H.I. (Human Intelligence)

You may have read some of the headlines about search engines rolling out new tools powered by artificial intelligence.

In one instance, a chat bot was trying to talk a guy into ending his marriage.

In another, the bot began arguing when the user pointed out that the information the bot provided was incorrect.

A well known psychologist recently reported that after uploading a few of his books into a A.I. program, the software was able to write a long article in a matter of seconds, perfectly consistent with his views and opinions but also an original work.

If you google A.I. art, it will bring up images, some of which are fantasy-like or futuristic, others a little disturbing.

Last summer there was big uproar over a piece of A.I. generated art that won the prize for digital art in the Colorado State Fair.  

The.. uh.. artist said he typed text into an A.I. program which generated the piece of art.

There is plenty of disagreement in the art world about whether the images created by A.I. are actually art. 

Sure it requires imagination to create A.I. art.  But whose imagination?

If someone asks me to create a futuristic painting and they describe to me the details they want included in the piece, does that make them the artist or me?

Of course there is going to be a market for A.I. art.

There’s still a market for black velvet paintings of Elvis.

Yes, some of what’s generated by A.I. looks or sounds scary.

But I’m most scared by the lack of human intelligence involved in the use of A.I. 

That is, humans who ask A.I. to do things ‘just to see what will happen’.

There have already been reports of users making ‘jail breaks’ (attempting to get around safeguards in A.I. software).

If we truly want A.I. to be a benefit for the world then why not limit it to those who are working to cure degenerative diseases or terminal illness? 

Or I don’t know, help bring about world peace?

Do we really need to make it easier for someone to cheat on their college thesis

or do research for us when doing it ourselves will only benefit our brain?

More studies are showing that passive use of media contributes to cognitive decline.

In an age where dementia and Alzheimer’s are on the rise, why are we creating more ways for humans to use less of their brains?

Anything that makes life easier is attractive.  But is easier always better?

Late Night Contemplations

Children point out what’s important when your thoughts are mired in worry or uncertainty. They bring you back to reality. To what’s in front of you.

“Oh my God! You HAVE to come look at this! Right now! Come quick!” Finn will say once or twice a week regarding the sunset. “It’s the best EVER!” he’ll say.

Other times he’ll blurt out random bits of trivia when there’s a bit of silence that needs to be filled.

“Did you know that starfish push their stomach OUTSIDE of their body? Then they can wrap it around a clam and suck it out of the shell,” he said last night when there was a lull in a FaceTime conversation with Aunt Suzanne.

But my favorites of Finn’s random thoughts come at night. Usually after the lights are out and Erin is fast asleep or close to it. Sometimes I’m asleep and I’ll hear his not-so-tiny-anymore feet padding across the room to my bedside. And then, in the loudest whisper he can manage without actually speaking out loud, he’ll ask a question that has to be answered before his mind can rest.

“Daddoo. Can spiders crawl up your nose?”

“Is there a volcano on the moon?”

Often times it’s not a question. Just the classic, “I’m thirsty and/or hungry.”

Then there’s: “I hear a noise by the window. It’s probably the wind but it could be a ghost and don’t say ghosts are not real because they are.”

Lately it has been bugs that have somehow found their way into the house.

“There’s a lightning bug that keeps flashing and making me stare at it.”

A few nights ago I was far into dreamland when I was startled awake by the bedside whisperer.

“Daddoo, I can’t sleep and I’ve been doing Reiki on myself, but I don’t think I’m doing it right because it’s not working.”

He was silhouetted against the window and the moon was very bright so I couldn’t see his face, but I could hear he was very serious.

“Well, show me what you’ve been doing,” I said.

He moved his hands quickly from his head, to his hips, then across his chest. It kind of looked like he was doing the Macarena.

I had to take a breath. I didn’t want to laugh.

We slowly and quietly went through the Reiki hand positions together and I reminded him to take his time and not move his hands to the next position until he felt different in some way.

“But I might fall asleep before I’m done,” he said.

“That’s the point,” I said.

“Oh, right,” he said giggling. He scampered back to his bed.

He didn’t return that night.

A few days later I asked him.

“Hey buddy, how did the Reiki work out for you? Did you fall asleep?”

“Oh. Yeah,” he said. “That was several nights ago.”

“But it worked for you?” I asked.

“Yeah. Oh my God!” he said.

“What?” I said.

“Look at those peaches on the tree out there! We have so many!”

And away to the window he ran.

The Dreaded Tick

Our little family all tested positive for Lyme a few weeks ago. Finn first, then Erin and myself. It has not been the best experience for a feel good column.

Finn had a pretty bad first week with a severe allergic reaction to the antibiotic but has bounced back since he’s been on the right one. Erin has gotten the worst of it. Two weeks in, she’s still spending most of the day in bed, with a full range of symptoms.

Lyme often triggers other infections and with Erin it is Mono. So on top of the constantly changing and confusing Lyme symptoms she has an exhausting fatigue.

My blood test showed a past infection but I’ve since learned that doesn’t mean a whole lot. It could be a week or six months ago. Random symptoms could be Lyme or just a pollen headache and middle age.

We have always been fairly diligent with our tick checks on Finn. We haven’t been as good with ourselves. That has changed now.

My own tick bites are too numerous to count. About 10 years ago I had the whole nine yards of symptoms; a hundred and four fever and a bulls-eye on my back the size of a large dinner platter. I took antibiotics and haven’t experienced those particular symptoms with other bites.

The more you read about Lyme, the more confusing it gets. It’s no wonder that confusion is one of the symptoms. Am I confused? Certainly. Is it Lyme or just who I am?

A couple of days ago Erin was slowly tracing her steps through the house for the third time trying to find her phone.

“I know you have Lyme because I feel like you right now,” she said.

We both chuckled, but it’s true. I spend half the day looking for things I just set down. But I’ve always kind of been that way. She hasn’t.

Before she had the blood test, she kept saying, “I just don’t feel like myself.”

We have a number of friends who have dealt with Lyme, some of them for many, many years. The conversations with them these last few weeks have been extremely helpful for us.

First-hand experience beats internet articles hands down.

Not knowing what to expect is probably one of the more challenging parts right now.

Lyme seems to be a moving target. Manageable one day and knocking you off your feet the next. But we are hopeful that the antibiotics and other treatments will work as well for Erin as they have for Finn.

If you know someone with Lyme, give ‘em a hug. Keep checking for ticks.

And while you’re at it, offer up a few thoughts and prayers for Erin. They are much appreciated right now.

Little Monsters of Spring

Literally, on the first day of Spring, a robin came to our bedroom window at sunrise and tapped, three pecks at a time as if to say, “Hello! Hello in there! It’s spring! Time to come out and play!” She looked like she was about to burst—ready to lay eggs.

Tap, tap, tap. It was so cute.

Until day three.

By day five she was joined by a couple of other sisters (or brothers?). By day fifteen they were tapping on all the bedroom windows, outside the mudroom door as well as the living room window.

I started seriously thinking about how to humanely trap and relocate them.

Ok. That’s not really what I was thinking. My thoughts were much darker. Because I know that would do no good. They can fly right back. And I happened to hear on a local radio show devoted to birders, that robins will migrate thousands of miles, then return to the exact place where they were born to lay their eggs.

That’s wonderful. But why the pecking?

Of course I would never harm them. But being awakened fifteen days in a row by a manic bird pecking on the glass at sunrise can cause one’s fantasies to turn to the dark side.

Finn was not fazed. A couple of times he woke up early and just giggled, watching them peck at the glass. “It’s like I have my own nature TV!” he said.

I have noticed a couple of robin’s nests around the house in years past. There’s a hole in the eaves where birds were nested last year. Maybe the ones that were born there remembered being inside the house and now they wanted back in.

They just sit there at the window after pecking a million times, peering in with their beady little eyes.

Did you ever notice robins eyes have dark circles around them?

They look a little sunken. And evil.

As soon as we would walk toward the window they would fly away.

Then when we were occupied with something else…

“Peck-peck-peck!!!”

Today Finn and I were reading the book, There’s a Bird on My Head.

In it, Elephant is at his wits’ end because two birds have made a nest on his head and have laid eggs there.

Piggie says to a very frustrated Elephant, “Why not ask them to go somewhere else?”

That hasn’t occurred to Elephant. So he does. And the birds do go somewhere else—to Piggie’s head.

I didn’t think of politely asking the robins to peck somewhere else. It might as well have been on our heads.

The pecking has now finally subsided and has been replaced by adorable muffled cheeping sounds in the eaves and the bushes beside the house.

Little babies that will soon fly a thousand miles away.

Only to return for our own Hitchcock Spring.

Right on Track

I was hoping to hide my vintage Lionel train set from Finn until he got past his search and destroy phase with toys. Well, perhaps search and dissect is a more appropriate term. He really likes taking things apart and putting them back together. Unfortunately most of those things never make it “back together” again.

He received that bit of DNA from me, I’m afraid. I can still clearly see the shock on my Mother’s face when once I performed a little exploratory surgery on our telephone.

So knowing I’ve passed on that trait, I haven’t been keen on sharing my treasured childhood toy with him.

Until now he hasn’t shown a great deal of interest in it. Probably because I’ve downplayed it whenever he asked about it.

“Oh…that,” I would say, “I’m not even sure if it works anymore,” which was partly true.

He received another train set as a Christmas gift this past year. It was geared more toward his age group and he has loved playing with it.

But for some reason this month he had a sudden intense curiosity for “that train set under the bed wrapped in brown paper.”

He got up one morning and announced it was a train day. He put together an engineer’s outfit which really looked more like a pirate. Then he started putting together the train set that he received for Christmas.

“Ok we’re good” I thought. Then as soon as he had assembled it he said:

“Now we just need that OTHER train set right here next to it.”

“What other train set?” I asked, acting dumb.

He narrowed his eyes. “Mommy already told me I could” he said.

I turned to Erin with a mock look of having been betrayed.

“Oh, I thought it was ok,” she said innocently.

“Well it probably won’t work anyway,” I resigned.

“Why? How old is it?” Finn asked.

I had to think a moment. It’s over 40 years old and I don’t remember the last time I ran it.

I brought down the box, dusted it off and unwrapped the brown paper. It’s not in mint condition for sure. It was well played with in its day, and I cut holes in the box so it could double as a tunnel. But most of the cars were still in good condition.

He wanted to do it himself so I only helped with the attaching of the control switch and a little track adjustment.

Finally the moment of truth came and we flipped the switch.

It started right up—making its way around the track with just the slightest wobble on the curves almost as smoothly as it did 40 years ago.

Finn and I both were a little shocked.

I really could not believe it.

I immediately launched into my “they-don’t-make-‘em-like-they-use-to” rant while Erin smiled and nodded in a “you boys and your trains” kind of way.

Finn ignored me completely, his attention fixed on the train.

After watching it for a while I said: “Now, Finn, this engine and the train cars are not things that you can take apart, OK?”

After a pause he said, “Why would I want to?”

So far so good.

Ancestry

“I do love a good mystery!” Finn said as we were tromping through the snow earlier this week on a midday walk. We were tracking something. We guessed it was a raccoon. The tracks were very clear in the otherwise undisturbed snow.

“You like a good mystery, huh?” I responded.

“Yeah, you know,” he said, “like trying to figure things out, hunting and digging up skeletons and things.”

“Skeletons?!” I asked.

“You know. Mysteeerious things!” he said in his deepest and scariest voice.

The tracks seemed to be heading back up the hill toward our house.

“We are definitely on it’s trail now.” he said quickening his pace.

Erin and I have gotten sucked into the Ancestry world for the last couple of months. We decided to do the DNA tests at Christmas time as a gift to each other and just recently got the results back.

They show you a map of the world with splotches of color on the countries that your DNA likely came from.

England, Wales, and Northwestern Europe dominated mine. With some Ireland and Scotland, a smattering of Norway and one percent of Benin/Togo in Africa.

It was all I needed to head down the Ancestry rabbit hole. There are so many paths to follow there.

The first few generations aren’t as difficult, thanks to work other family members have done.

There is one photo of my great-grandfather and mother with eight kids in front of a cabin that looked vaguely familiar. I think my Mom has a copy. A cabin they “built with their own hands” according to the caption on one posting.

Further back there seems to be a direct relation to a noted burgomaster in Holland.

Was he like the Burgermeister Meisterburger in Santa Claus is Coming to Town? So many questions.

More “hints” led me to ancestors in various generations who seemed to have respectively fought in the nearly every war that has been in the US. This was ironic considering that most of them descended directly from the burgomaster whose most historical distinction was that he was arrested for trying to reduce the size of the military.

On Ancestry, most of the real stories are hard to find. But finding simple connections seems to be getting easier with the digital images of so many records now available. Looking through the old census records it’s easy to see how important good penmanship was in those days. Often names are misspelled or written poorly, then transcribed incorrectly.

There are a lot of tracks leading to the wrong place. Some leading to nowhere.

But the ones that lead to a relative you never knew you had are fascinating to follow.

The DeWitt name is more popular around this area than almost any other place I have lived. But so far I haven’t found a local familial connection.

On our walk this week, Finn and I followed the raccoon tracks all the way back to our house right up to the back door.

I’m wondering if any of my ancestry tracks will do the same.

I do love a good mystery.

Bread

We make bread fairly often in our household.

“Cooking class” has become part of our homeschool curriculum, but making bread has been a part of our routine for some time.

Finn’s preschool and kindergarten years at Acorn Waldorf School reinforced that with a weekly routine of “bread day,” where the children mill the grain and form their own tiny loaves of bread. Finn often brought home little bread animals he had formed, most often snakes.

A couple of years ago I got inspired to make a sourdough starter from scratch after watching Michael Pollan’s series Cooked. In one of the segments he describes the origins of bread making in ancient Egypt, how yeast is in the air and anyone can make a sourdough starter.

I decided to give it a try. I made a mix of flour and water in a bowl, let it sit for a few days and soon it started to bubble. I was so excited! Then it started to smell a little sour and it didn’t turn colors so that meant it worked!

I have to admit the first time I made bread with it, I was a bit nervous wondering if it was going to make us sick. But I have since heard from others who have made their own starters, that if it goes bad, you’ll know it.

Over two years later the starter is still going strong.

I don’t know how many loaves of bread I’ve made with it but I’ve learned to make two loaves at a time. Because when it comes out of the oven, everyone wants a slice (or two) of warm bread.

You can’t rush bread making. It slows you down and makes you wait.

There’s a lot for a little one to learn in the process.

The measuring. The science. The delayed gratification.

Finn especially enjoys the punching down phase after the dough has risen.

This week we made bread and Finn decided he wanted to do it by himself. There were a few brief moments that required my assistance but for the most part he did it.

I was caught up in the moment watching him turn out the slightly sticky dough onto the floured counter and figuring out how to get into the rhythm of kneading. In a short time he was turning and folding, turning and folding.

It felt like a sort of life passage. “Here he is,” I thought, “becoming comfortable with one of the most ancient forms of cooking. A skill he can use for life.”

Then my thought was interrupted by an even more ancient form of human behavior: playacting.

“Oh hello!” Finn said talking to the dough “Who are you? Who me? Oh, well actually I’m just… AAAHHHH!” he yelled as he raised the dough above his head then smashed it on the counter.

Whoever it was met their demise as he pounded them to smithereens. Then he started the routine over again.

I wonder if the kids in ancient Egypt made bread this way.

Father, Teacher, Farmer, Jokester

My Dad passed suddenly and peacefully four days after Christmas at the age of 91. Though his health had been declining over the last few years, I agree with the numerous people who have said “One is never prepared for the passing of a parent.”

My early childhood memories came rushing back first, many of them bold and clear as if they happened yesterday. It could be because he was the most patient teacher with me when I was around Finn’s age. He showed the same patience with his many grandchildren. I try to be that patient with Finn now.

He was a man who loved humor. He consistently called our friends by anything other than their given names, leaving them a little confused until they eventually “got him”. And he often shared jokes he had written at meal times. We always laughed, not because they were always funny, but he had a way with the delivery.

Animals loved my Dad and, at home, he almost always had a dog at his side for which he would provide a speaking voice. Many mornings I woke to the ongoing “dialogue” between my Dad and our pet.

And my Dad loved the weather. He had a rain gauge, barometer, and a few other things which he checked regularly, recording daily totals on his calendar. When conversations with him turned to talking about the weather, that’s when he had plenty to say. In one of my early memories of our farm, I remember my Dad standing at the edge of a field as rain began to pour. Relieved that a long dry period was ending he said, “Ahh. Finally getting some rain. I’m the happiest man alive!”

My oldest brother Wyatt wrote my Dad’s obituary and with his permission I’m sharing it here:

Mr. James Wyatt DeWitt, 91 of Dadeville, passed away Saturday, December 29, 2018 at Russell Medical Center in Alexander City, AL.

James DeWitt was born May 23, 1927 in Greensboro, AL. He joined the Navy out of high school and after discharge returned to attend Auburn University earning a Masters Degree in Vocational Agriculture. Over the next 39 years he taught high school Vocational Agriculture and Construction inspiring students, some who have continued to visit him. He was a member of the United Methodist Church, teaching Sunday School Class and participating in activities including mission trips, some internationally. Through the years he also owned and operated a farm and nursery. His love for construction, farming and growing plants continued into retirement. He contracted the building of a house on Lake Martin that included a wood shop, conservatory for plants and vegetable garden.

His greatest love was for his surviving wife of 64 years Roselyn DeWitt and six children Wyatt DeWitt, Carol Txipama, Tim DeWitt, David DeWitt, Andy DeWitt and Lyn Allen, 12 grandchildren and 6 great grandchildren.

He is also survived by siblings Oscar DeWitt, Tom DeWitt, Robbie Jones and Bill DeWitt.

He is predeceased by his brother Sam DeWitt.

Memorial Service will be held, Friday, January 11, 2019, 2:00 PM at Auburn United Methodist Church Founders Chapel. Visitation will follow the service.

In lieu of flowers the family requests memorial donations be made to the AUMC Mission Fund P.O. Box 31356 Auburn, AL 36831.

Field Trip

Finn and I are roadies right now. Erin is performing with the Omaha Symphony in their annual Christmas show and we’ve come along for the ride.

It’s kind of surreal sharing this experience with Finn. The last time Erin and I spent more than a few weeks in a hotel we were touring together. Long before Finn was a thought.

As we were packing for the trip it felt somewhat routine figuring out what to take so we could maintain a semblance of home on the road.

Finn filled his small suitcase with a careful selection of toys, Legos and art supplies.

Homeschooling has made things a little less complicated to some degree.

And there are plenty of “field trip” opportunities.

I just have to keep reminding myself that we are not on vacation.

Or are we?

Before we left, Erin and I scoped out the museums.

Our halfway point to Omaha was Cincinnati, where Erin is from. The timing worked out so we were there for Thanksgiving with her family and Finn could have some quality time with his cousins.

Erin had always been fond of the Cincinnati Art museum and had mentioned one of her favorite paintings was Van Gogh’s Undergrowth with Two Figures, on display there.

There never seems to be enough time to fully appreciate everything in a museum.

This is especially true when you’re with a seven year-old who wants to zip from one room to the next.

Eventually we found the painting and Finn ran right up to it.

Really close to it.

“Look Daddoo!” he said. “To make it look like that he had to paint it real fast like this!”

Then he pretended to paint furiously, with his hand about an inch from the canvas.

“Stop!” I said in a mini panic. “You can’t get that close to the painting!”

“Why?” He asked, surprised.

“You might touch it accidentally and damage it,” I said.

“No I won’t, the paint’s very thick. Look,” he pointed again with his finger perilously close to the canvas.

“Step back!” I whispered intensely, moving him back with my hand and expecting to hear an alarm go off any second.

It’s not that he hasn’t been to museums. But it has been a while. And we’ve most recently been to children’s museums where you can touch everything.

Still, there was a small part of me that expected him to react with a little more reverence and awe.

I always kind of get butterflies when I see a famous painting. Thinking of the energy it took to create it and the number of people who had to believe in it enough for it to be hanging here on this wall 120 years later.

For a moment I was able to get him to step back and just look at it from a comfortable distance.

“The trees are purple. Why are they purple?” he said.

Years from now, after a dozen or more museum visits, I’m sure he will feel the awe. But this time it was pure curiosity and enthusiasm.

And for now I’ll take that as marks of a successful field trip.

Deer Hearts

On a pre-homeschool walk up the road, Finn and I came upon a large splash of red on the pavement. 

We both thought it was paint at first because it was so red.  It trailed off to the opposite side of the road from where we were walking. 

“It’s blood!!” Finn said suddenly. “It’s got to be blood”.

I still wasn’t sure.  The color was so bright and there was no animal nearby.

“There it is!” Finn said pointing.

About 10 yards off the road a deer had collapsed.  We went to it.  It was clearly dead, it’s eyes wide open and neck stretched back. Obviously hit by a car.  A large wound on it’s hind quarters.

We stood just looking, Finn examining every inch of the deer not saying anything.

After a while we turned to continue on our walk and he was silent for a lot of it.

The mail carrier drove by which set him off on a whole line of questions about the mail.

Some distance later we stopped to watch horses in a nearby corral .

Behind us we heard movement in the woods and turned to see two does running through the woods towards the road where we had just been.

“They heard about the other deer,”  Finn said.

A short while later we turned to head back home. When we reached the spot where the deer lay, he wanted to go back over to it.

The body was twitching slightly.

“Why is it moving? Are you sure it’s not alive?”

“I’m sure,”  I said.

We stood for another long while, mostly in silence.

“It’s sad, right?” he said.  “The vultures will be happy. They have to eat. But it’s still sad, right?

We walked home in silence.  When we entered house he said, “I think we should draw something for the deer.”

“Ok,” I said

“Yeah. We need to do something for her,” he said. 

He got a small piece of paper, got his markers out and began drawing row after row of different colored hearts.

He didn’t speak for a while then I heard him say quietly, “That’s the best heart I’ve ever drawn,” then continued on.

“What will you do with them when you’re through?” I asked.

“Hang them on the fridge,” he said, as though “Duh”.

“Oh right,”  I said.

As he was finishing it up I said, “Well, we better get to our school work, It’s almost lunch time and we haven’t even gotten to writing our alphabet today. We may not have time for everything now.”

“Well, that’s the beauty of homeschool, right?” he said.

I don’t know where he heard that.

But I think on that particular day I wasn’t the one teaching.

Here we go

Homeschool is now in session.

The first few days were exhausting, my mind pervaded with doubt. Is it going to be enough for him? Is he getting the knowledge he wants/needs? Can I do this? Am I a good teacher?

Luckily Finn is not one to be silent if something isn’t working for him.

Back in the Summer when we were talking about homeschooling, he was inquiring about what it would be like. He asked what he would be learning.

“What do you want to learn?” I asked.

“Well, definitely POTIONS!” he said, his thoughts firmly swirling in Harry Potter world.
“And of course ABC’s and stuff like that,” he said.

It turns out the ABCs are a good place to begin.

Imagine that.

Though he has been writing for quite some time, he’s never really learned uniformity of letters, etc.
We eased into it by drawing shapes and working with clay.

Thus far we have essentially focussed each day around a letter.

We explore the shape of it, the sounds it makes and all the words we can think of that begin with it.

And at the end of the day we draw an artistic interpretation of the letter. Then the next day, another letter.

It’s amazing now how fast the days are passing.

My friend Ian, having learned from previous conversations what we were doing, heard Finn talking about “M”. “You’re already on M?” he said, surprised.

I was surprised as well.

It got me thinking about how our days will be structured when we run out of letters.

But I have some ideas. And our days are not only about letters.

We do our daily exercise, which Finn leads.

He has some very interesting names for his exercise creations.

I’m very fond of “the folding snake” which looks like a combination of a few yoga positions performed in quick succession. But my absolute favorite is running in place, which he calls “the runs” and the dance moves he includes.

Afterwards we have a little meditation before we formally begin.

Mondays, he has a music lesson with Erin (which we call Music Mondays with Mommy), Wednesdays he has art with me and cooking with Erin.

After a little convincing, he now sees how recipes are very similar to potions. And we’re noticing that he is more willing to eat what he has helped prepare.

Other advantages of homeschooling that I’m noticing right away are: Start time is flexible, no rushing out the door. He gets as many ‘turns’ at the chalk board as he wants and he gets all of his questions answered right away. “Lessons” tend to move along at a faster pace than I expected and if we veer off on a tangent, that’s ok.

Lack of energy is a hurdle some days (on both of our parts), but regular exercise, and remembering to have snacks helps that.

The biggest challenge is reminding myself that we’re doing just what we need to be doing.

It’s still just the beginning, but I suppose that’s the best place to start.

Taking the Helm

Our brief summer vacation is a memory now.

Always too short.

A few days is barely enough to catch one’s breath.

This year we met up with Erin’s family on a little Island in Lake Erie.

The fact that the island was on the Canadian side made the trip a little more exciting.

The house we rented was right on the beach. The water was calm and shallow so the parents could relax on the sand without being on edge about sudden waves. The largest ones were an inch or two high. It was calming for all.

The cousins fell instantly into their rhythm, building sand castles, splashing and playing made-up beach games they never seemed to tire of.

Evenings were full of board games and adults in conversation until the wee hours. Eventually the kids went to bed exhausted.

I noticed Finn mimicking his older cousins, acting more mature. A few times when I tried to help him with things with which he normally required assistance, he stopped me. “I got this”, he would say.

He spent so much time interacting with the cousins that the endless stream of questions we’ve become accustomed to answering from him diminished substantially for those few days.

Having a little time to sit and relax, I found myself thinking about the coming year of homeschooling and the unknown challenges that lie ahead.

Homeschooling is not uncharted territory. Just untravelled for us. We’ll be on the journey together, drawing from the experiences of others and creating a unique experience.

The Ferry ride to and from the island was a first for Finn. To be on a boat in the middle of the water with no land in sight for part of the journey, was something he had never experienced.

He wanted to spend most of the two hour ride standing at the bow of the boat. He couldn’t get enough of the wind in his hair.

Once we were back home, Finn’s steady flow of questions resumed precisely at the moment that I was in the bathroom:

Finn: (knocking on the bathroom door) “Daddoo I need to ask you…”

Me: “I’ll be out in a minute.”

Finn: “I just need to ask you something!”

Me: “Ok what is it?”

Finn: “Is Venus made mostly of carbon dioxide?”

Me: “I don’t know.”

Finn: “Yes, I think it is.”

Me: “Ok”

Finn: “And that’s not good if we want to LAND on it, right?”

Me: “I think you’re probably right.”

Finn: “Do you know the other thing about Venus?”

Me: “What’s that?

Finn: “It will definitely melt cheese. And that’s BAD news.” (He walks away)

Yes, homeschooling may present many challenges. But I’m counting on the insights to balance things out.

Making Magic

I have watched kids of friends and relatives go through the Harry Potter phase and wondered if Finn would do the same.  I needn’t wonder anymore.

Finn has close friends who have seen the movies and had the books read to them, so he has embraced the Harry Potter world wholeheartedly in their play together and now on his own.

His Obi Wan Kinobi robe that he received as a gift last year has been re-purposed as Harry’s robe.

I suppose Harry and Obi Wan are not dissimilar archetypes.

So we went to the library and checked out the first book in the Harry Potter series.  And it has quickly become a bedtime staple.

“Expecto!” has become a prefix for almost anything he wants to manifest.

A small dowel he found in the tool shed has become his wand most of the time. Sometimes he uses a knitting needle. Sometimes a random stick.

We have decided to homeschool this year, which Finn is very excited about.  He says our school should be called “Homewarts” and I should be professor Dumbledaddoo.  I suppose then Erin would be Mommy McGonagall.

Homeschooling can be a little intimidating.

Random conversations with parents who have done it and some friends who were homeschooled have helped to put my mind at ease.  I’m not reinventing the wheel, and from what I’ve read so far, there are enormous resources available.

After we made the decision, it kind of felt like we were always heading in this direction.

It’s almost impossible not to do a certain amount of homeschooling.

I mean, there are a million questions a day no matter how you slice it.  You can either answer them intelligently, find the answers if you don’t have them, or just say, “I don’t know leave me alone.”

But if you choose the last option, the same questions circle back around endlessly.

Erin and I have chosen to answer as many questions as we can intelligently so I am imagining our Homeschool to be a more structured version of that with a little more leading and slight nudging, interspersed with comforting daily routines.

But what do I know?

Well, I do know Homeschool will begin September 1st , the same as Hogwarts.

There is a temptation to go all out and create our own little Hogwarts atmosphere but Finn is such a little actor he might get lost in the play acting.  But there could be ways to use his fascination in creative ways.

When I mentioned we might have to make a proper wand in our woodworking class, he lit up.

“Will it make real magic?” he asked.

“YOU make the magic”  I said.

“I do?” he said, not convinced.

Well maybe we will do it together.

Art Hike

It was the night before Erin was going to be teaching a number of voice lessons back to back at home and Finn and I needed to make ourselves scarce for most of the day.

“Where are you going tomorrow?” Erin asked, probably knowing I hadn’t thought of anything yet.

Finn looked at me.

“We are going…on a…hike. On an art hike,” I said trying to come up with something original for him.

“What’s an art hike?” Finn asked.

“We’re going to hike and paint.” I said.

“Where?” Finn asked.

“We’ll figure that out tomorrow” I said, having no idea.

I didn’t really think it would be an art hike. I really thought that we would hike somewhere and Finn would get distracted looking for rocks or collecting sticks and I would carry the art bags and maybe get half an hour of sketching in while we ate lunch.

The next morning we packed lunches and snacks into our already full bags along side what we had packed the night before: watercolor paints and plenty of paper.

We hiked a familiar trail. Eventually we came to a nice place to rest beside a stream.

“This is it!” Finn said.

“You want to paint here?” I asked

“Yep!” he said claiming the perfect little spot under a tree.

After sitting for a while just observing the brook and a tiny water-fall for several minutes, he spread out all his art materials and got to work painting right away.

I was a little in disbelief. I had come up with the idea as something to get us out of the house. I didn’t really expect it to hold his attention very long.

But he was ‘in-it-to-win-it’ as Erin and I like to say when he’s in the zone.

We were all alone. Then an hour or so later in an elderly couple wandered by and sat for a while chatting and dipping their feet in the stream.

I noticed them observing Finn as they chatted. The sound of the water masked their conversation.

After sometime they got up to leave and the woman said:

“My father was a painter and I have many fond memories of painting watercolors along side him. This is a joy to see. Thank you!”

I got a little lump in my throat at her reaction, fumbling with my words saying something like:

“Oh I’m so glad.”

Then I saw Finn gathering up his things. But he wasn’t done. He moved to another rock and started another series of paintings.

A little while later we had our lunch. He talked about his paintings and what a good idea this was, painting outside.

He ended up with nine little masterpieces. Some realist, some expressionistic, one rainbow and one map showing where we were in relation to Mommy. My favorite was a little sketch of me sitting under a tree sketching him.

“We should do this every week, right?” he said.

“Absolutely” I answered.