How to Make Bear Bread and Honey Butter

How to Make 
Bear Bread 
and Honey Butter
by Anna Shaffner, age six

Bear bread Ingreedeents:
frozen bread dough.
raisins.

Instroctions

1.   Thaw the bread dough
2.   Spray the bakeing sheet  with non-stick
3.   Get the dough out of the package
4.   Choose size dough I chose half a loaf we wantaed to make 10










5.   Cut in half









6.   Pick the belly And put on bakeing sheet










7.   Cut in half again
8.   Pick the head and Put on Bakeing sheet

9.   Cut in half again and make Brige Btween The head and belly It is the nose

10.  Cut in half again. Cut Both into 3 equals 6!

11.  Make balls. Put two as ears, two as arms, And two As legs!

21.  Cut holes for raisins.
13. Put raisins in holes
14. Let rise

15  heat oven 350 dugrese bake bear for 15 minuts

16. Push raisins back in
17. Spread butter on it to keep it soft



How to make honey butter:

ingredieints
1. honey
2. butter

instroctions:
1. soffen Butter.
2. mix butter.
3. Put in honey.
4. Taste the mix. if you Think you need more honey Put it in.

Don't Fall in the Spring

Last week, my first graders studied consonant blends
and this week, the "-ing" ending was reintroduced.
Tuesday we put them both together
to make the word "spring."
I passed out long coiled plastic springs,
an anything-you-can-fit-in-a-basket Ollie's find,
and we cut them up
and used them for hair
on our construction paper veterans,
gym decorations for next week's Veterans' Day assembly.
Vets, we thank you for your service.

We then donned our coats
and tripped outside to find another kind of spring,
where water comes out of the side hill.
It is about ten feet into the woods.
I had glimpsed it
earlier in the fall
when trampling down a path
for kids to explode touch-me-not seed pods,
the bubble wrap of earlier generations.
I led my class toward the spring along the dry side hill.
We climbed over a log
and under a deadfall
to reach the weepy site.
"This is a spring.
Water comes right out of the ground here."
I then extended a hand to each child
to make sure they didn't slide into the spring
as they passed over it.
The kids were reforming the line behind me
when I heard "Whoa!"
" Look!"
" Cool!"
There was a second spring,
rimmed in giant, moss-covered cut stones,
built perhaps a century ago
when settlers used springs for refrigeration.
We were all so excited.
We had discovered Penfield's version of Machu Picchu.

Wednesday at recess
I told the kids that I would be going into the woods
to take a picture of the spring
but that I would still be able to watch them play.
I put on my kneehigh rubber boots,
took a shortcut through the mowed wet area
and entered the woods with my iPad.
Click.
Nice picture.

 

I turned to watch the kids at play,
then started back across the wetness.
Slurp.
One boot went calf-deep.
Hmmmm.
I tugged.
I wobbled.
I stepped on my coat.
The next step sunk the other boot to within an inch of the top.
Stuck.
I considered abandoning the boots
and walking out in my stocking feet
but then I remembered high school physics
and mass
and surface area
and figured I may end up even more stuck.
And even muddier.
I decided to call the office for help.
I reached for the walkie talkie on my whistle lanyard.
Hmmmm.
In remembering the iPad,
I had forgotten the walkie talkie.

I called to M,
the star student of the day,
and asked her go to the office
and tell them
to ask the custodian
to pull me out.
She was off like a shot.

Over dashed J and T,
two curious little boys.
"Hey Teacher! Are you stuck?"
"Yes.
It's very muddy.
Don't get close.
Back up."
Three more boys raced over.
I used my teacher look
and teacher voice:
"I SAID BACK UP!"

Meanwhile,
as soon as M entered the building
she saw the custodian.
"Mr. Doug!
Mrs. Shaffner is stuck in the mud!
You need to come!"
Doug smiled his teasing smile
and started for the door, saying
"Tell her I'll be there in forty-five minutes."
M's eyes got huge
and her voice,
bless her heart,
got a bit bossy.
"Mr. Doug!
You need to come RIGHT NOW!"
 
One long tug and one boot slurped out.
The second was more stubborn.
In the end,
I was bear hugged
and carried from the mudhole.
Mr. Doug's sneakers were no longer white.
He and M
are now sharing hero status
at Penfield Elementary.

Every day has adventures
and opportunities to be thankful
and maybe even heroic.

Today if it doesn't rain we are going for another walk.

Sixteen Books That Changed My Life

Facebook friends have been posting lists of favorite books recently.

I love reading the lists
and have found great leads for the coming months,
but I am curious--  
Why did they choose that particular book?
Here is my list
with why
in the order I discovered them:

The Big Wave by Pearl Buck, fourth grade.
This story of a tsunami in Japan
taught me that the world was much larger than my experiences,
that horrible things can happen,
and that there is life on the other side of tragedy.

C.S. Lewis's The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe
was given to me by Mrs. Richards,
my Pioneer Girl prayer partner,
when I was in fifth grade
and was the first book to show me
that a story could be deeper
than the basic plot would indicate.
During my first semester at Houghton
I was amazed to find out
that there were six more Narnia books...
not much studying was done the rest of that week.

Peanuts by Charles Schulz
was important in junior high
when I spent hours drawing Snoopy and his friends.
I became aware
that some pictures
ARE worth a thousand words;
one dancing dog portrayed the essence of joy.

As a teenager,
reading Katherine Woods' translation of
Antoine de Saint-Exupery's The Little Prince
simplified the essentials of life.
Years earlier,
Uncle Dick had written in my autograph book.
(Remember autograph books?
RMA.
AFA.
In those days,
the acronyms were simple.)
Dick quoted the Little Fox:
"It is only with the heart that one can see rightly.
What is essential is invisible to the eye."
Thanks, Uncle Dick.

Palmer's Fieldbook of Natural History
told me interesting stories
about what I saw around me each day:
Teasel used to be mounted on belts in woolen mills.
Staghorn sumac wood needs no varnish,
and twigs with the pith removed
can be used as maple sugaring spiles.
Male monarch butterflies have black scent glands
visible on the hindwings.
House flies throw up before they eat.
Great horned owls hoot at middle C.
Grasshoppers prevent diarrhea in red bats.
Dandelion pollen is sterile.
Porcupines are useful
to people lost in forests
because they can be killed easily
and the flesh is good to eat.
A robin's Latin name
is Turdus migratorius.
Really.
I checked Palmer's book out of Houghton's library
so often
that Den bought me my own copy.
It was one of the best gifts I have ever received.

My roommate Holly
introduced me to Milne's Winnie the Pooh
when we  were both in the children's play;
she was Uncle Rabbit,
I was Roo.
Dan Woolsey brought Pooh to life.
It was my first experience as an actor,
but not my last.

My grandma Maud raised me on Bible stories,
but at Houghton,
I was to read the whole Bible.
The ancient book of Job
in the Old Testament
had it all:
affluence,
poverty,
tragedy,
hopelessness
and hope,
poetry,
and mystery.
Job 38 through 41 continues to remind me
"Who do you think you are?"
Where were you when I laid he foundations of the earth?
...Who laid its cornerstone as the morning stars sang together 
   and all the angels shouted for joy?
...Where does the light come from and where does the darkness go?
...Who is the mother of the ice?
...Are you able to restrain the Pleiades?
...Are you the one who makes the hawk soar?
Then Job replied, 
"I am nothing-- 
how could I ever find the answers? 
I place my hand over my mouth.
Daily
I bow to the Mystery
and place my hand over my mouth.

In my twenties,
Michener's Centennial
and Haley's Roots
gave me the stories that drew me into the history.
Over the years
Michener's fiction
drew me into non-fiction
and gave me stories of the places we would visit:
Colorado.
The Chesapeake.
Alaska.
Israel.

Heyerdahl's Kon Tiki
started me
on stand-alone non-fiction.
I have bought his books at used book sales
only to find my name in them.
I should stop donating.

L'Engle's Many Waters
postulated background to Noah's flood
and changed the way I imagined Biblical characters.
I once heard Madeleine L'Engle speak
at the Carnegie Library
and when she had finished
I asked her no questions.
Instead, I sat behind her
and listened to her answer everyone else's questions.
Fascinating.

Comparing Joe Slate's wonderful story
How Little Porcupine Saved Christmas
to its ho-hum later edition
Little Porcupine's Christmas
showed me how a good story
can be ruined
by wrong word choice.
I wrote to Joe
and asked him why the changes were made,
which led to a semi-friendship
but that is a story for another time.

Watterson's Calvin and Hobbes
warmed my mother heart
(Calvin lived in Luke),
amused my first grade teacher heart
(Miss Wormwood is me without coffee),
and mushed up my creative heart
(some stuffed animals
seem to have more personality
than some people I've met).

In my forties,
reading Catherine Marshall's Christy
led me to read The Prayers of Peter Marshall,
who was the chaplain to the US senate in the 40s.
He wrote in lined thoughts
rather than paragraphs
and I have followed his lead.
Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.

The Story of the Von Trapp Family Singers
was written by the Maria
and tells the now-famous story
of The Sound of Music.
What you see in the movie
is only the first third of the book;
her story continues
and is overflowing with faith
and love
and service
both in Austria and in the US.
There is usually more to the story than what we know.

What's So Amazing About Grace?
(and pretty much any book by Philip Yancey)
affirms my questioning nature.
Thinking and Christianity
sometimes are not neighbors;
Yancey puts them together well.

Steve Saint's The End of the Spear
challenged my first-world way of looking at life.
Steve is the son of Nate Saint,
and was raised in Ecuador
among the Auca/Waodani tribe who killed his father.
His book showed me courageous love
as well as a view of first-world America
through a hunter-gatherer's eyes.
It reminded me
that good can come from bad,
and that we often see life
as through a window well-smudged with dirt.

My fifties?
Nothing yet comes to mind.
I look forward to reading your suggestions
but please tell me...
why?

Sue

PS. Some of Den's favorites?
The Bible
The Poems of Robert Frost
Trails of a Wilderness Wanderer, Russell
The Lion. the Witch, and the Wardrobe, Lewis
Mere Christianity, Lewis
The Hobbit, Tolkein
The Little Prince, Saint Exupery
A Day No Pigs Would Die, Peck
Where the Red Fern Grows, Rawls
The Education of Little Tree, Carter
I Will Fight No More Forever, Chief Joseph
I Heard the Owl Call My Name, Craven
Landscape Turned Red, Sears
Coming Into the Country, McPhee
Boy's Life, McCammon
Wilderness Empire, Eckert
A River Runs Through It, Maclean
Your God Is Too Small, Phillips
Earthsea Trilogy, LeGuin
Rich Christians in an Age of Hunger, Sider

Fairies

The beginning of a Great Adventure

We love James Barrie's Peter Pan.
His fairy,
Tinkerbell,
was a nasty little creature
but since 1904
most fairies have become beautiful
and kind.
The Rainbow Fairies books by Daisy Meadows
are perfect for many beginning readers
and five-year-old Anna has read most of them.
Though she is a realist in most areas,
she believes in fairies.
"If I saw a real fairy,
I would be scared,
but only for a little while."

Last Friday afternoon at the swimming hole
Anna and I went for a walk down the creek.
I have been going to the swimming hole since I was a little girl
but only this month
have I explored below the bridge.
It's one of my new favorite places.
(Lucy was not interested in joining us--
it was past nap time
and all she wanted to do
was find a cuddly item,
in this case, a sponge,
and fall asleep in the jeep.)
We held hands as we trudged down the creek,
Anna in all the deepest places
until she remembered
that fish live in water.
"Are there fish in here?"
Not wanting to lie,
I replied,
"This water is very clear.
Do you see any fish?"
"No."
She took a few more tentative steps.
"Let's walk on the rocks instead."
We found rocks
that reminded us
of dog heads
and dinosaurs.
We found a peeper frog
the size of a pinkie fingernail,
so tiny
that when we held him
we could not feel his weight
and carried him along the creek
until he made a brave jump
and disappeared.
As we rounded a bend
where twenty-foot-high rhododendrons were in flower
and a fallen tree
made a bridge across the rippling water
I heard Anna's breath catch.
"This is where fairies would live."
As she looked around
she became even more quiet and serious.
"Let's look for their houses."
"Aren't their houses invisible?"
"They build them in hidden places."
We peered in the tall grass on the creek bank.
No houses.
We crossed the creek on stepping stones
and peeked into a hollow
beneath an enormous rhododendron.
No houses.
We looked down the creek
at a big rock
in the center of the stream.
"If I were a fairy, I would sit there."
Anna gathered up her courage
and crossed the potentially fish-filled waters.
"Anna, I don't see fairies,
but I do know birds have rested here."
Anna thought a bit,
then giggled
at the bird droppings.
"Let's go tell Bop and Lucy."

"...Bop!
We found a place where fairies live!
And birds sit on the fairy rock
and go to the bathroom!"
Bop replied,
"How do you know those weren't fairy droppings?"

May you have a blessed week,
may you recognize magical places
and not step in any fairy droppings.

Unfinished Conversations

This weekend
we had interesting conversations
with two-year-olds
and thirty-two-year olds
and seventy-two-year-olds,
with local friends
as well as friends visiting
from faraway places like Kenya
and Tanzania
and Indonesia,
conversations about Kenya's tribal hierarchy
and sparkler safety
and beets
and how the blunt people from the Netherlands
can't understand why the USA media
doesn't question the actions of our government,
how the center of a wheel of cheese
is called "the virgin's nose"
and how tongues
turn different colors
depending on what color of popsicle you eat,
and is it better
to have a hot shower in cold air
or a cold shower in warm air?

...but our friends departed
before we finished the conversations.
Why "the virgin's nose?"
What have you learned from failures in your life?
What is your favorite popsicle flavor?
Are there any English tripthongs?
Or is it triphthongs?
Or are both spellings acceptable?
Are band-aids an essential part of childhood?
Why do some words end in -ent
and others in -ant?
What life-changing things
did you learn in college
that were not curricular?
How many of Dr. McCallum's psych principles can you list?

Anyone want to pick up these conversations?
Come out for a popsicle.

Evidence of a blue popsicle

Sparkler fun with Abigail and Anna

P.S. Kyle! Come back!

Anna,s sugjeststons

This week's guest blogger is our granddaughter Anna, five.

1/you shod NOT talk To strangrs! NO NO NO NO NO !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

2/stop and look booth ways 2 time,s befor you cross the rood.

3./keep yor hands on the stearign weel all the time

4./ do not eat ice creem on A/a new rug.

/5.do not drik juse on A/a new carpet./

6./you need to folow ruls

7/wene you cook you need to now the resepee.

Happy Birthday, Canada!

Happy birthday Canada!

We have heard your friendly seagulls
and your ferry whistles
and the french accents of young girls,
the midnight cries of mating cats
and the quiet sound of knots of ribbon snakes
slithering away into the woods.

We have glimpsed your seals
and puffins
and sea urchins
and lynx
and dall sheep
and wood bison,
and found grizzly scat in the middle of the road.

We have waited at your borders to be scrutinized
and questioned
and be taken apart. 
Advice: Never say
"What's the matter lady,
you got PMS or something?"
like Uncle Dick did.

We have felt your whale splashes,
your cold nights on Lake Huron,
your tidal bore,
and your mosquitoes.
Our feet have waded in your tidepools bare
because we left our flip flops on PEI.
We did not wade in the Yukon
after we saw a huge tree appear
and disappear
from its muddy flow.

We have canoed to your pictographs.
We have looked for tiny moonworts
and found old bottles instead.

We have tasted your snails
and seaweed
and mussels
and lobsters
and fresh strawberries
and a bucket of perch.

We have sung,
rather well,
on your public radio station
near the Plains of Abraham.

We have tried,
unsuccessfully,
to count your fireweed
and to make a fish harness,
and have helped sink a boat called "Dundee."

We have seen the underwater lights of night divers
and the twinkling lights of fireflies.
We have seen the rocky cliffs
that used to touch African shores.
We have seen the maple leaves
on the haunches of the horses
of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.
We have seen your canola fields
and are glad you changed the name
from "rapeseed."

We found the snake you hid in our stove.
We have worn our honeymoon jeans
to one of your proper churches.

We were reminded of Aslan
singing Narnia into existance
at the foot of the mighty McKenzie mountains.
Primal.

We have climbed your trees
and a few cliffs
to find perfectly cubed rocks.
We will climb your Rockies next year,
God willing!
We have loved it all,
mostly.

We are comfortable to be your neighbor
and happy to be your friend.

How I Spent My Summer Vacation: June

A partial list:

10. Cooking hot dogs over a campfire.
Relish.
Mustard.
Good conversations.

9. Teaching Vacation Bible School.
Alice based the week
on GT and the Halo Express scripture memory.
Love GT!

8. Visiting Goodwill.
It borders on addiction.

7. Looking at the roadsides.
Elderberries are currently blooming.
There was a dead porcupine
along 322 east of Rockton
and I had a "Get Well" balloon in the car,
so I tied it to his front leg
and took a picture for Luke,
bless his heart,
who tolerates my humor.
A car pulled over,
perhaps thinking I had car trouble,
then, thankfully, left.
More cars were coming
(busy road for the middle of the afternoon)
so I left,
only to see a car slam on its brakes
in my rear-view mirror.
I did a u-turn
and retrieved the balloon.
Warped humor should not cause accidents.

6. Went to a mountain picnic and took a dessert.
A dessert that people liked.
A dessert that people requested the recipe for.
Den was shocked.
We circled the day on the calendar.

5. Eating Calliari's bread
spread with real butter
and Palumbo's hot chicken spread.
What Primanti Bros is to Pittsburgh,
that combo could be for DuBois.
Hometown food.

4. Visiting local state parks with the grandgirls.
If you're interested,
Bald Eagle State Park's water is warm and a bit dirty,
Parker Dam's water is clean and COLD,
and Black Moshannon's water is cool
and full of tannic acid from vegetation--
thus the name BLACK Moshannon.

3. Reading children's books
and then writing reviews for a company in D.C.
The good news is: free books!
The bad news is: I've thrown some of them away.
If I can't recommend them,
why pass them on?

2. Watching 24 every Monday night
and Doc Martin on Thursdays on PBS.

1. Looking for things
that are creature-like
in public places.
For the past two years,
I've carried stick-on googly eyes in my purse
(a Luke suggestion).
The most recent find is below.
Ten points if you can identify its DuBois location.

How did you spend your June?

Hello

Juneberry Thoughts

One of the advantages of living on the mountain
is the panoramas that spread out when we drive to the valleys.
Last month
Bennetts Valley was spectacular
with hundreds of juneberry trees in blossom.  
Amelanchior is known by a number of names:
saskatoon
is the native name
and was a major ingredient in pemmican,
shadbush
because it flowers when shad spawns,
serviceberry
because two centuries ago
the berries were ripe
when the many wedding services were performed
by the circuit-riding preacher.
  
About ten years ago
Den planted our three bushes,
and this year the conditions were perfect for fruiting.
Last week
the berries were pink,
Wednesday
they were darkening to a perfect ripeness...
and Thursday night the bear came.
Branch tips were stripped
by his bite-and-pull method of eating
and a big branch was broken on the ground.
Friday morning
the grandgirls and I discovered the damage.
Anna was a bit sad
that the bear damaged the bush,
but Lucy was thrilled
that so many berries
were now within her reach.
She ate them indiscriminately
until she discovered
that green ones were not good.
The next hour
was spent devouring
Hundreds of Delicious Berries.
Crevasses in the stones in the wall
became temporary bowls.
While Anna braved
the wiggly stones in the wall
to reach higher branches,
Lucy took Bop a fistful of berries,
which somehow became
half a fistful of berries.
Bop graciously accepted the gift
and then immediately gave it back to her,
Lucy 's cheeks almost burst with enthusiasm.

This morning the girls are back home
and more branches are broken.
Luckily the weather is perfect:
nice breeze,
relatively low humidity,
great for beating the bear to the remainder of the fruit.
I gently bend the branches
to reach the higher berries--
not too hard
or I will break the remaining branches.
I pick the ripest maroon berries
and the darker reds
and listen to them ping into the bowl.
When I release the branch,
the remaining reds look riper than the pinks
and I wonder if perhaps I should pick them as well.
As I work, I think of spectrums--
the spectrum of juneberry ripeness
with greens not ready and some purples overripe,
and the spectrum of branch brittleness
as I want branches to bend but not break.
In the spectrum of house cleanliness,
our house has dust bunnies
and the occasional dust possum
but the Center for Disease Control hasn't visited yet.
In the political spectrum,
I am easily swayed
by both Rebublicans
and Democrats.
Then there is the spectrum of attention given to children....
I think that the middle is usually a good place to be.
Colson Blakeslee,
our first family physician,
advised "Everything in moderation."
I like that.
I eat low-fat cottage cheese and butter,
carrots and bacon.
I use store-bought pie crust
and homemade filling.

I think I'll go make a juneberry pie.

Seedy deliciousness

Anna and Lucy juneberrying

The "bowl" isn't empty yet

Saturday's task

Official Summer Greetings

Ahhh! A hammock, a book, and a glass of lemonade....

This weekend marks the summer solstice.
It's interesting how
the first day of summer on the calendar
can be the same day
as Shakespeare's "Midsummer Night's Dream."
We spent Thursday and Friday
(our summer babysitting routine)
with granddaughters
Anna, five,
and Lucy, two,
and Paul joined us Friday night and Saturday
while Kate was at a conference at NPR headquarters.

School has been out for almost two weeks,
but learning is a daily occurrence. 

Anna learned
the joys of hammock, lemonade, and book
(Boxcar Children's Blue Bay Mystery recommended),
brick sidewalks have patterns,
lifting too many bricks
can make your stomach muscles sore,
life jackets really do make you float,
and some flowers are called "blue-eyed grass."
Really.
To bees, nectar is like lemonade
and pollen is like Chee-tos dust.
Mortar is fun to mix.
You eat Juneberries in June.
Mountain laurel has flower parts
that act like sling shots.
When you get a belly-ache
from eating too much applesauce
with cinnamon and sugar,
you can always play hospital.

Lucy learned
deer eat the corn you throw in the field,
you can sing yourself to sleep
by bellowing "Are you sleeping?
ARE YOU SLEEPING BRUDDA JOHN?!?"
Grammy can do underduckies.
Chee-tos are good
...except for the ones
that have been on the cabin floor for hours.
You can go fishing in puddles.
Squirt guns can water plants.
Bop keeps pretzels in the jeep.
Outhouses are fun if someone holds onto you.
"I wuv dat guy!" melts Bop's heart.
Hickory Dickory Dock cannot be read too many times.

Paul learned
five-year-olds can make your favorite rhubarb pie,
World Cup soccer is available on the mountain
if you aren't picky about which game you watch,
tree stands sometimes blow over...
and winches are wonderful.
Tarps over sandpiles
are good places to find snakes.
Winter-killed ivy
is difficult to remove from chimneys.
Masonry skills improve over time,
and Anna
has inherited
some of his musical ability.

Sue learned
sometimes bears wake you up
by crunching birdboxes,
small children are impressed
by mediocre scooter skills,
and watching for injured chipmunks
to emerge from daylilies
can be calming.
Creek clay can swallow shoes.
When jumping into swimming holes,
it's a good idea
to have your sunglasses
attached to your body.
Fast water can knock you down.
Bruises happen.
Two-year-olds like bug spray, not for its repellent abilities,
but because the lemongrass oil mix
is in a spray bottle.

Bop/Den learned
pancakes can be consumed
as fast as you can make them.
It's more fun to lay stone with a friend.
When Bop needs a band-aid,
everyone wants a band-aid.
Sometimes turkey gobblers
prefer the neighbor's field,
and sometimes
you don't realize
how much you've missed your son.

This first official week of summer,
may your books be many
and your band-aids be few.
It'll be midsummer before you blink.

Blessings,

Sue's scooter-riding abilities are recorded for posterity on the driveway.

Sue and Denny

Lucy caught a fish-leaf!

Bop calls it scaffolding. The girls call it a jungle gym.

Anna reassembles the sidewalk. Re-laying seemed easier than weeding.

 

Did you know that mortar can be called "mud'?

Squirrel's Ear Day

Like Second Breakfast gives a hobbit's morning a boost,
Squirrel's Ear Day is a boost to the Shaffner spring.
Squirrel's Ear Day is a moveable holiday,
falling on a slightly different day each spring,
somewhat similar to Easter
which is the first Sunday
after the first full moon
after the equinox.
Usually Squirrel's Ear Day,
the day when the oak leaves are as big as a squirrel's ear,
falls in single digit May,
but not this year.
Botanical spring is late on the mountain.

Spring comes sooner in the valleys.
DuBois was built around a beaver meadow wetland
and the streams that feed the wetland have lowland wildflowers.
I made my traditional spring drive to Van Tassel Road on Thursday
to see bloodroot,
dogtooth violets,
spring beauties,
and red and white trilliums.
In our college years,
white trilliums bloomed the week that Houghton's semester was over.
As we drove 219 south through the Allegany Forest,
the hemlocks would have a blanket of white at their feet.
"Trillions of trilliums," Den used to say.

My grandpa Bernie
used to make a yearly spring tonic from sassafras root scrapings
and serve it in chilled aluminum glasses.
One major boost to Den's standing in the Rensel family
was using his dad's tractor to pull sassafras roots out of the ground.
Bernie did not have to use a shovel.
We had his vote from that day on.
A friend gave Den a jar of sassafras tea this week
and the scent alone made me feel like an eight year old again.
I had mine without aluminum this time.

Dandelions and violets began blooming this week in the valley.
I sat my first graders down
on the edge of the playground
for an informal science lesson.
"Dente means tooth in French.
So dente de lion,
dandelion,
means tooth of the lion,"
and we picked dandelion leaves
and held them up to our jaws
and growled ferociously.
I then showed them a violet
and pointed out the pouch-like nectary
where the sweet nectar is stored.
We nibbled the nectaries,
then ate the violets.
They taste a bit like cucumbers.
Two girls spent much of the remainder of recess
prowling around
snacking on violets.
(The next day,
A informed me that he wasn't allowed to eat purple flowers.
Do his parents know what is in school lunches?)

Spring here on the mountain is a bit sparser--
no forsythia blooms this year due to frigid temperatures.
I've walked to the arbutus patch twice so far,
but no blooms.
What we lack in flowers this year, though,
has been made up in birds.
Besides the traditional chickadees,
doves,
finches,
blue jays,
cardinals,
and the misguided redwing
that lurks recent years in the silky dogwood,
this year we have a catbird that yells everything he knows,
a pair of rose-breasted grosbeaks,
and three northern orioles.
Orioles!
Yay!
The boys were babies the last time we had orioles.

And Squirrel's Ear Day?
Today was the first day I noticed a swelling in the oak buds.
Squirrel's Ear Day is coming,
probably some day this week.
We suggest celebrating Squirrel's Ear Day with a second breakfast.

Broken

New birdfeeder

Slowly, spring is coming to the mountain.
When I returned home from school a few days ago,
Den was quite animated.
"You just missed it!
A three hundred pound black bear
just climbed the huge oak tree by the back porch!
He didn't stay there long--
must be hard to keep that much weight up a tree."
When we walked around the house,
the just-purchased-last-week birdfeeder was broken
and the flowering crab that had held the birdfeeder
had another broken branch.
Bears can be a mixed blessing.

Flowering crabapple with newest broken branch

I've been thinking about the word "broken."
When we visited Tanzania,
we heard the story
of how in the 1960s,
the Australian government
wanted to help the people of Tanzania
by giving them horses.
When the horses arrived,
they were hard to control
and many escaped
and disappeared into the bush
where they soon died from tsetse fly bites.
Both governments were disappointed.
The Australians had sent the horses,
unbroken as requested.
The Tanzanians replied,
"Why would we have wanted broken horses?"

Broken.
Our government is broken.
Last week, I was reminded
that I have no right to complain
unless I have been praying for the people who govern me.
Guilty.
Now I find myself praying
"Father God, give the people in government wisdom
and help them to do what is right...
but I am cynical.
Lord, I believe.
Help my unbelief."

I am also broken.
Probably you are, too.
We agree with Paul's letter to the Romans,
"I want to do what is right, but I don't do it.
Instead, I do what I hate."


Who would want a broken horse?
Ah! Who would want a tamed horse?
I think of Saint-Exupery's masterpiece
The Little Prince,
the story of a small boy
who visits Earth to understand it better. 
The Fox wants to be tamed by the Little Prince
because "one only understands the things that one tames,"
and so the fox allows himself to be tamed,
to be broken. 

In this delayed spring, post-Easter world,
my brokenness can be understood
by the Visitor who created me
and gives me grace.
I am broken,
forgiven,
loved.

Fence Day

Saturday was Fence Day at Paul's house in State College.
Paul
and Den
and the two Matts
were busy all day
digging holes,
mixing Sacrete,
installing stringers,
and making a lovely fence of Amish lumber.
The yard is now quieter and safer.

View from the back deck

Anna
and Lucy
and their friend Lily
were busy all day
digging holes,
making signs,
peddling trimmed forsythia branches--
A British woman drove up 
and was Anna's first customer. 
Nicky had been admiring the "for-SIGH-thia" at Spring Creek Park, 
but had resisted the urge to pick 
what she called "the essence of a Pennsylvania spring." 
We all agreed her stop was pre-ordained.
...riding bikes,
balance-beaming up boards to the trailer,
eating violets--
you can nibble the nectaries out 
for a tiny sweet treat 
or eat the whole flower. 
They taste somewhat like cucumbers.
...playing catch,
finding bunny poop-- 
If you look very carefully, 
you can see what the bunny ate.
...tying a string to a stuffed seal on the sidewalk
and then hiding like a spy under the forsythia bushes
until an unsuspecting pedestrian walked by--
Lucy had no interest in Anna's antics. 
Her stuffed friend Foxy 
has jumped from two vehicles in the last nine days 
and neither liked the brief separations.
...building a stage out of scrap wood
for performances of "Jesus Loves Me"
and "Let It Go,"
avoiding wind-blown sawdust,
washing Bop's trailer,
and decorating the house
for a belated surprise birthday celebration-- 
Anna planned it by herself.  
She ordered blackberries 
and oranges 
and Grammy's round flower tray 
and crepe paper 
and ribbons.
Surprise!

Lucy has balancing skills

As Calvin

Lucy eating violets

(the tiger boy,
not the Presbyterian)
would say,
"The days are just packed."

  

Anna gives Nicky a bouquet of clippings

Anna and the moving seal trick

Already But Not Yet

It's 1:35 on Easter Sunday
and I am sitting on the front steps,
waiting.
Den and I are all ready for Easter
but Paul's family
and the Toms
and Shelby and her sister and friends
are not yet here.

The pysanky eggs
from childhoods past are on display.
Den has hidden the eggs for the girls' egg hunt.

The table is set with Grandma Maud's silver
and decorated with daffodils,
rabbits,
frog candlesticks,
Grandma's singing children,
and "Alleluia" written in Scrabble tiles.

I think of Maud every Easter
when I decorate the table,
when I serve sweet potatoes and beets,
when I sing a loud alto in church.
I am not the woman she was, however.
She would have ironed the tablecloth,
polished the silver,
waited for the rolls to rise before she baked them,
made homemade stuffing
and gravy from scratch.
She would have dug dandelion greens
to serve with hot bacon dressing.
She would have stuffed the celery
with three kinds of cheese.
I am more like Maud's older sister, Thelma.
Thelma served culinary disasters
and said, "That's the way I wanted it."
Thelma would have understood my hard-as-a-bullet rolls
and why I decided to leave the celery unstuffed
and unserved.
I don't call it lazy.
I call it enjoying the day.

For years,
Den and his dad went to sunrise services together
so Den misses Walt on Easter Sundays.
This morning
for the first time
we visited Mount Joy Methodist
because Walt is buried there
with four generations of Shaffners.
As we sang "He Lives"
we could look out the left side windows
and see the rising sun hitting the hillside
and we could look out the right side windows
and see Den's dad's gravestone
...and our own.
We may meet the Lord in the air at that very spot.
Death has been defeated!
Alleluia!

Now it is 10:30.
The third load is in the dishwasher.
It has been a great day
full of family
and old and new friends
and no one needed a bandaid.
We hunted for eggs
and ate outside
(new dish: black olives stuffed with m&ms)

then ate inside
(new dish: Paula Deen's pineapple cheddar casserole)
then played outside in the warm sunshine.
The girls rode Anna's razor tricycle,
then washed the driveway
and my car
while the grownups rode Anna's razor tricycle.

While some people took a walk
Anna wanted to have another egg hunt
and she volunteered to hide the eggs.
I refilled each 
with the traditional one m&m
and gave them to her.
Several minutes later
I accompanied two year old Lily Toms
on her search for eggs
and noticed that quite a few were now empty.
"Anna," I said,
"Why are some of the eggs empty?"
She got a little chocolaty grin on her face
and said,
"I wanted to remind Lily about the empty tomb.
It IS Easter, you know...."

Yes, it is.
We live in the "already, but not yet."
Death has already been defeated
and so we celebrate Easter,
but we have not yet experienced the final celebration.
We had better be prepared to be unprepared.

Thoughts on Runaway Bunnies

 

The kids sit boy-girl-boy-girl
in a semicircle on the floor for reading.

I introduce the book:
The Runaway Bunny by Margaret Wise Brown.

M begins.
Once there was a little bunny who wanted to run away.

So he said to his mother,
"I am running away."

"If you run away,"
said his mother,
"I will run after you.
For you are my little bunny."

S reads next.
"If you run after me," said the little bunny,

"I will become a fish in a trout stream
and I will swim away from you."

"If you become a fish in a trout stream,"
said his mother,
"I will become a fisherman
and I will fish for you."
"Awww, Mrs. Shaffner, this is a such a nice story."

Reading Margaret Wise Brown is such a soothing experience.

Goodnight Moon.

The Friendly Book.

Even her name is soothing.
Say it:
Margaret Wise Brown.

Even the word "bunny" is soothing. 

Curious George played with bunnies.
Snoopy loves bunnies, too,

and even gave up his beloved
because she ate bunnies.

 B continues.

"If you become a fisherman,"
said the little bunny,
"I will become a rock
on the mountain high above you."

"If you become a rock
on the mountain high above me,"
said his mother,
"I will be a mountain climber
and I will climb to where you are."

 It enters my mind
that The Runaway Bunny is a retelling
of Jesus's parable of the Lost Lamb.

It's A's turn.
"If you become a mountain climber,"
said the little bunny,
"I will be a crocus in a hidden garden."

"If you become a crocus in a hidden garden,"
said his mother,
"I will be a gardener. And I will find you."

The idea held up throughout the rest of the book,
and at the end,
the little bunny decided
that living with his mother
was a good choice.
She then gave him a carrot.

As we begin Holy Week,
The Runaway Bunny
will be my mental children's sermon.
We are loved.
We are pursued.
We have been given the directions home
where there is a warm hug waiting.
And maybe carrots.

Let's go home.

Spring Science: Goodbye, Mouse and Mole

On these warming spring days
I justify stretching recess time a bit
by also calling it science class.
Today my kids learned about puffball fungi.
They squatted on the volleyball court
poking the small brown spheres 
and spore clouds filled the air.
"Hey, this one won't puff--
oh, wait,
it doesn't have a hole."
We were on the volleyball court today
because yesterday
the science discovery was
that side hills get quite muddy
(read that "slippery")
when the frost goes out.
"Mrs. Shaffner! I'm all muddy!"
I grin. 
"Your mom knows all about washers."

The day before yesterday
on that same side hill
my kids discovered moss.
"This looks like a green bump!"
             It's Leucobryum-- pincushion moss.
"This kind is soft."
             It's called Polytrichum.
"This kind is big!"
             It's Sphagnum.
             The Indians used it for diapers
             because it's like a sponge.
             Squeeze it
             and watch the water drip out.
"This looks like feathers!"
             It's Thuidium-- delicate cedar moss.
As the kids were dislodging sections of Thuidium from the hillside
they also learned
that moss is Great Fun to throw at friends
and you don't get in trouble
because it is so soft.
(Fear not, nature lovers.
There was LOADS of moss,
and it will regrow.)

Last week
when there was still snow on that hillside,
S carried a dead mouse
and mole
from the woods
and told me that mole was harder to get
because he had been frozen to the ground.
I held the small furry bodies
while the kids looked closely.
"Ew! Gross!"
soon turned to "Ooooh, look at his nose!"
"He doesn't have arms,
just hands!"
"What a tiny tail!"
"How did they die?"
"I bet they had a fight!"
We decided to bring them in
to our classroom for further study.

The kids used their science eyes to draw details,
then used their pictures to write a report.
As the afternoon progressed,
we noticed a certain smell
and learned the word "de-comp-o-si-tion" 
so I moved our silent friends to a lidded jar. 

The next day we reviewed what we had learned,
used rocks from our rock collection to make headstones,
and at the start of recess
we had a funeral for Mouse and Mole.
"Does anyone have anything nice to say about our friends?"

"Mole was a good digger."
"Mouse had nice yellow teeth for chewing."
"Goodbye, Mouse and Mole."
"I liked them."
"I am sorry for their loss."
We sang Home in the Woods
(think Home on the Range),
had a moment of silence
and put flowers on the two tiny graves--
the baby's breath
and heather
from Den's ancient Valentine bouquet
were crunchy
but perfect.

As the frosty ice crystals
turn to mud,
may you find time to appreciate tiny details
and be thankful
that your teeth
are still good for chewing.

Birthday Weekend

This weekend I turned 57.
I think I will remember how old I am this year
without the usual subtraction
because I was also born in '57.
I usually celebrate with ice cream
and a wade in a local creek,
but his year 
we celebrated by going south.
Not the balmy breezes south,
just far enough south to see daffodil buds
and hear spring peepers.
While Den visited friends
and looked at campers
and bought a book about early exploration in Pennsylvania,
I attended a SCBWI conference
(Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators)
near Frederick, MD.
Did you know that you can get free books
if you will write reviews of them?
And that leprosy is now totally curable?
True.
I had lunch with a woman who worked for the Washington Post
and NPR
who is writing a children's book about leprosy.
I had supper with Den.
Crab linguine.
Travel rule number 16:
Always have crab when in Maryland.

We came home through Gettysburg.
On the Culp's Hill drive,
I spied a creek near Spangler's Spring
that was perfect for wading,
or as perfect as it gets at 37 degrees and raining.

My feet warmed
in Ronn Palm's Museum of Civil War Images
where Abe Lincoln's bronze life mask and hands
hung above the door.
I was moved by his hands.
Abe's right hand
held a piece of broomstick
to make his fingers curl;
he had been unable to make a fist
as shaking hands with hundreds of people
had swollen his right hand. 
We then went down the block
to Lord Nelson's Gallery
and came out with a Bev Doolittle print.
Den had thought it was impossible for a picture
to show the majesty of the Great Plains,
but found he was wrong.
Rolling landscape.
Blowing prairie grass.
Amazing skies.
Indians on horseback.
Bison herds.

Lucy and four of the five black olives

I felt the dry breeze in my hair
and heard the rumble of thunder.

A State College stop where family and friends
big and small,
on and off key,
restrained and enthusiastic,
sang "Happy birrrrrrrthday dear Graaaaaaaaaammy"
while three candles burned
on an ice cream cake,
followed by a supper that had,
joy of joys,
black olives.
It was as perfect
as a rainy cold spring weekend can be.
And the fun is not over.
Tomorrow is Ugly Sweater Day!