As Good As A Feast

I spent the Wednesday before Thanksgiving at home with my little people. Jeremy had to work, and was able to pick up the inevitable last-minute ingredients for Thanksgiving cooking (namely, more butter), so I was able to stay home in our secluded corner of the woods all day. 

Days at home with the kids are usually spent trying to get stuff done around the house between helping them on their art projects, railway construction, or any other task that requires my adult-level fine motor skills. On this home-day we read books together, watched a movie, built Lego animals, and I knitted, caught up on laundry, fed us, and tried to get things ready for the big day of cooking ahead. As simple as a day like this sounds, though, spending a day at home with my two lovelies can be mentally exhausting. Moment after moment of mental gymnastics helping them navigate their conflicts with each other, helping them surmount problems like a malfunctioning playdough squisher, helping them ride the wave of a meltdown until they can swim in calm waters again. Parsing out whose turn it is. Finding the right matchbox car. 

So when Jeremy eventually got home I threw on my walking shoes and took a half hour to myself, relishing the sudden quiet in my brain. We live at the bottom of the hill, so my walks always start going up. I walked up our dirt road, cross the paved highway, then head up the farm driveway, a long winding gravel driveway that continues up, through the woods, emerging at the top of the hill into the farm pastures. 

It was sunny on Wednesday, warm enough for just a sweatshirt. Entering the woods, the cedars stood deep green, the rest of the trees bare. The forest floor is awash with fresh brown oak leaves. Because of recent rains, the mosses that line the driveway were all varying shades of bright green, singing with color. When I stooped closer I could see many different kinds of mosses and lichens all growing together, congregating in the ridges and pockets of rocks and roots. I found one patch of lichen (I think it was lichen, but maybe some kind of fungus) that had grown tiny goblets pushing above the lower-growing lichens and mosses. These minute landscapes feed my imagination. I like to place myself in miniature within them, walking around the raised goblets, or maybe lying in one of them. Walking within the forest of soft moss. There's nothing like a walk in the woods to shake off mental sediment. 

My family is in the throes of holiday season already. Three birthdays intermingle with the three major end-of-year holidays in our house. And I love giving gifts so I find myself perusing the sales that culminate in the madness that is Black Friday, trying to find a good deal on whatever toy would make them shriek with delight. And it’s all so tempting! I mean, who doesn’t need a waffle maker that makes dinosaur shaped waffles?! I didn’t know it existed before, but now I need it and I need to find the best deal on it with free shipping…. 

But this walk in the woods was the reminder I needed to put down my phone, step away from the computer, and be present on these precious extra days off work. As Ma in the Little House book series said, “Enough is as good as a feast.” As I stride back down the hill with a healthy body, lungs full of fresh air, and a reinvigorated mind, I know in my heart: we have enough. Getting the best deal on some plastic thing we don’t need is a senseless, destructive distraction. If I can be present, I will be celebrating the season. If I can be present and grateful, I will be living fully. Life is so full of wonder that is there for us all the time to dive into. My children are sweet souls, my husband brings me butter, my home is a peaceful place, I live surrounded by beauty, and that is more than enough.