Primo started Kindergarten today. Last week we went camping on the Juan de Fuca Strait at a beautiful place called French Beach, me and my two sons, boys who will be men one day.
We left the city on Tuesday at noon after running around all morning. Doing errands with two boys in tow takes twice (thrice?) as long, especially when one of them is two. But eventually, and with patience and humour, we bought tent pegs and propane, filled the car with gas, purchased stamps and mailed my letters, and we were off!
“Is it a long way?” Primo asked as we started. “An hour,” I replied. “What’s that?” So I counted to 60 minutes by fives using five fingers for each increment. He settled back. “That is not a long time.” Secundo had already closed his eyes and turned his forehead into the side of his carseat. I put on some tunes and the road trip began.
I took my first road trip with the boys last summer when my marriage was on the rocks. I didn’t know what else to do. Home life was hard, but I understand the road. We drove to Jasper along the gorgeous and wild north Thompson River. We’d ride when Secundo napped, and stop in the middle of the day to eat and cuddle and nurse and play. I met my cousin at the campground in Jasper and she marveled at my audacity to do it alone. I had been living with such chaos in my personal life since Secundo was born. Being on the road and in nature, living outside the box, going with our creative flow, this seemed natural and healthy. The boys responded to my confidence, and to the inner peace I found on the road.
This trip had nothing of that desperation to it, and all of the enjoyment. We wound our way along the coast and found the French Beach campground by early afternoon. Primo nailed the perfect site. Number 11, it turns out, has a path that leads right down to the beach. Where we went as soon as I had the tent set up and the boys had slugs in our immediate vicinity counted.
The beach is covered in rocks. Harsh as that sounds, it is actually the essence of feminine: each rock is smooth, finely sanded, unique and beautiful. Primo went to water’s edge to play in the surf. Secundo climbed driftwood. And I lay down on the warm rocks. After the packing and driving and setting up, I needed a rest. Then the sun came out and melted the fog and I came alive. Scents of ocean, sand, fir, iodine. The beautiful coast emerged, and a warm, mellow September sun enveloped us. Eventually I sat up, watched the boys. It is one of my highest parenting value – one that Andy and I share with their father -- to have the boys enjoy and explore nature, and to play on their own. I make sure that we get out regularly, and I’m talking daily. Sometimes it’s a big trip, like this, other times we visit local beaches or our neighbourhood nature preserve, Swan Lake, where we have a favourite rope swing in a willow tree beside a winding stream.
They will learn all that the world requires of them in time. Reading, writing, and the more sophisticated skills will develop as they begin to practice them. But to start, I am grounding them in the experience of their bodies on this earth. And in the joy of life that comes from being free in this way. Primo dances with the surf. Secundo tumbles off a log. I watch and smile. Stand on my head. Lick rocks.
Hunger drives us back to our campsite. Together we pour water into the pot, light the stove, cook the pasta, add the cheese, stir, and serve. Primo makes loud noises of delight and hugs me in appreciation of the fine meal. Secundo happily scarfs his meal. I’m thankful for the calories. Then there is a slug hunt as I wash up and we head back to the beach. This becomes our routine for the next three days.
One day we drive further up the coast to Botanical Beach which is renowned for its tidepools. We explore, Silas trundling over the beach on his sturdy feet. But Primo has other priorities. He has seen the surf crashing at the farthest reaches of the rock, and he leads us there, along narrow ledges where the ocean seethes, over long fingers of rock where the ocean licks, and out to the point where waves pound onto the rock shelf, spray up like geysers, and wash over the rock like waterfalls.
“Wah-tah-fah,” Secundo says it too. “Tide poo-ah.” He speaks deliberately, slowly. He learns new words every day. I can now have a conversation with him. When he fusses we tease him. “Are you two?” “No!” he shouts. “No.” And then he laughs too.
Finally Primo admits he’s cold and we turn back. It’s a long walk back to the car, including a kilometer hike up a hill. The five-year-old says he can’t do it, and I grab his hand and, with Silas in the backpack, we hoof it up the hill like the little engine that could. “I think I can,” I chant. “I think I can. I think I can.” This is actually another of my strong beliefs, one that I teach to my children: we have the power to create, to form, shape, and make. We must face our feelings, feel them, and often overcome them to achieve what we want and need to achieve.
Back at number 11 we slip into our domestic routine. No slug can hide from boys’ eyes. And I learn how to remove slug slime from little fingers (a dry washcloth and lots of rubbing). The boys play with sticks – what more do they need? We bang pots and sing as we walk to the drain. Pooing and peeing are both more challenging (I forgot to bring Secundo’s little potty) and easier (he runs around half naked most of the time and I clean up after him like a dog). The highlight of our trip was discovering a van that had a picture of Scooby Doo painted on it. As its drivers looked for a campsite, we watched it circle the campground, its engine loud, passing by us again and again. Where would Scooby settle for the night? Frankly, I love the child’s world, the child’s perspective. It is fresh, purely creative, and so alive. My spiritual practice is to be present with them.
We went to sleep with the sun and woke with it. Nature’s rhythms matched ours. I found it so easy. Of course, I did not have any distractions, nor did I expect to have any time to myself or for my own pursuits. Even yoga became a game. They hung on my back when I was in down dog, or to tried to push me over in headstand. I was all about the boys, which is pretty much how I parent when I’m on my own. We became a unit, and worked like a team. We did everything together. I loved it.
Upon our return home we maintained the unity, put away the camping supplies, dried the tent, washed dishes. Played with the sticks they dragged back with them. And morphed back into our home life, sunburned, salty, and full of nature’s power.
Today Primo started school. Sat crosslegged on the carpet when Mrs. Birch instructed “Criss cross apple sauce.” I know that school will teach Rio many important skills. And it’s my job to ensure that Rio has the exposure to nature that he needs as an earthling, to develop all the other parts of his beautiful and divine self.
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