September 17, 2007: Breathe Deep

A recent survey in Time magazine rated Colorado dead last in obesity. Our population apparently does a good job taking advantage of the endless miles of trails and the ubiquitous glory of the mountains. We (and I am happy to include myself among Coloradoans in this regard) seem to recognize that our physical well-being is directly linked to the land.

September 17, 2007: Breathe Deep

A recent survey in Time magazine rated Colorado dead last in obesity. Our population apparently does a good job taking advantage of the endless miles of trails and the ubiquitous glory of the mountains. We (and I am happy to include myself among Coloradoans in this regard) seem to recognize that our physical well-being is directly linked to the land.

Almost everyone we have met since coming here lists any number of outdoor activities -- skiing, hiking, bouldering, rock climbing, scaling 14-ers, biking, camping, fishing -- among their personal hobbies. Camp folk like us are a dime a dozen. Which is pretty cool.

We are doing our part to prepare the bug for the life of a fit and scrappy nature boy.

Cooler days mean afternoons scrabbling around at "the beach" and strolling around parts of the neighborhood we are just beginning to explore.

Back in August, Aunt Jaimin recommended we visit the Happy Apple Orchard near Colorado Springs. I figured we should wait until later in the fall to go. You know, autumn. Apple season.

Turns out, Colorado's high, dry climate means apples are pretty much done by mid-September. Weird. So we jammed out there this weekend to scoop up the last of the treats.

Our new buddy, Jesse, joined us on our apple outing. Jesse was our arts and crafts guru at camp this summer and has stuck around to work odd jobs around camp this fall. She's a funky, fabulous gal-pal for me (I've been one girlfriend-starved lady. . .The 14 years between us marvelously melt away when we start gabbing), and a crazy, creative playmate for Eliot.

And she picks a mean pumpkin.

Though I don't do so bad myself.

We have big plans for a couple of little pumpkins. Jack-o-lanterns, seeds, maybe even a pumpkin pie. While Toby watched a red-hot Red Sox game after we returned home last night, Jesse and I peeled apples till our hands cramped. We ate steaming apple crisp before bed, and have already set our sites on apple pie with crust from scratch later this week. If we aren't careful, we will tip Colorado's obesity scale in the wrong direction.

Yum!

September 6, 2007: Eleven Months Old 

As I write this, you are toddling all around the kitchen and living room, busy and full of beans, pushing your little scooter on wheels. No one taught you how to do this. One day, about a month ago at your grandparents’ house, you simply pulled yourself up on your little mail truck, and off you went. We all watched in amazement as you hit walls, then backed up and re-positioned yourself to weave your way around obstacles. You mastered the three-point turn in a matter of minutes. Your little feet slap-slap-slap on the floor as you work your way from one corner of the room to the other. Your progress seems haphazard at best, but you may have a plan mysterious to all but you. When you ram into a chair or table leg, you do everything in your power to scoot, push, and worm your way around it to get to your destination, rather than just backing up and finding another way.

Your determination is one of your most salient qualities of late. You decide you are going to get your little mitts on a book or toy or kitty resting up on the back of the sofa, and you stretch, twist, and screech until you manage your way up there. Just a few days ago, you scaled the couch without even a boost from me. You have begun to pull everything into your force field – grabbing for the toothbrush or telephone, my keys and sunglasses, the credit card scanner in the checkout line. The shriek you let out when something is beyond your reach makes my jaw hurt. You absolutely must have a minute to examine, taste, and turn over every new thing you encounter until you are familiar and comfortable with it (or until the next enticement grabs your attention). Often I will find you, seated on the ground, puzzling over some latest mystery of composition or pattern. So much like your daddy, there you will remain, planted, quiet, and still until the block slides free from its casing or the pine needle divides into three pieces. 

In the past few weeks, you have begun to open up to the natural world. Your grubby exploration enchants friends and family alike, as it becomes clearer every day that you belong with us, this circle of people who delight in what the earth offers us. Your daddy cleared section on the bank of the creek behind our house, and we have enjoyed a couple of afternoons at “the beach.” At first, you fussed and arched away from bracing water streaming over your toes. You sat safely beyond the edge, digging instead in the dry, gravelly soil and tasting twigs and stems. But you were aware of the water behind you, calling. A few minutes later, you turned and crept down to the burbling edge. You made your way in on your own until you were seated fully in the shallow stream, pants soaked through, river mud coating your legs and hands. You splashed, fished for rocks, tossed dirt, and wailed in protest when we finally took you in for dinner.

Every day, you become more plugged into your environment. When we lounge on the front porch, you watch in intense silence as the hummingbirds buzz and dive at their feeders. When we visit daddy’s office and play in the grass, you squat in the dusty soil and rub your hands over every different texture you can find. You notice the late-summer sunflowers growing wild along the road, reaching out to grab their spidery stems and buttery petals when we pause to look. And earlier this week, we chased a wild rabbit through camp as it attempted to disguise itself in the brush, you grinning and following it with your gaze each time its white fluff of a tail bounced across our path.

What still awes me is your ability to learn. So quickly, so completely. You have been learning since the day you arrived, certainly, but in the past month, your capacity for understanding information and applying it to your behavior has exploded. We worked on going up and down stairs and over the edges of furniture a few dozen times. I would say, over and over, “Now, turn around, reach with your toes, then sli-i-ide down on your belly.” I turned your body around against your attempts simply to topple over the edge head-first. Then, one day, you simply crawled over to the edge of the bed, turned around, and slid down with your feet without us prompting you. Now, no matter high you are – sofa, stairs, on the top of a play structure at the park – you roll onto your belly and let go. We will have to work on judging distances next.

You move through the stages of development like a whirlwind. I have trouble knowing just where you are from one day to the next. A few weeks back, we started playing a hide-and-seek game with a ball. You would hand me a ball with a big grin, I would hide it behind my back, saying, “where’s the ball?” At that prompt you would look at my empty hands, register the absence, crawl around behind me, and squawk in delight when you discovered your toy. No matter whether I hid the ball under a blanket or inside a bucket, you always zipped around behind my back to find it, perplexed when it was not there. We moved on to other things for a few days. Then, the next time we played – was a two days later? A week? – no matter where I put the ball, you went right for it. Under my leg, beneath a cushion. The only time you looked behind my back was when I put it behind my back. Something clicked in that rapidly expanding mind of yours, and it happened in the blink of an eye.

Now that summer is over and camp is easing into the slow rhythm of fall, I am no longer your sole playmate. Your daddy has been spending much more of his time at home. It did not take you long to tie yourself up with him all over again. You sob when he leaves for work then launch yourself to him when he returns. A few days ago, when Fenway knocked you over in the hallway and you burst into tears, I picked you up. You twisted out of my arms and reached for your daddy. A little shiver of something like sweet relief moved through me. Now, Toby is your hero, too. You get to be this close to both of us. Your capacity for love expands. Every day you are with us, our circle grows tighter.   

September 2, 2007: Summer's End

With the last of the families heading out after a fun family camp weekend, summer at Camp Shady Brook is officially over. We enjoyed a rousing game of staff-versus-families kickball on Saturday evening, and even Eliot stayed busy till dark, digging around in the dirt on the sidelines while mommy and daddy took turns on the field. Camp is eerily quiet this evening. With afternoon thunderstorms and tomorrow's holiday, we are truly feeling the beginning of the long, quiet stretch of autumn.

The next few months will be anything but relaxing, however. The camp executive director, Toby's boss, announced his resignation just this past week. The first week of October, he will be shipping out. Our Y will be in the process of hiring both a new exec and a new full-time facilities director for camp in the next few weeks. The culture of our camp and the rhythm of our lives will be transforming into something entirely new. Depending on the family situation of the facilities director, we may even have another spouse and some kids living on-site. Neighbors! Imagine!

A few weeks back, Grandpa Ken zipped into town for a taste of our Colorado. We hiked him all around camp and up Day Mountain, the hefty hilltop abutting our property.

After Dad headed back east, our little family joined our friends, Mitch and Heather, for a Sunday of lollygagging around the Cheyenne Mountain Zoo. This cute little collection of animals is dubbed "America's Only Mountain Zoo." They are also rumored to have one of the largest collection of giraffes in captivity. I'm not sure this is something to boast about, but Eliot sure got a kick out of helping at snack time.

August 25, 2007: At Long Last

Family visits and computer glitches kept us away from our website for most of the summer. Thanks to new equipment from a computer savvy grandpa and a Saturday morning installation from a helpful daddy, we are back in business. What a treat to come back around! I missed these little visits.

Camp Shady Brook said goodbye to its last batch of kiddos on August 10th, and we have hosted a few smaller groups since then. My dear husband, MIA for three long months, is finally home again. We actually slept in, all dream-dazed three of us, till the shameful hour of 9:00 this morning. What luxury!

After grumping my way through several of Toby's 16-hour days at the beginning of  summer, I realized I do not make the most accommodating camp wife and mother. I did my best, chasing my little pint-sized cruiser around the house for a few weeks and exploring our community with the in-laws who graciously came to visit when I most needed the company. But the reality of their eventual departure filled me with dread and impulse. I accepted the generous invitation from my folks to come chill on the east coast. And chilling in style too -- AC and a backyard pool! I whisked Eliot away for three luxurious weeks chewing the fat with old buddies, lazing around the house with the grandparents, and zipping up to Vermont with Gramma Genie to gorge on organic cuisine, splash in Lake Champlain, and bliss out at a green Northeast Kingdom wedding.

Uncle Billy is too much fun!

The legendary aquatic initiation rite into Clan Hettler.

If Gramma Carol had not suggested we buy a swing, I don't thing it ever would have occurred to us. What a smart gramma! This is Eliot's maiden voyage in his new ride.

A lovely view with some lovely folks at Shady Brook's hilltop campfire site.

Baba Mike's bounce is just right.

Gramma Lolly wonders if the suzuki method might encourage the little maestro.

Gramma Genie wonders the same thing.

The thing about go-babies is that they don't lie still.

Eliot wants to toast Tom and Jan's nuptials, too.

Cousin sandwich.

Far more interested in food than affection, the billy goats at Frying Pan Park bear a striking resemblance to Fenway.

Grandpa bubbles bring baby giggles.

An familiar swing makes an appearance in a Virginia backyard. The bug is clearly a swinging savant.