"Jaaaaack, Jack!" I call.
"Yeah?" his voice a smudge around the edge of the house.
"Jack, COME here," I call. "There's a really weird SPIDER over here."
"Where?" Myra says. Loping around the yard, she circles past my elbow, and peers, her face six inches closer to the ground than I want mine.
"It has a big white thing on it's back," I say. I point, finger conservatively recoiled. We all stare, Jack, now crouched over the general vicinity of my point, his eyes locked on a small robotic body with white mystery sac.
"Oh," he says. "I think that's a wolf spider."
"Oh," I say,
"They carry their egg sacs on their back." It wriggles around a fresh tilled dirt clod.
"Ew," Myra squeaks.
"And then they carry their babies on their backs. They're really good mothers," Jack says. He cups a hand around the spider's path.
"Huh, that's neat," I say.
"Maybe we should move her so no one steps on her," his eyes never leave the spider.
"Oh, she's pretty fast and smart," I say. "I don't think you need to worry."
"Ok," He watches her a moment more then trots back to his garden, a plot carved out of the old wood pile spot. His garden: homemade stakes and trellises, gnarled, but tilted straight, wound together with twine or yarn, plants nestled in the ground like small children and babies, it's the beginning and end of every day for him. He tends them with the love and tenderness I imagine one day he will show a wife.
They're really good mothers. The thought flutters in my mind; that's what he took away from the science book. We pluck the details that compliment our worldview. And they trickle out, tiny exhales of ideas that frame everything. Invisible as emotions and as powerful as gravity: worldview. This is the unfolding of the human mind.
The unfolding of the human mind is far too grand of a thing to entrust to just anyone.
~Charlotte Mason on Home Education
5862. I meet a new and already dear friend for coffee.
5863. We take the full girth of Saturday and plant 120 tomatoes in my part of the garden. Everyone pitches in.
5864. As the day wraps up Craig explains to Jack, "Mommy feels love when you spend TIME with her and talk to her. So when you said you wanted to go help Thad with his garden, she felt sad." Crouched over a tomato row, he looks up, "Oooooh." Revelation and sorrow ripple across his face. And mine: acts-of-service-boy is the exact replica of Craig. Mirth.
5865. Lucy turns eight. Lovely and more self-aware, the blissful-years begin the transformation to complexity, exquisite.
5866. As we celebrate, Joey's enthusiasm for ketchup envelopes hands, face, elbow of the person next to him. When he tumbles off the table bench, I warn his tearful self, "I'm going to hug you, but don't put your face on me." Sweet boy.
5867. Craig and I invest in some wheat berries to try our hand at making actual fresh bread. My cousin surprises us with a grain mill she'll pass on to us.
5868. We spend some time with Climbers For Christ. The three older kids rock climb a short but impressive section, and we visit with the founder. He and his wife have 12 kids. Best of all they emanate the love of Christ.
5869. I place five additional plates in our cupboard. They're the ones that never break but always seem to be MIA, the favorites. Five more feels like a lot more.
5870. I make the leap to try stevia in my cooking and get a tiny measuring spoon set to go with it.
5871. Cerissa gives me the recipe for apple-cider-vinegar-lemonade. Rapture! It's so delicious.
5872. I come across a recipe for the world's best coconut brown rice and eat two bowlfuls right out of the pan.
5863. Spring begins to unfurl before us. The old familiar smells and chores fill us with joy. Hours roll by as we work and visit shoulder to shoulder. Phones, TVs, and computers can't seem to find their niche in this world.
5864. Sunday finds us this week with a soft landing. Our house could be tidier, but our hearts are content.