Farm life

This redirection – from big city life to rural farm life – has put us where we were needed most, helping to care for Grandma. It has also allowed Harry to get to know his Grandma in a way that wasn’t possible during our brief visits to Wisconsin.

And as Harry gets to know Grandma, Grandma gets to know her grandson, which has brought her immeasurable joy and laughter…most of the time.

Walking and talking with Grandma.

There have been some rough spots. I think that’s inevitable when you are living in someone else’s home, living by their rules and finding your place in their space.

An eight-year-old boy with an expansive imagination, pretending to be anything from Luke Skywalker battling Darth Vader to a man-eating crocodile in the Amazon jungle, can be LOUD.

A LOUD eight-year-old boy and an 80-year-old Grandmother don’t always coexist easily. When Grandma wants to relax and fall asleep in her comfortable chair in the living room and Harry wants to battle wither skeletons on the carpet…well, things can get tense.

Harry often says, “All Grandma does is yell at me.” Well, she isn’t really yelling, but she does speak in a very stern tone saying, “Play quietly!” She doesn't understand that saving the world from an alien invasion can’t really be accomplished “quietly.”

There are innumerable experiences that wouldn’t have been, had we still been living in the big city.  We do miss city life, where there is more opportunity and accessibility to so many things.  I’m not suggesting that a child can’t live a full, rich life in a city.  But as a single parent with a full-time job, it would have been very different for us. I would have been sharing my parenting of Harry with some other kind of caregiver.

Rural farm life has given Harry the freedom to run with abandon around a big yard, to jump and to climb, to lay under the stars on a blanket in the barnyard in complete darkness watching meteors streak across the sky.

He’s been able to sled in that same barnyard and snowshoe through and explore Grandma’s Big Woods. To build a snow fort, igloo style, in the front yard and a tree fort (without the tree) in the backyard. To learn tricks on his favorite rope swing, to enjoy parades with elephants and giraffes at the annual Barnum & Bailey Circus parade, to go to festivals and fairs, to hike and to chase wild turkeys and track a doe with her newborn fawn.

 

Clocking hours on the rope swing.

He found a shed (deer antlers) the first time he went looking. That, by the way, totally frustrated his Uncle Tommy who shed hunts as a hobby and knows how difficult it is to find discarded antlers.

Harry has been fascinated by and in sheer wonder of so many animals that we’ve encountered like a Bald Eagle (only feet away) trying to lift a raccoon carcass off the road, a white tailed buck (that would have been a grand prize giant shed) or countless other creatures like rabbits, skunks, snakes, guinea fowl, fallow deer, pileated woodpeckers, songbirds, raccoons, badgers, groundhogs, moles and voles, frogs and toads.

He has gone from a near paralyzing fear of chickens to venturing into the coop to “pet” his feathered friends and gather eggs.

 

Collecting eggs from his chicken friends.

Harry has learned the value of a quiet walk in the woods and fresh air to breathe (except during late spring when the liquid manure trucks are rumbling past the house.) He ‘s learned about crops, farming and planting trees to renew the forest.  He’s ridden a tractor and a combine, high above the corn during harvest and learned to put up hay. He’s watched, intrigued, as vegetables and flowers sprouted from the ground in our little garden. He’s learned to ride a bike (well, almost!)

Knee high by the Fourth of July, a common saying of corn farmers in the Midwest.

Just after his first ride, ever, in a combine...

Harry’s learned to ski and snowshoe. He’s been the first to make tracks in the snow after an overnight storm and to see how the snow leaves a sparkling blanket over the pine forest. He likes to just lie down on the grass, his head on my shoulders, to watch the clouds drift overhead while watching for shapes of dragons and castles.

He’s learned that people don’t actually “put dead animals in the walls,” but mount the head and shoulders of a prize deer as a trophy. As an aside…there are a lot of dead animals on the walls of Wisconsin!

All these things are experiential and educational and will make Harry a well-rounded person. He’ll remember these things as he continues to grow in what is a very diverse, amazing and sometimes challenging world.

My rural upbringing and my big city living as an adult, gave me a perspective and knowledge that I don’t think I would have, had I done one without the other. Having both in my background has certainly influenced the way I see the world.

We are grateful for all these things and most importantly grateful for our time together and for all the adventures we have had.

Here, for now, Harry and I are thriving in a safe, nurturing, and sometimes LOUD environment.  

 

Just another day in Wisconsin.

If we build it

Necessity is the mother of invention, but for Harry, there doesn’t have to be a need…just the idea and the desire to make it happen.

In the short time that we have been living with Grandma, surrounded by her spacious yard, Harry has had a desire to fill up that space. He’s been inspired to build…a lot.

The list includes:

A tunnel under the road leading into the barnyard

A racecar

A racecar track

A waterfall (the size of which would make Iguazu Falls look like a stream)

A tropical rainforest

A robot

An army of robots

A spaceship

A rocket

A large building in which to build the rocket

A rocket launch pad

A laboratory

A sailing ship

A dock (for the sailing ship)

A dinosaur habitat

A dinosaur paddock (for the really aggressive dinosaurs)

A space satellite

A space satellite launch pad

A soccer field

A movie studio

A library

An Olympic-sized swimming pool

A tree house (2 stories with walls, doors and windows)

Most of our challenges came in sourcing the materials: large amounts of steel and wood, other metals, electronics, flora and fauna, an excavator and, of course, the actual know-how required in building such things.

We did manage to get Grandma to agree to the building of a tree house…well, more of an elevated fort since there wasn’t a suitable tree in her yard. And, unfortunately, it would be a scaled down model from the version in Harry’s imagination: no walls, doors or windows. I reminded Harry, again, of the need to get permission from Grandma before commencing the build, since it is her yard after all. Her house. Her rules.

We also had to enlist the help of Uncle Gilbert, my sister’s husband. I managed to buy the necessary wood, wood screws, various fasteners and tarp (for the roof) without much trouble.

I have been known to handle a hammer with competency; to wield a drill; and to repair just about anything that needs repairing. I’ve helped friends put up a privacy fence around their pool; installed a floating wood floor; renovated three bathrooms – one down to the studs.

And I’ve scraped and sanded and painted Grandma’s garage doors and porch, cleaned and patched and painted Grandma’s kitchen (including patching a gaping hole in the wall above the stove where the exhaust fan used to be), repaired screen doors, installed shelving and even replaced a supporting post in Grandma’s grape arbor that had rotted away at its base.

In order to replace the arbor post I had to find a suitably straight tree trunk in the woods, cut it to the right length (8 feet) with a hand saw, drag it out of the woods and through the yard to the arbor, sand off the bark (keeps it from retaining moisture) and then wrestle the existing cross poles – covered in vines – onto the new supporting post.

I remember the day that I finished that task.  When I brought Grandma out to see the result of my hard work she marveled, “I didn’t know you could do that kind of stuff.”

My response?  “I am woman, hear me roar.”

But back to the tree fort: Actually getting Uncle Gilbert to participate in building our fort was another matter all together.  He can be a bit…a bit…well, let’s just say difficult.  He’s not one to offer his help.

I thought it best that Harry be the one to ask. In fact I was convinced that we had a much better chance of success if Harry used his little boy voice, his little face all screwed up with his “aren’t I the cutest thing you’ve ever seen” expression.

And we did. Uncle Gilbert begrudgingly agreed.

Gilbert is a self-taught carpenter with pretty impressive skills. He doesn’t talk much, except to grumble a disparaging comment from time to time. Or just to groan a half answer to a question you’ve asked, leaving you to wonder what he actually said. But knowing not to ask again.

He’s good with measurements and angles and the actual construction of whatever the project.  He is, however, one of those people who settle for just done, not necessarily done right. 

I am not.

Harry drew and handled the blueprints, showing them to Uncle Gilbert periodically. And he pounded a few nails.

My questions that began with “Shouldn’t we…” were answered with a curt “no, it’s good enough” more times than I care to even remember. This, a challenge, since I’m trying to teach Harry, “Anything worth doing is worth doing well.”

Putting those small conflicts aside, we built Harry’s fort in two days over two weekends. We christened it “Harry Island.”

Harry even pounded a few nails. Participating gave him a better understanding and appreciation of what it takes to build something like that. And, of course, an understanding and appreciation of what it would take to build a rocket, a rocket launch pad, a spaceship, a tunnel under the road to the barnyard, a race car, a race car track, a waterfall, a tropical jungle…

A happy boy with an almost complete fort and a sense of accomplishment.

Harry Island is located on Grass Avenue, Grandma's backyard, Wisconsin.

Curiouser and Curiouser

Anyone that has a curious child had better be on their toes 24/7. Answering questions peppered in rapid succession while driving to the grocery store and wondering aloud about altered reality, needs to be accepted as de rigueur. 

“What if my head was 500 times the size it is right now?” 

I suppose there might be times when your brain is occupied with adult thoughts like how much it’s going to cost to repair the 4 Runner’s broken air conditioner and your instinct is to just respond: “That’s ridiculous!” or “That’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard…now, eat your lunch.” But, with the patience of Job, you consider the content of the question and answer with a seriousness of tone that mimics the questioner.

“Well, I suppose it would be difficult to hold up a head that size on a regular sized body. And I don’t suppose you would be able to fit through doors or enter too many buildings with such a big head."

This questioning stage based on curiosity and wonder came on the heels of a period of time when my child uttered the word ‘Mom’ 4,000 times a day – at a minimum. At times, the utterance wasn’t followed by any cogent thought, but it seems simply saying the word ‘Mom’ itself offered comfort. Curiosity and wonder, of course, are vital character traits for a would-be scientist. Wondering at the world and all that is in it occupies most of your day. There are the many, many questions but also the statements of fact, known to be the absolute truth to anyone your child’s age. Duh! 

Some questions:

“What would happen if people had 4 legs and 3 arms?” 

“Do aliens have birthdays?”

“Why is the grass green?” Followed quickly by “Why is the sky blue?” 

“Wouldn’t it be cool if you could walk upside down?” 

“How many trees are there on the planet Earth?” 

There are the questions of a more spiritual nature: 

“Does God have a headquarters in outer space?” 

“When you die, do you go up or down from the earth?” 

 “Did you know that there are only two people in the world who know everybody? God and Santa.” 

There are questions of perceived necessity: 

“Is there such a thing as a pee vacuum?” 

“If you had a super power, what would it be?” 

“Did you know that your head is waterproof?” 

"Did you know that your head is waterproof?"

And then there are the random thoughts, standing on their own, that come seemingly out of the blue: 

“I love the word ‘underwear.’” 

“I’m going to be somebody famous some day! But do not tell anyone else. Keep a low profile.” 

“I’m going to win the Nobel Prize for inventing stuff.” 

“I don’t want to spend my entire life in America. I want to see the world and travel.” 

“I always wanted to try a turtleneck sweater.” 

Sometimes a wise eight-year-old just wants to offer his time-honored insight:

One morning Harry came across me in the bedroom and I was crying. “Mommy why are you crying?” he asked with great concern. I told him that something had made me sad. He quickly offered, “It’ll be alright.” Then added, “Sometimes life is like that.” 

Another day, we were getting ready for school and it was a particularly rough morning. Harry was really tired (which often happens when we hit Thursday of a full week of early mornings going to school) and I was tired too. I hadn’t slept very much for a few nights, so I was kind of emotionally raw. I was trying to talk to him about trying to be a good boy and to help me when he could and to try to listen better, etc. etc. My voice started to crack but Harry was listening quite attentively. I managed to say through my tears, “I’m doing the best that I can, Harry.” To which he replied, “It’s O.K. Mom, you’re getting the hang of it!” 

A day doesn’t go by without my son surprising me by sharing a certain thought or asking a particularly challenging question. But there also isn’t a day that goes by without him bringing a smile to my face and a little shake of my head, a physical indicator of my astonishment at the curiosities of a young working brain. 

Seeing the world through the eyes (and the mind) of a child like this is an incomparable experience. To wonder again at things that you had forgotten are close to miraculous, to see possibilities where you thought there was simply no chance, to be buoyed by the ebullience inherent in the voice of a child constantly in search of discovery…Well, nothing compares.

But I would be amiss not to mention the sheer humor involved in raising such a child: 

“One small step for a man, one giant leap for mankind…that happened a thousand years ago, Mom…when you were nine.”

My Astronaut.

The pet question

We were driving back to the house after a doctor’s appointment, when Harry asked, “Mom, when we get our new home, can we get a dog?”

We talk about leaving Grandma’s house sooner than later, and having our own home where we would make our own rules and decisions. Living in someone else’s home, as I’ve explained to Harry about living in Grandma’s, you are obliged to follow their rules. This would include Grandma’s “no pets” policy.

“I would love for you to have a dog, Sweetie. What kind of dog would you like to have?”

There was an instant smile on his face and his voice grew excited.

“A golden retriever!”

“Hmm, a golden retriever, huh? Why a golden retriever?”

“Well, honestly, Mom, I don’t know much about a golden retriever.  I just like the way the name sounds.”

“Golden retriever,” Harry repeated.

I’ve pictured Harry running around the yard, his dog following at his heels. Stopping, breathless and falling into a heap on the grass, his dog on top of him, excited, licking his face and then barking out his happiness.  And for some reason, I’ve always pictured a Lab. Chocolate, yellow or white, but always a Lab.

My imaginings of Labradors may be due to our friends, Allison and Barry, who have owned and loved a succession of amazing and beautiful white Labs, all rescue dogs.

“What about a Lab? A chocolate Lab?  Chocolate Labrador! Doesn’t’ that sound neat?”

And I went on to explain, “There are white Labs, yellow Labs and chocolate Labs.”

“It does sound cool! … A chocolate Labrador!” Harry repeated it several times.

Having decided on the breed of our (for now) imaginary dog, the conversation continued to the inevitable question: “What would you name your dog, Harry?”

He thought long and hard. I mean, really long…

To spur the process on, I explained, “It should probably be something that would be easy to yell, you know, when you call him? And actually, there’s another question – Would you want a male for a female dog?”

“I think a boy.” He quickly answered.

Harry has longed for a play companion, and I’ve had to explain more than once why I just couldn’t give him a brother or a sister. A complex topic, not really easily explained to a now 8-year-old.

But shouldn’t every kid have a dog? Especially an only child?

Kids with dogs have fewer cases of allergies and asthma. In fact scientists have found that kids who grow up around dogs are 50% less likely to develop allergies and asthma than kids who grow up without a dog. It makes for a sturdier immune system.

Kids with pets also demonstrate improved impulse control, social skills and self-esteem. And certainly therapy dogs (and an attempt to take a peacock on a plane) are evidence that cuddling a pet reduces stress, loneliness and anxiety.

Pets are a source of companionship and give us (not only the child, but the family) emotional support and can lead to a child’s positive emotional development.

And then there’s the sense of responsibility, being the caregiver for another living thing.  Making sure the dog is fed, watered and exercised.  Harry has a big heart and would be a good dog owner and I’m certain that he could run circles around any dog when it comes to exercise and expending energy!

We (my brother, my sister and I) had a dog when we were growing up.  I remember when my dad came to the house to deliver it and in fact, it’s one of very few childhood memories that remain vivid with detail. I would guess I was around 6 years old; my sister 8 and my brother just 2.

A mostly black furry ball was hidden in my dad’s arms as he walked onto the porch. I was there waiting for him, which I imagine having done a lot after my parent’s divorce. Dad revealed his surprise – a puppy.  He bent down for me to touch it and leaned in to whisper his name in my ear.  I vaguely remember that it was so my brother and sister could guess the name that only I had been told. I didn’t hear him the first time or just didn’t understand it, so he repeated it a second and a third time. 

Dandy was a good dog, living to a ripe old age before he left us. I remember him always there…a part of our family.

I’ve told Harry that story a few times and repeated it now to keep the conversation going.

“So, what do you think, Harry?” I asked. “What would you name your dog?”

“Stephen Hawking,” was the name that came from my scientist’s lips.

And so it will be:  Harry, Stephen Hawking and me – a family.

 

"This dog just loves me!"
Harry played fetch with a dog at a hilltop farm during a cousin's birthday party for nearly an hour.