From the Mouths of Babes

This month, I had the great pleasure of attending my first SCBWI (Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators) conference. It was a regional meeting for the Midwest held in Davenport, Iowa – a 3-day affair featuring presentations by outstanding published children’s authors, literary agents, and publishers. Attending all the informative sessions made me feel like I was back in college again. I felt invigorated by each speaker’s insights and messages. Equally beneficial was meeting many wonderful writers from Illinois, Iowa, Minnesota, Wisconsin, and Indiana who share the same love for children and the power of children’s literature. I have to say, children’s writers are perhaps the friendliest people on earth. I’ve attended many other conferences, but this one was different. Everyone was an instant friend and kindred spirit.

In the days before I went, I was battling with that dreaded beast writers fight – Imposter Syndrome. Though I’ve been writing for five years, taking tons of courses, participating in critique groups, paying for professional critiques, and even experimenting with self-publishing some of my stories, I’ve struggled to feel like a “real writer.” I thought I was on my way to feeling “real” last year when I landed a contract with a literary agent. But alas, she could not sell my manuscript within six months, so my contract was not renewed. Opportunity had slipped through my fingers so quickly. This is one of many harsh realities of the writer’s journey.

I learned from the conference and visits with others that this is all part of the writing experience. There are many obstacles for writers before they become published, just as there are for agents. One agent told of how she must wade through 5000 queries per year, and of those 5000, she may sign on only two new clients. Also, 80% of her attention is devoted to serving her older clients, so the time she must consider new manuscripts is minimal. It’s a wonder anyone can get traditionally published.

The other great struggle for me is being prolific in developing new ideas. Though I spend time writing, revising, and studying the craft daily, I can go for long periods without new ideas. At the conference, I met a lovely woman from Wisconsin who also struggles with writer’s block. She admitted it was tough to come up with ideas for new stories because she’d lost her husband a year ago and was still adjusting. She lives on a farm in Wisconsin and struggles to hold it together, yet doesn’t want to leave. She mentioned chickens. I understood. I lived in the country for many years and raised chickens. I’ve grieved over leaving rural life and have missed my little feathered friends for years. They were a great delight for me – therapy really when I became my parents’ caretaker toward the end of their lives. While this discussion was taking place, another woman sat beside us and chimed in. She turned to me and said, “You should write about your chickens. There’s a book in there.”  

You could have knocked me over with a feather. It was so obvious. Why hadn’t I thought about writing about my love for chickens? I came home and did just that as soon as the conference ended. I was amazed at how quickly the story poured out of me, and my critique members praised it. Perhaps that’s because it’s a story from my heart.

I’m reminded of my precocious granddaughter, who is now twelve but has said insightful things for her entire life. Once, she told me a tale of something she imagined, and I asked her what would happen. She responded, “We don’t know what we don’t know, Grandma.” Her straightforward, profound statement took my breath away. She was right. We don’t know what we don’t know. So why not just take a chance, a risk, and put our words – our thoughts – our efforts out there for the world to consider? Maybe something will resonate, and we will grow from it.

So that is now my mantra whenever I’m feeling writer’s block. I don’t know what I don’t know, but I’ll never find out if I don’t try.

Because April makes me think of Spring Chickens, under Recommended Reads, you can learn more about Chicken Talk, a picture book by Patricia Maclachlan, illustrated by Jarrett J. Krosoczka, Published by Katherine Tegen Books, 2019.

And under Activities, you’ll find a “Scrambled Eggs” chicken-themed worksheet.

Spring in Full Swing

Here in Illinois, tulips and daffodils are poking their way through the soil. Once again, our weeks are filled with the typical gamut of weather experiences – frost in the mornings, rainy days, high winds, and temperatures that fluctuate between 23 and 80 degrees. One of my favorite parts of this transitional time between seasons is the gentle sound of raindrops on our roof as I fall asleep at night and how clean and refreshed the world looks when I awaken.

Another favorite spring event is author Vivian Kirkfield’s 50 Precious Words Writing Contest. I find this one the most challenging of all the writing contests for children’s authors. Entries must have a complete arc (beginning, middle, and end), be child-relatable, and have no more than 50 words.

Authors may submit any genre for children – fiction, non-fiction, poetry, free verse, or rhyme. Ms. Kirkfield has lined up some fantastic prizes for the winners, including critiques from authors and publishers, writing courses, and free books. The prizes alone are a huge draw to participants, but being able to write a story in only 50 words is the draw for me. It’s much more complicated than you might think.

My entry this year is a lyrical piece about Rain and watersheds, at 49 words.

Rain Dance

By Julie Lerczak

As we dip and dash from cloudbursts,

a trillion tiny droplets tip-tap far and wide.

They boogie-woogie into brooks,

slide toward bigger streams,

waltz across the land,

rock-and-roll in one mighty river,

then lunge toward the sea,

a wonderous world of twirling, swirling currents,

a pulsing raindrop celebration.

Whether or not I win any prizes doesn’t matter, although it would be nice. I am just thrilled that I was able to convey a story in so few words poetically. 

If you’d like to read more entries and follow Vivian’s blog (Vivian Kirkfield: Writer for Children), check out the following link:

https://wordpress.com/read/feeds/10397717/posts/5141006197

There are so many wonderful entries and talented writers participating that you’ll surely want to pour a cup of coffee and treat yourself to this diversity of brilliant expressions.

This month, you can check out my review of Rain Before Rainbows by Smriti Prasadam-Halls, illustrated by David Litchfield, under Recommended Reads. See my Blown Paint Rainstorm project under Activities for a fun, rain-themed art activity.

Growth Experiences

It happens every February here in the Midwest. There will be days and days of endless cold and grey and heavy snowfall. Then, our lives are suddenly graced by a couple of bright sunny days with temperatures in the 60s. I’m thrilled by this brief visit of Spring, who is trying her best to re-enter our lives. But I’m no fool. I know that plenty of cold grey days still lie ahead before winter finally backs off to make way for something new.

These sneak peeks at Spring lift my spirits and awaken my soul to begin growing again. I’m already longing to sink my hands into the dirt and plant unusual heirloom vegetables and flowers that will draw butterflies and hummingbirds to my yard.

In the past, at this time, I’ve tried lots of different indoor gardening projects, like growing mushrooms and various sprouts for salads. And I usually start seed flats of herbs and tomatoes. But honestly, I have so many houseplants right now that I don’t have room for seed flats. So, what to do with this itch to be growing?

I’ve decided to focus on a different way of growing this year –growing my skills and knowledge about the natural world. I have long been interested in foraging and, in small ways, have dabbled in the craft for the last decade. The more I learn, the more I want to know, and the more I understand, the more I appreciate my ancestors and the closer I feel to Earth. 

My grandparents liked hunting and fishing, finding mushrooms, and gathering walnuts. Perhaps the seeds of my foraging notions were passed down from them. Whatever the reason, I’ve committed to learning more this year by volunteering to present a workshop for our local park district on what I’ve successfully learned about foraging in the wild. 

While foraging can be an iffy venture, there are many rewards. The first and most important thing to know is to GET EDUCATED because there are many things you don’t want to forage, as they can cause injury or death.

I recommend reading many books with wonderful pictures and identification tips to help you should you pursue such a venture. Also, it’s best to begin with things guaranteed to be safe – things like dandelions, wild chamomile, or violets.

Foraged foods can offer many health and well-being benefits. Some plants are considered “superfoods,” which are nutrient-rich, while others help build our immune systems. But what I think is most fun is discovering new wild flavors. Tasting things, the way bunnies, deer, or squirrels taste them, can open up an entirely different perspective on food and survival.

This month, I’d like to encourage my readers to learn something new about safe, wild edibles that might be growing right beneath your feet. It could very well change your world. And, at the very least, it will broaden your self-sufficiency.

Some great resources to check out include:

Let’s Eat Weeds: A Kids Guide to Foraging by Annie Raser-Rowland and Adam Grubb

Midwest Foraging: 115 Wild and Flavorful Edibles from Burdock to Wild Peach by Lisa M. Rose

Family Foraging: A Fun Guide to Gathering and Eating Wild Plants by David Hamilton

Foraging With Kids: 52 Wild and Free Edibles to Enjoy with Your Children by Adele Nozedar

For my February Recommended Read, check out my review of The Hike by Alison Farrell.

And begin to learn more about foraging wild edibles with my Dandy Dandelions recipes found in the Activities section of this blog.

Snow Days – Slow Days

Blue Minimalist Watercolor Blank Paper A4 Document – 2

I’m the type of person who keeps busy and fills my days with many activities. So much so that when I’m all caught up on projects, I feel lost and even guilty that I’m not doing something “productive.” My husband often shakes his head at me and tells me I need to learn to slow down. If only it were that easy. But I’m trying, and slowly, I’m getting the hang of it and learning that slowing down is not to be confused with laziness. It’s actually pretty crucial to our mental well-being. The expression, “All work and no play make Jack a dull boy,” comes to mind.

Being busy all the time makes us so burned out that we get muddled in our thinking, become less creative, and miss out on many of life’s magic moments. Making time for downtime allows us to rejuvenate, and makes us more mindful of life’s sweetness. I live in Illinois, where we have long winters and snowstorms that can bring all activities to a halt. So, even if I am neglectful in carving out my downtime, Mother Nature manages to do it for me.

So, what does downtime look like? Well, it can look like a lot of things. It can be making time to do something you enjoy, like getting a manicure, going out to dinner with friends, watching movies, or spending time in nature. Or, maybe it’s going for a bicycle ride, a drive in the country, cooking, painting, reading, or soaking in a hot bubble bath. It is up to you to decide. And downtime isn’t something just for adults. Kids need it, too. We adults often forget that kids also face pressures and often too much busyness.

Most of the people in my life are very good at enjoying downtime. My daughter’s family periodically spends their Sundays in pajamas, watching movies, snacking, and taking naps. My husband likes to read, listen to music, and do birdwatching. And one of my brothers enjoys taking his dog for long walks. 

This week, we’ve had two snowstorms. Both were doozies, and temperatures have now dropped to negative numbers. My house is clean, we’re stocked with food, laundry is done, Christmas decorations are packed away, walks are shoveled, and bills are paid. I have no reason not to take it slow.

As luck would have it, I received several Christmas gifts this year that are all about slowing down and savoring quiet, reflective time. I received some easy-to-make soup mixtures to throw in a pot and simmer, an interesting history book about the world’s most significant artifacts, and a beautiful big jigsaw puzzle of a garden. I haven’t done a jigsaw for ages and wonder why. I used to love doing them when I was young. But doing puzzles falls by the wayside when you are too busy to enjoy assembling them. I think maybe today is the day I will reinvestigate that old favorite pastime.

So that’s my plan –to be unbusy. I will ponder the world, look out a window at the snow while sipping some savory soup, and consider the myriad shapes of a 1000-piece puzzle. I may even stay in my pajamas all day. I’m honestly excited about trying this. It feels like an adventure of sorts. Is that crazy? Something tells me I’m going to like it, and who knows? This may be the start of learning to build regular days of restoration into my life.

For a good children’s book on slowing down and savoring the sweet things about a winter day, you can read my review of Cathy Camper’s book, Ten Ways to Hear Snow, under Recommended Reads. And, under Activities, I’ve put together A Wintertime Word Search Puzzle, which I recommend you do while enjoying a bowl of popcorn and wearing your pajamas.

It’s That Time Again

It’s hard to believe we are smack in the middle of December already. Where does the time go? One event that many kidlit authors look forward to this month is author Susanna Leonard Hill’s annual Holiday Writing Contest. What makes Hill’s contest so much fun, and challenging is that each year we are given a prompt to develop our stories around and our word limit cannot exceed 250. Those of you out there who think writing children’s books is easy, don’t know the half of it. There are many rules to follow in developing books for young readers and conveying an entertaining tale in a handful of words that show more than tell can be exceedingly difficult.

This year’s contest theme is countdowns. Contest participants are to write a holiday story in 250 words or less with some sort of a countdown, central to the story. And there have been so many creative takes on this challenge. If you’d like to read the entries or join in the fun you can check out the entries on Hill’s blog: https://susannahill.com/blog/

I’ve thrown my hat in the ring and am sharing my story here. It was inspired by my memories of life with a very special cat named Ernie, many long Christmases ago.

Happy Holidays everyone!

Mittens’ First Christmas

There once was a little black furball with snow-white paws.

Mittens was her name, and mischief was her game.

December had arrived and Mittens hid, watching as her family prepared for Christmas.

Ben hung one sprig of mistletoe in the hallway.

Mom polished two golden angels in the dining room.

Maya added three wisemen to the manager.

The mailman delivered four festive cards.

Tonya tied five beautiful bows to packages.

Grandma baked six sugar cookies for Santa’s plate.

Sylvie taped seven shimmery stars to the refrigerator.

Amos arranged eight candy canes in a jar.

Dad draped nine greenery garlands over the windows.

And Grandpa tossed ten rows of tinsel onto the tree.

For weeks Mittens carefully tiptoed and sniffed around the decorations and considered climbing the twinkling tree.

At last, Christmas Eve arrived. Everyone placed gifts beneath the tree, including one for Mittens.

While everyone slept, Mittens’ nose began to twitch. Her package smelled divine!

She frenziedly ripped into the package. Aha– a tiny felt mouse!

Mittens pummeled, licked, and chomped it until suddenly, the room whirled, her eyes swirled and

BA-ZZING…  Mittens went WILD!

Later, everyone awoke to open their gifts. Imagine their surprise finding:

Ten trails of tinsel

Nine lopsided garlands

Eight crushed candy canes        

Seven scattered stars  

Six crumbled cookies 

Five unraveled bows

Four crinkled cards

Three missing wisemen

Two fallen angels

One mangled mistletoe

And Mittens in the Christmas tree!

That was the year Mittens’ family learned you should never give kittens catnip for Christmas.

Practicing Grace

I live in a small town where homelessness isn’t always visible. But in the last month, I’ve noticed a homeless man who sits in various places around town. I first spotted him on a cold, rainy Saturday morning while driving to my pottery class. He was crossing an intersection I was turning onto, and I immediately saw that he was carrying all his belongings in plastic shopping bags. He also wore very old slip-on shoes (too small for his feet) with no socks. ‘How miserable,’ I thought. I could feel his discomfort and hoped he’d find some dry place to shelter.   When class ended, I drove around to see if he was still in the area but couldn’t find him. I thought of him the rest of that day, hoping he was okay.  

A few days later, I spotted him again. This time, he was across the street from the post office. It was a sunny day but frigid, and temperatures were to dip down into the 30s that night. He was sitting at a bus stop against a brick wall, facing the sun as if to absorb its heat. Again, I noted the bare feet in too-small slippers and shuddered, thinking of what he must be enduring.

I’d seen homeless people many times before in big cities like Chicago, St. Louis, and Washington, D.C.– always bothered by their circumstances. But perhaps because seeing a homeless person was so rare in my small town, this man was consuming my thoughts.

I began researching what social services were available in our community to help. And though there were a few options, there weren’t many. And there seemed to be some hoops to jump through to get quick assistance. I began contemplating introducing myself and taking him some food and socks. But I was afraid. What if he was violent or threatening? Then again, what if he wasn’t? What if my fear was holding me back? What if I could make a difference in his life, even if only for a day, an hour, or a few minutes?

I decided to venture into unknown territory and see where it would take me. I went to some stores and bought things to help keep him warm – socks, gloves, a scarf, and earmuffs. And I added some packages of things to eat, like nuts, dried fruit, and jerky. It wasn’t much –but maybe it could help. Then I went looking for him. And wouldn’t you know I couldn’t find him. Perhaps he’d moved on or found someplace to stay. That would be a blessing. But then, what if he hadn’t? What if he had frozen in the night?

When I returned home, I decided to call the police–not to lodge any complaint, but to inquire about available services and if he was on their radar. I was super impressed with our local police department. I spoke to their community services officer, who knew exactly who I was inquiring about and assured me she was speaking to him daily and had a place lined up for him to stay. The problem was he was refusing to stay in the lodging offered. He wasn’t sure it was for him, and he acted like he didn’t want to be a bother to anyone. This surprised me. How could he refuse a warm bed on such cold nights? Such a refusal could result in dying of exposure. No one would offer to help if they thought it was a bother. He had fears I couldn’t understand. The officer assured me she would keep trying to persuade him and, in the meantime, if I wanted to give him some food, he would probably accept it, and I shouldn’t be afraid.

The next night and day that followed were even colder, with temperatures down in the 20s. I was determined to introduce myself to him and take some gifts. I would ask him what he liked to eat and get it for him, whatever it would be. I drove to the corner by the post office. Not there. I went to the Presbyterian church bus stop. Not there. I drove by the YMCA, the train station, and the park just off the town square, looping back around the courthouse, library, and entire downtown area—no sign of him.

I was disappointed not to see him and give him the things I bought, but also hopeful that the officer I spoke with had persuaded him to accept shelter. Perhaps I’d see him again when warmer weather came through, but I didn’t see him for the next two weeks.

And then it happened. In a different place, I saw him curled up on a bench with his plastic bags of belongings scattered around his feet. So tomorrow morning is it!

I will find him, walk up to say hello, lay my gifts at his feet, and wish him peace and a beautiful day. It may not matter or do any good. But my heart says I have to try. 

Since all this interest in homelessness began, I’ve learned that November is National Homeless Awareness Month coincidentally. And a few articles in our local newspapers have been most eye-opening. In a nearby town, a Park District Director reported at a City Council meeting that all 13 of the park’s outdoor restrooms are used by homeless people needing places to sleep. A few of those restrooms even had cots set up in them. She also reported that some people without housing were families with children and reported on the school district’s statistics for children facing homelessness.

Many homeless people don’t live on the street but out of their cars or do couch-surfing – going back and forth between the homes of family or friends that allow them to sleep on their sofas. Imagine what that kind of stress would be like for a child. The little boy or girl your child sits next to in class all day, eats with, and plays with might not be leaving school for a warm and inviting home with their own bed to sleep in. They may not know from day to day where they will sleep or eat. How unsettling and frightening for them, and no doubt such circumstances hamper their health and ability to learn at school.

Homelessness pulls at my heart because long ago, when my dad was only 19 years old, he was homeless, partly by choice and partly out of necessity. He’d left his parents’ house to make a life on his own, moving to Ohio to attend meat-cutting school. He lived on a small loan from his father. Once he completed school, he traveled around to different communities seeking work as a meat cutter.

Finally, he found a community he liked and wanted to stay in. The problem was the loan money was gone, and he had little to live on until he started receiving paychecks. He would live hand to mouth, from check to check, and try to pinch away as much income as possible to save for an apartment and future necessities. He lived out of his car as he attempted to build a little nest egg and repay his dad’s loan. He’d work all day, get off work and find something to eat, then wander, exploring things. He worked with a young man who lived at the YMCA, who let him shower there a few times each week. And when evening rolled around, Dad drove his car to the edge of town and slept in his car behind the city park. This arrangement worked for a while until winter was about to arrive.

Illinois winters can be brutal. Some of Dad’s co-workers, aware of his situation, began to worry about him, so did some investigating. They found an elderly woman who lived alone and would let Dad rent a bedroom cheaply. He agreed to it, and over the next year, she became his friend, often cooking for him and treating him like a son. The kindness and generosity of those caring people gave my father the break he needed to save some of his earnings and have safety and comfort. Within a year, he met the woman who would become my mother, and soon after that, they found a way to marry, buy a house, and welcome me into the world.

As the Thanksgiving holiday approaches, I urge everyone to take stock of all the blessings in their life and to consider ways you can give to others. Express your gratitude to those who care and share. Then, pass it on.

Postscript:

Today was the day! I delivered a backpack filled with helpful items (a scarf, mittens, hat, socks, healthy snacks, and personal hygiene items), coffee, and a McDonald’s lunch. As I approached the gentleman, he sat very still and wary, watching me, and did not answer when I said, “Good Morning.” I sat the backpack, coffee, and lunch beside him and said, “These are for you.” He smiled very slightly and, in a faint voice, said something like “Oh” or “thank you.” It was not clear to me. I decided not to press him for his name or any conversation because I didn’t want him to feel he owed me anything or make his privacy feel threatened. So, I turned and said, “You have a good day.” Then, I walked back to my car and drove away.

I don’t know how he felt about it all, but I know my heart feels better for acknowledging him.

For this month’s Recommended Read, I’ve reviewed The Old Man, a picture book by Sarah V., illustrated by Claude DuBois.

And under Activities, you can learn how to Make A Gratitude Tree with your Thanksgiving guests.

Hooray for Halloween!

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I don’t know what it is about being an adult and enjoying the holidays and seasons more. Perhaps it’s because as you grow older, the faster the years seem to go, and the sweeter the memories of the past become. For instance, I know I am not the only adult who enjoys Halloween. When I was a kid, the adults never dressed up for the celebration, but today, there are so many adult costumes and adult Halloween parties. The same is true for decorating the house for Halloween. My neighbors across the street have been decorating for Halloween for almost a month. Every time I look out the window, I see something new added to their home and lawn. And at night, their lit-up house is the only one on the block announcing, “It’s coming! Can you feel it in the air?”

I decorate for the season, too, though my home has no witches or giant spiders looming from the shutters. I put out mums and pumpkins, and male and female scarecrows flank either side of my front porch. Inside, there are pumpkins and fall décor in all the downstairs rooms. And yes, like so many others, I’m into pumpkin-scented candles and pumpkin-flavored everything. My pumpkin spice coffee with pumpkin spice creamer gives me the perfect jumpstart I need each morning. 

Nowadays, I enjoy looking at all the Halloween items in stores as much as I do the Christmas things. The only thing I don’t enjoy about this season is that I now pay $15 for a bag of treats to give the trick-or-treaters. I’ll have to buy two big bags and one small before it’s all said and done, as we get bombarded by little tricksters on the big night. We are sometimes the only neighbors to have our lights on for trick-or-treaters. Perhaps it’s the cost of the candy that keeps others from participating. It’s also possible that because our neighborhood is predominantly made up of senior citizens, they feel overwhelmed or even anxious about all the strangers that can show up and pound on the door and peer in windows expectantly. For now, though, I enjoy it.

For years, my husband and I lived in the country and never had a single child visit our home on Halloween night, though there were children who lived just a bit down the road. Country children drive to towns for Halloween fun and enjoy activities at churches, YMCAs, schools, or “trunk or treat” events in parking lots. But when Tom and I moved to a town three years ago, we got a big surprise. Halloween was observed over two nights, and there was banging on the door for the first time in our lives. We had just a little over 200 trick-or-treaters in two nights. Some were small and couldn’t speak sentences yet, while others were teenagers, not even wearing costumes but trying hard to hang on to be their childhood selves. 

I knew they would come. I hoped they would come. Though I adore my beautiful grandchildren, I don’t get to see them as often as I like, and I need to have children in my life. I delight in watching kids grow and feel very alive around them.

When our first trick-or-treaters arrived, I would jump up and speed to the door to welcome them and let them pick through the treat bowl.   As more and more children came knocking, my husband couldn’t believe it, and he started answering the door, too. It turns out that this big ol’ guy who pretends not to care about such nonsense does enjoy it and likes being the one to hand out treats.

 I may have white hair and move slightly slower, but my heart is still young, and I enjoy playing. So, I am ready for the little darlings and can hardly wait to see what they wear and pretend to be this year. Maybe I will wear a costume too this year and surprise them when I answer the door!

For this month’s Recommended Reads, I’ve reviewed an old favorite of mine, The Bake Shop Ghost by Jacqueline Ogden – a super sweet ghost story just in time for Halloween.

And under the Activities section of this blog, be sure to check out my instructions for making a beautiful Fall Leaf Luminary.

Thinking Outside and Inside the Box

As summer draws to a close, I can’t help but remember long-ago summer days of discovery and play during my childhood. One of the things that made summers so special was how my Dad always invented things to keep us kids from driving Mom crazy. Three children under ten were undoubtedly a handful for her, with our petty squabbles and toys spread all over the house. Consequently, we were always encouraged to play outdoors whenever possible, which didn’t bother us. The outdoors was where we could be wild.

One time, Dad got the idea to build us a tower of giant stacked wooden spools from the power company. We would climb on them. And a few had little openings cut into the centers so we could crawl inside and hide. We loved our “spool house,” but it couldn’t handle the weight of three kids climbing all over it and all the other neighborhood kids who were drawn to it. So, Dad had to take it down. Then, he came up with a far simpler idea to entertain us. He brought three large cardboard refrigerator boxes for us to do whatever we wished.

We were ecstatic! We collected scissors and tape and dragged the boxes to the back patio, where we quickly began designing our “box houses.” What fun we had defining our little hide-away spaces. We cut windows in the sides to peek at one another and let the breeze flow through. And, of course, we decorated the exteriors with our crayons. If one of us felt grumpy, we could retreat inside our box house and close the flaps, yelling “Keep Out” if we wanted to be alone. But often, we left our doors open and visited each other’s “home.”  I remember that I loved lying inside my box and reading a book or singing to myself. I felt such a peace inside the box.

When interest in our box houses waned, we found other uses. There was a large hill at the back of our property, and we used the flattened boxes to slide down the grassy hill – a way to go sledding in summer! One of my brothers had the bright idea to take a box, open both ends and, crawl inside, then thrust himself into the side, causing the container to tumble down the hill with him in it. The more this was done, the more the boxes broke down and began to lose their corners until they became shaped like giant toilet paper rolls. I wasn’t keen on this particular game, as it made me feel sick and dizzy. But apparently, some kids like that.

Though I now live in a big house with plenty of room, I still sometimes crave a quiet, secret get-away space – a place where I could go to create, dream, and nap – something like a studio space. For now, the basement has become my studio, and while that space serves my needs, I miss the sunlight and wish I had a flap to lift so I could look out on the world or allow bird and cricket songs to reach me.

Before we moved to our current home, I had these same longings and decided to do something about it. I built a “she shed” from found lumber, pallets, discarded windows, and sheets of tin. The result was a structure that would never pass any building code but nevertheless had an abundance of charm, light, and energy that inspired me. And I did manage to do a small amount of creating there, daydreaming, and even a few siestas. I don’t know if it’s true for all people, but in my experience, having a tiny place to call your own, where you can hide and make room for growing big ideas, is something that began in me when I was small and still a part of who I am. Perhaps it all started with that first box gifted to me by my Dad.

For this month’s Recommended Read, you can read about Jane Yolen’s picture book, What To Do with a Box. There, I have also provided links to websites with some genuinely awesome ideas for making things from boxes.

Bygone Butterflies

In the 1960s, one of my favorite summertime activities was catching and observing insects. I had a little net and a “bug jar” that I’d place insects in for study. My bug jars were usually mason jars with nail holes hammered into the lids to create air holes for whatever I caught. I’d prepare the jar for its visitors by adding some sticks, grass, or leaves so the insects I caught could crawl on something. 

Since I was terrified of bees and wasps, they were never on my capture list. I mainly focused on moths, butterflies, fireflies, beetles, ants, and spiders. I loved watching them up close and studying the details of their curious bodies and behaviors until it was time to release them.

Of all the insects I caught, butterflies were the most enjoyable and challenging to catch. Butterflies just have a sense of when something is approaching too near, and they take off in zig-zaggy flight, making for an exciting chase. It’s only when they find an irresistible spot of nectar that they can’t ignore that you can actually have a chance at capturing them. If not, you might have more luck catching injured ones with damaged wings or missing legs. 

My parents were gardeners, so there was plenty in our yard to draw insects. I remember butterflies could easily be found. Swallowtails, Buckeyes, Sulfurs, Commas, Question Marks, and Monarchs were always plentiful and enjoyable. But alas, we took for granted that it would always be so.  

Fast forward to 2023. Despite my efforts to garden this summer, I’ve seen very few butterflies. Monarch butterflies, in particular, are very scarce. Every year I see fewer and fewer. It’s a great sadness for me, and I fear they’ll disappear altogether within my lifetime. How can this be? How can we, as supposed intelligent beings, let this happen? According to the National Wildlife Federation, Monarch butterfly populations have declined by 90% since the 1990s! We know why they are disappearing, and yet… we let it happen by destroying and marginalizing their habitat, applying herbicides and pesticides, then trying to justify our actions. There must be a better way.

Before moving to town, my husband Tom and I lived on a few acres in the Illinois River Valley. Tom had planted about a third of our property in prairie; butterfly life was abundant there. In our prairie, the butterflies were quite concentrated and diverse in species. While wanting to provide habitats for all butterflies, Tom aimed to develop an environment that would also draw the Regal Fritillary, a state-threatened species. Our prairie grew for 20 years, and every year, Tom monitored the butterfly population for the Regal Fritillary. It wasn’t until our last year living on that property that one finally appeared, so in moving and leaving our prairie, this accomplishment was bittersweet. The wonderful thing we’d long awaited had finally happened, and then it was time to go. Three years have passed, and I think about our butterfly friends and the new property owners. Is there still a safe haven there? Does the Regal Fritillary still appear? And for how long?

So, here we are again, in new surroundings, longing for butterflies. What can we do? Start over. We can consider how we personally impact the nature around us by making smart choices. We can forgo the perfectly manicured lawn and let the dandelions grow. We can avoid using herbicides and pesticides. We can plant more flowers. And we can spend as much time as possible savoring the outdoor world — watching for wildlife — for what shows up today could well be gone tomorrow.

To learn more about monarch butterflies, check out the National Wildlife Federations web page at Monarch Butterfly | National Wildlife Federation (nwf.org)

This month, under the Activities section, you can learn how to make a “Pollinator Puddler” offering refreshment to insects in your backyard. And under Recommended Reads, learn about the importance of puddles in Hello Puddle by Anita Sanchez and Luisa Uribe.

Neighborly Ways

I was fortunate to grow up in a neighborhood of loving and caring people. Daily interactions with them were the norm, and each of our neighbors felt like an extension of my family. For as long as I can remember, there was never a creepy or shifty individual on the street.

One of the reasons for our daily interactions was that several households had children, all within the same age range. We often walked together to and from school. My brothers and other neighbor boys played on the same baseball teams. We all shared the same sidewalks for riding our bikes. And my family’s house sat on two large lots that kids viewed as a public park where they could gather for play.

A comforting thing about my neighborhood was that the mothers always looked out their windows, monitoring their children’s whereabouts and behavior. All our mothers were friendly with one another and took turns watching after us. Having a block full of mothers also meant you didn’t act up. If you did something naughty, someone would catch you. Though that could sometimes be a pain, it also made you feel safe.

Adults in our neighborhood were generally close. Folks sat outside on porches or visited in the street. Someone was always near to help if you needed a ladder, a cup of sugar, or an extra pair of hands to help with a task. There seemed to be this unspoken code: living in that neighborhood meant a commitment to be friendly, live in sync, and love thy neighbor. Though people did move in and out or die over the years, incoming families all tended to adopt the same attitude. As my parents aged and became more housebound, neighbors who had been around for decades helped look after them – shoveling their walks when it snowed, sharing plates of food, mowing, and checking for activity and safety.

My neighborhood now is also friendly but different from my childhood neighborhood. People are generally more withdrawn but sometimes look up and nod at one another. Two neighbors will walk up to the property line and visit briefly with us, and one time another neighbor came to the door to offer us some surplus sweet corn they’d grown.

A few weeks ago, a “derecho” with hurricane-like winds greatly damaged our community. On my street, the winds snapped a powerline in half, causing a giant fireball, then an electrical outage to 10 of the 13 residences here. Tree limbs flew everywhere, and it seemed as though the storm would never pass. But when it did, I looked out the window and saw all the neighbors gathering in the street to check on one another and survey the damage. It was a very moving sight. People cared about one another, even if they didn’t interact frequently. People seem to have become friendlier over the last few weeks, still talking about the storm a bit. 

Sometimes it doesn’t take much to form friendships. Small gestures can mean so much. When I was a girl, there was a widow – Mrs. Van Tuyle, who lived a few doors down. She was quiet and kept to herself, but she chatted with my mother occasionally. I remember playing on the sidewalk before Mrs. Van Tuyl’s house on a sweltering summer day. To my surprise, she opened her front door and said, “It’s awfully hot out. Would you like to join me for some lemonade and cookies?” I was stunned. She wasn’t a stranger, and yet, I didn’t really know her. I said, “Sure,” because I knew it would be okay with my mom. Mrs. Van Tuyl led me to her patio, where we enjoyed visiting over lemon sugar cookies and cold glasses of lemonade. She was a lovely woman, and I couldn’t understand why she would reach out to me at the time. When I finished my drink, I thanked her and said I’d better go, and she told me to tell the other kids I played with it was okay for them to stop by too. Later when I told my mom about what happened and asked why Mrs. Van Tuyl would do that, Mom said, “She’s lonely.” I was shocked because, at that point in my life, it never occurred to me that adults could get lonely. 

After that day, I always made a point to wave to Mrs. Van Tuyl. A few times, I even left her a May Day basket. And when I was around 12 years old, she and Mrs. Sonderager, another elderly widow in our neighborhood, started asking me to run to the nearby grocery store to pick up some items for them. Running these errands for them was my first paid employment. In high school, I began to think of my forthcoming independence and started a “hope chest” of things for my future home. I decided I needed to collect some recipes to learn to cook, and I knocked on Mrs. Van Tuyl’s door to ask if I could have her recipe for her Lemon Sugar Cookies because someday, I would be grown up with my kids, and I wanted to make them. She became teary and said, “Oh, aren’t you sweet,” and invited me inside while she jotted the recipe down. 

Mrs. Van Tuyl is now long gone, but after 50+ years, I still have her cookie recipe. It’s always been a favorite, as is the memory of sharing ice-cold lemonade and sugar cookies with a lonely neighbor. You can find Mrs. Van Tuyl’s Love-Thy-Neighbor Lemon Sugar Cookie Recipe in the Activities section of the blog. I recommend you serve them with lemonade and share with a neighbor, especially any neighbors you have yet to get to know. And under Recommended Reads, you can read my review of The Neighbors, written, and illustrated by Einat Tsarfati.