the magic of miss anne’s

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Our children returned to their beloved nursery school this week after a two-week vacation.

It felt so good to walk through the gate and up the steps, pausing as we always do, to enjoy the message and drawing on the blackboard.

The North wind doth blow and we shall have snow. And what will the robin do then, poor thing? Oh he’ll fly into the barn, to keep himself warm and tuck his head under his wing, poor thing.

In the classroom the sand table was filled with tiny treasures from nature, which would soon become props in creative play.

Wooden animals and blocks were laid out on the rug waiting for the children to breathe life into them.

On the sun porch, Miss Anne and one of the friends (that’s what our children call their classmates, “the friends”) tended to the snails in the tank.

And I smiled and sighed. I am so grateful that our children have this home-away-from-home, with its gentle but steady rhythms to come home to.

Later in the day, on the ride home, the kids were especially talkative, filling me in on the details of their day. But I think Lily summed up what they were feeling best when she said, “It was just so nice to be all together again. I mean it’s great to have vacation too, but we all miss each other terribly.”

Thank you for your kind words yesterday. They mean a lot to me. And for anyone who has been wanting to explore the world of audio and video posts…DO IT! (And then send me a link when you do!!)

In other news…I just realized that Solstice and Christmas are next week.

I don’t know exactly how I lost track of this, given that we are counting down on two different Advent calendars in our home. But somehow I thought there was an extra weekend between now and then.

Since I have learned that this is NOT the case my mind has been absolutely racing and I’m catching myself running in circles (accomplishing absolutely nothing) far too often.

So I thought I would take a trip into the soothing world of still-life-style photography, one of my favorite retreats when feelings of frenzy begin to build around and inside of me.

These images are from our children’s beautiful Waldrf-inspired nursery school.

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inside::

outside::

Ahhh…much better.

{ If anyone is interested, many (many!) more photos of our kids’ school can be found here and here. }

Due to rain, the Lantern Walk took place a week later than planned but it was well worth the wait.

In a letter home, Miss Anne described the event in this way:

“The Lantern Walk is a chance for families to come together at school and have a sweet, safe adventure experiencing the night.”

And that is just what it was.

Such a lovely evening!

*** *** *** ***

As an aside, I am very pleased with my photos this year — much more so than last year. The secret (surprise-surprise) was my breathing. Each time I took a picture, I let out a long slow exhale (using Ujjayi breath) and it really helped to keep my hands steady during the longer exposure!

 

While I am making phone calls and typing notes and mentally preparing for the RI Birth Network’s Third Annual Fall Forum: When Birth Doesn’t go as Planned, my children and their classmates are preparing for another very special annual event that will occur this weekend — The Lantern Walk.

On Friday night, just after dark, we will gather at the school for a bonfire, singing, a candle-lit stroll down the Wiggly Woggly Path, and the releasing of milkweed pod boats filled with candles and wishes.

It is an absolutely magical experience, one that our entire family looks forward to each November. And last week at school, the children began getting ready by decorating their lanterns.

I love how things often come together like this — in May it was dancing the Maypole the day after I returned from my first visit to New York city for a Power Moms book-signing event — and now this weekend as I get ready to host what is shaping up to be a very important event in our birth community, we will begin our weekend with the simplicity and sweetness of the Lantern Walk.

Such beautiful balance.

Lots going on as I get ready for my retreat on Sunday. (Still a few spaces for those who are local! :-) Taking still-life-style photos is always very grounding for me when energy is moving quickly. These were taken at the kids’ school. Hope you enjoy them!

:: inside ::

:: outside ::

Hope you have a lovely day! 

It’s a school day. We’re running late. I have an important errand to run before my long-standing weekly appointment. My mind is spinning with all the writing projects in various stages that I am attempting to juggle along with outdoor fall projects like getting strawberry plants in the ground and (once again) repairing the chicken pen. I have no idea what I am making for dinner, nor what I will eat for lunch.

I hurry my kids along the path up to Miss Anne’s door, scolding them for stomping in puddles when I asked them not to.

The second we walk through the mudroom door, I feel a shift. I take a deep, slow breath. As I stand there I instantly realize how ridiculously rushed I have been the last few days…weeks…months…most of my adult life.

A small group of children gather around a tank on the sun porch to examine snails. They take turns spraying a mist of water into their rectangular glass home.

Miss Amber, who found these snails in her friend’s garden, pulls the shell out so we can get a closer look.

We all stand there breathing together. Watching the snails slowly wake up and stretch.

I slip around the corner into the classroom where applesauce will soon be made. I watch a rainbow light dance on the table.

At the other end of the table Miss Anne and her eager helpers are making pumpkin bread.

I remember my errand and my appointment and turn to walk out. I am no longer rushing though. My breathing is steady and deep. I pause to take one last photo in the mudroom: milkweed pods drying in a bowl.

I exhale slowly.

It is not only our children who are nourished by the magic of Miss Anne’s.

We had an absolutely wonderful time at family camp a couple of weeks ago. It was so nice to be away as a family, to meet new friends and to enjoy the crisp mountain air.

But it also felt great to come home. And it was particularly wonderful for the kids to return to school where they could sink back into the gentle, steady rhythm of everyday.

Our kids attend a Waldorf-inspired nursery school three days a week and the rhythm of the days is steady and consistent. Monday is baking day. Tuesday is painting day. Wednesday is hiking day.

Of course there is much that happens in addition to these things but it is these activities that define the days.

When we arrive each morning the blackboard outside the door tells us – both with words and with drawings – which day it is.

On baking day the children take turns grinding wheat berries to make flour.

Once each child has had a turn, they add their flour to the big bowl in the kitchen and together they knead the dough.

Child-size loaves of warm bread – each shaped a little differently - are sent home in paper bags for families to share. 

Baking day is such a gift for our whole family and we are so grateful for Miss Anne (and her helpers) who hold this gentle weekly rhythm for our children.

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{Miss Anne’s bread recipe and my thoughts on baking a lovely but less-than-perfect loaf of bread can be found here. You also might enjoy Kate’s reflections on the importance of rhythm over at The Blankie Chronicles.}

Two weeks ago, before we left for camp,  I took a photo of the nature table at the kids’ school. I knew it, like the world around us, would look different when we returned.

Earlier this week, as the kids settled back into their beautiful classroom and shared stories of our camp adventures with their classmates and teachers, I slipped away to photograph the nature table again.

I love the gentle transition of the nature table. The pink silk remains. As does the orange butterfly.

That’s how it is with these seasonal changes. Fall starts to whisper to us in August. A few chilly nights here and there. A little yellow in the trees.

And now, even as we turn our attention to apple-picking and harvest celebrations, summer is still with us. In our memories. In the warm sun on our backs in the afternoon. In the dahlias in the garden and the wild flowers in the meadows. Summer’s song is getting a little softer as autumn’s splendor takes the lead, but it is still there.

It didn’t used to feel this way to me. It used to feel jarring and abrupt. One minute it was summer. The next it was fall. I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t prepared. I resented the change. I didn’t have time to look for warmer clothes. I didn’t want to gather firewood to make heat. I was busy.  I had deadlines. I had a schedule that was full from morning to night regardless of the weather or the season.

And my life was not working for me.

It has taken me nearly a decade of conscious choices and slow, steady changes to shift my focus away from the popular culture’s calendar of days, which never felt right to me in my core, and back into the rhythms of nature…the seasons, the tides, the moon, the planets, the heartbeat, the breath.

This last week, celebrating Equinox in a cabin in the woods, has been a powerful touchstone for me. It’s not the crazy shout from the rooftops “I’m living my dreams!!!!” energy that I felt back in the spring during the Power Moms book tour.

But it is equally important to me.

There are so many times recently that I have looked at my husband and our beautiful children and this kinda-quirky, non-mainstream, doing-it-our-way life that we are slowly creating together and I have to pinch myself to be sure it is all real.

I’m not pretending anymore. I am really living my dreams. And it is even more wonderful than I imagined. And I am filled with gratitude.

The kids and I have been enjoying after-school walks in one of the meadows alongside their school. I bring sippy cups of fresh, raw milk, sweetened with just a little chocolate powder, which they enjoy as we meander through the winding paths.

Much like our daycare dinners this past spring, this soft transition space between school and home is a time I treasure.

We chat lightly about our days, pausing to marvel at the sights and sounds the meadow offers.

On one of our walks last week, we spotted something very exciting on a milkweed leaf…

frass (a.k.a. caterpillar poop)!! We followed the frass up the plant…

…to its source, a Monarch caterpillar. 

We invited this little friend to come home with us, and he (or she?) is now in a chrysalis in our terrarium.

Our own meadow that we attempted to grow from seed this past spring, did not materialize. (It was a pretty tough year for growing anything.) We’ll try again next year and in the meantime we will savor and appreciate these magical meadow walks at Miss Anne’s.

Yesterday was our kids first day of school. It is Lily’s third year at Miss Anne’s magical, Waldorf-inspired home nursery school and Quinn’s first.

Everyone was very excited. School begins at 9:30, and is less than a five minute drive from our house. We were all ready to go long before 9 o’clock.

So we headed out early and took the scenic route (always my favorite way to go) and said hello to our favorite draft horses…

And played on the tire swing outside the school…

At last it was time to go in to school. Quinn did not hesitate for a second.

He knows from his sister and from our visits to the classroom the magic that awaits inside…

I kissed my beautiful children, who barely looked up from their work to say goodbye, and walked out through the kitchen. I paused to take one last photo.

Two Septembers ago, I sat at this table sipping tea with a group of parents, many of whom I met for the first time that day. I watched my sweet three-year-old playing with her new teachers and friends. And I chased my busy one-year-old around the kitchen.

Yesterday as I stood at the kitchen table, where the bread dough sat rising, I was alone.

I turned and made my way through the mudroom, smiling at a mother (whose name I’ve yet to learn) sitting in the sunroom nursing her baby.

“This is really weird,” I said to her, but really more to myself. “No one is following me. No one needs me.”

As I walked out the door, the tears began to flow and they continued to do so for much of the morning.

Tears of joy. Tears of sadness. Tears of relief. Tears of discomfort…tears of transition.

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