Our Homeschool Celebration

For the second year, we're celebrating homeschooling with doughnuts!

We meant to go get doughnuts last Friday, to celebrate the completion of our first week of school, but it didn't work out, so we decided to do it this week.

We're off to a great start. Anna's only doing one course in her senior year -- British Literature Honors. We're enjoying "Beowulf" and Bede, and now we're moving on to "Morte d'Arthur" and Chaucer.

Julia's school year is going very well. She's taken 2 spelling tests, completed 3 sets of science questions, begun a diligent study of Latin grammar, recited Scripture and catechism, wrote a story in Latin, read 3 books and written summaries on them, done nearly a chapter of math review, 10 pages of grammar, and lots of history outlining. I think one of my favorite things about homeschooling is that, with a little diligence, the teacher and student can cover significant amounts of material in so little time. (She also sat in on all our British Lit discussions on Beowulf and the Anglo-Saxons.)

Peter, on the other hand, is down at the local high school this year, by his own demand. I am not at all happy with this choice, of course. He is taking a 9th grade English class because they simply could not be flexible on the fact that he already had World Lit in 9th grade, and American Lit in 10th grade, and they refused to put him in British Lit, which would make sense. They couldn't make AP Lit work with his schedule. So, he's stuck taking an English course way too easy for him, which drives his English Teacher Mother NUTS! He's also taking Chorus, which he enjoys, Spanish II (he's made 2 100's on quizzes thus far), and Forensics.

Forensics. When Adam saw this course listed, he enrolled Peter in it, because (silly us) we assumed they meant the classical, REAL meaning of "forensics" which is "oratory, public debate, having to do with argument in a court of law." The boy loves debate. Sigh. After the class started, we discovered he would be studying crime scenes, blood stains, bullet patterns, and that his homework was to watch CSI. All I could do was sigh and roll my eyes. Thus is our public education system.

Still, I'm sure it will all turn out reasonably well, and a little public schooling for him won't be the end of the world. He's in bliss. He walks to and from school, and runs cross country in the afternoons.This activity is good for him, and is preferable to his behavior last school year, which generally involved sitting on his bed all day when we weren't homeschooling. He just really hated it.

An honest assessment of where we are educationally this year. Life is messy. Sometimes there is not one, perfect answer. So I give it up to the Lord and ask Him to do what he does best: redeem. Redeem the messy parts of life, and turn them out well, to His glory and our good.

What's In Your Milk?

Recently I was made aware of the presence of artificial growth hormones in much of America's milk. Thanks to friends who post interesting links and articles on Facebook, I found out something that most of you probably already knew: large dairy producers give chemicals to their milk cows that make them produce more milk. These chemical hormones, however are not good for the cows. And they're not good for us milk-drinkers.

A friend shared with me a list of 100 major dairy producers in the USA that do NOT use growth hormone in their products. Here's a link to that list. Now, some of the dairies are completely hormone-free; others are partially hormone-free.

The hormone used, called rBGH or rBST, is prohibited in Canada and all the countries of the European Union. Why does the FDA allow its use in America? More important, who was in charge of the FDA when this hormone-use was approved? Michael Taylor -- who before this post worked for Monsanto's legal arm, and after this post returned to Monsanto as a VP and lobbyist. Yes, THAT Monsanto -- the food giant that controls so much of what we eat, and makes a mint doing so.

If you want more about this topic, here's an article. I can hardly BELIEVE I'm linking to an article from the Huffington Post, but credit where credit is due.

So, you know me -- I've started looking for products in my stores, from dairies on that list. I was happy to find that the ice cream we normally buy at WalMart is made by Dean Foods. However, Dean is only "partially-hormone free." Wish I knew about the actual ice cream we're eating this week!

But what about milk? I was pleased to discover that the store-brand milk at both Food Lion and WalMart has this notice, right on the label: "Our farmers have pledged to not treat any of their cows with any artificial growth hormones." YAY!!!

The label continues: "According to the FDA, no significant difference has been shown between milk derived from rBST treated and non-rBST treated cows."

Yeah. Thanks, Mr. Taylor for that consideration of my health. Ha.

But ... I haven't been buying my milk at WalMart or Food Lion. I've been buying my milk at Aldi, and saving about 7¢ a gallon. That's 28¢ a week. $14.56 per year. Sidewalk change, considering that rBGH & rBST can cause breast and prostrate cancer.

I asked at Aldi, because some Aldi stores do post on their milk coolers that their milk is hormone-free, but not our local Aldi. Our Aldi gets their milk from Maola Milk, which is on that lovely list as Maryland/Virginia Milk Co-op. Partially hormone-free.

Sorry Aldi. Food Lion and WalMart sell milk that IS hormone-free. Bummer. And since I won't be buying my 4 gallons each week at Aldi anymore, it's almost not worth it to drive to their store for the other things I've been buying there.

Seriously, friends, I'm tired of these food producers thinking ONLY of their bottom lines, and NEVER of our health. I understand they must make good profits, BUT -- within reason. And that means they must take into account the health of their consumers.

Honestly, I'd prefer good, clean raw milk, but I don't have ANYWHERE locally to get it. And the gov't scares raw milk producers to death with threats of lawsuits and jailtime, so they're afraid to advertise it.

It's time for ordinary grocery shoppers like you and me to communicate effectively to our food providers that we want food that is good and healthy for us and our families. This is not unreasonable. So, go check. What's in your milk?

A Quiet Life

Now that school has started and we are settling in, we're all reading more. Adam's laptop died (he contests that he will NEVER AGAIN buy a cheap PC machine, and will wait until he can afford an Apple again), so even he is back to pen and paper. Here's a little picture of some of our reading:
You can see that we're delving into Medieval. From "Beowulf," the girls sprung naturally into "The Lord of the Rings." I had them watch portions of the movies, so they could get a visual impression of what a mead hall might look like. They watched the movies, and then wanted to dive back into the books. Anna finished "The Hobbit," and now they're both reading "Fellowship" again. I'm reading Bede; Adam is doing Holmes.

And summer drags on. I know some people adore summer and its warmth, but I find it only exhausting and endless, especially in the South. We plan for tomatoes early in the season, but by the time they arrive, I'm tired of the heat and don't want to be in the garden. I planted these heirloom Brandywines right by the back door. They've thrived, but they are all bush and no fruit. I heard on Sunday that some people PRUNE their tomatoes, and perhaps that would have helped.
After the pool died and was hauled away by the trash men, my boys put together our patio and fire ring, probably permanently. It reminds me of autumn and marshmallow-roasting and sweater-wearing. I find the orderly look of the pavers to be appealing. Summer seems to descend into chaos somehow, a life without order or schedule, the weeds winding and climbing and overtaking. I long for a good, hard frost to beat back the mosquitoes and freshen the air.
In spite of the number of plants we put in, we haven't had a large crop of tomatoes yet. Still, they're beautiful, and I've enjoyed a few BLTs so far.
The garden. I hesitate to show this horror of weeds, but that's exactly what happened to it. However, I must say there's not much in there. The tomatoes are separate. Honestly, there's only potatoes buried in among the weeds, and 3 watermelon plants that didn't do anything. I imagine the next excitement in the garden will be the hummm of a lawn mower.
You see, life is messy and broken. And in spite of the fun and glamor portrayed on many blogs, the truth is that under the order and quiet of our lives, we feel discouragement, despair, even desperation. I did find one beautiful "Mortgage Lifter" tomato (ha! That's an irony!) in the garden today. When I turned it over?
I'll slice off that damaged part and enjoy the good fruit. But I'd better do it today, before the entire fruit is rotted from that hole. Thus I examine the dark underside of my life, and acknowledge it, but I don't give it rein in my life. Cut it away, and relish what is good.

From the Apple Trees

We have two apple trees in the backyard. It's taken a few years of marginal care and some pruning, but this year we really got some big apples from them. The yard is damp, and the apples look none too pretty, but Anna decided to scrub them up today, after Adam and Julia picked them from the trees yesterday on a ladder.
They cleaned up rather well. We had about twice as many as you see here.
I asked Anna, since she did all the muscle work, what kind of applish food she'd prefer. She declined apple sauce or cider, but perked up at the mention of apple crisp. This is my mother's recipe. I ate it happily SO MANY times as a child.
Apple Crisp:
(This version is doubled from the original.)

8 apples, cored and sliced
2 Tbl lemon juice
1 cup flour
1 cup brown sugar
1 tsp salt
1 tsp cinnamon
handful of oats, if you like
1 stick butter

Slice apples into a large casserole. Mine was rather shallow, which I like.
Mix all dry ingredients with a fork. Add soft butter and mix well.
Pack this mixture on top of the apples.
Bake for one hour at 375. The house will smell lovely.
Adam says we must go buy some vanilla ice cream before he's willing to eat any. He'd better hurry; I think it's already half gone!

And since the girls really enjoyed their part in this apple adventure, I'm linking this post to Moriah's "Fun Mom Friday."

Rootedness

We may be moving again soon. And considering the way God has worked in our lives thus far, it wouldn’t be surprising. We’ve moved 14 times in 21 years of marriage. We’ve lived in Mississippi, Iowa, Massachusetts, Alabama, and North Carolina several times. And we always hate it. No one likes to be uprooted.

I used to worry about the children, how they would adjust to so much upheaval, so much losing of things. My children are introverts; how often will they readily make new friends, if they fear losing them again? I always longed as a child to have ONE PLACE to which I belonged – that sense of rootedness that I envied in other children who never moved. I hated for my kids to grow up with that same hole in the middle of their hearts, an empty spot that should be called “home.”

And then along came Facebook. Yeah, I know what you’re thinking – that time-sucking, mind-numbing website. But Facebook reminded me of how many friends I have, in how many places. I carry on conversations with Annie and BethAnn and Tammy and Beth and Carolyn – friends who don’t know each other, but I know them, from all the different places I’ve lived. What variety!

So God gave me a gift by uprooting me, again and again. Moving makes friends.

I’ve been anticipating this next move for a while. Back in January I bought six rosemary bushes at Lowes' after-Christmas sale. They were trimmed to look like little Christmas trees. I brought them home, kept them inside by a window, watered them faithfully, and sometime in the spring, put them in the ground. I now have a nice rosemary hedge shooting up along the edge of my patio. (That's them in the photo above.)

But two of the plants, I put in pots. I didn’t put them in the ground, because I wanted to be able to take them with me when we move. I LOVE rosemary. When you walk by it, if you gently pull your fingers up along a branch, the scent lingers in your hand. When you water it, the scent fills the air. They’re hardy and perennial. They grow large and strong. And rosemary is so delicious in chicken! I couldn’t bear to buy them, tend them, and then leave them all behind.

The rosemary in the pots is doing well, tall and healthy. I’ve rooted it in transferable soil, prepared it from the beginning for a move. God is our gardener; he knows we are plants that need to be moveable. We should plant our hearts in soil, in pots, that will move easily. It’s too easy to sink our souls’ toes into the local soil, so that God has to uproot us painfully when it’s time to leave. We cling even to good things: our dear church, our best friends, our perfect house, that wonderful school, our favorite activities. But they are still just soil, and we should be careful about our rootedness in them. Where are we rooted? Our souls are rooted forever in God; he is our “pot,” and in him we can move anywhere. For children, family should be the soil into which they’re planted. Christian parents should foster family attachments primarily, so that a family move still gives children security. If they’re attached to other things more than family, the move will be painful. And we parents should be sunk so deeply into the soil of our marriages, that when we move, we always take our best friends.

I’m taking my rosemaries with me. I hope they will be a daily reminder of my place in God’s garden. He’s moving me around to waft the scent of his love in many places, until he plants me deeply in the soil of heaven.

Romas, Latin & Bread

Goodness! It's been a while, hasn't it? We drove to Chattanooga to take Philip back to college, and started school here as well, so it's been a busy week.

Today, however, I decided to do SOMETHING with the roma tomatoes dangling on the vine in the backyard. I decided to cook some red sauce:
At first, I was going to can the tomatoes, but there honestly weren't enough to go to the bother of canning. Then I decided to cook a meatless sauce. I added: onions, garlic powder, a big chunk of yellow pepper, salt, pepper, Worc. sauce, and the following from my herb garden: rosemary, sage, oregano, basil. Here's hoping all those flavors meld nicely and behave themselves :) I did remove the herbs & yellow pepper after they'd simmered in there a while.

School's started, and that means Julia is enjoying her favorite class again: Latin with Daddy!
And it was bread day.

Rose Hip Preparation

Remember the rose hips? I've dried them. Here are a few. They look hard and very dry, but actually the skins are still moist.
Julia and I split them open with a knife and removed the seeds.
And we scraped out the insides until they were clean.
The seeds really pack the inside. Isn't it amazing and exciting that ONE rugosa rose bush will have 25 rose hips, and each hip will be chock full of seeds? God designs his creation for LIFE, doesn't he?
Julia said, "That looks fun!" So she helped.
Here are our finished rose hip skins. They look like miniature orange peelings. These will dry fully, and then I'll steep them in water to make Rose Hip Tea. Here's a website with recipes.
Julia took the seeds and planted some of them in pots outside. I wonder if they'll come up?

I'm linking this post to Moriah's "Fun Mom Friday" theme. Go on over and check out the fun things she and other moms are doing this week with their kids.