summer. kayaks. cats.

also: CS Lewis and Tolkien on the merits of Beatrix Potter

Welcome back readers, and welcome, new readers.

This is the happy time of year when school ends and children (at least in the northern hemisphere) trade school work for the glories of summer.

Summer is the Sabbath of the year – a time to think a little less and rest a little more, to watch things grow and wait for harvest. We’re enjoying it and we hope you are too.

Marianne – in Woodcrest, upstate New York

The last day of school here in Woodcrest is celebrated with pizza and relay races, and next Monday morning the “summer schedule” starts. For most Bruderhof children, the framework of the day doesn’t change much with the switch to summer: they still go to the school building every morning and the day is spent with their classmates and teachers, but the desks and books have been cleared out and the classroom is now base camp for summer activities: swimming, hiking, camp crafts, games. We’ve been at it a week now and it’s a relief to parents and children alike that, when a child collapses with a book or heads outside with a ball, the response isn’t the dread phrase “is your homework done?” As we relax into summer (still waiting for it to warm up a little more), these are the things I’m looking forward to on my kids’ behalf:

Play. Our kids range in age from five to thirteen, and for the older ones play mostly takes the form of games: hours of softball, soccer, basketball, and volleyball that are a continuing education in sportsmanship, teamwork, and hopefully some ball skills. The younger kids play some games as well but for the most part what they do is go outdoors and just exist as part of their surroundings. Often when I walk to work in the morning I see a group of kids with their teacher heading out to some particular part of the woods where the children, in groups of two or three, will find enough twigs, leaves, and pebbles at their assigned spot to create whatever their imaginations propose. Most days in the evening when I ask “What did you do today?” the answer is simply “We played” with the variation coming from the locations that make up their enchanted childhood geography: “in the Reservoir Woods” “at Deer Hollow” “in Mossy Banks” “by the Marmite Cabin” “in the Stream Beyond the Pond”. The technical name for this is “structured free play” – it’s a skill to supervise it effectively, and some children need encouragement in focus and creativity, but you don’t need to read the studies and academic articles that prove how valuable it is to become convinced that this is what childhood is for.

Work. It’s actually not so much work as learning skills: camp craft (making fire places. collecting suitable fire wood. making fires. cooking edible food), wood splitting, hoeing corn, how to spot a ripe watermelon. The first and second grades tend what might be the most beautiful vegetable garden in the world, and spend a little time every day weeding, watering, and later harvesting.

A bonus benefit of working in a garden is that you’re much more likely to want to eat the vegetables you grow, even if it’s swiss chard, broccolini, and beets.

The older children spend a couple hours a week in “apprenticeships” learning skilled trades. My dad is a printer and our oldest son spends one morning a week in his print shop where he’s been introduced to the intoxicating smell of ink and is learning how to run a press and handle the heft of a ream of paper. On other days he and his classmates learn the intricacies of post and beam structures from their teacher; they have a couple structures planned to go up this summer.

A nail free construction - the joints are held together by wood pegs. All the wood is cut to shape by the kids.

And finally:

Swimming. This is the basic ingredient of summer.

Norann – in Danthonia, New South Wales, Australia

Our “winter” officially began here on 1st June, and I put it in parentheses as it’s nothing like a northern hemisphere winter. We get few frosts over the next few months, the nights are cold, the wattle blossoms will begin blooming in a few weeks, and the native wildflowers never stop blooming. We also take a short “winter break” from school, which is a fabulous time for pursuing outdoor adventures like hiking, campfires, and cod fishing that aren’t suited for summer’s heat.

Australians postpone Father’s Day here until our Spring in September, but I celebrate it in my heart in June. Hardly a day goes by when I don’t think of my farmer father, Dave, especially as my neighbors have children who love animals of kinds. And, um, I also love animals. At present, our households have a combined animal count of 1 guinea pig, 2 dogs, 4 cats, 6 goats, and our newest addition: a baby pig, Rebel. Rebel trots through the house, falls asleep by the fireplace, gallops around the yard and eats nonstop. The dog is non-plussed. The cats are furious. But our house wasn’t always like this.

When I married twenty-five years ago I promised my husband no cats, ever, in our home. He knew I loved cats. I knew he really didn’t. I left my grizzled, marmalade tomcat, Lester, with my parents when I set off on my marriage adventure, and for all intents and purposes, Lester was going to be the last cat I loved.

But then we moved to Australia.

Our oldest son was two years old and his brother just ten weeks when we stepped blinking into the harsh paddock landscape of our new home. Within days I had encountered and killed my first eastern brown snake, one of the world’s most deadly. It didn’t stand a chance after I caught it napping under the baby stroller.

This was the first of many close calls. Five years later, when we were blessed with one more baby – a fair dinkum Aussie, born in the “Lucky Country” on a day of heavenly rain – my husband agreed that God, almighty and omniscient as he is, needed a little help from us to keep this third treasure safe.

And so we got a cat.

Simba, from the minute she arrived, thought our third son was her personal project. She grew up beside him, refused to leave his side outdoors and nestled in the blankets every night at bedtime. She alerted us to every fever, the nighttime coughing fits and, of course, to every snake that entered within the twenty-foot-radius no-go zone she maintained around “her boys.”

We lost count of Simba’s snake kills after her ninth, I think. She regularly protected children, not only ours but any available endangered toddlers in the neighborhood. From the moment of Simba’s arrival, there was never further discussion about whether or not our house would be home to a cat.

Simba was the beginning, followed by Hobbes I and Hobbes II; Lyon, who just lay around on his back and looked cute; Ashokan, who was a mere kitten when she proudly showed us her first dead snake, and most recently the elegant Julian, Chris’s birthday gift for me after the ancient Hobbes II passed. Enjoy this video of the kitten birthday surprise:

In this harsh land where a snake bite is a very real and deadly possibility, we regard our cats as furry guardian angels. They guard, advance, watch, and protect.

Women and snakes have been at odds ever since the beginning (go back to Genesis 3:15 to refresh your memory). I look forward to the day when it will not be so, when the peaceable kingdom the prophet Isaiah foresaw is indeed a reality on this earth. Until then, I will remain grateful for my cats, and boast about their exploits, knowing my family owes them our thanks.

Trudi – in Yeongwol, South Korea

We have cats too! Norann, you’d love all the strays in countryside Korea. There are four growing kittens housed in an old, top-loader washing machine in a ramshackle old building, just a stone’s throw from my bedroom window. I hope they grow to be wonderful snake predators—then I won’t mind the sound of catfights at all.

With the exception of snakes, I welcome all that summer brings. I love sitting outdoors drafting blogs on a notepad—that’s not my favorite pastime, by the way, but you do need something to read from Korea besides scary headlines, don’t you? This evening as my pencil funneled jumbled thoughts onto paper, I enjoyed the music of dogs and birds including a tireless cuckoo and our schedule-free, very vocal rooster. Living nearby to a family with four children adds interest: bikes skidding in the gravel and shouting voices—the kind children use to get each other’s attention from 100 meters away. Their calls bounce off the mountain proclaiming the presence of young energy on this bend of the river.

Our neighbors, all long-past retirement age but still farming their few acres of land, seem cheered by the boisterous vibes coming from Yeongwol Community, even if our dogs get tangled with theirs and amateur bikers force locals to drive carefully.

One neighbor—I’ll call him “Haraboeji” (“Grandfather” in Korean) –kindly lent us two kayaks. Thanks to him, I’ve found yet another way to enjoy the Pyeongchang River. Of course, in winter the river offers ice fishing and skating (should you be in possession of a pair of those) and other fun snow and ice activities. All year round, the river is a beautiful home to snails and snail collectors, fish and fishermen, birds and birdwatchers. Otters too.

평창강, Pyeongchang River in June.

Last Sunday, to the surprise of all river-occupants, two kayaks and four young people descended the steep bank directly in front of Yeongwol Community, and shoved off into the somewhat shallow water. They took turns, two kayaking and two half-swimming, half-walking upriver against the current. I was one of the four. I had so much fun in the water that I never bothered getting into a kayak. The river pushed against me: this is Summer, I thought. And I felt blessed. An hour later refreshed and shivering, we headed indoors to cook up some “라면” hot, spicy ramen noodles.

There are so many ways to enjoy summer. As Calvin and Hobbes observed, the days are just packed, but this season begs us to make time to relax and relish the natural world in whichever way we can. When monsoons or mosquitos send me indoors in July, the moments when I embraced the unique blessings of summer will come to mind, swirling around me like refreshing river water.

An unusually empty river. . .

What we’re enjoying

Trudi

I finished No Compromise by Melody Green. The story of her and Keith’s search for Truth touched me, helped me, challenged me—that’s a book recommendation for you! And now I picked up a shorter story, about a man so different from brilliant musician Keith Green, and yet profoundly connected. Both lived out God’s purpose in their relatively short lives, and both died knowing themselves to be beloved children of the Father. The book is Adam: God’s Beloved, by Henri Nouwen. I’m sure it will not be the last time I read it.

Norann

Tim Keller, pastor, teacher, and mentor to many, passed away on 19th May this year. Tim has been a source of inspiration to me ever since I heard him preach at Redeemer Presbyterian in 1997. This podcast, recorded just this January, on cancer, prayer, and forgiveness is a must-listen.

Marianne

Our older daughter was in first grade when Covid hit in February 2020, and she had just started piecing letters together into words. (Bruderhof kindergartens lay the groundwork for all kinds of learning but the kids do hardly any desk work, so they basically start learning their alphabet in first grade – a subject for a future post). Anyways, suddenly I was home with a two-year-old and four school age kids, and not much idea about how to teach someone to read. Enter Beatrix Potter as brilliantly narrated by Katherine Kellgren and a book of The Complete Tales of Beatrix Potter. Our daughter banished herself to her room and listened to one while following along in the other, and within a couple weeks she was reading Beatrix Potter without the audiobook. Anyways, we’ve rediscovered the Katherine Kellgren recordings (with the Covid two-year-old who is now five) and they’re just as funny and entertaining as I remembered – highly recommend.

(Also highly recommend the recordings of the Peter Rabbit stories by Vivien Leigh which include many wonderful songs; the song by naughty Peter “Why do I do it?” is a special favorite.)

If all this hasn’t persuaded you to turn your attention to Beatrix Potter, allow C.S. Lewis, writing to a friend in 1942, to convince you:

I only wish I could come and see you [in the Lake District], specially if it included the chance of meeting Miss Potter. It was the Professor of Anglo-Saxon [Tolkien] who first pointed out to me that her art of putting about ten words on one page so as to have a perfect rhythm and to answer the questions a child would ask, is almost as severe as that of lyric poetry. She has a secure place among the masters of English prose. He and I have often played with the idea of a pilgrimage to see her, and pictured what fun it would be to shoulder aside the mobs of people who want to show you all the Wordsworth places with the brief rejoinder ‘We are looking for Miss Potter’ . . . ‘I would be at Jerusalem’.

(I hope you noted Rabbit, Peter in index to the Milton book!)

Hope you’re having a wonderful summer - until next time!

The days are just packed.