Visions of Tetherball

Gather round, my little chickens, so that I can tell you a story. 

What, you ask?  Another post so soon? Has someone replaced the procrastinating soul that runs this blog with someone with motivation? Indeed!  That’s right! Red toenails!

Anyway, on with our story, that we haven’t even started yet. 

Once upon a time (a few days ago), Ellie, Guy and I took a drive. Remember? 

You were there… in the last post.  Ah, yes, now you remember.

Wait.  Back up.  No, stay there, I will back up...

Lately, I’ve been looking into ways of getting the kids more physically active whilst

sequestered here in our mighty woods.  According to said children, "moving stacks 

of firewood isn’t fun.”  Big babies.

Tetherball seemed like a great fitness fix! The ball can’t bounce down to the creek, 

and it's not a team sport (There is no TEAM in HOMESCHOOL.  There's barely enough for checkers).  I did not however, consider how many times Jonah would be smacked upside the head by the ball in the first week.  Many tears were shed, and bruises were sustained. That kid seriously needs to develop some reflexes.

It just so happens that my kind friend Charrie (pronounced like Sorry, unless you are from Canada, in which case you are out of luck. Sooorry) was getting rid of a tetherball, stand and all! Yay for free! We headed out on a Saturday, and our drive there was uneventful (*cue suspenseful music..."bum bum bummmmmmmmm!")

The first task, Phase I, if you will, was to load the tetherball stand into the back of the minivan.
Charrie's diligent husband had made sure that the base would be tornado-proof by using all of the
cement in the greater Sacramento area with which to fill the tire base. Five people tried
lifting it into the van. Stitches were popped, toes were smashed, and obscenities were... thought of.
It wasn’t working.

(*Tangent that will make sense in a sec*)

There is a magical thing that sometimes happens in my head in the face of certain challenges. It’s really cool. When I look at the problem, a solution fills in the gaps visually. I just see it as a mental vision, as though the solution was already successfully in place. It doesn't happen all the time, but when it does, it kinda' rocks. Anyway, I suddenly envisioned tipping the pole, top-end-first, into the van and then elevating the tire base with a tire jack, and finally hoisting it carefully up to the level of the bumper.

We did it (well, I was at the pole end, so I mostly watched and tried to keep the pole from ripping a hole in the cloth ceiling). It worked perfectly! There was still the small matter of lifting 200+ pounds the eight or so inches into the van, but with much straining and grunting, it was accomplished. We joyfully congratulated ourselves, then said our hug-less thank-yous and goodbyes. Then, with Ellie in the captain's chair, we began our ascent up the steep driveway.

All was well, until we got to the top.

Pop Quiz: If a ten foot pole with a 2 inch interior diameter is left outdoors in the rain all winter, how much water will dump onto the front seats when the van reaches the top of the driveway?

Answer: Mathematically, 6.18 liters (there’s a formula)... which converts roughly to: one lap, one shoulder, a console, two cup holders, two floor mats, and 1.75 water-bottles full.

Oh, but numbers don't paint a picture! Come now, no more math. Let's paint. We'll use WATERcolors (waka-waka!).

As Ellie rolled to the top of the drive and got over the hump of sidewalk, the van-turned-teeter-totter brought the pole level with mother earth, and sweet, sweet gravity did what she does best baby.

Now children, it's time for a little science: What happens when a level pole full of cold water begins shooting said water out at a rate of approximately, say, a firehose, all over a console, a driver and a passenger? That's right, children, those individuals experience something known in scientific circles as the "What-the-heck phenomenon.” That is when the passenger (the more experienced driver) bellows "Stop!" between a series of "oh-my-gosh-es" and "holy craps.” The less experienced driver, either out of reflex or pure adrenaline, dutifully obeys the experienced driver and mashes down on the brake like she is smashing a rabid spider.

And what, my little ducklings, do we call it when an object in motion meets with no resistance while in motion? Well, to be honest, I had to look this one up, but it is called IN-ER-TIA. You get the gold star. Why, yes, little Sally, it does shoot out at what appears to be a greater rate of speed than the aforementioned firehose. This is called the "Gush Factor.” One might compare it to a large quantity of old water blasting out of a pipe in a minivan. Oh wait, that's what it was.

Well done, all! Gold stars for everyone!

I slapped my hand over the end of the pole like a mom covering the pie hole of a potty-mouthed four year old in the checkout line, a move enhanced by reflexes garnered over 23 years of snatching airborne babies from catapulting face-first off of sofas, and from catching projectile vomit in my bare hands. I called out orders, "Ellie, don't move! Guy, Blanket! Start emptying water bottles!"

My arms in synchronous motion, I staunched the flow with my right hand while crossing under with the blanket in my left to mop up the splash zone. I know you can't picture it, but believe me, it was multitasking at it's finest. Guy and I were like a fine-oiled machine, he passing empty water bottles to me, me passing full ones back to be dumped. Finally, the flow subsided, but we weren't fooled. We knew that at each downhill slant, the sluggish remnants would slop out like baby spit-up (wow, too many mommy metaphors. I really need to get out more).

It was then that I told new-driver Ellie that I wanted her to repeatedly accelerate and then mash on the brakes until our wonderful little friend Inertia was all out of liquid malice, followed by instruction NOT to employ this new skill during her driver’s test. It worked, and as the last trickle drained from the pipe, we smiled, propped it up on the sopped blanket for good measure, and headed home.

Upon arriving home, there was now just the small matter of removing the beast.

Oh, children, you thought you were done with math, didn't you? No, no. One more math problem, just for chuckles:

If it takes Susan and four of her friends to get a 200 lb tetherball pole into a van, what is the ratio of denial to gall that Susan must have to believe she and just two friends can take it back out?

Enter: Laine's cool vision thingy again. Phase II, The Unloading

I suddenly pictured the tire base sitting outside of the van on a large stump, almost level with the bumper. I then pictured it being held with the pole parallel to the ground, as the van was pulled away, unsheathing it like a really weird looking sword. It just so happens there are many giant, super heavy wooden stumps laying about the place, which was mighty handy. Ellie rolled one over, and Guy and Ellie began the process of rolling the base from side to side, in essence "walking" it up to the edge of the bumper, while I directed the pole end around headrests and light covers. Then came the last heave-ho! To be honest, I have no idea how they did it, but Guy and Ellie lifted that beast those few back-breaking inches out onto the stump.

"Okay," Guy said, "Drive away!"

"Me?" For some reason the part of "getaway-car-driver" had been played by Guy in my little mental movie. I hadn't gotten around to telling Guy the next segment of my cognitive cartoon, wherein we used boards to roll the base off the stump to the ground. I pulled the van away and it went perfectly. In the rear view mirror I could see the tire on the stump with Guy and Ellie supporting it. I hurried to put the van back into it's normal space so I could get back to help with lowering the base.

I got out to help with Phase III, The Lowering, just in time to see Ellie and Guy chasing the now very mobile tire doing what tires do best... rolling - yes ROLLING - toward the creek. Let me rephrase that; rolling to the drop off that goes down 30 feet to the creek.

There was screamy-yelling, and then it was over.

This was not in the vision!

*****

No. It didn't roll off the edge. That would have been epic though!

Did I get you?


No, no. Ellie, who is amazingly strong, had sprinted past the cement freight train and stopped the dang thing from rolling off the small cliff. Guy later informed us that if the beast had careened off the ledge, it would have stayed down there forever (not to worry, I’m sure I would have had a vision of exactly how to get it back out).





When interviewed by a perplexed wife later, the husband recounted that Ellie had inquired how they should go about getting the stand down from the stump.

"Just let it go, I guess." had been the answer.

Good advice for a Disney Princess, bad advice for 200 lb rubber coated cement projectiles.

****

In the end I got my tetherball, stand and all. I played it one time, just to show the kids how. And that was the last time.

Turns out, I forgot.

I don't really care for tetherball.

Driving in Beverly Hills, Honey!

We roll along the tired grey ribbon that lays willy-nilly between minty hills spotted in black-trunked oaks, and blushing with poppies springing out from the slopes with no regard as to which side of the fence they are on.  Cows who have learned not to care about mere cars are held back from the road by tired old fence posts and slack barbed wire that only pretends it is what is keeping them in.  Vineyard rows flick by like someone shuffling cards.  Guy rides in the back and I ride shotgun, as Ellie and I sing along to the radio.  I love it that we know the words to the same songs.  It closes the gap a little that has formed lately between teen and parent-of-teen.

A song comes on; Beverly Hills, by Weezer. 

"I can't hear this song without hearing your little two-year-old voice in my head, "Honey! Honey!".  She's heard the story a thousand times before, but unlike my retelling of other tales from my ancient past, this one doesn't bother her because it's about her.  But she knows it so well, I don't need to say any more (to her, anyway.  You might require a wander through my memory with me.  Let's go...).

Each of my kids has a song, one that became theirs because they loved it when they were little.  For Ethan, it was Yellow by Coldplay.  He would lustily belt it out whenever he saw a school bus; "And it was aaaall YELLOOOOW!".  Natalie has loved Shut Up and Dance by Walk the Moon.  She adored singing the Shut Up part, since (hello, obviously) that is a HUGE swear word.  Words.  It's two words...yah, whatever. You get the idea.  The other kids had songs, though I am blanking on them at the moment, to which I am entitled because there are FREAKIN' SIX OF THEM. (Kids. And songs.)

But I remember Ellie's.  At several points in the song, tucked away in the chorus, a woman's voice can be faintly heard, and to Ellie, she was singing, "Honey! Honey!".  I loved it because I knew that 1. It couldn't be right, and 2. It was better and likely cleaner than any lyric that was probably there.  Plus, I figured her cute pink brain settled on that particular word because she heard me say it all the time, "Dear and Honey are Daddy.  You guys are Sweeties and Darlings."

Seventeen year old Ellie then calls me back from my happy little flashback with a lightening bolt.  "Kinda crazy that I used to sing that from my car seat and now I'm the one driving."

Crazy?  Um, ya think?!  Yes, madam!  It is more than "kinda" crazy that she was a tot 14.75 weeks ago and now she is literally driving, and longing - as she is quick to remind us - to be driving off into the sunset.  Only, in her version, she's in a turquoise and white Mini Cooper and not mom's wrapper-and-sock-filled Minivan.

She's a good driver.  She will graduate to excellent driver once her dyslexic brain can wrap itself around backing while turning.  I'm hoping she'll get used to the narrow winding roads and the steep edges (insert subtle life metaphor, here).  I have taught each of my kids (so far.  I'm waiting on the six year old to get a little taller) how to drive, and they are always very anxious to accept my direction - right up until they "know everything", and then I have to learn to be quiet, hold my breath, and hold on.  It's really the in-between place that's the hardest, when they still need you but don't want to need you, and when you are trying to stop yourself from helping, and still wind up speaking up. 

Shut up and dance, right?

That's right, Honey.

Her worst nightmare

Natalie is terrified

of the public restroom. 

 It's getting a little better as she grows older, but 

THIS

THIS throne here, 

is her worst nightmare.

She would rather hold it

or pee on a tree

or in her pants

or make the 3 hour drive home with a full bladder

than sit on an auto-flush commode.

She starts worrying about it before we even hit the restroom door, outlining her escape plan.  Once we open the stall and she sees the little black box on the pipe, with its evil glowing red light, she simply states,

 "OOOOOHHH no.  

I am NOT going in THERE."

And there is a good reason. 

The light-up loo can't tell that she's there.  

She is so tiny, that after she climbs up, she has to lean forward to hang on and not fall in.  The laser thinks she left, and 

"SPLOOOOSH!"

the beast tries to swallow her alive.

She is so terrified her eyes bulge, she stiffens and screams, and then shakes all over for a good five minutes.  It's fight or flight, only she can't fly.  She would probably leap off the thing if she weren't in mid-stream.  I have tried to cover the sensor with my hand, but I usually end up triggering it and then she blames me, not the mean ol' john.  

So bathroom visits are a little stressful, for all of us.

Mercifully, there are some less worrisome water closets out there. When Nano sees a good old-fashioned porcelain privy with a shiny chrome handle, she croons,

"OOOOOH, yah, baby!  This is a good one!"

 in the voice of the Studio C "Oh Yah" lady.

I have to admit, after seeing what she goes through, I am a bit relieved myself.

No pun intended.

Me and Will Smith

When folks ask  about what it's like here in the woods, they usually wonder, "Is it just so quiet at night?"

Ummmm.... heh heh heh, nnnnoooo.  No, it's not.

Have you ever seen the movie I Am Legend? That freaky good Will Smith zombie movie? There is that scene after Will Smith locks down the apartment for the night, where he climbs into the tub with his dog as darkness descends (see it here).  Soon, the night sounds of the zombie horde begin to penetrate the metal window shutters which are the only things keeping our hero from becoming a midnight snack.  We cringe as the zombie cries reach a terrifying fever-pitch, while Will and his poor pooch cling to each other, waiting for the blessed relief of daylight.

It's like that!!!  Okay, maybe not a zombie apocalypse, but it was a little, at first, back when I was all worked up about mountain lions.  And fires.  And bears (Lions and fires and bears, OH MY!).  But it can still be a little spooky.

To lend some contrast, understand that from our old house in Rancho, at night we could hear the traffic on Folsom Blvd., mostly the back-up beep-beep-beep of the vendor trucks at the market 2 blocks down, and the hum of cars.  There were the random honks here and there, dogs barking, and the drunk party-ers across the street.  Oh, and guns sometimes (okay, so Rancho is it's own brand of scary).  And amorous cats,  those were my favorites.

But when you hear the same night noises for years, it becomes... quiet (except for the dang cats. You never get used to that.)

Here, the mountain-yin to that city-yang starts soon after dusk (just like in the movie!).  I mean, there is the ever present burble and chatter of the creek, of course.  But I don't usually notice it during the day, so at night it's like someone turned up the volume on it.  Next, as the last rays of daylight fade to grey, the crickets start gettin' all worked up, and then the faint chirp of a frog floats through the air. With the darkness there is another, and then another, until soon it sounds like a touch down at Frog-State University's football game.  Go listen to that in your head for a minute.  I'll wait.

Loud, isn't it?

Time for a public service announcement...

If a pond full of frogs is screaming their slimy little lungs out, and you are over it, if you yell 
"Shut Up!"... they will!  (Yes, I yell at frogs.  Don't judge).

Please explain to me... if frogs chirp to find a mate, and there are, like, 26 of them in a 5 foot pond, are they all deaf, blind, and possibly brain dead?  Honestly.  Sign up for a dating site, already.  The pond thing ain't workin'.  You're going to be single forever.

Something sets off the two chihuahuas up the hill at our nearest neighbor's.  They go on for a while till a man's voice barks back a few colorful phrases.  They scare the frogs into silence, a door slam echos through the woods, and in about 6 seconds, as though cued by an amphibious conductor's tiny wand, the frogs start up again in earnest.

Now, as I've mentioned, it's been quite warm here.  The house heats up nicely during the day, so we fling wide the windows in the evening to welcome the breezes, and climb into bed under the window as the cool evening floats in.  Guy is asleep before I'm done flossing (to be fair, I floss for days).  I finally settle into my pillow.

CRUNCH. Step, step, crackle, TWIG SNAP, drag-scrape!

I bolt up in bed and grab my phone, tip-toe running to the bathroom where I can look out the window without waking Guy.  The window is open, but the dim glow of the Little's night-light bounces off the screen and I can't see out.  I rip the light out of the outlet and am plunged into the blackest black. No stars, no moon, certainly no street lights or headlights.  I aim my phone's flashlight out the window.  Something glowing moves among the trees on the steep-but close hill across from the window, and then freezes.  Just eyes.  Daaarknesssssss and eeeeeeyes.  Darn phone doesn't shine brightly enough to reveal the owner!  I mean, could be raccoon, could be land shark, right?

I put the light down, and in a moment the crunching resumes.  We do the dance, Land Shark and I, me with my flashlight, him with his creepy-green glowing eyes.  Eventually, deciding that the Land Shark can only possibly bore me to death, I get tired and go to bed.  Step, crunch, scrape, scrape.  I put my arm over my ear aaaaaand... fall asleep.

Tap.     

TapTapTapTap.    Tap.  Tap. Tap.

There is what would appear-by-ear to be a leprechaun out in the woods making itty-bitty shoes with a teeny, tiny hammer.  I huff and shut the window, then listen to the only slightly muffled shoe making.  Nocturnal wood pecker, perhaps?  Is that even a thing?!

At about 4 am my bladder wakes me up. That's not part of the moon-lit cacophony, that's just the nightly drill, but it's super convenient, 'cuz it gets me all ready for BIRD-A-PALOOZA!!!

You may have heard some nonsense about early birds getting up with the morning light. Yah, what a load of crap.  Birds don't get up early.  They get up BEFOOOOORE early.  WAY. All of them.
ALL.
THE.
BIRDS.
It sounds like someone took 412 parrots, stuffed them into a box, threw in a few cats, and shook it really hard.

Oh, and I'm in the box, too.

I bury my head and drift off to slee... a pterodactyl flies by cawing frantically.  The pterodactyl and several of his friends circle the house 47 times. The chihuahuas protest.  I fade off again at around lap 34, but I can hear them caw in my dreams.

Just about 20 minutes later, number-one son gets up for work, and the very strangely placed vent in our upstairs bedroom that leads directly to the family room below, allows me to enjoy all of his happy, nay, spunky! getting-ready-for-work sounds.  As the garage door slams, rattling the house like a 6.2 quake, and Son's truck roars to life and then crunches up the gravel driveway too fast, I hear Guy begin to stir for work.  But he's a ninja.  I sleep right through, and then snooze a little longer after our prayer and kiss goodbye.  The birds begin to settle.  The chihuahuas are at rest. The frogs ate all the crickets, I guess, because I hear neither (may they all get heartburn). There are no more monsters in the forest.  It's finally quiet enough to sleep-
when my alarm goes off.

Yep.  Me and Will Smith, and the blessed (?) relief of daylight.

*****

But, alas, as I write this, it's

time

to

go

to

bed...

(!)

Go West Again, Young Man! (and Sundry Ladies!)

 

It was only two months ago,

 but it felt like a hundred years

 (well, to be more specific, more like 173 years).  

It was Sutter's Fort time! Again!  The amazing school Environmental Learning Program that lets you live the life of a pioneer for a day.

Once again, we stepped back in time.  But this year wasn't just a repeat of last year.  First of all, there was this really sexy frontiersman working in the bakery this year...

I wanted to say, "Hey there, Hottie, those are nice buns!"

 but I held my prairie tongue.  The children, you know.  Plus, they were technically cinnamon rolls, but more on that later. 

As the morning broke, we waited for the newest wagon train to roll in...

...to cheer on the new arrivals from Back East!  

Tessa was so excited to be on the wagon train!

Another thing that was different this year was a rugged little trapper we brought along.

He did pretty well most of the time, and kept track of 'lil sis very well.

And this little prairie pumpkin was far more mobile and adventuresome this time around. 

 It was nice to have the extra hands of Jonah, Ellie and Tessa.

My most favorite change this year was this one... Francine came!!!!  

It was SOOO wonderful to have her with us.  I don't think Natalie even knows that this dear woman isn't related to us, but that doesn't mean Francine isn't family!  Francine came with the intention of being with us as a guide for the group of youngin's all day, but at the last minute the event coordinator asked her to help in the kitchen because some parents had cancelled.  Francine, ever helpful and kind, didn't even bat an eye, but jumped right in to help and cheer every one of those lucky pioneers on kitchen duty!

Another great change was that this year I got to be a group guide, so I spent the entire day with my cute kiddos (and the cute kiddos of a few other families.  I really had an amazing, respectful and sweet group).

First Stop:  The Trading Post

The kids worked so hard this year to make bartering items to trade at the Trading Post, and were so excited to trade, but unlike last year when they could make several trades, surprisingly this year they were only allowed to make one.

Well, if you dig a hole, a child will fill it.  In no time at all the children realized they could trade with each other, and soon they were flocking.  Flocking is what I call it when kids begin to socialize by running back and forth in a large clump, getting to know one another while in motion.  They gathered and traded most happily with no grown-ups to interfere, and then they were off again.  The best part for me came later, when the kids were showing me their trade items.  Ellie showed me a little bauble that had been clumsily made by some very small child.  "I didn't really want it but nobody wanted to trade with him and he really wanted to trade."  I was so in awe of her. That sweet moment would never have transpired if the Trading Post had done things the old way.

**********

Second stop: The Blacksmith Shop

Last year I was hog tied to a doll making station, but this time around as guide, I was thrilled to have a front seat view of my spring-offs living this adventure as we went from station to station.

There were some truly magical moments that I am so glad I didn't miss.  The sights and sounds were other-worldly; well, other timely, anyway.

  

Jonah was just listening at first, and because our homeschool philosophy is child led,

 I didn't push him at all.

But before I knew it, that little guy, who can barely write his name, 

was taking notes like the big kids! 

(it says: ANVIL, FORGE, BELLOWS, TONGS, HAMMER)

The children helped the blacksmith, Biscuts, file the burs from horseshoes,

...overseen by Biscuts' horse, Lucky (I just made that up.  The name. I'm pretty sure it was a horse, though.  Or a cow, maybe.  Either way, not too lucky.)

Tessa and Jonah pumped the bellows to stoke the fire.

Jonah doesn't usually want to participate in anything that would put him up in front of people, but I think the fire was a little too irresistible.  You know, boys and fire... I think it's biblical. 

"And behold, God created fire, and Adam's sons said it was good."

The smokey air and the streaming natural light were so painterly and lovely that at certain moments I really forgot there was a world out there where my laundry and unreturned Netflix movie waited.

Next Stop: Oh, I don't know,
 I think I missed a few, but Weaving was one!

There were a few new stations this year, including weaving and spinning, which the girls loved.  There will be more weaving at our house in the future, for sure!  The girls loved it so much we have ordered a loom for each of them through the school.

And near by at The Bakery...

It was The Hottie!!!!  What a man. 

 Making 16 loaves of bread, 8 dozen cinnamon rolls 

and 6 dozen ginger snap cookies in an outdoor wood oven, 

and not even breaking a sweat!

 It was enough to make a lil' ol' pioneer like me swoon!

(he's not warm, he's blushing because a foxy prairie chicky-poo was flirting with him)

What a dough-ver achiever!

(insert bad-joke-moan here)

After helping other children to make bread all day,

 it was sweet to see Guy help Jonah cornmeal the peel (wooden paddle) 

so the loaves would slide off into the clay oven.

Next on our trek: The Wagon

 This was a very cool stop.  We got to see how amazingly resourceful pioneers were.  They not only wasted NOTHING, but they managed to cram the maximum amount of provisions into the most minute spaces.  They created ways to do jobs that were back breaking with the most conservative effort, and to use and reuse and reuse again, anything and everything.

Each child took on the name and story of a pioneer.  Our kids took roles of ancestors from our own family, whose names and stories have been collected by my Aunt June (thank you, Aunt June!).  There was one task in their genuine pioneer experience the kids were spared; cow dung collecting.  But now I have something to threaten them with if they complain about chores at home.

Some of my favorite moments were in watching the kids playing simple pioneer games.  They laughed so hard and got along so well.  There was no need to tan their hides or horse-whip them and send them to bed with out any gruel or anything.

I must take a moment here to talk about the preparations for this adventure in the form of: 3 aprons, 5 bonnets 3 skirts, 6 tote bags, 3 petticoats, 1 wrap, 2 altered shirts and one altered dress that Kathy and I tackled.  We were much cuter pioneers than last year, when we borrowed most everything, and there was a certain Fraulein Maria vibe put off by the clothes that we made out of thrifted curtains and bed linens.  Also, I can now make day cap-style bonnets in my sleep.  But if you need one, you can just borrow one from me.  I am now retired from bonnet making.

 

Darling Francine would steal away from the kitchen from time to time

 to see the kidlets enjoying their activities.  

It was so joyful to see her with them.

It was, in fact during one of these stolen moments

 that she turned Jonah's little day around.

He was hot, and tired, and worn out from being so good, and had just begun to completely shut down (as anyone who knows him well would recognize).  He was not wanting to participate in the cool goings-on anymore, and things were heading in a bad direction (usually ending with some well meaning adult trying to intervene, causing him embarrassment, resulting in him dashing away to hide and cry).

Francine gathered him up in her arms and loved on him, whispered secrets to him that made him giggle, and soon released a happy little boy all ready to dip candles! 

Stop Number I-lost-count:  The Kitchen!

The food we ate during our stay at the fort was all made by the children (and, if you were wondering if their hands were well washed, the answer is an unequivocal NO!  Frighteningly, no.  Washed, yes.  But well?  Oh, my nelly, no.  We should be dead of ptomaine poisoning, but we are quite alive, so read on and try not to think about where their grimy little hands may have been).

The Menu:

Lunch... Bean burritos with veggies and sliced fruit

Dinner... Beef, potato and veggie stew

 with fresh baked bread (See; Hottie: above)

and hand churned butter

Dessert: Dutch Oven Apple Cobbler

Night Watch snack: Cocoa and ginger snaps

Breakfast next morning: Cinnamon Rolls, cocoa and fruit

Attention: No fingers were amputated in the making of this stew.

(That's a green bean in the bowl, silly! 

 I think.  

You're right... 

it kind'a does look like a pinky!)

(Repeat after me...

 their hands were relatively clean,

 their hands were relatively clean...)

A late afternoon visit from Francine kept Nano

 from flopping down in the dust and just giving up!

Oh, wait, It stopped me from flopping down in the dust!

She must have roomy pockets, 

because she's carrying all of our hearts.

Next, a favorite of the day:  

Ziggy and Pioneer Games

All the games that Ziggy taught could be played with stones 

or sticks or just your hands, and made the kids just laugh hysterically.

We interrupt this post to bring you a quick game of peekaboo.  

(oh, my, isn't she just edible?)

We interrupt this game of peekaboo 

to ring the school bell REALLY LOUD and frighten small children 

who only moments ago were smiling and happy.

This is Loana, the event coordinator.  She began coming to Sutter's Fort when her children were small, and now is the person who plans the whole kit-and-kabootle.  She supplies all of the food and materials, and orchestrates the planning, training and execution (ha, no, not that kind!  You are feisty today, aren't you?  We no longer execute children for poor behavior.  It's not really the 1800's!  No, we give time-outs and avoid prison sentences).  When the kids learned who she was, they spontaneously started hugging her.  You have to know she is special if Jonah the Hug Miser was willing to pony up.

This was perhaps the funniest stop of the day.  The One Room Schoolhouse.  Jonah has never been to public school, but I swear to you this is EXACTLY how Ethan did school.  Must be genetic.  I don't know if he was bored or beat, but he just sat there.

I took Natalie out to the balcony where she promptly got the world's meanest splinter.  Now, if this had happened in the 2000's we would have filed an accident report, called for a nurse, signed a consent and later filed a lawsuit.  But this was 1843, baby!  We just borrowed a straight pin outta a nearby pinafore apron, yanked that shard out and gave the lil' dumplin' a kiss.

 

The patient was reported to be recovering nicely,

 though with slight angst toward all wood.

At the end of the day, it finally happened.  Jonahboy lost it.  It happened back at the trading post, when the kids were told that if there was time they could do one last trade.  Jonah was hav'n a tur'ble time makin' up his five-year-old mind between the fake gold nuggets and the wooden snakes, because the only snake left was missing an eye.  The post began to close.  He thought he had done something wrong and they didn't want to let him trade.  Remember the "dash, hide and cry" routine I mentioned earlier?  Yah.  We did that for a while.  

In the end, he had a nice little pow-wow with the fella at the post, and traded a fine wooden top Jonah had made for a two-eyed snake they found in a box, and all was well.

Hallelujah! Finally, Dinner! I mean, Supper! 

 I mean... aw, heck... 

FOOD!

I think the cooking killed all the grubby-hand germs.  

Or maybe they just added flavor.  It tasted delicious.

Time for a Ho Down!!!!!

These amazing musicians, who have been doing this and other events since perhaps the late 1800's (or for 20+ years) put on first, a wonderful dance, then....

 

A hilarious show!  

They had us, as tired as we were, dancing and laughing our guts out. 

Well, I was actually holding this:

So, sadly, I did not get to dance. 

So while they did this...

She managed to somehow still do this...

Go figure.  If she's asleep at home and my knee pops, 

she's awake till midnight, 

but do this...

(that's 20 children with instruments like washboards and banjos they don't know how to play.  So pretty.  Kind of like a restaurant kitchen mixed with a band tuning their instruments.  Do ya hear it?  like I said, soooo pretty.)

...and she sleeps right through it.

*******

Somehow after all that we managed to set up beds and tuck Littles in, while Ellie and Tessa went out on the Night Watch to search the fort for bandits, which of course they found, arrested and threw into jail.  The real jail, all dark and dank and musty (that part was really cool.  It made me want to be 10 again, and not much in life would compel me to go back to that).

Finally, there was sleep.  I have no picture of that, but if you close your eyes you will pretty much see how it was from my point of view.

Now pretend you have to pee at five AM and the bathroom is on the other side of the fort.  It will be chilly with stars twinkling and dawn making the sky a strange green color, and city sounds having the audacity to climb over the wall.  Try not to let your skirts dip in the toilet while your teeth chatter.  Now hurry back to bed because if you are lucky, you will get a little more sleep before.....

 BREAKFAST TIME!!!!  

Hurry now, pull on your socks and dusty shoes,

 try to stand up, and listen to your joints scream.  

Great.  You're all caught up.  Now back to our story...

Breakfast was simple, but most welcome.

I've gotta say, that Hottie baker makes one mighty fine cinnamon roll.  

Sleepy faces!!!

All too soon, it was time to pack up.

I can hear her thinking, 

"My mom thinks you're really cute,

 but I'm warnin' ya, she's a little loco ."

Natalie - bed head.  Me - air mattress face!

 (what? You thought we'd use bedrolls in the dirt?

 I'm not that loco).

And this is what a family looks like after just ONE pioneer night. 

 Can you imagine 6 months or more?!

I began a tradition last year by slipping away into the gift shop and getting a little memento for each child.  Last year it was tin cups.  This time Middles got covered wagon pencil sharpeners, and the Littles each got a "ball".

(Or as the local folks call it, a "Hac-kee Saqu".)

It seemed a crime to just jump back into modern life simply because our time at the fort was done, so I taught the Littles to play marbles while Guy and the girls went to get the van. 

And just like last year, I felt sad to step out of those high walls and back into the busy world.  Alas, we had no choice.  We did not bring spare undies, and though I'll walk a quarter mile to the john in the middle of the night, wear curtains for clothes. and even eat food prepared by the hands of nose miners, I will not do two days in the same pair of skivvies.

Goodbye, Sutter's Fort, until next year!

******

(but what was my souvenir, you ask?

Why, I brought home the baker!)