the squibix family blog

Even though there was no forward planning—I just thought of the outing that morning and invited our friends at around 7:00—we were able to throw things together in time to meet at the pond at 8:30 (we had to make sure to get in before it closed!). We took a leisurely paddle across, and all around, the pond, then set up camp at a nice spot to swim. Of course, when there are boats pulled up on the shore they exert a powerful pull, and before too long the swimming was well-mixed with boating. Left on shore without a boat I could only hope they would come back! (Of course they would: I had the lunches!)

As the morning wore on our beachy spot got a little crowded, so we re-loaded the boats and headed to another cove which, besides being less occupied, gave us a chance to swim in the shade! It was also right by the rail line, and we were lucky enough to be by the tracks right as a train went by. I should have shot a video!

Soon afterwards our friends needed to head home. We saw them off, stopped by the bathroom, then re-embarked to find a quiet spot to have lunch. People definitely spread out more at Walden now than they did pre-Covid, so it took us a while to find a private space—we never would have managed it without a boat! After lunch I tried to nap while the boys swam, then I joined them for some water play. Then finally it was time to leave—not to go home, but to visit the Farmers Market in Lexington. What a full day!

While I was sick the other day I read Barbara Kingsolver's Flight Behavior, which I enjoyed even if a few things about it troubled me. Mainly how strongly its main themes were presented as moral lessons: that monarch butterflies are tremendously valuable both for their beauty and for their role as a proxy for wider environmental issues, which I agree with, and that you should leave your spouse if you're not totally in love with them, on which I have more nuanced opinions. Although maybe you shouldn't trust my review of the book since I was pretty loopy with fever when I pushed through the whole thing in basically one sitting (one "lying-in-bedding?"). But yes, monarchs. Yay monarchs!

After packing everything up—including a picnic supper—we hit the road at quarter past four and got out of the car a few minutes before five. The gate to the parking lot closes at 6:00, so we had a hard stop. Leah and the boys went straight to the pond, where they swam and chased fish, and Lijah practiced going underwater. I brought my bike to ride some of the many miles of trails the forest offers, with the idea that I'd get back in time for the picnic—maybe even in time to take a quick dip in the pond. And take some pictures! Of course, I should have known that wouldn't happen. I always lose track of time when I'm riding, and on top of that I took a wrong turn when I did decide to head back and spent a little too long riding fast in the wrong direction. In retrospect I should have left the car keys with Leah so if necessary she could have waited for me outside the gate—the park doesn't close, just the parking. But I didn't, so I just rode faster and got back to the lot at 5:58. Phew!

Everybody had a great time: my stress was balanced out by the fun of the ride and all the great exercise. And my family saved me some food! Still, next time we head that way we'll budget a little more of the day for the outing. And take some pictures.

Besides the amazing house they have lots of land, and we took a fine walk around their yard and gardens. They've got a couple of ponds that we thought we might be able to swim in, but in these drought conditions they were a little too murky for anyone to want to try. Then while the mature people sat on the porch to talk Lijah, Zion, and I played croquet golf up and down their hill. The dogs came along on the trip, of course, and added an extra challenge to the game by picking up our balls and running with them; instead of "fore" there were lots of calls of "drop!" Of course, we had to play it where it lay! Even though their participation was a little annoying I still felt bad when I his Scout on the chin with one particularly strong shot (maybe we should teach him "fore"?).

Of course, as obsessed as I am my favorite part of the tour was the gardens. With all the space they have available they have a blueberry orchard, a small field of corn, and about an acre of squash plants. Plus a regular garden about twice as big as ours. And the most amazing thing about it was they don't need fences! Apparently they have more coyotes (and bears!) than deer and squirrels, so they can grow things out in the open. I'm jealous: we can't even keep the animals out of our crops when we cover them completely! Happily they took pity on us and sent us home with a giant sack of greens and cucumbers. It was a great visit!

The boys have some memories of the last couple times we visited the Cape Ann peninsula, and were excited to revisit some of their favorite spots. There was one difference this time though: it was mid August under a heat index warning. So while the town itself was less busy than usual for a summer day, there were plenty of people on the beach. Not what they were expecting! Never mind, we still managed to have a great time, and even found some new favorites spots.

People who go to the beach probably aim to park near it. Not us! One great thing about Rockport is that there is always free parking available. It just meant we got to walk a bit. To the pier in the center of town, where happily the the public bathrooms were open, and down to the end of Bearskin Neck to see the breakwater. But only briefly: the beach was calling! When we got there, though, there was some dismay at the crowd—the crowd, and the presence of a lifeguard. To show you what our usual beach experience is like, we were kind of expecting to be able to change into our swimsuits in an out of the way corner. That was not possible, but no worries, there was another open bathroom. Once changed the boys chose more yet walking in order to try out Back Beach, slightly further away and slightly less sandy. It was a good call, and we were able to get in to the water with no other people within 20 or 30 yards.

Although, "getting into the water" wasn't as easy as all that: it was COLD! Harvey asked if it was colder than the ocean usually is, which of course it wasn't... in retrospect I think it was the contrast with the sweltering air that made it a little shocking. We did get used to it, but it was also nice to take breaks out of the water, making sandcastles to try and hold back the oncoming tide.

The children might never have moved from that spot, but I felt a little nervous about sun exposure and wanted to get us somewhere with some shade for lunch. It wasn't too hard a sell—back in May of last year we'd been frustrated by construction keeping us out of a park behind Front Beach, so when I let them know the park was probably open by now they were happy to give it a try. I don't what the park looked like before the excavators went to work on it, but it's fantastic now: it's a beautiful setting for the little stream that runs from a millpond above it down through a culvert under the road into the ocean. There's a playground there too, but who needs that in a park full of beautifully-landscaped rewilded brook?! After we ate lunch in the shade we played hide-and-seek.

Before we left home Zion had suggested maybe a one-hour stay at the ocean; he had plans for things to do at home. Of course those plans were had to keep in mind in the salt air. Even worries about crowds melted away after lunch, and the boys spent the next hour playing happily in and around the busy waters of Front Beach.

Eventually I dragged them away to do what I wanted to do: climb on the rocks that give Rockport its name! Those were over on the other side of town, back where we parked the car. There was some small unhappiness about the hot walk on the sidewalk, but those stresses of civilization were deemed worth it after we stopped in a candy store for a half-pound of fudge and a couple bottles of cold water (the only way the pandemic affected our trip? all the drinking fountains were closed). And of course the rocks were lovely as always.

And the best part of it all? Nobody got heat exhaustion!

Speaking of complications, it turns out to be very challenging to register a car these days. I had to get an appointment at the RMV; I did that in the last week of July and the soonest I could get in anywhere in Massachusetts was the 12th of August, in Plymouth. Actually, that was the only available day the morning that I looked: there are only ten RMV locations opened in the state, so spots are in high demand. Of course, even in a pandemic an appointment at the RMV doesn't mean you'll be seeing someone at the exact time on your ticket, but when I got up to the window at 2:52 for my 2:30 scheduled time I felt like I was doing pretty well. Even with two hours of driving round trip I think I got the thing done in less time than I would have had I lined up in Lowell the old-fashioned way. Plus, I got to try out the new van! Yes of course I drove it to register itself: the old one never would have made it!

The Landlocked Forest has tons of interconnecting trails and a great variety of different sorts of landscape in a fairly small space: meadow, swamp, white pine and deciduous forests. Plus lots of ups and downs on steep short hills and ridges. Every time we go we find a trail that somehow we haven't ridden yet (though I think that maybe now we've finally got them all... in one direction at least). The Sunday before last we rode from home on a loop that included a good two hours of riding there, and then we drove there for another hour and a half session mid-week.

This past weekend a search for variety and new horizons led us to the Russell Mill Pond Town Forest. Even more than Landlocked Forest it's something of a mountain-biking destination; whenever outdoorsy types heard that we were trying MTB they asked us if we'd been there yet. Now we have! Saturday morning we visited for the first time and enjoyed several miles of fun and challenging riding before I popped a tire. Then Harvey got to enjoy another mile or so while I walked. Since I felt unfulfilled, and wanted another shot at the trails that I missed, we went back again yesterday. We did some of the same trails and some different ones too, and talked about whether we were getting better at this riding over stones business. Also we got passed by a jogger, as I mentioned. We could have stayed ahead of her, probably, but only by rushing over the tricky parts—off the bikes more often than not. That wouldn't have been worth it at all: we weren't there to get anywhere!

There were suggestions that we go back again for a third straight day, but I thought maybe that wasn't the best idea. I was afraid of dying. Instead, all four of us boys took a ride from home along the gravel bike path to Fawn Lake for a picnic lunch. As it happened, though, it was impossible to hold back the enthusiasm for riding bikes in unsuitable places, and after we had lunch Zion and even Elijah, with his 16-inch wheels, single-speed transmission, and coaster brakes, got in on the off-road action. It's not too long before we're all four of us riding together in the woods, slowly, for a long time.

The book is available now on Amazon if you want to take a look at it: only $12.99, or free on Kindle Unlimited! (whatever that is...). I also have one spare copy that I can pass on to the first person who lets me know they want it!

Or if you just want to read my chapter (totally understandable! but the others are good too) here it is:

ABOUT OUR FAMILY

I sometimes tell people that we fell into homeschooling by accident. Our oldest was still four the year we got a kindergarten registration packet in the mail for the first time. He would have been one of the youngest kids in his class, we didn’t feel like kindergarten would be that good for him, and we enjoyed having him around . . . so we kept him home. That year we just kept on doing the same kinds of things we’d always done together as a family, and it was fine. Then when the new school year arrived we wanted to stick with that routine, so we filed a home education plan like the state wanted us to. The next thing we knew, we were homeschooling three boys age ten, eight, and five! Amazing.

Only that’s not really the real story. And anyone who sends their kids to school can probably spot the clues in that first paragraph. Like, why didn’t our son go to preschool? How did we ever think that “just keeping him home” was an option? And why on earth did we want to?! Really, our thoughts about the childhood we hoped he could have were non-standard from the beginning. And that’s despite the fact that I’m trained in Elementary Education and worked in public schools.

WHAT I LOVE ABOUT HOMESCHOOLING

One important reason we home educate is that we like being with our kids. We’ve been lucky enough to have flexible work schedules to make that happen—my wife, Leah, was home when the first two boys were little, then we each worked part time for the “preschool” years, and now she’s working full time while I hold things down at home. I enjoy doing things with my kids, and I want to make sure that they’re able to do the things that they find important and valuable. Also, we don’t want to waste their time! I’m 100% committed to the existence of public schooling as a public good, and I think most public school teachers are fantastic people—but schools require kids to be there in that building for six or seven hours a day to get maybe an hour of relevant instructional time. It’s better for them to be free of those walls.

Our home education is shaped by two sometimes competing impulses. First is our belief that kids are human beings with an inbuilt drive to learn, and with the capacity—and right!—to make many decisions for themselves. (I keep John Holt’s How Children Learn and Agnes Leistico’s I Learn Better By Teaching Myself on the bookshelf above my desk to remind myself of that when I start to get stressed out.) I recognize that a big part of learning comes through play: For example, I’ve had moments of despair at failed attempts to get my kids writing, but then I notice them playing with little figures and narrating a complex, multi-character story. Learning also needs to be driven by genuine interest: Nobody can learn something they don’t care about.

At the same time, though, I am trained as a teacher and sometimes I like teaching things. So I don’t think you could really call us unschoolers. A few days a week we have some organized instructional time, all together or one-on-one. Some weeks it’s every day! Sometimes there are even worksheets. But that more formal work is always conditional on the kids’ voluntary engagement: I try to make it explicit that they don’t have to participate if they’re not interested (though sometimes the frustration in my voice when I say it undercuts the message—something I have to work on!). In my more self-aware moments I call our less-inspired instructional time “playing school” and recognize that, at best, it’s giving the kids tools to do their own learning later. But sometimes it brings real engagement in the moment. Like this week when our study of reproduction and genetics led to the creation of a pencil-and-paper game that had us breeding monsters for the next two days.

I think what I love most about home education is flexibility. When it’s rainy and there’s nothing to do, we can read books together and talk about them. Maybe something in a book will inspire us to do some drawing. Or maybe we’ll just play a board game. On sunshiny days anyone who wants to can be outside for hours, observing—even if only in passing and by accident—the natural world. Sometimes math instruction is practicing times tables (is there any way to learn basic multiplication facts except by doing them over and over?), but sometimes it’s building a picnic table and calculating the angle to cut the pieces for the legs. How many degrees are in a triangle? I’m not good at planning, so I’m happy to come up with a general idea—talking about reproduction, say—and see where it takes us.

I also feel that it’s incredibly valuable for my kids to be able to learn as individuals. Even beyond their particular interests, which they may or may not be able to develop in a school setting, school norms would force them into possibly uncomfortable boxes. Watching the three of them grow up I see that their learning and development doesn’t move forward in a linear way but in fits and starts, and at different rates for each of them. Because of that, I can’t think of them as a “fifth-grader,” a “third-grader,” and a “kindergartener,” and compare them to their peers in each of those grades. Neither of my older two boys learned to read before their second-grade year, which would have meant hours and hours of separate reading instruction had they been in school; now they both spend endless time absorbed in books. And I don’t even have to call that a success story: In the home education setting, not liking to read would also be fine! Home education lets each child really be themselves.

HOMESCHOOLING CHALLENGES

That’s not to say there aren’t challenges! Some challenges are wrapped up with the same things that attracted me to this lifestyle in the first place. Flexibility, for example, goes both ways. It can be hard to abandon my designs for the day when it’s clear the kids need something else. And sometimes it’s hard to come up with any ideas of what to do! If there was a plan that we had to follow—if somebody else was telling us what to do—then at least I wouldn’t have to worry about coming up with all the ideas. Also, as the “education planner” in the household, I sometimes struggle with knowing when to intervene: Should I work to make sure my ten-year-old can write his numbers the right way around, or to encourage my six-year-old to use a “proper” pencil grip? If I don’t teach them math am I allowing them to develop their interest in the subject naturally and organically, or am I denying them the foundation they need to discover a love of more complicated mathematics later? I don’t know.

Enjoying spending time with the kids can also lead to challenges: If I didn’t like being with them, I wouldn’t need to work so hard to engage them! Lots of people with kids in school imagine home education means my kids are asking me what to do all the time; that is not the case. Most of the time they’re happy to ignore me and do their own thing together or individually. That dynamic also interacts with my teacher sensibilities. When I think there’s something they would enjoy learning then I need to work hard to present it in a way that will draw them in. And sometimes it’s a complete bust anyway! It’s discouraging to come up with what I think is a fascinating project or outing that, when offered, doesn’t elicit anything more than a vague “no thanks” from behind a book. On the other side of the coin, sometimes it’s hard for me to see value in what they’re choosing to do because it’s different than what I would choose. Screen time, for example, is an ongoing issue in our house that hasn’t yet been entirely resolved by democratic and non-coercive means.

There’s also some stress around other people’s expectations. People asking if our six-year-old is reading, for example, or offering pointed questions about “socialization.” Not to mention reporting and state standards! A few years ago, for my annual progress report to the school district, I sent in a writing sample for my oldest son. He had worked so hard on the skills it took to be able to write out an entire page, and I was so proud of him. In the letter we got back from the school district, the only personalized note—the only personalized response we’ve ever received in four years of reporting—was a suggestion to look into tools for online spelling practice. Sometimes all those expectations get to me, and I find myself saying things to the kids like, “I know you don’t want to, but you absolutely must produce something that the state will see as learning.” That’s dumb, right?

Because, really, I know that they’re learning all the time (even if I sometimes need John Holt to remind me). They learned to ride bikes, to swim, to draw and write comic books, to wash dishes, to make jigsaw puzzles, to know when to walk away from a friend who’s making bad choices. And I didn’t teach them any of that! Although I did offer tips on the jigsaw puzzles and, more pointedly, the dishes. I do get to teach them some things—about seeds and eggs, about converting fractions into decimals, about our country’s history of racism, about the poems that I love. Put it all together, and it’s totally worth it. In our house, education isn’t something that happens somewhere else, separate from the rest of our life. It’s just another part of everything we do together as we work, play, relax, and adventure together. And I love it!

PARTING WORDS

Should everyone have their kids learn at home? Lots of the time I think that, yes, of course they should! But I also think that everyone should keep chickens and travel by bicycle and listen to weird music and go to bed when it gets dark. My personal preferences, that is to say, are sometimes idiosyncratic. I recognize that for many people the reality of jobs and schedules means that there’s no time to think about organizing home education. That’s fine! Despite some strong words above, I think public school is a great option. I liked most of my own time there, both as a student and as a teacher. But when parents tell me, “I could never teach my own kids!” I have to disagree. If you want to, you can! You’re already teaching them all the most important things in their lives. And all the rest—math, history, science—is just learning together!

The Jacksons didn't read all those books, all those hours. Other parents and grandparents stepped in for a few—I read three, myself—and a couple kids even did some reading. But they carried the bulk of it, and all of the scheduling effort, and they were definitely the heart and soul of the project. The 30 or so kids who were there that first week back in March didn't all stick around, of course: as schools' remote learning started up some of them got too busy, and others drifted away when the weather got nicer. But that just meant the group that stuck around became more and more of a community (interestingly, all but one of the diehards were homeschoolers...). After the reading ended each day they'd stick around to chat and share games and pictures with the "share screen" function, for 45 minutes or more if they could get away with it. Human contact is precious these days! There was a party on Wednesday to wrap things up, and it definitely felt like something worth scheduling.

At this point, to be honest, we're ready for a break from screens. That full schedule I described in the linked post up again (here it is again if you don't want to scroll up) eased up a bit as the months of the pandemic passed, but not that much. We're doing Kids Church on Sunday, then it's no Zoom for a full week—more, if we can manage it—while we clear our brains and get ready for fall. We're planning a little more (careful) human contact, but we know that there will be plenty of virtual interaction too. Which is fine: because the Jacksons have shown us how well it can go! Yay for Zoom Through a Book!

Elijah also showed signs of surprising maturity yesterday, at least in one small area. Apropos of nothing he told me, "sixty plus sixty is one hundred twenty," and then asked what 120 + 120 would be.

"Well," I said, "What's a hundred plus a hundred?"

"Oh," he said. "It's... two hundred and forty. And two hundred and forty plus two hundred and forty is four hundred and eighty. Four hundred and eighty plus four hundred and eighty is eight hundred and... no, it's nine hundred something."

Well! I'd included a lot about place value and adding tens and ones in my plans for his math work this school year, but I guess we won't need to work too hard on that! I can tell you that we didn't do anything more than add one-digit number last year, and not too much of that (I did work to build the foundation for understanding place value... but I didn't know how well he was listening). We'll just add it to the folder labeled "unschooling works." And maybe think about introducing some algebra this fall?

Because now we weren't meeting a nine-months pregnant mama with a kid in a stroller, we got warmed up for our beach time with a little hike. Berry Pond is in Harold Parker State Forest—tucked up at the edge of the sprawling preserve—and the forest is just packed with trails. We followed one pretty much at random, and while there was some nervousness from some of the party about just how long our loop would be, it ended up being a beautiful hike.

When we got back to the pond it was still empty, and we were hot and sweaty enough to appreciate the chilliness of the water. Berry Pond is smaller than Walden and the water isn't as clear, but despite being in a pretty regular suburban town it feels much more like a backwoods mountain swimming hole. If it weren't for the ropes restricting swimming to just a tiny area around the beach, it would be amazing. Just look at those rocks on the other side! No swimming there, sadly.

As we ate lunch the beach started to fill up—by which I mean three or four other groups arrived. No worries, there was still plenty of space for us to make an epic sand castle city. It was a good warm up for our planned trip to the Cape next week, because there were no waves or tide to threaten our city walls; except when someone splashed too close, that is. We lost the lighthouse on the point that way, but never mind, we quickly rebuilt it.

While we would have loved to spend some quality time swimming with friends, it was also nice to have an quiet outing just with us boys. We're trying to collect our thoughts as we get ready to head into the new "school year" and the way everything played out was just fine for an easy and relaxing outing. We'll take it.

Then yesterday we set out to have a little bit more of an adventure in a new-to-us woods, the October Farm Riverfront in Concord: maybe half a mile as the crow flies from where we were the day before, but five or miles away by road. Because the river! We were delighted to find a varied landscape of steep hills, marshes, and vernal pools—and, of course, the river.

Actually, Lijah wasn't delighted at first—he was cold. The day was fall-like and he regretted his shorts and sandals. Running up and down the hills helped a little, and then it warmed up and he got distracted by fun things to explore and climb on, like this mysterious structure built into the side of the hill.

Plus there were all the things to notice and pick up: oak galls, mussel shells, blue jay feathers. Frogs—not that they had any luck with the river frogs, but they sure had fun trying! Toads are easier game, we find. The other day a friend who runs a leadership consulting business offered the idea of "forest bathing" in his weekly email; the idea is that the "sounds of the forest, the scent of the trees, the sunlight playing through the leaves, the fresh, clean air—these things give us a sense of comfort." I'm not sure if we were doing it right, but it sure did feel good to spend some hours and miles out in the woods!