My, my this world can look dreary once the trees show their branches and the grass turns as gray as the sky. When the sun is obscured by the clouds, our blue clear lake reflects nothing but gray right back at us. But just when all is gloomy and dreary, these swans fly in. Last year there were two; this year there are four swans.  Their arrival puts them just in time for Christmas, and in the way that we deck the dreary world with holly and evergreens, the swans deck the lake in pure, pristine white.

You can get an idea of the size of these swans are by looking at the size of the geese. The geese are obviously trying trying to rub elbows with the swans, just hoping some of the swan’s beauty will rub off on them.

Yet, they don’t hold a candle to the grace, majesty and beauty of these swans.

This is my best and hardest shot of the weekend– because it was difficult to keep my eye on the lake, and when the moment finally did arrive, I had to drop the rake to grab the camera at just the right moment when the swans were flying.

They flew in a big circle, heading off towards the woods, and then arcing around towards the house.

The swans are a nice reminder; like the dreary world outside, these swans were once ugly ducklings.

Developments in my slalom trials were prudently delayed because of that Boa Constrictor that squeezed my back. With the pain now only a slight memory, I was ready to think about the possibility of meeting my slalom goal. All morning, I watched once-a-year-skiers do it all wrong – leaning forward, rather than back. My coaches took one look at that and said, “That person is going to have a hard time walking tomorrow.”

Suddenly, the fine art of skiing seemed to fall into place. Just pull on the rope, lean back, keep your knees bent, and you’re good to go. And that is exactly what I did, time and time again… on the solid surface of our recently stained deck, (yeah, you missed that again this year too… we stained it again last week) as I paid close attention to my very-able coaches. I definitely had this skiing thing down. Just like this Best Shot of a man who helped train me.

Dry land, it turns out, does little to prepare you for water. Apparently.

But, I didn’t know that yet. With so much training under my belt, I decided to practice my new-found skills in the water. Probably, I should have heeded the warning plastered on the back of both of my ski bindings, something about “experienced riders”; but I did no such thing. Probably, I shouldn’t have gone into the water with so much confidence; I probably should have taken more of those coaches along for the ride.

Instead, I worked alone. I pulled on the ropes, stood up, bent my knees and leaned waaaaaay back. Evidently, according to the directives being yelled from the boat, I wasn’t leaning back quite far enough, so I leaned back more. In less than one second after that, I was horizontal, and lake water was making its way through my sinuses. Plus, my hair got wet; which completely irritated me. Of course, this continued to happen again and again, at least two or three more times.

I tried again. I mean, I really tried. I pulled hard, I tried to find that sweet-spot I found on dry land – the place between leaning back and crashing. I worked to stay steady while waves thrashed around me on both sides of my skis – and I didn’t fall. I was completely sure my form was perfect; as my arms and legs hurt in a way they never hurt the other times I tried to ski. It was impossible for me to learn back further without falling. My heart beat wildly, as if I were running a marathon, even though all I was doing was standing up behind a boat. Finally, I hit gold. Or so I thought.

But according to several eyewitnesses, I was mistaken. People, including my own children, said, “next time, try leaning back.” The nerve.

It did occur to me at that point that perhaps the reason I cannot slalom is precisely because I cannot ski.

Still, I continue to be shocked by my spectators responses, because I checked; I was leaning back. But, just in case I did look like that once-a-year-skier who “won’t be able to walk tomorrow,” I popped three ibuprofens just as soon as I hit dry land – just to be safe.

My gardener’s heart has been broken many times, and that is exactly why I love to garden. To clear a space in the dirt, and wash away the losses from failed fruits from years before, is a way to heal. This Jack in the Beanstalk fort is actually my 10th attempt. In the past, my failure has always been due to a lack of sunlight.

My sons, even though I keep them actively involved in the planting, watering and the measuring, do not carry the same sense of elation I feel when we measure the vines and watch the fort flourish. They lack a gardener’s broken heart. They have not watched an abundance of tomatoes get green on the vine, only to have them decimated by chipmunks before the fruits have a chance to turn red. The vines on their fort have never turned yellow and shriveled due to a lack of rain; and bugs have not bored holes in their vines and destroyed the roots. Their joy at watching the walls of the fort start to create their hiding spot is always naively reserved.

I measured the bean fort on May 31, but didn’t post the picture of the single vine’s 30 inch growth. Now, two weeks later, the vine is hovering around 50 inches. The vines are actually taller, if you factor in the number of inches it takes to swirl around the poles.

Forgive the cardboard as that’s merely a preventative measure to hold the moisture in and keep the weeds down during my long absences when I am away from the fort. Not to mention the additional toads. Toads love to live under this cardboard, and when I walk through to water the fort, toads appear everywhere, eating all the nasty bugs away. (A great tip if you’re trying to attract toads to your backyard for the kids.)

The vines have surpassed the danger zone, and will continue to grow to their twenty feet height. Already, the fort is already taking on the shape of a magical idyllic place to hide — perfect for reloading cap guns.

To the boys, the fact that these vines flourish, even after the seeds are started on trays, transplanted to grocery bags, then transported hundred miles away on Memorial Day, and left for weeks on end to fend for themselves until summer break, is not viewed for the magic that it truly is. Besides, it grew just fine last year. The miracle of Jack in the Beanstalk’s magic seeds may be lost on the youth, but not on me.

My best shot.  For more, visit Tracey.

I’m always looking for a way to add the scent of essential oils to the air.  I found this recipe for Pastilles, or scented stones, and discovered how these little flour balls hold the scent, and are able to scent a room for extended time.  So, if I can’t find my home made air freshener, or forget to use it, my little scented pastilles will be doing the work for me.  The ingredients are probably sitting in your pantry (maybe you’ll have to run out for powdered alum), so you can whip these up today in about five minutes.  If you do not have essential oils sitting in your cabinet, you could always use vanilla. Today, I used grapefruit and lavender.

Here’s the recipe for scented stones

• Mix ½-cup salt and ½-cup flour in a bowl.
• Add 1/4 teaspoon of powdered alum
• Add ¼ teaspoon of a favorite essential oil.
• Add 2/3 cup boiling water.
• Blend all ingredients, form into balls and allow time to completely dry.

When the rocks begin to loose their scent, seal them in a Ziploc bag with a few more drops of essential oil for a few weeks.  Then, remove them to have the smell back. Or, you could just make a new batch.

My best shot happened when the the boys made these nests, and carried off the rocks, as baby bird eggs. See more over at Tracey’s.

We needed something to sit on around our campfire at the lake.  For too long, we carried those folding chairs up and down the steps, that were never there when you really need them. The most practical solution was always right in front of us.  Trees.

Tree stumps from trees damaged by high winds and storms.

Once we had the seats all in place, after we adjusted them quite a bit for correct spacing, I became enamored with the way the tree stumps look so natural… as if they were rising straight out of the ground, and had been there forever.

BSM

By the way, I didn’t watch the game last night; instead, I did this.

The market just wasn’t right for a lemonade stand. So, they did the next best thing.

Their first customer

took 20 frogs. (You can get a good look at that ear drum… the one that tells you whether the frog is female or male.)

Of course, it wasn’t like mini-mall.

But still, I think their college fund is secured.
Best Shot Monday

with my prized beans. You know you’ve reached success when you’re skeptical Father says, “I’m amazed at how well your fort does look after all.” Despite the junkyard trellises, the discarded branches and posts full of Irish Spring Soap. Not only can I say that the fort a success, but the beans are so mighty, Jack-In-The-Beanstalk BIG.

I think I should win a prize or something.

The 20 foot vines on the fort have wrapped themselves so beautifully around those junkyard trellis, so that all you see are those big, beautiful draping leaves.

If you’re thinking about building a similar fort, I encourage you to get these Jack-In-The Beanstalk Seed from Seeds of Change. The white flowers attract humming birds that come around each evening.

The Japanese Beetles were difficult to battle against, but the vines seemed to be undaunted by a few little holes in the leaves. Still, the boys reported that one morning a “huge spider web caught thousands of Japanese Beetles.” It was knocked down before I could witness the web.

It was a quiet, intimate, although rushed lunch. What do you serve a child for his last lunch as a kindergartner? Over the last 9.5 months, I have quietly savored these lunches with him, knowing these were my last. Rather than buck tradition, I served him his favorite; chicken noodle soup — hold the noodles and chicken, I’ll-just-have-the-broth soup.

I warned him that I would cry at his graduation today. “Why?” he asked.

“Because I’m so happy for you,” I said.

“Well, you are going to miss me when I am gone in first grade. So you might cry because you’re sad.”

Now that the cat was out of the bag, I just let the tears flow right there and then. I have never been at ease the entire year of kindergarten, simply because I knew it would all come down to this. The year would fly by, and before I knew it, he would graduate and our magical mornings at home would soon be over. Forever. God, I’m dramatic. Still, it’s true, you can’t deny that.

I put some peanut butter on a bagel. His little brother wanted one too. His bagel broke when I tried to pry the two slices apart. Traditionally, this incident is always a ridiculous source of complaints at the lunch table, for both of them. Soon, the little brother was throwing his hissy fit over the broken bagel.

The older, soon-to-be-first-grader gently said to him, “It’s OK if your bagel is broken… because when you bite it, it will still taste the same.” More Best shot Mondays here.

It became evident this past weekend that perhaps I might have been too zealous in my attempt to clear the clutter, ditch the junky plastic toys and strive for a more peaceful, Zen life. This light bulb moment came when my son pilfered a box of Irish Spring soap from our gardening supplies, and named it “Slipy.”

He faltered between carrying the box with the soap inside, to sometimes just carrying it au naturel, without the box. When he shook the bar of soap in the box, he asked everyone of us, “Doesn’t this sound like a horse?” Try it. It does. You know what I thought? Guilt about not giving my kids a pet… they have to use soapboxes as surrogates. Seems there’s a disconnect here, because I thought we did have pets — but I guess it’s just the boys.

Later he asked me to knit Slipy blue pants and a shirt.

The surrogate pony was doing well; until Slipy suddenly got wet.

but I stopped myself from saying it at least a hundred. The greatest parenting books have one common theme: “The best thing you can do for your child is to let him figure things out on his own.” The quickest way, they caution, to cut the lines of communication is to use the infamous phrase that our own parents used, “I told you so.”

But I couldn’t help myself.

The assignment, adding to my son’s already overloaded homework burden, was to illustrate, write and bind a children’s book.

He was not content to do the minimum of 12 pages, my son decided to create 18.

Worse, rather than use easy illustrations for a concept book, like “How Many Soccer balls,” my illustrious artist choose to illustrate 18 different animals. 18 different animals. “So, how long do you think this will take you?”

“About 6 minutes per animal,” he said.

“OK, I’ll time you.” Twenty-two minutes passed, and he was still working on the first. So, I said, let’s multiply that by 18… “396 minutes just to do the book.” Plus, he added, that this was just the first draft… he would then re-do the entire book, so there are two books to make.

Undaunted by my pleas to “stop, re-think this,” and “let’s not make this so hard on yourself,” and of course, “I told you so,” he continued to work. It was Saturday night. I finally stopped him at 12:30 to go to bed. So far, he had managed to find a how-to draw video on the Internet for each animal. He still had six animals to go.

The next morning, I asked him if he was tired, and picked up my campaign where I left off last night to save my child. I got nowhere fast. If anything, I was making this far worse than the actual book production. Then I heard him say these words. “I just like doing this.” Finally, I left him alone and dropped it.

I did the only thing I could do. I started unwrapping the twisty ends on my Smarties, and started eating.

It didn’t take long… in just a couple of days, he said, “I wish I hadn’t made this book so long.” And no, I didn’t say it. I acted as if I didn’t even hear him. Parenting is oh, so tough.

He did finish the book, ahead of schedule.

But I did tell him how awesome his book was… at least 100 times. The books, by the way, made by each student, were given to children in a day-care facility the students visited.