My family and I live far from the busy, rushing
river some call “mainstream.” We live, in fact, along a lazy, trickling
creek folded into a valley in the mountains of North-Central Arizona.
This place we call home is bursting with wild and wonderful life
year-round. To our south lie the Santa Maria Mountains, “Apache Creek
Wilderness,” Ponderosas, and deep rugged canyons. The Juniper Mountains,
“Juniper Mesa Wilderness,” pinions and steep limestone cliffs are what
we find to the north. To our west is one of the largest, wildest and
traditionally run ranches in the United States. Our neighbors to the
east are two miles away; after that, it’s an hour drive to town with
only trees, grasses, and mountain views in all directions. The land we
occupy is roughly three hundred acres, surrounded on all sides by
hundreds of square miles of National Forest Land. Some people say they
could never live in the middle of nowhere; to me, it’s the middle of
everywhere.
This is a place that left electricity and phone
lines behind twenty miles ago. There is no pavement, no traffic or
honking horns, and no impatient commuters. This is the land of sun,
mountain lion, and elk; walnut trees, wild mulberries, and monsoon
storms. This is a place where we can hear ourselves think; it’s the
place where we live and grow as a family. To me, it’s one of the
loveliest places I’ve ever been. Luckily (for us) it would not suit
everyone. We have a thirty-eight mile drive to town (of which seventeen
are washboard dirt that may or may not be there after a big rain.) Our
1930’s bungalow-style forest-ranger cabin has many less than desirable
residents. There are more mice living here than people. We have the
lesser-known Cone-nosed Beetle (also known as the Assassin Bug and that
should tell you all you need to know.)
Our cabin is powered by a small solar system that
isn’t large enough to supply many appliances. We happily do without. We
do not have (and never have had) a television. On our town days (twice
weekly) we pick up a movie to watch on the laptop and run various
errands; we attend music lessons, sports practices, visit friends,
farmers market, and library. Generally, we are eager to return home.
Techqua Ikachi is a Hopi phrase that means,
“blending with nature and celebrating life.” Although it is a very
simple way of being in the world, it is not easy, given the present
drive of our culture to achieve, have, and excel. Choosing the trickling
creek over the hectic rushing river is one way our family can slow down
and celebrate life. We grow food, store food, and gather wild food. We
walk, write, play, and read; we work on projects (sometimes together,
sometimes alone.) We paint, email friends, repair fences, and collect
eggs. We study Botany and Zoology not because we have to, but because we
want to. We read history textbooks for fun. We play games, rock climb,
and paint. We gather creek-clay, make pots, and fire them in the
woodstove. Some of us make cookies, preserve pears, and dry wild mint,
while others stand by and make us laugh. Some of us run through the
rugged mountain; others prefer motorcycles. Some of us play music and
sing, while others listen. Some cook; others clean. We all love archery,
taking long walks into the mountains, and sharing the hammock.
Before I had children, I had an idea of how I
wanted to live with my future family. The idea grew and solidified over
time. I had very few mentors and role models for healthy families
growing up, so I found strength in books and families whose ideas
inspired my own. About three years before I started on my own parenting
path, I was lucky enough to meet a family who lived a very
family-centered life. All the children were unschooled though none of us
knew the term at the time. I saw, in their family, a group of
individuals allowing life to unfold naturally. I had never seen anything
like it. Each day, there were things to do, interests to be explored,
projects to be finished, farm chores to help with (or not) and things to
learn – both together and separately. The children from that family are
grown now, having gone from the farm on various adventures and
educational pursuits. However, all three children (not having families
of their own yet) still call the farm home. It is the solid, nurturing
place to which they return to refresh themselves, and reconnect with
one- another before moving on to the next adventure.
It has taken some time for my dream to unfold
into the precious gift it is now. One of the facets of what I wanted to
give my family was a deep sense of place and connection to the land. I
wanted my children to have the opportunity to know their home and all
its inhabitants in a way that few children are able. I wanted for us all
to be connected to cycles and seasons and growth patterns (in our
surroundings and within ourselves.) I wanted a slow, relaxed
understanding of what it means to be a creature in this particular place
on the planet. I didn’t want to teach my children about the earth; I
wanted them to learn from it. I knew that to accomplish this goal I
would have to set it up early in their lives. I would find a quiet place
to live where we could be with each other and ourselves in the presence
of things untamed. I did find that quiet place here on this land; and
everyday we are in the presence of the untamed.
Together, with my partner, we have created the
space so that within the family structure each individual has complete
freedom to explore at his or her own pace. We tend to keep it simple. It
means giving one another space if requested. It means supplying good
creative materials, quality literature, musical instruments, fun games
and activities, and plenty of time to explore.
Within every family, if autonomy is trusted, each
child and adult can have very different interests. Diversity is what
keeps things juicy and lively. How self-important of us to try to shape
our children into little versions of ourselves! Our three children
choose very different things. Our oldest son, now sixteen, is very
peer-, musically-, and academically-oriented. He is interested in acting
and music in a social setting. He is an accomplished drummer, a highly
creative individual, a gifted athlete and one of the funniest people I
have ever known. He has made the choice to attend school and live,
during the school year, with his mother in Maine.
Our middle son, fifteen, taught himself to read
at three. He is one of the smartest people I’ve ever known, with a grasp
of history that I will never comprehend. He loves soccer, kayaking,
Shakespeare, and guitar. He chose a school environment on a couple of
occasions: kindergarten, first grade, and for five weeks during his
fifth grade year. He has, after short times in school, always returned
home and to the freedom it offers. When all family members are free to
choose, they may even choose to go to school! Interestingly enough, both
our boys love technology. We don’t have the electrical capacity for much
“plug-in” time but they like to play computer games a few times a week
and mess around with a pretty complex music program.
Our daughter, nine, is a child of this land. She
is being shaped by the wind and water that molded this mountain valley.
She knows the intricacies of her homeland in a way that can only happen
by being there. It takes “dirt-time” to know a place as she does.
Together, we sit with the land and listen. We share what we hear (in our
ears and in our hearts.) She understands things about this place that
I’m just beginning to; she hears things faster than I do. Having never
known a different life, she can see the big picture in Nature. She is
comfortable with dirt, insects and silence. She knows more about the
plant use on this piece of land than most college biology students. She
also taught herself to read at three and plays a mean polka on the
violin. If you ask her, she will undoubtedly tell you, there is no place
like home.
A Day in the Life of Our Family
This morning, the Beatles sang out in the kitchen while the three
children made an amazing batch of gluten-free pancakes. I sat outside
the kitchen door roasting coffee beans on an open fire. The children
laughed, disagreed about ingredients, and made quick and easy
resolutions. I finished roasting, made some fresh coffee, and drank it
while I watered the garden. The music in the kitchen changed from
Beatles to Nirvana then to a strange Appalachian folk fiddle tune. After
breakfast, Kiva (youngest daughter) and I weeded the corn while the boys
(sort of) cleaned up. Kiva read aloud to me while I continued weeding,
then joined the big boys on the trampoline.
Kevin (husband) came home with wood to build bookshelves. We paid the
boys for their help and the shelves were artistically and beautifully
crafted. Kiva and I fed, watered, and brushed the horses, then walked to
the creek to inspect the cattail’s growth. We worked awhile on willow
shades for the windows of the cabin. After lunch, we went to the north
fork of the creek in search of a swimming hole. Water is low this time
of year but we found one, cleared a path through the water vegetation
and cooled off. We picked wild mint to dry for tea and on the way home
found some ripe mulberries.
Later, Israel (middle son) read while Summer (oldest son) helped Kiva
do an Internet search for deerskin to make moccasins for her doll. A
little later, Summer read while Israel and Kiva played a game. I weeded
some more, and planted a second round of beets and carrots while Kevin
played a new song for me on the guitar. Tonight, everyone helped with
dinner and as we sat down to eat, two elk casually walked into the
meadow. I am always in awe of these large, handsome creatures.
After dinner, I read Robin Hood (in a challenging Old English
version) to Kiva while the boys washed and dried dishes. The boys read
inside for a while then grabbed their sleeping bags and headed outside
to sleep. They have been sleeping outside under the stars nearly every
night (during the summer) for several years now. After Kiva fell asleep,
I had some time with Kevin, then worked on an article about primitive
living skills for children.
So, another day has passed – a day lived fully and deliberately along
our gentle creek. As parents, we have all been given the privilege of
raising children in a world so full of opportunities and challenges.
Every day I feel tremendous gratitude for this wild and abundant
opportunity given me.
Kerry Estey Keith lives in the mountains of Arizona with her family.
She believes every day is a blessing and tries to express that in her
writing and art.
