Lessons from the Big Wood
Over the past 2 years we've been settling into a relaxed homeschool routine, my little family and I. Its been a beautiful and sweet journey. Not at all perfect, but full of blessings!
When we left the school setting I knew I didn't want our learning experience to be like a school at all. I didn't want desks and name tags and stress. I didn't want rigor and regiment. I didn't want tests and grades and 'you're out of time' for that lesson.
I've worked hard to have just the opposite in our home. After all, I firmly believe the most important part of homeschooling is the *home*. Home is where we feel loved and safe and confident enough to talk about the hard stuff. And boy, there has been some hard stuff as the kids have grown up a bit!
I want the majority of our learning to come from life lessons, from Holy Spirit whispers and from good books read aloud. Of course we have curriculum that helps us learn to read and write and do math. We have books that tell us about our past. But mostly, we do life. Because life is where we'll learn the most important lessons, like kindness and generosity. Like humility and a strong work ethic. Like relying on God and knowing that prayers are heard, if not always answered right away.
Most days we read together. Reading aloud has become our most important and enjoyable part of our schooling. We've read some good books, we've read so not so good books and then we've read some ah-mazing books. These books, the ones where the kids beg for just one-more-chapter; The ones where we break to make brownies and popcorn so we can settle back in and read some more; The ones where we put off math until tomorrow, so we can find out what happens. These books have a way of seeping into all of us. They effect the conversation we have, the vocabulary we use and the games my kids play together.
Last year, the kids played Box Car Children in the horse field. They made mud pies and turned our horse trailer into a home. They moved in old chairs and made plates out of mud. They borrowed blankets and would even bring me rocks as payment for food so they could have a meal together out there.
These days the game they play has moved to the pond, because that is were the "Big Wood" is. They have an old pot where they "cook" up food. "Pa" chops trees for fire wood and "Ma" can be heard yelling across our property "Laura! Mary! Time for supper!" I wonder if Laura Ingles Wilder had any idea the generations she'd impact as she wrote her stories so long ago.
These good books not only shape my children but they shape me. I find that my thoughts are changed while we read through a good book. And usually my thoughts are with the mothers in these stories.
And Ma. Oh Ma. She has a special place in my heart. She is strong but gentle. She is firm but kind. She can get down and dirty on the fram, but still turn heads at the Christmas dance. It was just recently that I realized how lonely Ma must have been. Living in the Big Wood with no neighbors to visit with. No telephone to call up a friend and chat. Not even the postal service to deliver mail. She had her children and her husband. Anything more was a big fancy affair. Visiting a friend or family meant you wore your finest dress and brought out the store bought sugar!
Then it struck me. I don't think Ma was lonely at all. I'm sure she longed to sit with her mom and chat. I'm sure she missed having a friend close by. But where there is quality there needn't be abundance. And quality is what Ma had. She spend her days teaching her girls and keeping her small home in order. Her evenings were spent with her husband. Pa would come in after working in the fields or hunting and they'd eat a meal together. Pa would tell stories while he cleaned his gun. And then he'd play his fiddle. After the girls were in bed, Ma and Pa would sit by candle light and talk while Ma stitched or sewed. There was quality there. No phone to distract them. No Netflix to binge. No huge home to work themselves to the bone to pay for or to keep clean. There wasn't abundance in the Big Wood, but there was quality. And that, I believe, is the difference.
My heart longs for a day of quality, not abundance. Sure, I'm thankful for modern convinces. I appreciate electricity and running water. And this year we've been extra thankful for modern medicine with its antibiotics. (We've had strep more then we can count this year!) But all this abundance. All this stress of running here and there, of pinterest perfect homes and Instagram worthy photos. I mean, if we did it, it must be documented on social media! Just so someone can *think* we have it all together. These are the things I want to leave behind. My heart longs for a little more Big Wood and a little less pinterest perfect.
And so, reading good books and making sure there is plenty of time for outside play, that has become our routine. We care for our animals and ride our horse. We walk and talk about God and the beauty he created in nature and in eachother. We do things like make mud pies and build fires to roast marshmallows. We dig holes in the back yard and climb trees. We learn the most important lessons by living in this small house together. This old farm house definitely doesn't have an abundance of space, but there is a quality of time spent together. And I pray, Lord I pray, that will make the difference.
When we left the school setting I knew I didn't want our learning experience to be like a school at all. I didn't want desks and name tags and stress. I didn't want rigor and regiment. I didn't want tests and grades and 'you're out of time' for that lesson.
I've worked hard to have just the opposite in our home. After all, I firmly believe the most important part of homeschooling is the *home*. Home is where we feel loved and safe and confident enough to talk about the hard stuff. And boy, there has been some hard stuff as the kids have grown up a bit!
I want the majority of our learning to come from life lessons, from Holy Spirit whispers and from good books read aloud. Of course we have curriculum that helps us learn to read and write and do math. We have books that tell us about our past. But mostly, we do life. Because life is where we'll learn the most important lessons, like kindness and generosity. Like humility and a strong work ethic. Like relying on God and knowing that prayers are heard, if not always answered right away.
Most days we read together. Reading aloud has become our most important and enjoyable part of our schooling. We've read some good books, we've read so not so good books and then we've read some ah-mazing books. These books, the ones where the kids beg for just one-more-chapter; The ones where we break to make brownies and popcorn so we can settle back in and read some more; The ones where we put off math until tomorrow, so we can find out what happens. These books have a way of seeping into all of us. They effect the conversation we have, the vocabulary we use and the games my kids play together.
Last year, the kids played Box Car Children in the horse field. They made mud pies and turned our horse trailer into a home. They moved in old chairs and made plates out of mud. They borrowed blankets and would even bring me rocks as payment for food so they could have a meal together out there.
These days the game they play has moved to the pond, because that is were the "Big Wood" is. They have an old pot where they "cook" up food. "Pa" chops trees for fire wood and "Ma" can be heard yelling across our property "Laura! Mary! Time for supper!" I wonder if Laura Ingles Wilder had any idea the generations she'd impact as she wrote her stories so long ago.
These good books not only shape my children but they shape me. I find that my thoughts are changed while we read through a good book. And usually my thoughts are with the mothers in these stories.
And Ma. Oh Ma. She has a special place in my heart. She is strong but gentle. She is firm but kind. She can get down and dirty on the fram, but still turn heads at the Christmas dance. It was just recently that I realized how lonely Ma must have been. Living in the Big Wood with no neighbors to visit with. No telephone to call up a friend and chat. Not even the postal service to deliver mail. She had her children and her husband. Anything more was a big fancy affair. Visiting a friend or family meant you wore your finest dress and brought out the store bought sugar!
Then it struck me. I don't think Ma was lonely at all. I'm sure she longed to sit with her mom and chat. I'm sure she missed having a friend close by. But where there is quality there needn't be abundance. And quality is what Ma had. She spend her days teaching her girls and keeping her small home in order. Her evenings were spent with her husband. Pa would come in after working in the fields or hunting and they'd eat a meal together. Pa would tell stories while he cleaned his gun. And then he'd play his fiddle. After the girls were in bed, Ma and Pa would sit by candle light and talk while Ma stitched or sewed. There was quality there. No phone to distract them. No Netflix to binge. No huge home to work themselves to the bone to pay for or to keep clean. There wasn't abundance in the Big Wood, but there was quality. And that, I believe, is the difference.
My heart longs for a day of quality, not abundance. Sure, I'm thankful for modern convinces. I appreciate electricity and running water. And this year we've been extra thankful for modern medicine with its antibiotics. (We've had strep more then we can count this year!) But all this abundance. All this stress of running here and there, of pinterest perfect homes and Instagram worthy photos. I mean, if we did it, it must be documented on social media! Just so someone can *think* we have it all together. These are the things I want to leave behind. My heart longs for a little more Big Wood and a little less pinterest perfect.
And so, reading good books and making sure there is plenty of time for outside play, that has become our routine. We care for our animals and ride our horse. We walk and talk about God and the beauty he created in nature and in eachother. We do things like make mud pies and build fires to roast marshmallows. We dig holes in the back yard and climb trees. We learn the most important lessons by living in this small house together. This old farm house definitely doesn't have an abundance of space, but there is a quality of time spent together. And I pray, Lord I pray, that will make the difference.
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