Crocodiles and airplanes

Good evening kind souls. I hope you saw the beautiful full moon a few nights ago. I wonder if you see the full moon the night fourteen hours before or after we see it, probably after. You’d think I would have gone out and done some work by its brilliant light, but I was pretty lazy in the garden this week. Most of my week was spent socializing and playing with the girls.

Jacinta’s imagination has exploded, with blankets and pillows as her most trusted tools. For a few weeks, she was playing “kangaroos.” The kangaroos slept on blankets, woke up, ate, and went to sleep over and over. This week the blankets became crocodiles, “a big daddy crocodile.” The crocodile is so big we can all lie down, sleep and play on him. He is also one of our methods of transport to get from Australia to America. Most often we play airplanes. At first we had to be sitting on the couch to play. We spent all of our time ordering interesting juice combinations and meals, following Jacinta’s lead. When I grew tired of sitting on the couch, crowded by the mountains of pillows and blankets, the plane grew. Jacinta, in her efforts to continue the game, decided that our whole house could be the plane. We waited for the seatbelt sign to go off before we got up and used the luxurious airplane bathroom. Genevieve had a hard time following the rules. We played in the airplane’s bedroom, and even fed the chickens on the plane. Our final destination was always a friend or family member in the US. I proposed France or Senegal a few times, but Jacinta was heading for the US. The other day she decided that “daddy’s going to Africa with his friends on a separate plane.” She asked the other day when we’d be going to Africa. When we win the lottery, I suppose that means we need to start playing!

Back in the “real” world outside her imagination, I took Jacinta and her five closest friends to “France” the other day. But it looked strangely familiar, a lot like our little property on the east coast of Australia. I spoke in French only and lead them around the dam running, jumping, walking carefully, dancing, yelling, whispering and of course, flying. They responded as I expected, well, as I hoped. As young children still blessed with a beautiful unquestioning sense of awe, they silently joined me in “French land” never speaking a word unless it was mimicking exactly what I said or sang. Not once was I asked to translate or explain what exactly I meant, but a few times I busted into English to reassure them. They were patient, just knowing that comprehension would probably come if they paid attention, especially in the hiding games. The only deliberately disobedient child was my own, running far away after I had given the command to stop. “Arretez!” I yelled over and over, crumbling inside with the fear that the other children would come out of their trance given my own child’s example. Eventually her nervous friends convinced her to come back. It was obvious which of the children had never been in an organized group before. (Jacinta will be starting pre-school in January). I am eager to see how we progress, never having taught such young children. The youngest I had in classes in Michigan were six or seven years old. So far it looks like three year olds can do it too, given space to run and learn simultaneously. I would also dare to guess that given five acres to run and learn, perhaps even my most stubborn first grade boys would have enjoyed French class.

I also led my choir this week. Matt came along to take care of the girls and freed me up to think and direct. After our choir director’s car accident we hadn’t met in a few weeks, so it was just nice to get together, sing and debrief Fiona’s accident a bit. We all brought gifts to make a care package for our beloved choir director and sang our hearts out. I flapped my arms around a bit, pretending I could keep the beat with my hands, but it’s no secret. I may love music and sing pretty well, but I am no conductor. We had fun anyway and even added a few songs to our repertoire. The next day I took the girls out to visit Fiona and bring her gifts. It has been a few weeks since the accident. It was an accident involving a school bus. The road had washed away, the bus slid down a steep hill injuring a few students and the bus driver and killing a seventeen year old girl who was thrown out the window. Fiona lived through a hell that most of us will luckily never experience: holding someone else’s dying child in her arms, knowing the internal bleeding would soon take her life, giving every ounce of energy she had to keep this sweet girl breathing for a long time until an ambulance could reach them in an isolated area. The amazing life force burning in Fiona has been sapped since the death, as you can imagine. She is grieving, mourning and dwelling in the depths of herself. As time passes, she is picking up the pieces. What an intense honour to spend a few hours with a woman I have so admired since we met, and bring my little girls to lighten her load for a few moments.

It feels strange to transition into anything joyful after that. I apologize, but I must drag myself out of that sadness the best way I know how, with sweet little girls. Genevieve, our roly poly, chunky monkey, happy chappy, eager little beaver. Last week she learned to crawl and got a tooth. This week she learned to sit up and crawl quickly. There is no holding her back, she throws her chest around and makes holding her very hard. She is smiling a lot more now and is making cute little sounds, new ones now, as if she is conversing. She loves to hang out in her highchair, munching on whatever she is given: bananas, avocadoes, peppers, hard bread ends, carrots, oats, rice, sweet potatoes, and beans. Evie always ends up looking like a good baby should after a meal, so messy that her big sister won’t even touch her.

Matt is often on baby feeding duty at meal times. He is very neat and efficient. If we slack off though, Evie will let us know that she needs another bite with a miserable grunt. Besides feeding his youngest daughter Matt has been studying, doing paperwork, applying for jobs, working on websites, tickling Jacinta, digging out the root cellar and helping me out fencing.

Fencing, ahh, the never ending task. The orchard has been fenced in as well as it will ever be, unless I can come up with anti-turkey fencing. All of the seeds that I planted directly in the soil have been dug up by those miserable creatures. Also in my evil books are the new black hens. I really have to watch my mouth when I enter the orchard with Jacinta, looking at all of the freshly dug up dirt that will never be left alone long enough to sprout any seeds. Our friends Craig and Anissa came for dinner one evening with their three children, curious how their old black chickens were doing. Craig taught Matt how to clip chicken wings, so now the hens dig under the fence. Thursday I ripped off all of the sticks we used to deter cattle from the terrace garden, finally giving up on the crappy chicken wire and brush covered fence. Friday morning Matt, the girls and I packed up for a hard morning fencing. Matt did most of the work, but I can still say “he helped me,” because he let me make the decisions. Tricky, aye? Jacinta was still on the “airplane,” but she helped by picking strawberries, entertaining Genevieve and throwing chunks of clay into the dam. Evie helped by napping, eating dirt and celery and trying to roll down from terrace to terrace. In the end, we fenced in the terrace garden with the same the heavy duty wire the orchard has and enlarged the garden. Matt changed the location of the gate making it much easier to manoeuvre with a baby in one hand. By this time, the sun was very hot and the little girls were tired. So we left Matt to finish, cleaned up, went to town to buy pies and pasties for lunch. This is a task I’ve been yearning to do for over six months.

With that done, it feels like enough accomplishment for a while. So I celebrated and took the girls to the beach today. Matt stayed home, dug a massive hole, did the dishes and eventually got to watch football. I feel like I got the better option, but he is just as happy with his lot today. Jacinta has the stomach flu, so she is a bit down. Genevieve’s silly attempts to climb up her big sister can still make her laugh though. I’m expecting a long night with the girls so I’ll leave you all, wishing you a lovely week.

Peace,
Shana