Outside, there's a fresh skiff of snow and tonight it's supposed to be down to 4 degress. That's Fahrenheit. Amazing, then, that it's already time to start thinking about starting seeds for spring planting. And the big question around here this year is whether or not to finally get hard-hearted (meaning, primarily, me) and take out a tree or two in the backyard so that we will have enough sunlight back there for a bigger garden. We have a yard full of silver maples, which are not particularly lovely trees, and they can be problematic. Their wood is fairly brittle and they are prone to storm damage. We've had three significant ice storms in the years we've lived in this house, and those have definitely taken their toll on the maples. Even a simple thunderstorm with strong wind is enough to bring down big chunks of tree, so it's hard to keep them from looking ratty around the edges. Also, they have very aggressive root systems and can cause problems with underground pipes, and, in our case, foundations. We have trees planted too close to our house, too close to our power lines, and my husband (ever the practical one) has been after me since we moved in to take at least a couple of them out. I understand the arguments in favor of removal, and they are compelling, but my in my heart I feel that trees (lovely or not) are kindred souls and taking their lives is not something I find to be particularly desirable. Certainly not easy or to be taken lightly. When I stand with my hands on the bark of a tree, I can feel its life force flowing. Trees have an amazingly potent energy, and cutting them down seems a bit like doing murder. These trees are my friends. But I also realize that nothing lasts forever and that I am far too sentimental for a life lived within the realities of nature. Everything dies or ends or burns or simply fades away, and the best thing we can do when confronted by these realities is not to cling, but to mark the passages with due reverence and appreciation. The trees might be going, but in their place would be a garden, full of new-growing life to nourish our bodies and spirits. I expecially feel that it's important to have a nice garden for the kiddo, not only to grow good food to feed her, but also to have her participate in its care, now that she's old enough to toddle around and to express an interest in "helping out" with the household whirl. I want her to know where food comes from, what is involved in producing it, and even more, to have her know and respect the cycles of the land. That would be a great gift those trees could give to us in exchange for their lives. So.
Shifting gears a bit, I've been thinking more and more about education for her in a larger sense. It will still be a little while before she's ready for any formal education, but it's never too early to start thinking about what that's going to mean for us as a family; what form its going to take. We've already decided against any mainstream education in a public school setting (or at least identified that as the least desirable route), and are seriously thinking about homeschooling, either by ourselves or (hopefully) in some sort of cooperative. I've been doing a lot of reading about educational philosophies, particularly Waldorf and Montessori, and I'm sure I will have a lot to say here about those as I learn more and digest more. But immediately, it finally occurs to me what I find so troubling about mainstream education in the United States. It was articulated particularly well in this article about Waldorf education: "...we know that in most ways public education represents and reinforces the culture of consumerism, competition, and materialism. At a Waldorf school, our children will not be treated as future job seekers or savvy consumers or high tech warriors in the battle against foreign competition, but as evolving spiritual beings who seek lives of meaning and beauty and inspiration." Yes, yes, yes. I'd been having trouble articulating for myself what it was that is so troubling about public schools, aside from the deplorable amount of learning that actually goes on and the conditions under which it occurs (or doesn't). I don't want metal detectors to be a part of my child's everyday life. I don't. Everything within me cries out at the wrongness of that. But there's more to my objections, except that I hadn't realized what they really are. It's the cultural values that mainstream education presumes: that it's best to be the smartest, the fastest, etc; that what you know matters more than who you are (and that what you are taught matters more than what you know); that the Western model of civilization is superior. It seems that what is being transmitted are not the skills needed to think independently and imaginatively, reason critically, and to make a good path through whatever life they choose, but rather a mass-produced, one-size-fits-all blueprint for being a successful little cog. They want to make sure that you hit the treadmill running, that you will define success and measure happiness by the standards of our race-to-the-bottom consumer economy. The educational environment is a sort of microcosm of larger society that either explicity or implicitly endorses a lot of values that I would prefer my daughter to have limited exposure to. I feel like public education is mortgaging the souls of our children, and that's not where we want our kiddo to be.
The responsibility of educating a child seems awesome and at times totally overwhelming, but then again so did breastfeeding, once, and we've sailed through that with flying colors. It's all about trusting your instincts (our "guts" are smarter than we can imagine) and going with the flow.
And I'm committing to attend a weekend-long birth doula training workshop in March - so excited! It's been a while now since I decided to totally change course and pursue a career as a childbirth professional (hopefully some combo of doula/lactation consultant/childbirth educator), and it's nice that my enthusiasm and the conviction that this is absolutely the right path for me are strong as ever.
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