Of rhubarb and decaying trees...

Finnie and Owen with the rhubarb stalks from the six, count 'em six, rhubarb plants we found on our land.

May, 2005
Since I was taking care of the children while Timothy was at work I was with the kids always. 24/7. I have not been away from either of them overnight, other than when my parents, Jean and Murray, took care of Owen when Finnie was being born. And that is how I like it. I guess, a bit of time here or there to focus on only one thing would be nice but since that couldn't be relied on I needed to find a way that I could do some gardening and spend great hours with the kids at the same time. It did mean allowing most projects to remain unfinished. My rusty garden tools attest to that. It meant letting the kids help, which they were eager to do. Finnie's help comprised of stepping on new plants, digging holes in newly laid grass clumps, watering freely on us and rarely on plants and I loved her for it. I mean, if she wasn't having fun, none of us were and certainly no progress in the gardens occurred. The same for Owen although he was so determined to really help that I did try to give him sincere jobs that we could note later with Timothy or that he could see himself that he could be proud of. He was especially kind to worms. You know, in trying to deal with that natural urge in little kids to kill ants and bugs, he did seem to isolate worms as worthy of life and rescued numbers of them, often saved from myself, having to lurch to the side to not step on one Owen had deemed in danger by my foot.

It was so easy to connect to how I thought about nature as a child, when I was with Owen and Finnie. I loved mucking about, wasn't afraid of snakes and could imagine myself in a wolfden (while playing under a bush) with the best of them. We would go for walks in the forest, Finnie in our three-wheel stroller I found in the garbage in Toronto (because the brakes weren't working, supposedly), snacks stored below, and books also. We talked of having caches in the woods. Places where we could store some books or toys to play with and then leave there till next time. We never did do it but it was a good idea. We tried to find out where the deer lived in our forest but the closest we got was to some flattened grass patches and if we were lucky, the sound of them disappearing into the distance. One time, we surprised an owl and later Tommy, my friends' son, found a large feather from it, having wafted down to the forest floor after his sudden exit. Sometimes Finnie would fall asleep in the stroller and then Owen and I would play nearby, either under the massive ferns or in an old rotten tree stump of what must have been a huge tree once. So soft now that Owen would clamber up its inside and throw handfulls of soft mulch down from above. Nice for him to change the perspective and be above me. Nice to be able to show him how something once so strong and inpenetrable was now because of rain and insects, something so delicate that Owen's foot treads would knock off chunks with every step.

Finnie, being a year a bit, mosty wanted to just be close to us. But she liked to feel things, rip things, and see things. The forest was big enough for some of her grabs from the stroller, or when she would run amok in the back field. The back field was close to a highway so we could see the cars rushing by. Funny, especially for me as I was off from work, to be sitting back there, listening to bees, watching other people hurry, lying in the lie-down field with my kids. I was very lucky.


Our bunny, brave and curious. We would see him often throughout the summer.