goods and heroes

looming, part two

I posted back in February about a group of us making a loom out of buckthorn. Well, we made the loom and just as we were tying the last few knots, the rain started coming down in buckets and big flashes of lightening were tearing through the sky.  You might already know this about me, but I am really terrific at starting things and then . . . and then never finishing them. It's a lousy "skill" to possess and it always manages to have guilt skulking around in the back of my psyche. (Un-sent pitch letters, countless book ideas, the tart that has never been made, the teddy bear that is still just pieces of flat fabric, I could go on but let's not get too much on a bummer here.) I really thought that maybe the loom was going to fall into that pile and I would never be able to return to the nature center without feeling, well, like I'd dropped the ball on yet another creative project. But good old Sean followed through on the follow up and even though it took almost two months to get back to it, get back to it we did.

The loom was there, a bit loose in the soil so we pounded back into place, tightened things up here and there. And then we were ready to put the loom to the test and see about making a mat of natural materials.

First we went and cut some sort of eulalia (a tall, blonde-colored grass), Milkweed and Rattlesnake Master from the area in from of the nature center. It was nice to be clipping back the plants and catching up and laughing in a relaxed but purposeful kind of way.  (And I love any project that involves making piles. I think that's the control/compulsive part of me. I even make neat little piles of green beans when I am trimming them. I do. Cringe.)

Then we hauled our clippings around to the loom and began putting the plant material in.

At first we weren't moving the um, is it called a shuttle? left and right, we were just placing the plants over and under the string. It still worked but it wasn't as tight. So we problem solved collectively, with humor and a sort of unspoken acceptance that it didn't need to be this perfect, precious thing we were making. And then when we did also move left and right, it worked better. Made a tighter, neater row.

Alternating the light plants and the dark plants made it visually a little more interesting. I could definitely see adding even more types of plants and even fabric or old ribbon.

And in about 45 minutes, while we talked about food and the summer and work and those sorts of things, we were done. We had made a mat. Sean tied it off and modeled our creation.

We did it! Together. It wasn't perfect and it was pretty big. We waffled on whether to trim the shaggy edges to make it look neater but we decided to just leave as it is. Immediately we started brainstorming on what you could use this sort of thing for--a roof for a temporary shelter or lean-to, as walls for an outdoor room or changing area, as a screen or a fence of sorts, or in our case, simply as a wall-hanging.  It was a very satisfying group process. Even though we were chatting and laughing, we did have to communicate what we were doing and why, we had to share the different tasks and like I said, we had to problem solve. Plus, we took plant material that would have been but back and mulched (or in some instances burned) and we made something out of it.

I will definitely be doing a version of this in the Lurie next March when all the plants get cut back. Even if we just do it as a staff feel-good project, but I think it would be great to do as a family workshop. And maybe in late summer we can do one up in Michigan with all the plants that grow crazy big in the meadow . . .  right over by the gnome hut/fairy house we made back in March. Hmmm, making things together with natural materials seems to hold some sort of simple magic for me and my family and many of my friends. Wonder what the next project will be and who it will be with? I suppose part of the magic is not really knowing. 

the story tree

Happy New Year everybody. We're slowly catching up with the real world, getting back on our feet health-wise and dragging our pajama-covered bums to you know, "normal." Whatever that means. Tomorrow school is back on for Sam and Ted and I have work and Ben goes back to his baby-sitter twice a week and we'll be on to the next things. This past week however, there was one thing, one thing I was really craving to do. It wasn't that sexy, it didn't involve a museum or a long road trip of have a lot of splash like going to an indoor water park or even something really physical like snow shoeing or god forbid, skiing. It didn't even involve doughnuts. Nope, I just wanted to get the whole family to the North Park Village Nature Center. That's it, just go and walk the simple sweet loop and take in winter and come back and warm up inside.

It was really looking like it wasn't going to happen, what with the onslaught of viral situations and a few social gatherings. But yesterday, we made it happen.

The main activity was crawling all over the story tree. This is an old tree that had always been the site for evening story telling at the nature center. It was big and majestic and just begged to be sat under. And then a few years ago, maybe five, I am not certain, it was struck down by lightening in a storm.  They left it where it is, it is slowing rotting and crumbling, slowing going back into the earth. But for now, you can still climb it. And so that is what Sam and Ben (with a little help from Ted) did.

Ted and I were also checking out all the marvelous shapes and textures and knots and gnarls.Ted was digging this little patch of moss, so soft and green in all the freezing wood.

And I was smitten with these little holes, how they make their own loose pattern.

And we had one of those "Oh we so need to do this more often" kind of moments. And so, that is what I am hoping and resolving to do in 2009. Go to natural places and just have a good time being there. It is so simple, isn't it? We're just going to try to not make it complicated or get too stuck somewhere else. I think we can make it happen.

how we love the lake

I have to say that, despite this being a rather busy summer, we have been exceptionally fortuitous in getting away and enjoying all that makes this part of the world special. (And it's a good thing too, because on those brutal winter mornings when I can't open the car door as it is frozen shut, I often find myself muttering, "Why in the hell do we live here?") This weekend I was reminded why in the nicest possible way.

On Saturday we were invited up to our friend's parents' house in Michigan. I was skeptical about going--I had to work until 4:00 pm, I was concerned we'd be fighting Air & Water Show traffic and that we'd get there late in the evening only to have to turn around the next day. But we didn't hit any traffic and Ted made excellent time and we arrived to Johnny's parents house, which sits right on bluff overlooking the lake, with enough time to take an afternoon dip and watch the sun go down. Can it get any better than this?

Yes, it can. We also enoyed our friends, thick steaks, cold drinks, local ice cream with Michigan berries and super lively conversation. I was still up past midnite happily talking Jane Jacobs and Chicago neighborhoods while Ted and Sam slept happily curled up around each other in the comfortable guest room. I have to be having a very good time to be up past midnight.

And the next morning, before buttermilk pancakes and even brushing our teeth, Sam and I went down the very long, winding staircase to put our toes in the sand and the water and collect rocks. This is the first time I think I have ever been on the beach in my pajamas. I could get very used to it . . .

yes, we do hurry into the garden

Peonies

This morning the green fists of the peonies are getting ready
to break my heart
as the sun rises,
as the sun strokes them with his old, buttery fingers

and they open –
pools of lace,
white and pink –
and all day the black ants climb over them,

boring their deep and mysterious holes
into the curls,
craving the sweet sap,
taking it away

to their dark, underground cities –
and all day
under the shifty wind,
as in a dance to the great wedding,

the flowers bend their bright bodies,
and tip their fragrance to the air,
and rise,
their stems holding

all that dampness and recklessness
gladly and lightly,
and there it is again –
beauty the brave, the exemplary,

blazing open.
Do you love this world?
Do you cherish your humble and silky life?
Do you adore the green grass, with its terror beneath?

Do you also hurry, half-dressed and barefoot, into the garden,
and softly,
and exclaiming of their dearness
fill your arms with the white and pink flowers,

with their honeyed heaviness, their lush trembling,
their eagerness
to be wild and perfect for a moment, before they are
nothing, forever?

- Mary Oliver

becoming an outdoors woman (sort of)

Sorry I was lapse on a post these last 5 days . . . I was way up in the Northwoods of Wisconsin for a workshop. For work, ostensibly and for women only (with a few men and dogs hither and thither). I was taking part in my first ever "BOW" workshop (pronounced like the thing you tie onto packages, not what you do before royalty). BOW stands for Becoming an Outdoors Woman and the workshops take place all over the country and even internationally. Even though I'd heard of it through my own work scenario years ago (the whole camping, kayaking, snow shoeing enchilada part of what I do) the Illinois version of BOW never seemed to generate a lot of enthusiasm or reverance or "You just have to do this!" kind of prodding.

But then I was at Ted's amazing, go-getter, fly-fishing Aunt Nancy's annual Hannukah Party in December and she told me that 1. I needed to go to BOW (which she's been a part of for years, she teaches the fly fishing and fly tyeing workshops) and 2. she had a room for me in a private lodge at the camp where it takes place. And so over the clamor of children tearing through the presents, I said, "Yes it sounds great, let me see what I can do."  This is the same Nancy who several years ago invited us up to her farm and then didn't ask me but pretty much told me that I was going to get into hip waders and wade into the Wauapaca River and learn how to fly-fish. Even though it was about 100 degrees out and I was a wilting flower and the bugs were voracious and oh, one last detail--I was 7 months pregnant at the time. But fish I did and I caught a couple of brown trout to boot.

Anyhow, I decided to the give the BOW thing a go since I've been adding a lot of winter activities to the events I coordinate and a shipment of new cross country skis had arrived at work and word on the street was that I might be doing a cross country skiing gig for families. Ha! The last time I strapped on cross country skis I was 16 years-old and I wasn't very good at it. It was like jogging on skis and everyone knows I loathe jogging.

So up to the Treehaven Lodge in Tomahawk, WI we went, Nancy, her friend Barbara and myself. Nancy made a little diversion toward the end of the trek to check out a river she said she dreams of one day fishing.

We arrived and over the next two and a half days I (and 80 other women) did a garden variety of winter activities. There was a broad menu of things to choose from such as dog sledding, firearm safety, snow shoeing, outdoor cookery and so on. I tried to get into the dog sledding and snow shoeing, but no dice. I did get into Winter Ecology, Winter Crafts, Cross Country Skiiing and Skijoring.

The first two--no problem for this chica. We hiked in the woods, we made goofy crafts, like sand candles and dream catchers. But the cross-country skiing? Oh my. I haven't had my ass whupped that completely since taking surfing lessons in college. We cross-country skied continuosly for 2 and a half hours. With lots and lots of hills. I haven't done 2 and a half hours of continuous exercise since . . . since the time Ted, Lyle and I slogged through volcanic ash in a vain attempt to hike a volcano in Paricutin, Mexico and never found the trail! Toward the end of the skiing my legs were so shaky that I was falling completely spontaneously, it was pure physical comedy, in a cruel, demented kind of way. The upshot is I did kind of begin to achieve that "kick and glide" movement that you're supposed to do. The downside was I was so sore the next morning I had trouble walking like a normal person.

And what was I signed up for my final morning? Skijoring, of course! What the heck is skijoring, you ask? It's when you get on cross country skis, put on a harness and harness yourself to one or two sled dogs who then pull you around a course. Up to 25 miles per hour. I was sore, I was scared and I thought for sure I'd fall and they'd just drag my sorry self around the entire course. But that didn't happen. I did fall, but I was told by the intuitive and kind couple that was teaching us that everybody falls when you're learning. And it was really quite exhilirating. And way less strenuous than the cross country skiing. It felt a lot like water skiing only there was snow under my feet, not water and instead of a boat with an outboard motor, I had two dogs pulling me. Here are the dogs waiting to be harnessesd.

And, ta-da! here's little ol' me coming around the bend in a somewhat upright position. I want you all to know that my dogs were a mix of husky and greyhound. Swirl that combo around in your brain for a sec. Yes, greyhound.

If you want to know more about skijoring, check out this website. If you want to know about BOW click here.

All in all, it was a hoot and howling good fun. I think I can say I feel closer to being a true outdoors woman. Or at least I can say I skijored and lived to tell. Next year I am all over the dog sledding.