A Large Room: Reviving Neglected Corners

This blog has been on my mind lately. I've neglected it, due in some part to lack of inspiration or purpose. Many days I have the urge to share an aspect of our home education journey, or capture a small moment of our home life. I haven't known what to do with them, or perhaps how to frame them.

When I first started this blog, I was a newlywed, living in a tiny apartment over a clothing store on a historic Ontario mainstreet. The name "Little Hearth" came from my desire to kindle a meaningful and beautiful home life, no matter how small our space.

Once we moved to Prince Edward Island, got a bit of land and a big old house, had a few kids, and started homeschooling, I expanded the name to "Little Hearth and Homestead." We were trying our hand at some basic homesteading activities - chickens, gardening, pigs. We enjoyed those things, but I find our focus has now shifted. The "Homestead" part of the name didn't fit into my big picture in the same way, at least in terms of blogging. "Little Hearth" on its own didn't quite do the trick either.

What next?

Well, I've been reading Karen Glass' book Consider This, a treatment of Charlotte Mason's place in the tradition of classical education. Today I read in Chapter 5 about Mason's "science of relations," which has to do with her "captain idea" of synthetic thinking - the ability to place things and thoughts within a wider picture of the world. It's all about the student forming relationships within an interconnected, ordered whole.

Glass quotes a paragraph by Mason which I've read before, but which met me today with a certain freshness. This is it:


"Children make large demands upon us. We owe it to them to initiate an immense number of interests. 'Thou has set my feet in a large room,' should be the glad cry of every intelligent soul. Life should be all living, and not merely a tedious passing of time; not all doing or all feeling or all thinking - the strain would be too great - but all living; that is to say, we should be in touch wherever we go, whatever we hear, whatever we see, with some manner of vital interest. We cannot give the children these interests; we prefer that should never say they have learned botany or conchology, geology or astronomy. The question is not, - how much does the youth know? when he has finished his education - but how much does he care? and about how many orders of things does he care? In fact, how large is the room in which he find his feet set? and therefore, how full is the life he has before him?" 

(Charlotte Mason, School Education, p. 170-71)


This is what captured me - the large room. What a beautiful picture for the goal set before us. As soon as I read it, I scribbled a note in the margin of the book: Little Hearth & Large Room.

Little Hearth - I am still one small woman, striving to kindle and tend the flame of our home life. A life sparked by God's own love and goodness, a life which provides warmth and cheer for our family, a life that may bring light to others.

Large Room - This is the spacious place God has, in his grace, given us to roam. This is what education is all about - preparing and inviting our children to participate in the fullest life possible. This is our humble effort to implement the universal principles Charlotte Mason was so adept at expressing.

So it is with these thoughts in mind that I am reviving this corner of the blogosphere. It is a continuation of what has gone before, with hopes of sharing more living yet to come.

"He brought me out into a spacious place; 
he rescued me because he delighted in me."

Psalm 18:19

Home Education as the Hearth

With any practical endeavour, it helps me to have some kind of image which gives meaning to the work at hand. And the no-small-task of home education is no exception. It’s such a big job, with so many facets. I can easily become overwhelmed by details. I can easily become discouraged by comparison. I can easily lose sight of the vision that was ignited in my heart, for my family. 

The image of a hearth is not new for me, as the title of my blog suggests. But I have only recently begun to apply it to the area of home education. I’m currently in a season of evaluating what we’ve done so far, and looking ahead to how we will move forward. But before I can get into the practical elements of planning, I’m taking some time to sketch out the big picture again. 

And I’m picturing home education like a hearth. These are some thoughts that are helping me envision the kind of learning life I want to kindle in our home. 

~ Gathering ~

The hearth is a place of gathering. 

The flame draws us to itself, and to each other. 

It’s a place of coming close and reconnecting.

The hearth is a communal place, and room must be made for all of us. 

This is the beautiful power of fire. We are brought together by something bigger than any one of us. We draw up to a flame that has burned for century upon century. We are in good company. 

The hearth says, you are not alone. 

~ Warmth ~

The hearth is a place of warmth. 

It takes the chill out of the air. It thaws icy attitudes. It melts stubborn ways. It softens hard edges.

In the warmth we can relax, and be ourselves. 

The hearth is a comfortable place, and a comforting place. 

Here we receive rest for our weariness, and balm for the chapped places of life. 

Here we curl up and know that it is well with our souls. 

The hearth says, you are at home.

~ Cheer ~

The hearth is a cheery place. 

Fire dances and flickers and crackles and sings. 

The hearth is a place for kindling joy and sparking delight. 
It’s a merry place. (Hobbits and badgers most welcome.) 

It's a place for laughter and cocoa and tales of adventure. 

Fire revives us, reminds us to lift up our heads and lighten our hearts. 

The hearth says, you can kick up your heels. 

~ Sustenance ~

The hearth is a place of sustenance.

It is over the fire that the tea kettle whistles and the stone soup simmers. 

It is over the fire that the raw ingredients of the day are brought together into something that is nourishing for all. 

It is deep under the coals that soul food is baked, steady and stick-to-your-ribs. 

It’s a place to partake, to share the bread and wine. 

The hearth says, you have everything you need. 

~ Light ~

The hearth is a place of light.

By the glow of fire, we see things as they are meant to be seen. 

We see truth. We see living ideas. 

Something in us becomes illuminated. Inspiration flashes and ignites creativity, passion, wonder. 

At the hearth our torches are lit, torches which we will carry out to the corners of our world and light our varied paths. 

The hearth says, you were made for discovery.

~ Invitation ~

The hearth is a place of invitation. 

First, we gather as family. 

And the circle expands to friends, neighbours, and others we know and love.

The fire is always bright enough for more. The circle extends to those for whom our windows glow as beacons in the night. 

It is not ours to hide under a bushel, but to blaze as a signal on a hill, summoning hope and signalling home. 

The hearth says, you are always welcome. 

This is the image I want to keep burning in my mind's eye as we forge ahead into our next chapter of home education. 

* image: By the Hearth, 1894, by Philip Eustace Stretton

 ~lg

{p, h, f, r,} Hooked Rugs and Home Life

~ Capturing the context of contentment in everyday life ~

Joining in with Like Mother, Like Daughter

{pretty, happy, funny, real} 

at the Museum of the Hooked Rug and Home Life 

in the Acadian village of Cheticamp, Nova Scotia, Canada

It may not sound like a thrilling place to be, but on our recent 10th anniversary trip to Cape Breton Island, my husband and I stopped here on the recommendation of a friend. This museum shows a glimpse of life for the Acadians in the area about a hundred years ago. It also showcases many antique hooked rugs, an art made famous by the women of the Cheticamp area. The museum also houses the hooked rug gallery of Elizabeth Lefort, a famous rug hooker, whose work has been given to royalty, presidents, prime ministers, and even popes. 

What follows are some of the photos from this museum, and my reflections on this not-so-very-far-removed lifestyle. 

First off, Cape Breton Island is a beautiful place, and I would highly recommend the journey! We kept to the Cabot Trail for our short getaway, and explored only a fraction of the spectacular natural wonders, fascinating history, and rich Acadian/Celtic culture.

Fall colours

Breathtaking blues

At the top of the 9.2 km Skyline Trail!

The Cabot Trail at sunset

.
.
The Museum

I have a strange relationship to the lifestyle of the families of the past - part admiration, part envy, part . . .  shame?

I admire their ability to carve lives and homes out of practically nothing - farming, fishing, mining, and doing whatever it took to survive and eventually become prosperous. I admire how hard they must have worked, how resourceful they were, and how they still made time and space for beauty in their homelife and crafts.

This is the same type and size of churn we have in our house as an antique "decoration"

I envy the "simplicity" of the times, even though it brought its own limitations. I envy the community,  the tightly-woven networks that held people together for better or worse. I envy the lack of "stuff." I envy the skills that were passed down from woman to woman, the "collective memory" as it were. I even envy their lack of choice, though I'm sure many a feminist or modernist would berate such a notion. Their circles were small. In many ways, life was set for them. There wasn't an endless parade of "you can be whatever you want to be," which I have often found counterproductive to simply getting on with the task at hand, or choosing a path and being content with it. There really was no possible way to live outside of one's means, and though I'm sure the catalogues of the day must have provoked some wishing for more, a lifestyle just beyond their reach was not bombasting them at every turn.

 And I can't help but feel somewhat ashamed. At what, compared to them, seems like my own laziness, selfishness, or complete incompetence. Much as I have always been nostalgic for these simpler times, could I have survived them? I can barely survive my own world of modern conveniences some days. But then I wonder, is there something wrong with me, or is it a symptom of something gone wrong with our modern world?

Note the antique hooked rugs in two styles - one floral pattern, carefully planned, and the other a more random pattern which utilized any scraps of wool, whatever colour or length was left over. 

I do leave these glimpses of an earlier life feeling inspired though. Inspired to bring something of this beauty, simplicity, and pride of home into my own life. Inspired to work hard, to devote myself to the life we're building as a family, and to find contentment and joy in common things.

Rug Making

The variety of hooked rugs on display, both antique and more recently crafted, were truly beautiful and fascinating.

We were given a demonstration of how the rugs are made. Canvas is stretched on a frame to open the holes of the fabric. A pattern is then drawn on by hand. The hooked needle (still made locally from a nail hammered into a wooden base, then bent into shape) pulls the wool up from underneath, in little loops of equal height. There is no knotting or tying of the wool; it is simply cut off when a new colour is needed. The loops are hooked so close together, that when the canvas is taken off the frame, they shrink into a tightly woven material. The pattern is cut out of the canvas, with enough of a border to fold and sew under. The rug is then ironed on both sides to further shrink the wool and keep it all together.

Still made with a plain old nail

In this area, the hooks are still handmade, the wool dyed locally, and the rugs made by hand by the women of the community.

"La Sagouine"

A variation on the "Tree on Life" design

A portrait of Queen Elizabeth II by Elizabeth LaFort

Elizabeth LeFort also created a collection of stunning religious rugs. I was amazed at the size of some of them!

A young Jesus

The resurrection

The crucifixion 

"Our Lady of Perpetual Help"

"The Nativity"

I love this detail of The Nativity

A tribute to Canada for the Canadian Centennial in 1967.
416 colours. 8 months in the making. 7 miles of yarn were used and 1,750,000 stitches were hooked. 

To commemorate our tenth anniversary, we brought home this humble hooked rug. It is a "Tree of Life" design, made with leftover scraps of wool so that no two designs are the same. I think it is a beautiful symbol of the life of marriage. (I didn't think to take a picture of it till evening, in not-so-great lighting.)

A beautiful way to bring the traditions of the past to life in our home.


~lg

The Big Yellow Bus, and Why My Child Wasn't On It

I looked out the window and saw the kids lined up at the bus stop in front of our house. It was 7:50 AM, and my kindergarten-age daughter was not getting on the happy yellow school bus with the other children. I had a moment of panic.

Are we doing the right thing? Are we somehow depriving our daughter of her childhood birthright to ride that bus? Are we just another weird homeschooling family?! (Please don't answer that!)

She was blissfully unaware of my pre-coffee angst, sleeping peacefully upstairs after a later than usual evening of romping outside on the last official day of summer.  She had a new outfit in the closet, all picked out for her first day of "school." We had new pencils and crayons, crisp blank notebooks, and baskets and shelves filled with books of every kind. I had written "Welcome to Kindergarten!" on our blackboard easel, ready to greet her when she came downstairs. Everything was prepared. (Though I can't say the rest of the house was spotless. Do teachers stay up late the night before school scrubbing their kitchens? I wondered. Probably not.)

It had been months, really years of preparation. The seed of the idea of home education, grown out of my own varied educational experience, nurtured by blog posts, articles and books, encouraged by friends, and later hashed out with my husband in dozens of conversations, had come to fruition. We were not anti-school, by any means. But there was something about the home education option I just couldn't lay aside. I knew I would kick myself later if we hadn't given it a go, if I hadn't put all those bubbling thoughts and ideas and aspirations to the test.

So we decided to do it.

We are doing it. Right now. Today. While the rest of the world seems to be getting on yellow buses.

We are doing it because we think it fits us as a family. The education of one's children is a supremely important and personal choice. What fits for one family may not fit for another. But we are trying on this homeschooling thing, and to me it seems like a good fit, at least for now.

Yes, we might just be crazy. Yes, there are days I will know I am crazy.

But when I think of what my daughter might gain, and not what she'll miss out on, the panic subsides. (The coffee helps too.)

So why are we doing this? I go over some of the reasons in my head.

Family Life
I want our family to grow and learn together, carving what we value out of life, working for and enjoying it together. I want to build our own family culture that I hope will give my children a strong sense of identity and security.

I want our children to be friends with each other, playing and discovering (and yes, fighting) together. I want to give them opportunities to love and lean on each other.

I want the strongest voices in my children's ears to be ones of unconditional love, encouragement, and purpose.


Flexibility and Freedom
I remember my own homeschool days when Dad was in charge of recess time, and we knew we would have at least an hour in the woods before he remembered to call us back in!

I believe the early years are best spent exploring the wide world in a multitude of ways, interacting with all sorts of people, getting your hands dirty and your jeans ripped, with time to play and explore and sniff the dandelions along the way.

I want our children to know many unhurried hours, to drop everything to investigate a particularly large spider, to have time to get bored, to read "just one more chapter," and to discover what it is they really love.

I want the freedom to adjust our routines and methods according to our children's individual needs. I want to give our children the time and space necessary for creativity.

I want our children to have a sense of wonder.


Faith Building 
I want our children to know, love, and serve God wholeheartedly. I know this is not why many families homeschool, but I believe that home education can help give our children a consistent beginning in their life of faith.

I want to build a greenhouse. The best image I've come across to explain what we hope to achieve is that of a greenhouse. One day, we want our children to be able to stand firm and weather whatever life throws at them, with roots deep in the soil of God's truth, beauty, love, and purposes. But you don't throw a new seedling out in the middle of a storm, or when there is risk of frost. Aren't you sheltering your kids from reality? some may ask. To which I respond, early life needs shelter. I have no intention of keeping my children in a bubble all their years. But when they are young, I believe it is wise to maintain a greenhouse experience for these tender lives. In a greenhouse, young plants become rooted, receive necessary nourishment and shelter, and are gradually introduced to the elements so that when the time comes, they will be ready to grow and flourish in the great outdoors.

[Can all of these ideals be fostered without homeschooling? Absolutely. But for us, we feel this is the best way to achieve this for our family, at this season of our lives.]

I take a deep breath. Drain the coffee from the mug. I hear excited five year old feet upstairs. I smile. It's going to be a good day.

~lg

Queen of the Realm

I come downstairs after both kids are tucked snugly into bed, one-and-a-half out of two asleep. The house has that disheveled look of a day well lived.

Peepo, one of our favourite books, pulled off the shelf. The table strewn with after-supper artwork and bowls of homemade paint. Pickwick, our new kitten, chasing cheerios and peas across the dining room floor. More socks than the number of children’s feet in this house dropped in diverse places. (They multiply on the floor and disappear in the dryer – oh the strange magic of socks.) One last pile of laundry waiting for a bath. A stray, sticky pot. Bits and pieces of our little life, the evidence of moments spent and shared and sewn together, stitching us together.

For today I’ve held little hands and whole squirming bodies of babies and what seems like a dozen things at once, yet somehow it’s all holding me, and it’s all here.

A sense of accomplishment sneaks up on me, as that of a sovereign surveying her domain with the satisfaction of a realm at rest. The cat looks at me as if I’m being ridiculous.

Yes, I am still going to have to finish the dishes, do that laundry, pick up those socks, sweep the floor, put the hedgehog family (and all their miniature friends and relations) back in the play barn, and otherwise tidy up.

But by some special grace, I am able to see this to-do list tonight as a to-thank list. To take joy in this quiet moment of messy contentment.

To feel somehow like a queen in the midst of a maidservant’s work.

~lg

Relational Homemaking

Just a little peek into our home . . .

Homemaking.

I have the choice –

Is it a series of chores, or a sacred career?

Am I biding my time, or building the kingdom?

I need some kind of framework on which to hang the fingerpainting of my days.

I need a vision that puts the mundane into perspective.

I need the why behind the what.

At the end of the day, my home is a gift from God, and I am its steward. It is not an end in itself, and I am not the Master. I am a servant, and all we have belongs to the King.

My home is the environment and atmosphere in which my family grows, and so its design is crucial to the direction of our growth – toward or away from God, into or out of love.

Here the physical should mirror the spiritual. This is a place where what is most important should be most visible.

And I have decided that my goals as a homemaker are inextricably connected to my relationships. All my homemaking efforts should be directed toward four main relationships, which are also gifts from God.

It is what I call Relational Homemaking.

God

How does our home nurture my and my family’s relationship with God?

How does our home reflect the unconditional nature of God’s love?

How does the shape of our home form us into the shape of Christ?

How does our home point us to seek God’s kingdom first?

Marriage

How does our home contribute to love and unity in our marriage? 

How does our home make room for intimacy?

How does our home bring us together in mutual activities and a shared vision?

How does our home promote co-labour as co-heirs of the grace of life?

Children

How does our home encourage my children to know and follow God?

How does our home provide opportunities for loving nurture?

How does our home provide order and wonder for my children?

How does our home facilitate in the training of my children?

Hospitality

How does our home enable me to offer hospitality to others?

How does our home provide peace to others?
How does our home foster deep friendships?

How does our home point people to Christ?

~lg

My new spot

I've finally settled into a cozy spot to have my morning coffee and sit and read and think and write. This chair is in the dining room close to the fireplace (for those chilly mornings) and in front of the (newly washed) window where I can see the river. The window faces east, perfect for that morning sun. Here I can turn my back on the rest of the house in whatever state it's in and give my brain room-with-a-view to breathe.

~lg

Rhythm of the Home

I stumbled across this website recently and have been really enjoying this gentle approach in creating your own home's rhythm.

rhythmofthehome.com