The Day After - A Hike

The day after Christmas, we ventured on another hike.  Setting our feet firmly on the ground after traveling West to East, we rustled through leaves, grabbed acorns and admired the ferns and moss foreign to our Boulder surroundings.  

I love the thrill of a new landscape.  And I love the simplicity of a winter hike:  The browns and grays make the single cardinal jump out.  The absence of leaves on the trees amplify their height.  The abundance of leaves on the ground make it a thrill to find the acorns hidden underneath.  The stillness of it all lets me focus on my own children running.  And the quiet of it all lets me hear the sound of the single stream.

We returned with new momentos - berries, acorns, sweetgum balls, a fungus-y stick.  They may make it back to Boulder.  Or they may not.  But, I'll certainly bring home the memory.

The Day Before - A Hike

On Christmas Eve, we hiked.  We have done so every Christmas Eve that I can remember.  In fact, if it were my choice, every special day would be preceded by a hike.   Even days that are special because of a hike.

This year, it just so happened that Will and Clara wore coordinated elf colors.  I watched them carelessly plow through the snow, as I pushed June in an overworked stroller.  John opted for his Dad's arms.

But, this is where I experience the holiday lift:  breathing the cold air, watching my energetic and healthy kids, finding hope in the mountains and strength from the sun through the trees, feeling love for my family and gratitude for the beauty of the earth.

I will cherish our Christmas Eve dinner.  I will relish our preparations, anticipating joy and wonder the next morning.  I will even love watching my cinnamon rolls rise after midnight, admonishing my late start.

But outside, during our Christmas Eve hike, any weight of responsibility subsides.  In this tradition, I get to be a child in the woods, too.

Finding Light

In these long, dark nights, it is amazing how we are drawn to the light.  We are finding our way in a backyard snow maze, on a mountain star, and at home gazing at the tree.

Adapting - A Lesson - Really

As a parent, I think it is important for my kids to learn to be adaptable.  Adaptability might not always have the greatest appeal.  It sort of straddles between the positive undertones of "flexible," "resiliant" and "forgiving" and the negative connotations of "avoidance" and "milk-toast."  But this week, in the midst of holiday activity, I am aware that in four particular circumstances, I am teaching my kids how to be adaptable:

First, the mice.  They come in our house, and we just rearrange the food.  Our pantry is wonderfully mouse free because all our food now sits on the kitchen counter where they cannot climb to get it.

Second, the heat.  We currently have none.  So, I found our trusty space heater and we're all nice and cozy in my room, three in sleeping bags on the floor and three on the bed.  Ah, togetherness.

Third, the smoke alarm.  It gave such a lovely chirp all night long.  In response, we (a) covered our heads with pillows, and then (b) successfully removed it into submission.  We even found, during breakfast preparations, that it works wherever we place it.

Fourth, the lights.  Our dining room lights don't work, so we've seized the darkness and now enjoy intimate candlelight dinners.  When the bathroom lights broke, we simply moved in a lamp.  And although I spent hours hanging lights outside, when the plug stopped working, we just moved the lights to the tree.

Maybe in another blog, I'll recount lessons to the kids on being proactive, placing important phone calls, developing practical skills, speaking up.  But, this post, and this time, is all about adapting.

Tree Luck

This past weekend, our family cut down a Christmas tree in the mountains.  It was a first.  And it was based on luck really.  Any other Colorado winter's day, our "family car" would not have made it up the steep, icy road.  But the clouds parted, and all future tree-seeking days are doomed by the comparison.

The initial hike was a bit daunting, but again, the warm, blue-sky day saved us from: 

- Clara's self-imposed snow down her boots, 

- June's wet coat after making about 100 angels,

- Will's pre-teen rejection of winter coats, and

- John's refusal to get out of the back-pack.  (Actually, that's a good thing, any weather).

I really tried the whole time to hold my tongue.  I learned this from a hike with J.J. in the 9th grade.  He told me he could only handle so many "Oh, this is so beautiful"s.  It was a good lesson. I know my kids would pass along a huge thank you. 

Anyway, the price for holding my tongue was to scream "This is so amazing!" in the form of 1,000 pictures in about 1 hour.  (Aha! Maybe that's the source of my photography obsession:  repression.  Again, thank you J.J.  Are you reading this?)

So, here are just a few:

Wrapping and Rotting Potatoes

In our house, we are beginning to wrap.  Earlier this season, on a pretty day, with rotting potatoes in the kitchen, we brought some brown paper and red ink outside.

Will chose the job of whittling the potatoes and came up with trees and wreaths.  Clara and June stamped.  John... I don't remember.

Their attention span didn't last as long as I'd hoped.  I will likely come up a little short.  But it is nice to remember that day as I wrap.