out of doors

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To be honest, I'm not crazy about Charlotte Mason's suggestion that children need to spend 3-5 hours outside every day. Don't get me wrong, I love being outdoors. I have a heart for nature. I'm pretty sure my spirit is made from dandelion seeds and curly flower petals, and Colors of the Wind legit makes me cry. When I was a toddler, my favorite movies were Fern Gully and Bambi. I get excited over seeing fuzzy moths that resemble teddy bears and scattered clusters of fungus that look like fairy villages. Moss, fog, and snow all inspire the same awe... dew drops on spider webs and veiny leaves and tiny buds are the personality of Mother Nature. I love her.

During the spring, when the air of the new season was a warm hug in the sunshine and cool and green in the shadows, we spent many of our days out of doors. Sometimes we hiked two or three miles at our favorite park, discovering new trails and marveling over twisty roots and the smell of pine needles. But then the wet, heavy heat of summer began to bear down and we sought refuge in the air conditioned walls of our home. The TV was on too much and we ate a lot of cereal for breakfast (and if I'm honest, for dinner), because I couldn't stand to use the oven for banana bread or baked chicken. The summer was just not having us. I tried to be a good mom and sit out on the porch while my children lapped drippy popsicles made from orange juice, but that happened maybe thrice. Three to five hours? Yeah, that's not happening. We were lucky to enjoy more than two hours at the park.












But now, it's September. And September feels like a quietness. School has started; we transition our hearts and minds from summer freedom and bunker down for chapter books and math drills. The TV is off. Windows are open; we rush to them to watch raindrops and comment on the sunsets their leftover clouds create. We open the creaking doors of the hutch and lovingly take down Great Grandma Licha's teacups, dusting them off in preparation for lots of afternoons spent reading poetry during tea time. We appreciate the way the steam rises in curls from our chamomile tea; we dip ginger cookies. The air is cooler and beckons us. The insects are fewer (hallelujah) and the leaves are changing, dispersing. There's waiting... next month is when the flurry of holiday goodness starts. And so, in this quietness, we pull on our shoes and walk. Step over those twisty roots, notice how this part of our hike is now overgrown with green, how at every turn the same type of tiny green spider has spun their webs between blades of grass and old branches. 











So Charlotte... girl, I get it. And I'm trying my best. I'm sure on the days when my children watch six hours of TV, she'd balk in horror with the best of them. But I do grasp at the loveliness that are the hours upon hours surrounded by tiny creatures and ecosystems, the tenderness of the life upon which we trample, and I'm proud of those days. I'm not trying to win any awards or prove a point. I'm only trying to create memories and a respect for nature deep within my children's spirits. An awe. A wondering. And I just prefer to do that when it's not 90 degrees outside. 







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