the call of the wild

As we've settled back here in town, the laundry room and dishwasher have become familiar routines. Another chore in the rhythm of these very full and busy days. We spend as much of our days outdoors as possible, yet I keep wanting more. This evening, walking Belly, the stars were magnificent, even atop the glare of the streetlights. I imagined how they look in the dark of the farm.

I feel this pull toward the wild in the children, too. Isaiah has been acting out, mostly directly onto his little sister. Sure, he has a lot going on....his grandma and grandpa just left, he's got "potty power," he loves picking out his own clothes and putting them on himself, he prances on his two-wheeler like a prince on a steed. Could the changes in his behavior be all these 3-year-old landmarks or could he be experiencing a lack of the green absorbing sponge of the pastoral wilderness? I know, you ask, how could I even be thinking this? We don't live in Manhattan or San Francisco or even Portland. We are in Redwood Nation, home of rivers and beaches and all things green. And of course, it's developmental. But what I've noticed is that soft, misty, watery green absorbs this energy like a fairy waving her wand.

We've been very civilized this week. Playgrounds, the library, cafe lunch dates. We are outside a lot, but on the bike, scooter, at the playground, gymnastics class. Living on the farm I thought a lot about WILDNESS in our children and how misunderstood it can be. How often the term is used perjoratively..."That boy is wild," "Calm down, you are being so wild!" (said by me yesterday) But what could be better for our children than to live like weeds, like birds, like squirrels, like fish...getting dirty, getting wet, getting wild.

Tomorrow, I'm going to find some mud for us to wallow in. I'll report back.
"wild thing...you make my heart sing...you make everything...groovy...wild thing"