want to force him to do things that cause him pain.
I love that unschooling has led me to reflect about my assumptions about how the world works, especially those beliefs about enduring a certain amount of pain/discomfort...because that's just the way it's always been.
Here's an article with some tips about breaking in new shoes:
http://www.healingfeet.com/blog/foot-care/how-to-break-in-new-shoes
Monday, September 17, 2012
And She's Off!
Little sister is happier than ever as she learns to crawl and explore her world, leaving big brother reeling from the five stages of grief, grappling with the end of his long reign as "King of the Mountain".
I was so focused on wanting Katie to crawl--she was so frustrated by her lack of mobility-- that I forgot to account for the big changes in store for Andy. For almost eight years, Andy's been able to leave his toys on the floor and trust that they'll still be there waiting for him, undisturbed (unless I was inspired by a fit of housekeeping).
Apparently, the folded, gummy mass of Wiki Sticks that sister scattered around and stuffed in her mouth were, in fact, an intricate and labor-intensive design of tables and chairs. Impossible to duplicate! Ruined forever!
After much screaming and lots of tears, Andy decided the only thing that would make him feel better was watching the episode of "Dirty Jobs" where Mike works with sled dogs in Alaska. I relented, and calm was once again restored to the household.
Just when we were settling in to finish the last of A Voice From the Redwoods for book club today, Andy looked up to discover that sister had destroyed his domino fortress full of Lego people. More wailing. More grief. I could forget about reading, writing and math... at least for now.
I'm so glad another homeschooling mom told me that the gateway to reading for her son was Calvin and Hobbes and other "graphic novels". Andy is now happily reading Garfield, and I'm enjoying this bit of writing therapy. I don't feel guilty that we didn't accomplish "school work" this morning, because I know that we're all learning so much--about life and each other.
It occurs to me that the challenges of homeschooling are no different than the challenges of parenting, they are just more intense, with less distractions.
I'm hoping to regroup with Andy soon, and come up with a plan for keeping his stuff safe from our newly mobile little girl.
Friday, September 14, 2012
Opportunity
I liked believing what I'd heard, that the Chinese word for "crisis" contained the character "opportunity" as well as "danger". Turns out that this definition might be a bit of New Age fiction. Regardless, finding the opportunity in a crisis is an incredible gift. Too bad I can only seem to search for that hidden blessing after the worst of the danger has passed. In the thick of heavy negative emotion, especially fear, seeking the silver lining seems difficult, if not impossible. I've always marveled at how easily Mike seemed to find it. His recent bout with unemployment gave him some insight into how much of a struggle seeing the glass half full is for most of us.
In hindsight, it's easy for me to see that if Mike hadn't been laid off, a number of wonderful things wouldn't have happened. First, we wouldn't have had almost six months of extra time together as a family. Sure, some of that time was spent job-searching, fretting, and bickering as we inhabited each other's roles and shared more space--I took on more students, and he took on more household tasks. Yet Mike was able to spend precious time with Katie during her first year of life. We went on many free outings together: trips to the Farmer's Market, library story hours, the beach, and the park. I don't think we would have braved camping in Yosemite without that bonus time.
Second, our unemployment crisis forced us to evaluate what's important to us in life. Financial uncertainty led us to cut back on what wasn't essential, and let go of expectations about where we needed to live or how much we needed to possess. For the first time in his life, Mike suffered a crisis of confidence, each rejection triggering feelings of worthlessness and despair he'd never experienced before. Because of his openness in sharing all that he was feeling, we grew closer. I admired his ability to mourn each loss, yet remain eternally optimistic that something better would come along--and it finally did.
And certainly, without losing the job, he wouldn't have found his current, happier position. Instead of being isolated at his home office, he's now collaborating face to face, a few days a week, with colleagues he enjoys and respects, continuing the benefits of telecommuting on the remaining days. We were pushed to lease another vehicle-- a fun, hybrid electric car that makes us smile every time we plug it in.
I guess I couldn't let Mike have all the excitement of a work-related crisis. Just two months after he started his new job, I started a new school year, and immediately faced some criticism and pretty devastating disciplinary action. It felt completely unwarranted. I cried for a couple of days, and then resigned.
Yet, if I hadn't been treated unfairly, I would most likely still be there, stressed and miserable--juggling all the balls of family life and work responsibility in a highly dysfunctional organization.
A few weeks have passed since I left. Now that the waves of sadness, anger and indignation have subsided, I am GRATEFUL to my former supervisors for their poor treatment. They gave me the push I needed to pursue something better: BEING HOME WITH MY KIDS! Should I send them a singing telegram as a thank-you? A fruit basket?
The final crisis I am thankful for is Andy's first grade year from hell in our local public school. It led us to homeschooling. I know for certain, no matter how little we manage to accomplish at home, he will be much better off with his sister and me, out and about in the world, than in the alternating chaos and rigidity of that classroom. Everyone assures me that the perfect storm of last year is unlikely to be repeated, but I still feel that the problems facing our school system are as deep and wide as the culture at large. And our culture is not changing any time soon, unfortunately.
The FREEDOM I've felt this week has been unbelievable. It's slowly sinking in that I can create the life I want to live, for me and my family. I'm learning to let go of the fears that kept me working for others--first, that we won't have enough money, second, that I will lose my identity and be swallowed whole by the demands of motherhood. Third, that I will lose any sense of normalcy--all of my peers are struggling to work and raise children, and most everyone we know is schooled. How will it feel to live differently?
Instead of fear, I'm learning to TRUST. Trust that we will find a way to survive on one income, at least for now. Trust that I can meet my kids' needs and also meet my own needs, by asking for help. Trust that we will meet the people we need to meet to support us on our journey.
On the way home from the County Fair this week, as Katie slept in her car seat, Andy and I reminisced about all the adventures we had that day. A serendipitous meeting with another homeschooling family. A man with a sequined vest on a unicycle, making balloon animals. Tiny pink squealing piglets, romping and nuzzling each other, suckling from their porky, passed out mama. Chocolate ice cream turned by an old-fashioned crank, powered by a popping diesel engine. Sea lions clapping, barking, balancing colorful balls on their noses.
"I want to make a flag to say we're happy to be homeschooling," Andy piped from the back seat.
YES. Yes, yes, yes! We're finding our path. And we're letting our "freak flags fly".
In hindsight, it's easy for me to see that if Mike hadn't been laid off, a number of wonderful things wouldn't have happened. First, we wouldn't have had almost six months of extra time together as a family. Sure, some of that time was spent job-searching, fretting, and bickering as we inhabited each other's roles and shared more space--I took on more students, and he took on more household tasks. Yet Mike was able to spend precious time with Katie during her first year of life. We went on many free outings together: trips to the Farmer's Market, library story hours, the beach, and the park. I don't think we would have braved camping in Yosemite without that bonus time.
Second, our unemployment crisis forced us to evaluate what's important to us in life. Financial uncertainty led us to cut back on what wasn't essential, and let go of expectations about where we needed to live or how much we needed to possess. For the first time in his life, Mike suffered a crisis of confidence, each rejection triggering feelings of worthlessness and despair he'd never experienced before. Because of his openness in sharing all that he was feeling, we grew closer. I admired his ability to mourn each loss, yet remain eternally optimistic that something better would come along--and it finally did.
And certainly, without losing the job, he wouldn't have found his current, happier position. Instead of being isolated at his home office, he's now collaborating face to face, a few days a week, with colleagues he enjoys and respects, continuing the benefits of telecommuting on the remaining days. We were pushed to lease another vehicle-- a fun, hybrid electric car that makes us smile every time we plug it in.
I guess I couldn't let Mike have all the excitement of a work-related crisis. Just two months after he started his new job, I started a new school year, and immediately faced some criticism and pretty devastating disciplinary action. It felt completely unwarranted. I cried for a couple of days, and then resigned.
Yet, if I hadn't been treated unfairly, I would most likely still be there, stressed and miserable--juggling all the balls of family life and work responsibility in a highly dysfunctional organization.
A few weeks have passed since I left. Now that the waves of sadness, anger and indignation have subsided, I am GRATEFUL to my former supervisors for their poor treatment. They gave me the push I needed to pursue something better: BEING HOME WITH MY KIDS! Should I send them a singing telegram as a thank-you? A fruit basket?
The final crisis I am thankful for is Andy's first grade year from hell in our local public school. It led us to homeschooling. I know for certain, no matter how little we manage to accomplish at home, he will be much better off with his sister and me, out and about in the world, than in the alternating chaos and rigidity of that classroom. Everyone assures me that the perfect storm of last year is unlikely to be repeated, but I still feel that the problems facing our school system are as deep and wide as the culture at large. And our culture is not changing any time soon, unfortunately.
The FREEDOM I've felt this week has been unbelievable. It's slowly sinking in that I can create the life I want to live, for me and my family. I'm learning to let go of the fears that kept me working for others--first, that we won't have enough money, second, that I will lose my identity and be swallowed whole by the demands of motherhood. Third, that I will lose any sense of normalcy--all of my peers are struggling to work and raise children, and most everyone we know is schooled. How will it feel to live differently?
Instead of fear, I'm learning to TRUST. Trust that we will find a way to survive on one income, at least for now. Trust that I can meet my kids' needs and also meet my own needs, by asking for help. Trust that we will meet the people we need to meet to support us on our journey.
On the way home from the County Fair this week, as Katie slept in her car seat, Andy and I reminisced about all the adventures we had that day. A serendipitous meeting with another homeschooling family. A man with a sequined vest on a unicycle, making balloon animals. Tiny pink squealing piglets, romping and nuzzling each other, suckling from their porky, passed out mama. Chocolate ice cream turned by an old-fashioned crank, powered by a popping diesel engine. Sea lions clapping, barking, balancing colorful balls on their noses.
"I want to make a flag to say we're happy to be homeschooling," Andy piped from the back seat.
YES. Yes, yes, yes! We're finding our path. And we're letting our "freak flags fly".
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
Happy Birthday Kate
Katie. Kate.
You're ONE today!
You're ONE today!
Everyone comments on how observantly you take in the world. Your wondrously wide, blue eyes are instinctively drawn to people. You stare at others, quiet and still. If a stranger approaches, you cast your blue eyes downward, your dark eyelashes flutter, and you tuck your head into my arm. Your bashfulness is endearing-- but for your sake, I hope you outgrow it. I know how painful it feels to be shy.
I'm trying not to use the word "shy". I prefer to describe you as "discriminating". You are especially discriminating of beards--you don't like them. You make your discomfort known by wailing loudly. I whisk you away from those scary, bearded men. But now your Pop is growing a beard, so I wonder if you might begin to tolerate them?
I'm trying not to use the word "shy". I prefer to describe you as "discriminating". You are especially discriminating of beards--you don't like them. You make your discomfort known by wailing loudly. I whisk you away from those scary, bearded men. But now your Pop is growing a beard, so I wonder if you might begin to tolerate them?
 |
| Dad says this expression is when "Anger Flows Through You" |
One area in which you are not as discriminating is with food flavors and textures. Shepherd's Pie and cheddar cheese are two of your favorites, but you will happily eat any number of foods we place before you: mango salsa, tuna salad, spaghetti sauce, clams, yogurt. Yes! I think, I'm doing something right! Then I watch as you rake the floor for a tuft of Garfunkel's fur, stuff it in your mouth, grimace slightly, and start to chew. You will put anything into your mouth! At any rate, I hope your willingness to try new flavors continues, because I don't worry one bit about your weight gain. The days when I obsessed about every ounce you gained as a newborn are a distant memory.
Katie, those thighs! Those glorious, chubby, roly-poly, cottage cheese thighs! I could write epic poems to them, they fill me with such pride. Why on earth we celebrate chubbiness in babies and vilify it in adults is beyond me. I just want to squeeze them. And you. You're very squeezable and precious.
As timid as you are around people, you are BOLD with the family cat, Garfunkel. He has scratched and clawed you many times, but still, you reach out for more. More of his soft, long-haired, black and white fur. You gesture animatedly and twirl your hands and feet excitedly when he enters the room. (We call this "twinkling" your toes.) You make little high-pitched squeals. And you are pretty gentle when you pet him. That old cantankerous, spoiled and adored cat. (My first baby).
Katie, how will you feel about sharing your birthday with me? I didn't like sharing mine with my Dad and brother, who were born the day before, July 31st. Always lumped together for family celebrations, the three of us. (And friend parties only once in FIVE years! Which, as it turned out, only happened for me once, as a five year old. Such deprivation, I realize, can only be registered on a first-world scale. ) I hope to do many things differently for you, and your brother. Not sure how to go about celebrating our mutual birthday, and I imagine it will change over time. Right now, it's a fantastic excuse for me to have a few local friends over, put a tiara on your head, bake some mini-cupcakes, and serve Sangria. Babies' first birthdays have always been more about the parents: celebrating the baby's survival of that first year (seriously--how many falls have you lived through?), and honoring the parents' transition to motherhood and fatherhood.
Yes, we've traveled this road before. But in many ways we've started all over again. It was almost seven years between you and Andy, for one. And also, you're a GIRL. As much as gender shouldn't matter, it does. Raising a daughter is terrifying, exhilarating, and a total blessing. It's an opportunity to hold a mirror to myself, and to set an example for you in all the ways that matter. Body image. Confidence. Career and family life balance. Curiosity. Optimism. Resilience. Determination. Courage. Making a difference in this troubled, lovely world.
Kate, I have a long way to go to become the woman I want to be. I am grateful to you for the motivation to pursue my own dreams. I think it took me this long to have you because I wasn't ready before.
In honor of your 1st and my 37th birthdays, here's part of a poem by Patricia Lynn Reilly, author of Imagine a Woman in Love with Herself:
"Imagine a woman who believes it is right and good she is woman.
A woman who honors her experience and tells her stories.
Who refuses to carry the sins of others within her body and life.
Imagine a woman who has acknowledged the past's influence
on the present.
A woman who has walked through her past.
Who has healed into the present.
Imagine a woman in love with her own body.
A woman who believes her body is enough, just as it is.
Who celebrates her body's rhythms and cycles as an exquisite resource."
Thank you for being you, Katie. I can't wait to see how you grow and change, and I'm thrilled to share the journey with you.
Love,
Barbara, Barb, Mom
As timid as you are around people, you are BOLD with the family cat, Garfunkel. He has scratched and clawed you many times, but still, you reach out for more. More of his soft, long-haired, black and white fur. You gesture animatedly and twirl your hands and feet excitedly when he enters the room. (We call this "twinkling" your toes.) You make little high-pitched squeals. And you are pretty gentle when you pet him. That old cantankerous, spoiled and adored cat. (My first baby).
Katie, how will you feel about sharing your birthday with me? I didn't like sharing mine with my Dad and brother, who were born the day before, July 31st. Always lumped together for family celebrations, the three of us. (And friend parties only once in FIVE years! Which, as it turned out, only happened for me once, as a five year old. Such deprivation, I realize, can only be registered on a first-world scale. ) I hope to do many things differently for you, and your brother. Not sure how to go about celebrating our mutual birthday, and I imagine it will change over time. Right now, it's a fantastic excuse for me to have a few local friends over, put a tiara on your head, bake some mini-cupcakes, and serve Sangria. Babies' first birthdays have always been more about the parents: celebrating the baby's survival of that first year (seriously--how many falls have you lived through?), and honoring the parents' transition to motherhood and fatherhood.
 |
| Brother and Sister in Yosemite |
Yes, we've traveled this road before. But in many ways we've started all over again. It was almost seven years between you and Andy, for one. And also, you're a GIRL. As much as gender shouldn't matter, it does. Raising a daughter is terrifying, exhilarating, and a total blessing. It's an opportunity to hold a mirror to myself, and to set an example for you in all the ways that matter. Body image. Confidence. Career and family life balance. Curiosity. Optimism. Resilience. Determination. Courage. Making a difference in this troubled, lovely world.
Kate, I have a long way to go to become the woman I want to be. I am grateful to you for the motivation to pursue my own dreams. I think it took me this long to have you because I wasn't ready before.
In honor of your 1st and my 37th birthdays, here's part of a poem by Patricia Lynn Reilly, author of Imagine a Woman in Love with Herself:
"Imagine a woman who believes it is right and good she is woman.
A woman who honors her experience and tells her stories.
Who refuses to carry the sins of others within her body and life.
Imagine a woman who has acknowledged the past's influence
on the present.
A woman who has walked through her past.
Who has healed into the present.
Imagine a woman in love with her own body.
A woman who believes her body is enough, just as it is.
Who celebrates her body's rhythms and cycles as an exquisite resource."
Thank you for being you, Katie. I can't wait to see how you grow and change, and I'm thrilled to share the journey with you.
Love,
Barbara, Barb, Mom
Friday, July 27, 2012
Camping With Kids in Yosemite's Tuolumne Meadows: A Cautionary Tale
One of the many fallouts of parenting a baby happened to us while camping. Katie’s diaper wedged and leaked; Mike and I were both peed on. Not even the blow-up mattress was spared. We didn’t have the luxury of a wardrobe change. We wore our pee stained jeans for the next few days, reveling in our ruggedness, our ability to endure, like our pioneer ancestors before us.
At least we thought we smelled better than the backpackers who we mingled with at the Tuolumne store and grill the next morning. The young men with their wild hair and five day stubble, the hairy-legged women, their overstuffed backpacks towering over their heads like El Capitan itself. Walking sticks in hand, they were first in line for coffee--COFFEE-- as the grill opened, casually, a little after 8:00 am.
Mike and I breathed in the piney, high altitude air and the smell of backpackers’ sweat, knowing that our pee-scented clothing was about as close as we were going to get to their hiking and climbing machismo. With two kids, there was no way we were going to get a serious hike in. We could pretend to be hardcore in the backpackers’ midst, and we were, in the way only parents-- who’ve tossed and turned all night in a tent with a baby in 30 degree weather-- can be.
95% of visitors don’t leave Yosemite Valley, so why did we choose to be among the 5% who ventured to explore, and shiver, in the higher altitudes beyond? Campsites in the valley fill up fast (no spaces left!) Tuolumne’s roads had only recently opened up for the season, leaving many of its campsites up for grabs. Tuolumne is wild, spacious and uncrowded. We thought we’d brave it. (“Brave”, I’ve noticed, is a euphemism for “crazy”).
First arriving at area C, mosquitoes dove and danced on Katie’s ripe, baby plump skin. Mike drove back to check-in, and rangers suggested moving to Area A, where the river breezes deter some of the blood-thirsty bugs. Since Tuolumne’s reservations aren’t tied to a particular site, the move to “A-59” ended up being a welcome reprieve. Our campsite backed into a forest, with a short trail to the bathrooms, and a water spigot at the spot next door. We didn’t get a single mosquito bite. Best of all, Mike and Andy could walk to the granite boulder strewn Tuolumne River for some fishing while Katiepeed on napped with me in the tent.
The grounds were quiet during the day and also at night; we didn’t hear a thing after 9 pm. We were warned about and expected to hear bears rummaging through the campsite--goodness knows I was awake enough at night to hear them--but the only noises I heard were from Katie herself, who cried and whimpered throughout the bitterly cold night. We woke the next morning to frost on our car windshield, the honey frozen solid in the bear locker. Andy fared the warmest as the only member of the family who could bury himself in his mummy bag.
As beautiful and uncrowded as Tuolumne is, I recommend leaving it for the serious backpackers and the RV-set with heaters. It’s just too damn cold!
During those two freezing nights, I was reminded of the Buddhist monk Pema Chodron’s statement: “There is no cure for hot or cold”. I could devise a million ways to make myself more comfortable (and I had those fantasies, frequently, such as jumping in the car and turning the heater on.) Or I could accept-- and actually live in-- the moment. Andy said as much to me when I was scheming about what we’d do differently on our next Yosemite adventure. I was talking of camping in the lower elevations of Yosemite Valley, renting bikes, and actually staying warm at night (imagine!).
“MOM, stop talking about things that aren’t here yet!” He sighed.
My kids are fantastic at bringing me back to the present moment.
“Oh, OK. What should we talk about, then?”
“FISHING!”
Seven year olds are a delightful age to take camping. There’s the obsession interest in fishing, as well as fascination for wildlife. There’s the newfound ability to hike several miles without complaining. This is huge. They can also alert their parents when their baby sister is about to choke on a rock or some pine needles. Really handy!
10 month old babies, while generally a delight, are not a delightful age to take camping. They have no problem eating fistfuls of dirt. They are not potty trained, as mentioned above. And as much as you try to explain to them, babies have no concept of what you mean by “roughing it”. They need to be held, often, leaving no free hands for setting up the tent, making the fire, or cooking. (Mike and I divided our labor along traditional gender lines: mostly I held Katie while he did everything else.)
Seven year olds, on the other hand, can entertain themselves for several hours with Yosemite’s Junior Ranger program! We recommend purchasing the workbook for a few dollars from any of the park stores. With a little help from us, Andy completed five of the activities needed to earn a Junior Ranger Badge. He learned about wildlife conservation and was encouraged to pick up litter, which is actually one of his favored school recess activities. The rangers made such a big, ceremonious deal when Andy turned in his workbook for completion, that visitors in the Tuolumne Visitors Center applauded. An older man later came up to Andy, asking to “shake the hand of the newest Junior Ranger”! I don’t think Andy would have received this VIP treatment in the more crowded Valley Visitors’ Center.
Although crowded, our trip to Yosemite wouldn’t have felt complete without a visit to the Valley. We endured the masses of humanity from all over the planet in order to wander for an afternoon in the valley that Ansel Adams described as “ always a sunrise, a glitter of green and golden wonder in a vast edifice of stone and space. “
After stuck in stop and go traffic, we parked on the road. I strapped on the Ergo, and we walked several miles with the kids to Yosemite Falls. The walk is an easy, paved stroll. The reward for adults is a close up view--and roar-- of the falls. The reward for kids is a scramble on rocks big and small with hordes of other children. Katie and I parked ourselves on a bench and looked at the waterfall, but mostly at the dogs and other babies.
I expect and enjoy a humming, diverse chorus of people in a busy city. In nature, I resent the sight of recently pedicured women applying foundational powder with their compacts on the walk up to the falls. If I'm looking like Grisly Adams, I don't want to see you primping for a "Miss Yosemite Falls" contest. A visit to Yosemite is a chance to leave the trappings of civilization behind! I’d rather see a hairy armpit than a lipsticked mouth. I’d much rather smell sweat than perfume.
I’d rather smell baby pee.
Maybe I prefer camping in the wilds of Tuolumne Meadows to the crowds of Yosemite Valley, after all.
 |
| Katie at Tenaya Lake, where we heard the fishing might be good. (Nope. Too windy.) |
At least we thought we smelled better than the backpackers who we mingled with at the Tuolumne store and grill the next morning. The young men with their wild hair and five day stubble, the hairy-legged women, their overstuffed backpacks towering over their heads like El Capitan itself. Walking sticks in hand, they were first in line for coffee--COFFEE-- as the grill opened, casually, a little after 8:00 am.
Mike and I breathed in the piney, high altitude air and the smell of backpackers’ sweat, knowing that our pee-scented clothing was about as close as we were going to get to their hiking and climbing machismo. With two kids, there was no way we were going to get a serious hike in. We could pretend to be hardcore in the backpackers’ midst, and we were, in the way only parents-- who’ve tossed and turned all night in a tent with a baby in 30 degree weather-- can be.
 |
| Do we look cold? We were. |
95% of visitors don’t leave Yosemite Valley, so why did we choose to be among the 5% who ventured to explore, and shiver, in the higher altitudes beyond? Campsites in the valley fill up fast (no spaces left!) Tuolumne’s roads had only recently opened up for the season, leaving many of its campsites up for grabs. Tuolumne is wild, spacious and uncrowded. We thought we’d brave it. (“Brave”, I’ve noticed, is a euphemism for “crazy”).
First arriving at area C, mosquitoes dove and danced on Katie’s ripe, baby plump skin. Mike drove back to check-in, and rangers suggested moving to Area A, where the river breezes deter some of the blood-thirsty bugs. Since Tuolumne’s reservations aren’t tied to a particular site, the move to “A-59” ended up being a welcome reprieve. Our campsite backed into a forest, with a short trail to the bathrooms, and a water spigot at the spot next door. We didn’t get a single mosquito bite. Best of all, Mike and Andy could walk to the granite boulder strewn Tuolumne River for some fishing while Katie
The grounds were quiet during the day and also at night; we didn’t hear a thing after 9 pm. We were warned about and expected to hear bears rummaging through the campsite--goodness knows I was awake enough at night to hear them--but the only noises I heard were from Katie herself, who cried and whimpered throughout the bitterly cold night. We woke the next morning to frost on our car windshield, the honey frozen solid in the bear locker. Andy fared the warmest as the only member of the family who could bury himself in his mummy bag.
As beautiful and uncrowded as Tuolumne is, I recommend leaving it for the serious backpackers and the RV-set with heaters. It’s just too damn cold!
During those two freezing nights, I was reminded of the Buddhist monk Pema Chodron’s statement: “There is no cure for hot or cold”. I could devise a million ways to make myself more comfortable (and I had those fantasies, frequently, such as jumping in the car and turning the heater on.) Or I could accept-- and actually live in-- the moment. Andy said as much to me when I was scheming about what we’d do differently on our next Yosemite adventure. I was talking of camping in the lower elevations of Yosemite Valley, renting bikes, and actually staying warm at night (imagine!).
“MOM, stop talking about things that aren’t here yet!” He sighed.
My kids are fantastic at bringing me back to the present moment.
“Oh, OK. What should we talk about, then?”
“FISHING!”
 |
| Tenaya Lake |
Seven year olds are a delightful age to take camping. There’s the
10 month old babies, while generally a delight, are not a delightful age to take camping. They have no problem eating fistfuls of dirt. They are not potty trained, as mentioned above. And as much as you try to explain to them, babies have no concept of what you mean by “roughing it”. They need to be held, often, leaving no free hands for setting up the tent, making the fire, or cooking. (Mike and I divided our labor along traditional gender lines: mostly I held Katie while he did everything else.)
Seven year olds, on the other hand, can entertain themselves for several hours with Yosemite’s Junior Ranger program! We recommend purchasing the workbook for a few dollars from any of the park stores. With a little help from us, Andy completed five of the activities needed to earn a Junior Ranger Badge. He learned about wildlife conservation and was encouraged to pick up litter, which is actually one of his favored school recess activities. The rangers made such a big, ceremonious deal when Andy turned in his workbook for completion, that visitors in the Tuolumne Visitors Center applauded. An older man later came up to Andy, asking to “shake the hand of the newest Junior Ranger”! I don’t think Andy would have received this VIP treatment in the more crowded Valley Visitors’ Center.
Although crowded, our trip to Yosemite wouldn’t have felt complete without a visit to the Valley. We endured the masses of humanity from all over the planet in order to wander for an afternoon in the valley that Ansel Adams described as “ always a sunrise, a glitter of green and golden wonder in a vast edifice of stone and space. “
After stuck in stop and go traffic, we parked on the road. I strapped on the Ergo, and we walked several miles with the kids to Yosemite Falls. The walk is an easy, paved stroll. The reward for adults is a close up view--and roar-- of the falls. The reward for kids is a scramble on rocks big and small with hordes of other children. Katie and I parked ourselves on a bench and looked at the waterfall, but mostly at the dogs and other babies.
I expect and enjoy a humming, diverse chorus of people in a busy city. In nature, I resent the sight of recently pedicured women applying foundational powder with their compacts on the walk up to the falls. If I'm looking like Grisly Adams, I don't want to see you primping for a "Miss Yosemite Falls" contest. A visit to Yosemite is a chance to leave the trappings of civilization behind! I’d rather see a hairy armpit than a lipsticked mouth. I’d much rather smell sweat than perfume.
I’d rather smell baby pee.
Maybe I prefer camping in the wilds of Tuolumne Meadows to the crowds of Yosemite Valley, after all.
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| We had to strap a few things to the roof... |
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