Clean.

Big news (it's a book!)

In case any of you missed the memo, there's a BIG announcement up on my new blog today!

Find all the details about my new book here.

(Squee!)

My blog is moving!

Big news, my friends! I'm moving my blog from here to my shiny new site, rachelwolfclean.com.

I think you'll find my new blog is nicer to look at, easier to navigate, and more mobile-friendly. Do tell me what you think! Then update your favorites folders, and head over to explore and subscribe.

I don't want to lose you in the switch, so I've added an email link to the front page to simplify you keeping up-to-date on new posts. 

See you there!

 

Love,

Rachel

Making bitters

Lupine and I spent the morning prepping two small, personalized batches of digestive bitters. We enjoy drinking them in either carbonated or still water before meals, boosting our digestion and giving us something to sip on while we cook. I've been dealing with some persistent eczema since fall, and I'm certain that better digestion will be key to healing that from the inside out.

If you're looking for inspiration for crafting your own bitters, our ingredients lists (sans quantities, since we measured nothing!) is below. Mine also contained a pinch of dried elecampane root that I neglected to add to the list.

I suppose this can also serve is a working demonstration of what unschooling or interest-led learning looks like, since the whole project was learning-by-doing, and as a bonus Lupine decided this was the opportunity she's been waiting for to practice her cursive. (She asked me to practice mine, too, and I happily obliged.)

If you need more than this rough list, my basic how-to can be found in Taproot WEAVE (along with the knitting patter for the green and purple hats that several of you asked about from my Instagram over the past week or so). That issue is almost sold out though, so don't wait if it's on your wish list! 

Edited to add: Taproot WEAVE sold out in a hurry. If you're looking for another resource for DIY bitters, this book looks promising! (Afflink.)

 

 

What magic is happening in your kitchen this week?

 

Forge is a noun: thoughts on project-based homeschooling

Today the kids and I (and a few homeschooling friends) are packing up and heading to The Bodgery, our favorite neighborhood makerspace.

Except that it's not exactly in our neighborhood, being over two hours from home. That's how much we love this place: enough to drive two hours each way to get a chance to play.

Because unreasonable drive or not we wouldn't trade our membership for anything.

This is where we spend a day or more at a time a couple of times a month, working with wood, metal, and fabric, creating whatever we can dream of.

And despite the fact that we skip spelling and math and creative writing on the days we are here, it's very much central to our homeschool.

Creative, free form making has been a key component of our homeschooling rhythm since our kids were old enough to wield a glue gun or swing a hammer. And when you add the community of a makerspace like the Bodgery to the equation it gets just that much better.

The kids are inspired by other people projects—from fine woodworking to motor-controlled go carts; delicate needle work to 3D-printed prosthetics—and make connections with mentors and makers in the community.

Why including "making" in your homeschool? Below are my thoughts on the value of project-based learning for our family. Written in 2015, it applies as much today (if not more) than it did when I first wrote it. 

When I was on the brink of turning thirteen I'm pretty sure I only knew that "forge" was a verb that had something to do with your parent's signature, and "quench" was how you satisfied your thirst after a long bike ride.

And a blacksmith? That was someone you saw at Old World Wisconsin on the fourth grade field trip. Not a real person in the real world. And certainly not me.

But around here, life (and learning) is a little different than it was when I was a kid. And I mean "different" in a really wonderful way.

Because as positive as my public school experience was growing up in the '70's and '80's, for us this is school: my kid with a red hot piece of iron and a hammer on a June afternoon.

Our homeschooling mission is to dig in and do whatever we're imagining.

Even if on the surface it doesn't seem "academic".

Or "practical". Or "realistic". Or even possible sometimes.

That thing you've been dreaming of? Whatever it may be? Yeah. That. Let's get to work on it. Today.

 

Make a plan and make it happen. That our homeschooling path.

A model train layout based on the history and geography of the Driftless region, a small wooden car that runs on a lawnmower engine, lots of from-scratch candy making, fresh baked bread, a peroxide-powered rocket, a battle bot, a tree house, and a blacksmithed sword are all on Sage's current project list.

Will he finish them all? Probably not. But will he learn a great deal along the way? Absolutely.

So yes, he could spend his time sitting at a desk memorizing facts and taking tests. I'm certain there are things he'd know more about if he did. But are they the things that he is driven to learn about? Are they the things that would feed his insatiable hunger for knowledge?

I am certain they are not.

Instead, his time is spent literally fanning the fires in his blacksmithing forge as he figuratively fans the fires of his passion for knowledge.

The forge may not look academic, but it is feeding his love of learning each and every day.

And instead of constantly seeing how he compares to his classmates in any given subject, he sees his own dreams taking shape by the power of his young hands.

 

We learn by imagining, planning, and doing without limits. 

We learn through our passions and interests; through trying, failing, and trying again.

Sure, we sit down and crank out some spelling words or practice our cursive now and then, but that is the exception, not the rule. Instead we learn - not by constantly looking at where we fall short - but instead by believing in ourselves and knowing we can do whatever we put our minds to.

It's learning with not only our heads, but also our hearts and our hands.

And for us that's learning of the best possible sort.

Two new cloaks

Since we rethought the arrangement of our house and added space for all-day-every-day making, the kids have been working tirelessly on sewing projects of every sort. Not for Halloween, mind you, but for everyday (Lupine) and for LARPing (Sage). 

Within three days of the sewing machines coming downstairs not one but two new cloaks were complete.

And I didn't sew a single stitch! As a bonus, I was thrilled to see Sage mastering the serger for his wool cloak, made from a couple of upcycled blankets he picked up at the thrift store.

Mad skills, these two.

As Lupine is a bit more willing and eager for photo-documentation of her projects (and I have yet to corner Sage in his wool cloak for pictures), you'll have to take my word for it that his is equally fabulous.

Lupine's project did't cost a penny, involving only a retired bed sheet, a gifted roll of sari ribbon, and some buttons from my great grandma's button box. Since we didn't have a pattern, she improvised the body of the cloak and the closure and I helped her sketch a pattern for the hood. I think the result is fabulous! 

I was also assured that this long and flowing cloak is totally appropriate attire for tree climbing. Ahem.

This creative space has been a game-changer in so many ways and a day doesn't go by that I'm not grateful for it. Now I just need to schedule some time in there for myself to get some sewing attended to. (Someone has a birthday coming up, and I'm at a loss for ideas. Surely sewing will be involved!)

As for the kids? I can't wait to see what they make next.

 

P.S. Inspired to get your own kids sewing? You might enjoy this post from way back in the archives. 

 

When we grow up

When I was 15 a well-intentioned woman in a business suit told me, "Someday you'll grow up and have to get a real job and wear a suit." 

I laughed.

"Mark my words," I told her, "I will never have a job where I need to wear a suit."

She was unconvinced. I was not.

I forgot entirely about this conversation for a decade. And then, as a naturalist working at a field station (my very first job out of college), I stopped mid-stride on the trail, remembering. I was walking through the woods, so happy, so grateful, listening to a pileated woodpecker weaving through the branches overhead. The sun was streaming through the trees. I was at work! In the woods! This was my life.

And standing there in my t-shirt, blue jeans, and hiking boots, I remembered her words. "Someday you'll grow up and have to get a real job and wear a suit." 

Or, maybe not.

I thought of her comment again yesterday, as I sat in knee-high muck boots beside a campfire on a Wednesday morning. (I was here on Monday, too, possibly wearing the same clothes.)

I am a homeschooling parent, a writer, a photographer, a teacher, and a small business owner of 15 years. And still - no suit. 

I think of her comment and how my own kids would feel as they move steadily toward adulthood to get the message that "someday you'll need to suck it up and live that life you don't want to because that's what growing up means." 

But does it? 

What if instead we gave our kids the message that whatever it is they love can be a central part of their world - yes, even in adulthood? What if we encouraged them to find their passions and discover their joy now, instead of arriving in adulthood lost and wondering what makes their soul sing?

I think that message would fall on hungry, welcoming hearts.

All that I wanted at 15 (or 9, or 40) was to be a photographer. And now I take pictures everyday. That was my singular dream from 4th grade onward, and now it is a part of my daily joy. 

Am I the exception or the rule?

And if I am the exception, why?

I hope my kids land on the same side that I have - knowing and living their joy.

And so yesterday, instead of talking about suits or futures or jobs they won't love, my kids and I headed back to the woods.

Like everyday this week.

Because October and childhood only lasts so long.

The first thing my kids do when we get into the woods is take off their shoes. They stalk quietly barefoot through the leaves, they listen, they are still.

They are building forts right now, one dug into the cool forest floor and the other woven of invasive honeysuckle we have cleared. I pull garlic mustard and listen to woodpeckers in the branches above us while they work.

On this day we built a campfire, then began carving spoons from a freshly felled hickory. It was delightful and if we had brought lunch I doubt we would have headed home before dinnertime. Sure, back home there were other lessons and tasks to attend to, but for the morning anyway, nothing was more important than this.

Barefoot, dirty, and smelling of woodsmoke, they learn. They discover and explore things that they love. They learn to value silence, stillness, and nature. They ground themselves in the quiet wonder of the woods.

And me right along with them.

Will my kids grow up someday, put on shoes, buy suits, and go to work?

Perhaps.

But only if it is the thing that speaks to their hearts with the clearest song. Because if I have done my work properly, they will both grow up knowing the value of hard work, yes, but also the value of people and feelings and forests and joy, and of following their own path - not the one they are told to take.

 

I may have earned more dollars in a business suit, but at what cost to my heart?

Because life, I believe, is about so much more than just paychecks.