Summer came to an abrupt end this year when the schools reopened in late August.
It's a big shift for our four-year-old, who has just started school for the first time. As always, she is taking it all in her stride ... but I can't help but wonder. What must it feel like for her to be suddenly asked to sit indoors, at a desk, for hours on end?
I still struggle with being asked to sit indoors at a desk for long periods. We have been particularly busy in the studio in the past few weeks. And I'm itching to get back to spending more time outdoors.
So one day this week, after school, we went to explore a beautiful 'temperate rainforest" close to us.
And though I dream of grand adventures, striding through the forest, I accept at the outset that we won't be covering large areas of ground today. Our two-year-old likes to move slowly and cautiously. And instead of getting frustrated with him, we've been trying to see the opportunity in this for us all - to all move more slowly and look more closely.
So this afternoon, I invented a little game for his older sisters so that they can have the feeling that they are exploring, while not moving very far. As I have been reading and learning lots about "temperate rainforests," lately, I suggest that they try to find as many different types of mosses, ferns, and lichen as they can within an area of about ten square metres.
A temperate rainforest is a type of forest found in mild, oceanic climates (like the west coast of Ireland) where conditions stay consistently cool, humid, and wet throughout the year. The forest floor here stays damp and a bit soggy even in summer, and our damp air, frequent mists, low-lying clouds, and drizzle help to support all of this lush moss and lichen growth.
"Look! Look! What's this one called?!" the four-year-old asks me, pointing to a soggy, scale splotch on a tree. I'm flattered that she thinks I might know the name of every different moss and lichen in the woods.
"Wow, that's a good find," I say. I resist the urge to look it up on my phone. "I don't know the name for it ... maybe you could come up with a name for it?" I suggest. She looks at me, unconvinced, raises one of her strong eyebrows, and says "hmm".
Our slow-moving adventure continues..
One species I always remember by name is the leafy green lichen lungwort - It is so distinctive and grows here in Brackloon in abundance. Lungwort is only found in areas with good air quality and is a sign of an ancient woodland.
I'm so proud when I overhear our nine-year-old patiently explaining her younger sister - "but we've seen that one already - it's called lungwort - it's the one that is supposed to look like lungs and means this is a really old forest ... remember???".
But for the most part - aside from the different ferns and some of the common mosses, I don't know the names of what we are seeing, and we forget about counting once we run out of fingers to count on.
Instead, we enjoy finding the oddness, the fluffiness, the sliminess, and the beauty of all that we find.
The children try to see who can find the deepest, thickest clump of moss by plunging their hands deep into it. In one spot, they find a patch of moss carpet that we estimate is about 20cm deep. "Maybe next time we should bring a ruler?" I suggest. "But we can just use our arms to measure!" they all agree. I realise quickly that a ruler was such a boring adult suggestion. The fun, after all, is in the sensation of plunging their arms into an unknown spongy depths of moss.
When we have been in the forest for about 40 minutes, I estimate that we have covered no more than about 15 square metres squared.
The two-year-old then begins to insist that he has had enough of walking.
"But he's not even walking!" his oldest sister points out, laughing. She's right - I've actually been carrying him on my hip for the past 35 minutes anyway.
It's beginning to mist again. Oh well, I think maybe it's time we headed home anyway?
"How many different mosses and ferns do you think we found?" I ask the four-year-old. She raises her eyebrows again, and her eyes widen.
"Loads and loads and loads?" she offers. "Thirty, twenty-two, seven, nine?" she adds with an air of confidence.
"Really?!" I say. "Good job!" She's only one week into junior infants, I suppose - there's plenty of time yet for sitting at desks and learning to count.
