When I was in kindergarten, we learned four seasons: winter, spring, summer, and fall. January was the time of beginning, and Christmas was the close of the year. When I was in school, there were two seasons: school and summer. Summer was a glorious new beginning, and August ushered in our nine months of captivity. When I was a teacher, there were three seasons: fall semester, spring semester, and summer. August was a season of hope and renewal! Everything was new. There were no mistakes in it yet! (Hat tip to Anne with an e.) Spring semester was the long, slow trudge to the finish line. And summer was a time of reevaluation and preparation.
As a homeschool mom, I've retained much of the teacher mode of thinking for our first eight or so years of homeschooling. I have always LOVED the beginning of the school year! But I find myself unsettled and almost anxious for the first time at this beginning-of-the-school-year. I'm supposed to be thrilled at the prospect of perfect pencil points and reuniting with friends at our various activities who we haven't seen all summer. But today, I find myself overwhelmed with the muchness of it all... Maybe it's the thought that our educational choices for our oldest (a rising seventh grader) are higher stakes now. Maybe it's the fact that we really didn't take a "summer" break this year - continuing (on a VERY relaxed pace) with our coursework throughout the summer, and thus, I'm not getting my "new year excitement" phase. Maybe I'm just having some sort of homeschool existential crisis!
But mostly, I think it's our schedule of outside-the-home activities this year. I don't call them "extra-curricular" activities, because I truly believe them to be an integral part of our curriculum, not an extra take-it-or-leave it activity just to fill time or provide recreation. And yet, the idea of scheduling and taxi-ing all over creation most days of the week has me hovering just short of hyperventilation these days. What happened to the vision of cuddling on the couch reading to my children and walking in the out of doors and studiously working out math problems around the dining room table (without griping and tears, yeah right...)? My desire to reclaim those slow and easy days is what led me to continue a relaxed schedule of homeschooling throughout the summer. Without all of the outside activities of the fall, we were able to enjoy some of those idyllic days of homeschooling that I had first envisioned - just in the summer when most others are out of school.
But here I sit with an overflowing fall calendar wondering what we can cut out. Can we cut anything out? How would we cut anything out? SHOULD we cut anything out? Simplifying, slow living. Isn't that what all the cool kids are doing these days? Why am I getting busier?
Inspiration comes from strange sources. Last night I was watching my latest favorite British television series, Lark Rise to Candleford. The episode centered on the people of Lark Rise, a hamlet fully attuned to and dependent upon the agrarian seasons of seedtime, harvest, and home. In this episode, the families of Lark Rise struggled to bring in the wheat harvest. The wheat harvest was critical to the very survival of those families. It was also time-sensitive and of a short duration, so during the harvest time, entire families devoted every moment to the task. There was intense pressure and stress, but also joy in the season! They were exceedingly busy and tired but were also filled with singing and celebration. When I woke this morning, I began to look on our fall season in the same way as this harvest time. It will be fun; it will be busy; it will be joyful; it will be stressful; and ultimately, it will be worthwhile.
But we cannot maintain this frenetic pace continuously. The people of Lark Rise looked ahead to an intense season of home following the harvest. Sure, the daily struggles and hardships of life continue, but the pace slows considerably as the weather turns and the land rests. In much the same way, after November, several of our outside-the-home activities fall away, and they don't resume until next August, leaving us with a slower pace of life for the winter months. They won't be free of struggles, of course. As any homeschooler can attest, February can be the toughest of all months! But even in the struggle, there is time for rest.
I have always fancied myself a country girl. In reality, I've never lived on a farm or even had a vegetable garden of my own! But I come from a family heritage of farming and living off the land. The stories of family life passed down to me share many of the attributes of the people of far away Lark Rise. They lived through three seasons - seedtime, harvest, and home. There was a flurry of work in the spring as young livestock were born and crops were planted. There followed a season of steady, but not overwhelming work of tending and maintaining. Then came the autumn season of bringing in, a season of provision for the remainder of the year, a season of critical importance to the survival of the family. And finally, there was a season of home. A season of early sunsets and quiet indoor labor. My family still has quilts handmade by my great-grandfather during those quiet inside months. The tools of his outdoor labor gave way to needle, thread, and quilt frame. Large muscles of body took their rest while small muscles of fingers were busier than ever. When the winter months came to an end, he resumed his labors outside the home.
So this year, I'm looking on our busy season as harvest time. I CAN make it through November! I WILL find joy in the busy-ness! I will watch my kids stretch and work in ways that are different from the work we do in our home classes. We will struggle together through the scheduling and celebrate our accomplishments at the end of that time. And then we will take a BIG sigh of relief and enter into our season of home. A season of long nights and rest and learning and planning for the coming seedtime. When April/May arrive, we will be ready to start new learning adventures, and the procession of our seasons will begin anew.
