Hatchet or the Internet

Jeb’s fourth grade class recently read Gary Paulsen’s Newberry award-winning book Hatchet. My son has always loved survival stories, whether in print on the movie screen. With Paulsen’s book, Jeb was transfixed by the thrilling tale of thirteen-year old Brian enduring the Canadian wilderness with only a hatchet to aid him.

Jeb’s enthusiasm for the book encompasses so many of the core values I appreciate, starting with the fact that he’s enjoying reading a good book, words bound and printed on old-fashioned paper. Add to it elements of nature, self-reliance, and ingenuity, and as a parent being bombarded by the technological age, I am pleased to see my son inspired by some of the tried and true.

Don’t get me wrong, he’s no throwback. I am constantly monitoring his time on electronic devices, and attempting to stay ahead of him by educating myself on parental controls, online games, and the latest YouTube video that’s gone viral. Now that’s a wilderness of another kind, and it cares not for the mind and soul of my tender ten-year old, wide-eyed and eager to explore.

So, the other evening we were five adults sitting around the fire pit in my friend’s back yard. Yes, it was a real fire. A primal practice that Jeb’s been fortunate to have throughout his upbringing. There were some new friends gathered at the hearth, and when the fire master began shaving some kindling with a hatchet, they caught their breath, afraid he was chopping too close to his own hand.

Tis true, these natural fundamentals aren’t without risk, though it looked to me like the fire master had his chopping under control. Perhaps the fear coming from the onlookers stemmed from the fact that seeing sharp blades make close cuts wasn’t a part of their everyday experience. When was the last time they saw someone chop wood?

The situation sparked a memory and I share with the group the moment I had with Jeb, not long ago, as we wandered the tool aisle at our local hardware store.

“So, Jeb says to me, ‘Mom, when can I get a hatchet?'”

The fireside group sighs in unison, “Uhhh…,” understanding the danger implied, empathetic of my parental plight.

“I know,” I smile. “The thing is, I have to wonder which I fear more: the hatchet or the Internet.”

“Ahhh!” the group concurs, with more resounding sympathy, reverberating in an even deeper fear.

photo courtesy of Robert S. Donovan
photo courtesy of Robert S. Donovan

 

Power

“I call middle!”

Jeb scootches in beneath the blanket, nestling himself between the Bohemian and I. We are laid out on the lawn, under a dome of stars, watching a curved shadow slowly creep across the moon.

Gazing skyward, we play “Techno Cosmo,” guessing whether any light-in-motion we see is human-made or celestial. We see mostly ‘techno,’ though the Bohemian catches one shooting star and both of my family members observe an inexplicable flash in the sky. I missed it, as my head was down toward the bowl of popcorn situated in my lap.

Of course, the big show was the ‘cosmo’ event of the full lunar eclipse. By the time the entire moon was covered in a hue of warm honey, Jeb was asleep, and I too, was fading fast. The Bohemian sang a quiet Czech song, lullabyesque, as I drifted off. Between the realms, I could discern one word – lasko. “Love”.

It was nice to be away from artificial light. Linger outside in the dark with the wind, the clouds, and one big old moon.

I guess we hadn’t had enough of grassroots, as we awoke this morning to no power in our house. In our abode we need electricity for water, lights and the internet. So before sunrise I was back to the basics, enjoying the irony of a couple of candles juxtaposing my laptop (which still ran on battery power).

With no way to reach the world-wide web, I contemplated the stamp upon my candle. The molten word “nirvana” glowing golden, just like last night’s moon.

2014-04-15_candle computer

Furl

 

Often, we fix our gaze on the vibrant display of wide-open, full-bloom.
But I also love the furl.

The beauty found in the delicate creases that come with a flower unfolding.

This one, a hibiscus, given to me by my son, Jeb, on a morning walk.

2014-04-01_hibiscus stem

2014-04-01_hibiscus petal