Well, summer is over. My mom and dad have gone home to Texas after their adventurous visit. The colors are changing and the air feels chilly. The boys have both started school. All is mostly mellow again five mornings of the week. I miss them a lot. I fooled myself into thinking I was ready for the loud, crazy days of summer vacation to end.
This is Mighty’s first year in “real” school–he’s a big kindergartner now. He has seemed ready for it and so far so good. On the other hand, J started second grade. Second grade! I can hardly believe I am that old, let alone him. It’s hard to say if we’re ready for this… I know he is, but if I admit that, I feel like I’m losing his last little bits of baby.
I remember second grade. Second grade was the year my mom revolted against the Arizona public school system and started a homeschooling exodus in our family that ran through all eight of us kids. It was kind of a big deal. Homeschooling was definitely not the hip thing to do in those days. After the changes that came with second grade, I have no distinguishing separation between each year as they all were similar: spent with the same teacher and the same “classmates” (aka my younger three sisters and four brothers). It was a beautiful thing. I wonder what will distinguish J’s second grade year?
Thinking of my second grade year brings me back to the place I spent most of my childhood. My family moved a lot, but when I think of being a kid, I always think of The Orchard. For five interesting years, my family lived on 12 acres of rows and rows of citrus trees right smack in the heart of Phoenix. I was blissfully unaware that we were surrounded by a serious ghetto where gang violence would occasionally send bodies floating down the irrigation canal near our property. Instead, we lived in a haze of orange blossom heat alongside another family with playmates about the same ages. We had our Barbies, tree forts, wild king snake pets and a good roof to watch the famous desert sunsets. We ran from vicious roosters and rode our ponies down to the Watering Hole after a stop at Circle K for some Bottlecaps. It was kind of idyllic on the surface, I’d say.
My first memory of tragedy was here when a nearby neighbor’s house burnt down with two little boys inside. Their mom left them home alone when the house caught on fire. I’m sure my childhood recollections of the event have become more dramatized over the years, but the image of their charred house with the mattress spring skeleton in their room will always haunt me.
We were often encouraged to go play outside. I’m sure most of the motivation for us to get out and explore was to preserve my mom’s sanity. Homeschooling eight kids was probably not an easy task (Gosh, you’re kind of my hero, Mom)! I think this period in my life is what has fostered my craving for nature to feel like a real person. My soul eats up fresh air and natural beauty.
I’m seeing my kids getting older and it makes me wonder what story they will tell in the years to come. It makes me reflect on my own story and why I’m feeling a need to connect with it so badly these days. I guess I think I never have one until I start adding it all up. Most of it has been really good… most of it. And the bad? I guess I don’t have a memory for it. It’s there and sometimes it hurts, but I’m really pretty darn satisfied.
Stories: the common threads that run through us all and the obvious differences that make us all so unique. Isn’t this why we love music? Monster ballads and sad country songs… the occasional instrumental that strikes just the right chord without saying a word. I have a running soundtrack that obviously changes with the chapters in my life.
Brian and I now are both really loving the new Arcade Fire album, both the sounds and the lyrics I think are very resounding for people of our generation. Coincidentally, my sister sent me this link this morning. I entered in my old Phoenix address. Kind of eerie to see the trees here erupting out of the actual earth I used to play on…. how full circle. These days, The Orchard has been plowed and The Suburbs have been placed on my hallowed ground, but the fruit is still growing inside me and the white-painted branches I used to swing my legs off of are entwined in the towering spruce trees that my kids now run beneath.
What’s your story?
…here’s my Wilderness Downtown video, if you want to see more of mine. And thanks for the link, Emily. Your angelic face here makes me remember all the times we must have driven Mom crazy and then played stupid. And she still loves us!
Wild critters and wild edibles were at every which turn. Unfortunately, the strawberries weren’t quite ready but we did manage to scavenge a few handfuls of ripe blueberries. And how adorable is this bunny! She was still as a doorknob until she took off in a mad dash.
Did I mention the sand? And the sun?
Sand is fun to play in. We made up games, like stick-tac-toe. And created beach creatures.
A Christmas photo shoot outtake of me and the boys (my, how they’ve grown!)
