Thirteen

March 10, 2016

Kansas City, Missouri

Dear Babette,


This morning, I just knew when I walked out of my bedroom, that the shelf of school books had nothing for us.  There could be no papers or pencils, no sitting or writing.  We could not be contained and so we bounded out the door, as soon as the slowest eater would allow, which felt like a great eternity.  It was still slightly cool in the shade, as we headed down the path, When I say that we could not be contained, I don't speak for all of us, because I never asked them. I needed big air and sky and bits of bursting green. I would have made a lousy teacher today.  We were just explorers instead.

I told them to lead the way, as I trailed behind back with the short-legged one.  They turned back in question only once, before they believed me.  When we came to the first fork in the path where the concrete ended, they took it.   There, two children burst into life, skipping and laughing as fast as their legs and souls could bounce.  I lost sight of them for a while, but I always heard them.  I knew everything was okay.  We had enough room to be.  Most of the time, that's all we need, but we stay contained in these small spaces, simply because they exist.  So, we get all restless and full of angst, because we're these great big souls all squished into tiny spaces, just trying to breathe.

During our last visit, they cautiously asked again and again, Mom are you sure it's safe?  Mom, are you sure we can go this way off the path? My heart screamed, YES, PLEASE, THIS IS MY FAVORITE PART!  ALL THE BEST THINGS ARE OFF THE PATH! Instead,  I shrugged and quietly said,  Let's find out! Onward bird.

Can I tell you that when I saw them leap down the untamed path, my heart... it soared.  It filled me right up and felt like the biggest, deepest breath I've had in ages. As parents, we wish things for our kids, don't we?   I hope they never feel confined to the paved, prescribed way; that they would dare and forge and risk.  Are there wonderful things to see on the path? Yes, sure.  However, I can tell you that we have the very best times when we find our own way that curves and dips between twigs and fallen trees. We don't know exactly where a path goes, but trust that it will lead us somewhere worth seeing.

And Babette, today's path was extraordinary.  We came to a set of wooden stairs that lead us down into the heart of a rocky, bubbling stream.  Sunlight danced over the ripples and water bugs cast shadows on the muddy bottom. It was pure magic wilderness, save a few tragically discarded soda cans and the distant sounds of construction in the air.  Some people.

My son is a rock throwing aficionado, and he sighed, I could do this all day, as the rocks splashed into the little pools, echoing in our secret valley.   I remembered our trip to the North Shore of Lake Superior. He was four and on that rocky beach, before the still waters, he was in heaven.  I have a photograph of him looking into the violet sky,  beholding the glory of our maker.  We stood under a great cathedral that day, I still feel its lingering holiness.  I told him we should probably stay for a while.

His sister, enjoys throwing rocks a bit, but she prefers climbing hills and so she found her own way up and down a dozen little coves.  Meanwhile, it was all I could do to keep the baby from bounding straight into the water, so she was strategically placed on a large, smooth rock and given a stick.  She splashed and splashed, always inching closer to muddy, damp shoes.  As for me, I joined them whenever I could, still trying to keep a baby mostly dry and safe. I crossed the stream on mossy rocks, scooping up in my fingers, bringing it up to my nose to inhale the sweet earth.  I was four years old again, in the stream behind our house, filling buckets with moss and worms with my brothers, utterly content.

Once, I suggested that they not get too muddy, but then quickly rescinded my words with the alternative that if we're covered in mud, then certainly, we've had a great time. The two older kids looked at me in shock, MOM! HOW DO YOU KNOW THAT? As if I had just revealed a secret of the society of children everywhere.  I assured them that I used to be a little kid too. They gave me one more thoughtful stare and returned to their bliss.

And so the morning went on this way.  Our trail lead us to another great ravine with no stairs and this time, no one asked if it was safe. Let me tell you, carrying a baby through all of this a bit tricky, but we're getting the hang of it. She either loves it or hates it, probably both at the same time.  I haven't dropped her yet.

We met up with the pond, squawked at the geese, and grieved over a roasting, dead frog on the path, lovingly named, Jumpy Jump. May he rest in peace.  Now on flat ground, our smallest duckling stopped to watch every bird and would violently flap her little wings when anyone offered to hold her hand.  So, our last leg took three times as long, but no one complained.  We just soaked up every drop of sun like a bunch of meerkats collecting the last of the golden light.

Babette,  when I was 14, my favorite song, yes, favorite was Cowboy Take me Away, by the Dixie Chicks.  Are you laughing?  Go ahead, I don't mind.  Sure, I was more interested in all the sentiments of romance and cowboys,  but I think it goes much deeper.  The lyrics begin like this,

I said I wanna touch the earth
I wanna break it in my hands
I wanna grow something wild and unruly

It goes on to talk of fields of stars and love and such, but those words, I wanna grow something wild and unruly, well, they're an anthem of my soul connecting me to the deep places where I remember who I am, instantly syncing my heart to the dreams and adventures for which it beats.   

Sometimes, when I step outside or stand before the ocean or blindly follow a forest path with my children, I hum that part of the song inaudibly.  I am filled with gratitude and reverence, because I know, that's exactly what I'm doing, that's the very thing I get to do. Nurturing the wild in three little hearts, so that they are never fully tame.  Mom, do you always feel God at the ocean?  Mom, being creative makes me feel peaceful, do you feel that too? Mom, are you sure we can leave the path? Yes, my darlings, yes.  It's really easy to forget, to look around and feel a drudgery of the endless noise and smallness of man-made existence, while this great pull beckons us to behold just a glimpse of a greater wonder.

After the last word, unruly, in the song, the singer lets out this deep sigh, that is all the restless and hopeful a person can be.  I get it, I do. 

Babette, when I first started these letters, I didn't know what they would become.  I've grown to love sharing these stories with you. Giving my thoughts a home and etching away the memories.  Yes, even the picture of me climbing a hill with a one year old and all her limbs, clinging on for dear life.  Even if you're still laughing at how I suggested that children resist being covered in mud. I know, what was I thinking?  Honestly.  I suppose the words I write here are just our little adventures, but I'm an idealist, so I hope it's more. Stories always say more than we think.  

The house is quiet now, as the baby naps and the older kids are resting on the couch with a stack of books, which of course, are closed, because they are watching a movie.  I saw a new recipe yesterday that I bookmarked and I think I have all the ingredients.  I promise to share it in my next letter.    

Oh, how I wish you were here, because I have visions of planting and growing the sweetest little garden and I covet all your wisdom and expertise.  Historically speaking, I've failed to keep a great number of tomato plants alive, or any other plant at that, but the soil is rich here. I've lost my quirky, tomato-growing neighbors, who would stand at our door with bags full of beautiful, delicious tomatoes.  This is, of course, the first time I've thought of that since moving and now feel a great loss. 

I'm off to brew some coffee and bake a cake, before the list of things I miss grows too rapidly.

All my love,

Olivia