Book of Days
BOOK OF DAYS: A POET AND NATURALIST TRIES TO FIND POETRY IN EVERY DAY
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Filtering by Tag: children
Posted with BlogsyApril 30: Sun-day
Kristen Lindquist
May 19: Freedom Mill School
Kristen Lindquist
This morning I helped lead ten children on a rainy bird walk near their school in Freedom, through wet farm fields and woods. We saw a nesting Killdeer, heard Bobolinks singing, watched Tree Swallows go in and out of nest boxes, and got a good look at a striking black-and-red American Redstart. Then we went inside and talked about our favorite birds, like chickadees and puffins.
Birding with children--
of course the bobolink
sounds like R2D2.
Birding with children--
of course the bobolink
sounds like R2D2.
February 3: Heard on the street
Kristen Lindquist
I thought a raven called
but it was children playing
in the snowy street.
but it was children playing
in the snowy street.
June 21: Summer Solstice
Kristen Lindquist
The longest day, and it's been a beautiful one. After work I had a drink with my mom and my godmother, then we moved on to the nearby pizza place to chow down al fresco with my husband and a friend while the big waxing moon rose over Camden harbor. One of those summer evenings when you don't want to go inside.
Voices of children
carry through the neighborhood.
Darkness comes slowly.
Voices of children
carry through the neighborhood.
Darkness comes slowly.
July 15: Child's play
Kristen Lindquist
We spent some time today catching up with an old friend from college and her sweet, tow-headed, three-year-old son Henry. The morning's activities included a lovely plein air brunch, a romp on the capitol lawn, and a visit to two different farms. Henry got to feed goats, pat a sheep, admire some rabbits, a small, white-faced calf, and a donkey, slurp a maple creamee (Vermont's version of soft-serve), and sit on two tractors (one defunct antique, one modern and working). Amazing how little boys are drawn to large machinery at such a young age, as if they were born knowing how to make that "vroom vroom" sound.
Under the child's feet
as he runs for the tractor,
tiny pink flowers.
Under the child's feet
as he runs for the tractor,
tiny pink flowers.
September 8: Lesotho
Kristen Lindquist
This morning in my West Bay Rotary meeting a woman involved with Qholaqhoe Mountain Connections gave us an update on a project that my club helps sponsor in Lesotho. We sponsor a child who is attending high school in a rural region of this third world country surrounded by South Africa. Almost a quarter of the people in this tiny country have AIDS, and many of the children the non-profit sponsors are AIDS orphans. She told us that some of the kids walk two hours one way to get to school, because they know that going to school and doing well is their only chance to rise above the poverty and hunger that surrounds them. Because high school is tuition-based, many children cannot attend without scholarships, instead staying home to work to help their families. The scholarship for a year of school is $250. That seems like nothing to us, but some kids who had to leave school and work were only earning the equivalent of $7.50 a year. I'm pretty sure I heard that correctly.
As I was listening to the presentation and seeing the slides of the beaming students in their crisp uniforms, I couldn't help but think of my niece attending her first full day of kindergarten today. Despite all the crazy ups and downs of the economy and our current political scene, we are still so fortunate, so privileged--and it's rather sad that it takes exposure to life in a third world country to drive that fact home for me. We take our schooling--at least through high school--for granted. We take our water for granted, while this village had just built a water containment thing that now meant the kids didn't have to walk two hours to fill gallon jugs from a creek to water their gardens. Some of the children who are orphans live with relatives or family friends, but others live alone in what was their family home. I think of some child arriving to an empty cinder block house after a two-hour walk from school, having already eaten her one meal of the day at school (maize-based mash with kale for protein). What can her dreams be? Does she have any hopes for her future? Does she dare?
I think of Lesotho and love my niece, thankful that she is one child in the world who is well-loved and well taken care of. She'll get a good education. Opportunity lies before her. She won't go hungry. And maybe when she's older, she'll help some of those, like the children of Lesotho, who are less fortunate than she. Forgive me if this all sounds a bit melodramatic. But these children are real. They're out there, millions of them.
Poor crops, hungry child.
As we harvest fall bounty,
let's not forget her.
As I was listening to the presentation and seeing the slides of the beaming students in their crisp uniforms, I couldn't help but think of my niece attending her first full day of kindergarten today. Despite all the crazy ups and downs of the economy and our current political scene, we are still so fortunate, so privileged--and it's rather sad that it takes exposure to life in a third world country to drive that fact home for me. We take our schooling--at least through high school--for granted. We take our water for granted, while this village had just built a water containment thing that now meant the kids didn't have to walk two hours to fill gallon jugs from a creek to water their gardens. Some of the children who are orphans live with relatives or family friends, but others live alone in what was their family home. I think of some child arriving to an empty cinder block house after a two-hour walk from school, having already eaten her one meal of the day at school (maize-based mash with kale for protein). What can her dreams be? Does she have any hopes for her future? Does she dare?
I think of Lesotho and love my niece, thankful that she is one child in the world who is well-loved and well taken care of. She'll get a good education. Opportunity lies before her. She won't go hungry. And maybe when she's older, she'll help some of those, like the children of Lesotho, who are less fortunate than she. Forgive me if this all sounds a bit melodramatic. But these children are real. They're out there, millions of them.
Poor crops, hungry child.
As we harvest fall bounty,
let's not forget her.
September 1: Water Play
Kristen Lindquist
It was so hot today that they let school out early. Only in Maine! My neighbors across the street coped with the day's heat by laying out a tarp on a small hill in their back yard and running the hose to create a water slide of sorts. The four little boys, tanned and tow-headed from a summer spent on the beach and running around outside, happily slid down the wet tarp over and over. The youngest child, a little girl still young enough to play outside with no clothes on, wanted to join in. But soon she was crying. I looked over with some concern, but her mother explained--as she carried off the wet, naked baby--that the girl had slid too fast down the tarp and it scared her. By next summer she'll be old enough to join her brothers without tears, I'm sure.
I remember the first time I ever realized that a girl wasn't supposed to walk around without a shirt on. It was a hot summer day like this one, and I was seven years old. Without even thinking about it, I went outside to play with just shorts on. At some point, one of my friend's mother told me that I needed to put a shirt on because I was a girl. It made no sense to me, because my chest didn't look any different from a boy's chest. But, self-conscious, I went home and changed my clothes. And never went topless again. Except for the occasional skinny-dipping indulgence, which would have felt really nice on a day like this.
A simple cool-down:
four tan little boys, a tarp,
a hose, a back yard.
I remember the first time I ever realized that a girl wasn't supposed to walk around without a shirt on. It was a hot summer day like this one, and I was seven years old. Without even thinking about it, I went outside to play with just shorts on. At some point, one of my friend's mother told me that I needed to put a shirt on because I was a girl. It made no sense to me, because my chest didn't look any different from a boy's chest. But, self-conscious, I went home and changed my clothes. And never went topless again. Except for the occasional skinny-dipping indulgence, which would have felt really nice on a day like this.
A simple cool-down:
four tan little boys, a tarp,
a hose, a back yard.