Tag: Parenting

Old Growth: Towering Redwoods and the Family Tree

Posted on August 6, 2011 by

We depart sunny Miranda early on this July morning.  40 parents, grandparents, children, aunts, uncles and cousins squeezing into a parade of wagons, hybrids and SUVs.  As we enter the Avenue, a canopy slowly begins to grow over us.  The sunlight dims and our car instantly becomes neighbors with the towering trees hugging the road.  Past Rockefeller Grove, the Founder’s Tree, and the beauty of the Eel River, we travel deeper along route 254 into the Humboldt Redwoods State Park.  One after another, the massive posts from times before swish by as we creep towards our destination.  The line of cars, carrying generations of family, pull off the highway and we spill out into the forest.


The Winifred Brown Bell Grove, along the Avenue of the Giants, is a turnoff like many others along the road.  Noted by the standard California State Park brown and gold lettered sign, we park and douse ourselves with bug spray to guard off the mosquitoes bound to exist along the way.  The 40 descendents of the Brown family gather for the required photo to document our journey to this magical space.  Children and dogs pose with anticipation, eager to scamper along the path, destination unknown and really unimportant.  It’s the journey amongst the trees that they look forward to.

As we move deeper into the grove, lush emerald green ferns replace the dirt corridor of the entrance.  Their verdant carpet encroaches on the foot space, cautioning us to tread lightly-poison oak adding another element of excitement.  The air cools, making me glad to have my warm sweatshirt.  We pause, photographing a huge tree or a massive, upturned root hosting a bevy of fern and new growth.  We caution the children again, hoping that they stay focused and on the path.  Stellar Jays announce their presence, golden butterflies dart through my line of sight.  The group spreads out, some going left on the longer loop, hoping to extend the sensory delight just a bit longer.  I can’t see my son or daughter, but I sense that they’re moving forward along the path.  Someone will be watching them.

I pause, absolutely mesmerized by the sight before me.  Where did this glory come from?  How could I not have known this existed?  How can this image remain untouched, unchanged, for centuries?  Such splendor, such lushness, such beauty, such…bigness.  Freedom.  Growth.  Awesomeness.  I am so undersized, honored to be in their presence.

I look up, and only a sliver of blue sky is visible between the towering trees.  I am small, almost insignificant in this landscape.  My children and husband catch up to me, and we pose amid the ferns, part of a larger family group yet perfectly isolated at this moment.  Like the seedlings that once began this landscape, I realize again that my offspring have immense potential.  Nothing limits them; nothing keeps them from achieving their dreams.  Their growth, nurtured by their guardian hosts, stretches before us, soaring with possibility.

What I learned at Winnie’s Grove is that growth happens.  Hosted and nurtured by our families, cautiously curious as we dash along the path of life, we all contribute to the development of our children.  Time inches along, slowly and subtly raising them to heights we may never know.   Hidden groves and untapped potential lie before them, their existence eager for exploration.

What I’m still learning is how to let go and let them wander among the giants.  They will turn left or right as they choose, hopefully remembering the path  leading back to their hosts, their strong family tree.

Jennifer Wolfe

Jennifer Wolfe, a writer-teacher-mom, is dedicated to finding the extraordinary in the ordinary moments of life by thinking deeply, loving fiercely, and teaching audaciously. Jennifer is a Google Certified Educator, Hyperdoc fanatic, and a voracious reader. Read her stories on her blog, mamawolfe, and grab free copies of her teaching and parenting resources.

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The Plunge: Taking A Dive Into Life

Posted on July 15, 2011 by

I have never dived off a high dive, scuba dived, sky dived or ski raced.  I don’t like heights, and can’t imagine anything worse than freefalling through space.  Aside from never having a career as an astronaut or stunt woman, it hasn’t really impacted me that much.  That is, until I saw my children taking WAY more chances than I ever have or anticipate doing in my lifetime.
My kids like to go fast and get to the top of things.  Since they were independently mobile they have consistently sought the highest point and the quickest route to get there.  My son has no fear.  I would say that it’s a boy-thing, but his sister is usually right in front of him in line for each adventure.  When Lily was very, very small she entertained the parents watching their young swimmers at Community Pool by decisively jumping off the high dive.  I think she was all of three or four years old, and she just jumped.  I nearly fell off the concrete steps, but she just popped right up and the crowd cheered.
My daughter started gymnastics at age 2 and continued for 12 more years, defying gravity and making me hold my breath at every competition.  She only stopped recently to focus on ski racing and proudly texted me in May when she was clocked going 60 mph on a radar gun.  On skis.
This week I watched her brother dutifully complete his swimming lessons each day at Community Pool, knowing that when the whistle blew he would be able to satisfy his yearning to fly.  Eagerly he scurried up the high dive ladder, trotted along the diving board and flung his body towards the lifeguard tower, only at the very last moment dipping his head down and diving into the deep end.  As if time was suspended, I flashed back to years earlier when his sister performed her own defiance of gravity, and held my breath until he surfaced.  Over and over again he jumped, soared and dove, each plunge pushing him further and further towards his goal of reaching the lifeguard tower, each leap delineating the courage that I will never have.
Watching my children dive into life, I have learned that I need to trust that they will be ok.  They might try different moves, from different altitudes, at different speeds, and sometimes they might even surface sputtering and out of breath.  But they keep pushing forward, determined to take it a little bit farther each time, and that makes me shine with pride.  What courage they have-courage that I’m still learning.  That, and how to not pass out from holding my breath until they come up for air.

Jennifer Wolfe

Jennifer Wolfe, a writer-teacher-mom, is dedicated to finding the extraordinary in the ordinary moments of life by thinking deeply, loving fiercely, and teaching audaciously. Jennifer is a Google Certified Educator, Hyperdoc fanatic, and a voracious reader. Read her stories on her blog, mamawolfe, and grab free copies of her teaching and parenting resources.

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The Beginning of the Blog

Posted on June 27, 2011 by

the beginning of the blog

This photo is one of my very favorites of my children. It was taken when Lily was three, and Cameron only a month old. When I think of my children in my ‘mind’s eye’, this is how I see them. Although it’s been nearly 12 years, I still see them at this stage in their life–full of wonder, trust, and love.

Not to say that all that is gone now, but as they’ve grown taller (than me), matured, and have begun moving through their lives, some of that childish innocence has gotten pushed back into my memory. Still to me, mamawolfe, I see them as in this image. Ready for what the world has to show them, ready to be wrapped in loving arms, ready to be embraced by life’s experiences.

 

I remember wondering how I was going to navigate motherhood with two babies. The delivery nurse warned my mother that women like me ‘had a hard time’ because we were used to being in control. I was sure that wouldn’t be the case. As it turned out, my daughter wasn’t the easiest infant-everything had to be ‘just so’-maybe a little bit of nurture mixed in with nature? Luckily before Cameron was born she turned into a wonderful, independent toddler. The ‘terrible twos’ were non-existent in our house. My son, born a bit premature, was thankfully a ‘goo-ball’ of delight. He loved to be held and cuddled any old way, which turned out to be my saving grace. Somehow, I muddled through infancy and toddlerhood.

 

What I’ve learned is that motherhood isn’t something that you can program, or plan, or predict. It just is. When I tried to make things happen the way the books, or the friends, or the family said they should be I was miserable. When I gave in to motherhood and stopped trying to control, everything usually went much more smoothly. What I’m still learning is that as my children grow, mature, and become independent, I need to remember them as they are in my ‘mind’s eye’, and not try to mold them into what I think they should be. I need to give in to motherhood, even with teenagers, and hopefully, things will go smoothly.

So far, it’s been pretty darn great.

Jennifer Wolfe

Jennifer Wolfe, a writer-teacher-mom, is dedicated to finding the extraordinary in the ordinary moments of life by thinking deeply, loving fiercely, and teaching audaciously. Jennifer is a Google Certified Educator, Hyperdoc fanatic, and a voracious reader. Read her stories on her blog, mamawolfe, and grab free copies of her teaching and parenting resources.

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