Autumn Reading List--an antidote to burnout

Truth be told, I'm too tired to write and contracting too much to sit here, so I dug up the autumn reading list I used a couple of years ago when I was battling bigtime burnout. We were just talking about what to do when you just can't make the plan happen. These books and lots of outside time (for both mom and children) are a great place to start.

Although nature study is to be pursued every day, every year, one fall I gave over at least twelve weeks to the intensive study of the world around us and to the study of nature-related literature and biographies. We did a little math and everything else revolved around nature. My goal was to acquaint my children intimately with the natural world near our home and to develop a love for natural history writing and illustrations. Perhaps more importantly, I wanted to embrace with them the world God created for us, to be inspired and to rest in the comfort and splendor there. My sense was that we would head for the hills (the woods, the pond, the river) and never return to doing school at home again! Here are some books we enjoyed that autumn and a smattering of samples from nature notebooks. We get these books out every year as the evening air starts to turn crisp. Now, they are familiar friends with whom to embrace the season!

Read Alouds for Everybody

Caddie Woodlawn

My Side of the Mountain

Rascal

Walden

Laddie

Water Sky

Where the Red Fern Grows

Paddle to the Sea

Minn of the Mississippi

Owls in the Family

Level Three Readers

Black Hearts in Battersea

Nightbirds on Nantucket

The Wolves of Willouby Chase

Michael O'Halloran

Freckles

The Keeper of the Bees

The Harvester

The Best of Beston

Girl of the Limberlost

Level Two

Trumpet of the Swans

The Herriott Treasury for Children

Autumn Moon

One Day in the Woods

One Day in the Alpine Tundra

Kildee House

Owl in the shower

The Blue Hill Meadows

Tarantula in my Purse

Winter Moon

Picture book biographies to share

Into the Woods

A Man Named Thoreau

Black Whiteness

Pond Watching with Ann Morgan

Bug Watching with Charles Henry Turner

Bird Watching with Margaret Morse Nice

Nature Art with Chiura Obata

Flower Watching with Alice Eastwood

Fish Watching with Eugenie Clark

Exploring the Earth with John Wesley Powell

Wildlife Watching with Charles Eastman

Girls Who Look under Rocks

(note: We enjoyed this last book, with inspiring stories of young scientists. But, as a homeschooling family, were surprised?there is a specific bit of information the author did not include. Miriam Rothschild, for instance, never went to school. Why didn't the authors mention that her family believed that school was a waste of time, and that it stifled scientific creativity? And what of the early education of other women naturalists? Be inspired to use this book as a starting place, as an inspiration for more in-depth research. --MacBeth Derham)

Picture Books
(but good enough for everyone to enjoy):

Give Her the River: A Father's Wish for His Daughter

Crawdad Creek

Henry David's House

Henry Hikes to Fitchburg

Henry Builds a Cabin

Louisa May and Mr. Thoreau's Flute

More great picture books:

Joanne Ryder

When the Woods Hum

Fog in the Meadow

A Fawn in the Grass

Each Living Thing

Wild Birds

Mockingbird Morning

Catching the Wind

My Father's Hands

The Waterfall's Gift

Hello Tree!

Eric Carle

The Very Busy Spider

The Very Quiet Cricket

The Very Lonely Firefly

The Very Clumsy Click Beetle

Brown Bear, Brown Bear What Do You See?

The Very Hungry Caterpillar

The Mixed up Chameleon

The Grouchy Ladybug

The Honeybee and the Robber

Cynthia Rylant

Every Living Thing

The Bird House

Tulip Sees America

Night in the Country

Blue Hill Meadows

In November

The Wonderful Happens

This Year's Garden

Not to be Missed

America The Beautiful

Salamander Rain: A Lake and Pond Journal

Crinkleroot's guide to Knowing the birds

Crinkleroot's Guide to Animal Habitats

Crinkleroot's Guide to Knowing the Trees

Resources and books for Mom and/or high schoolers

The Amateur Naturalist

Golden Guides:
Pond Life, Insects, Birds

The Wild Out Your Window: Exploring Nature Near at Hand

The Curious Naturalist: Nature's Everyday Mysteries

Reading the Mountains of Home

Writing Naturally: A down to earth guide to nature writing

Fun With Nature Take Along Guide

More Fun with Nature Take Along Guide

Drawing From Nature

Keeping a Nature Journal

A Crow Doesn't Need a Shadow

Acorn Pancakes and Dandelion Salad and 38 Other Wild Recipes

Hurricane Reading
Peter Spier's Rain

Galveston's Summer of the Storm

Hurricane

Magic School Bus inside a Hurricane

Rain Makes Applesauce

Come on, Rain!

Down Comes The Rain

One Morning in Maine

Picture Study

Cloud Dance

Mountain Dance

Where the River Begins

In Blue Mountains

Walking With Henry

Poetry Friday: for the Birds

We're stilll watching birds in the heart of my home. Goldfinches and hummingbirds are the favorite attractions, though the latter are certainly camera-shy. In honor of those tiny flitting, fleeting hummers, here are a few lines from Harry Hibbard Kemp:

The Humming Bird

The sunlight speaks, and its voice is a bird:
It glimmers half-guessed, half-seen, half-heard,
Above the flowerbed, over the lawn--
A flashing dip, and it is gone,
And all it lends to the eye is this--
A sunbeam giving the air a kiss.

A Catholic on Campus: Yeah, what she said

I was going to post yesterday evening about the latest disappointment at my alma mater. The student press there might just have outdone itself. I wrote a couple of years ago about anti-Catholicism and the general promotion of sin. Since that time, after much thought and prayer and not a little doubt, a dear friend has enrolled at the esteemed University. She's finding it a bit of a culture shock. She's also taken on my mantle of protest. And since she's there and she's a very gifted writer (and since I'm days away from delivering a baby and can't seem to sit here for very long), I'll let her talk for me. Visit Courtney and hear what young Catholics are up against at secular univesities. Before you leave her site, please offer a prayer for her, too. I have a hunch it's pretty lonely in Charlottesville these days.

Where I'm From From--Anniversary Edition

I am from a 13-year-old girl in a brown turtleneck and tweed skirt who somehow caught your heart forever.

I am from ooey gooey bars in your locker, from state championships in Charlottesville, and from apple fritters at the Dutch Pantry.

I am from a perfect Homecoming Dance and a perfectly awful Senior Prom.

I am twenty years from a sun-dappled autumn afternoon when you slipped a ring and a promise on my finger. I am from a wedding a year later, another ring, and more promises--always kept. I am from more time in my life with you, than without.

I am from hours and hours of long distance telephone calls (harbingers of things to come) and regular treks up and down 29, wearing your ring on my finger and a song in my heart.

I am from the a little dollhouse on Donegal Lane, full of cottage charm, lots of dreams, the epitome of “cozy.”

I am from the basil on the deck, impatiens (better known as “poppers”) in the front, a swingset in the tiny backyard. From stolen kisses at Lake Accotink to Pohick Valley Stream park outside our bedroom window, deer in the morning and a rushing creek after the rain.

I am from five anniversaries spent nine months pregnant, from Michael and Christian and Paddy and then a girl named Mary Beth. I’m from the “twins,” Stephen and Nicky, from Katie Bean the family queen, and a little miracle girl we can’t wait to meet.

I am from early lessons in “in sickness and in health.” I am from an IV push with wicked red fluid that made my hair fall out; raging fevers and no white blood cells; and you, always you, right there by my side.

I am from giggling children in tickle jail to “go far post” to “Love you Forever” every night into your cell phone since she was able to warble the words.

I am from far too many teary goodbyes, sweet, memorable reunions and everything in between. I’m from no honeymoon. I’m from Christmas in Hawaii, to a pilgrimage to Chicago to lay it all at the feet of St. Therese, to American Girl Place with our ladies, to filet mignon and fine art in Florida (just us this time—oh, and great Aunt Ida;-)

I am from twelve years of Campus Ministry at the best CCM in the world, Mass in the Lecture Hall, groundbreaking for the chapel, seven (eight) Fr. Bob baptisms, the excruciating pain of the local mission, the comfort of St. Veronica.

I'm from midnight rides to 4 different hospitals and quick labors and deliveries, from craving watermelon in January to “needing” Pho in July, from three precious babies waiting in heaven, to 76 total months of pregnancy (but who’s counting?).

I’m from humming nebulizers all night long, butterflies over stitches nearly always. From chiropractors and orthopedists and orthodontists. From the first time we sped to the hospital with a child who couldn’t breathe to the time you cut his finger with the hedgeclippers.

From buzzcuts in the summer and curly-haired Christmas pictures.

I’m from watching Michael take the PK and breathing again when he makes it this time, from crying when Mary Beth danced Clara, from blushing in the heat while people marvel over Paddy’s footskills, not knowing that he belongs to us.

I am from Christian’s perfect Little League Season, coached by you. I am from sending you all out to play family soccer and counting the minutes until I hear the latest competitive squabble.

I'm from finding Nicky's blinking and repeating very endearing and being amazed at his number sense.

I am from very late nights when all is quiet and the heartfelt conversation murmured in a hush, lest someone wake and come to sleep in the middle.

I am from seven nearly identical baptism pictures on the wall in the hallway (with space there for new additions), from seven birth announcements framed at the foot of the stairs,seven christening candles. I am from a hope chest filled with notes from high school, wedding shower mementos, teeny-tiny hospital baby bracelets, a few stray bald chemo pictures I can’t deny but don’t care to remember, programs from dance recitals and remnants of soccer tournaments, and hope—hope that our tomorrows are as rich and filled with love as our yesterdays.

I remember...

I remember the first day I met him, the first day of college. He was wearing a blue polo shirt that made his eyes twinkle. I would later learn that they twinkled all the time. His name was Patrick--never Pat. He lived right below us and he looked like Tom Cruise. No kidding. This was shortly after Risky Business was all the rage and looking like Tom Cruise gave you some notoriety.

He had a girlfriend at home. When she came to visit, she stayed with me. (I think Patrick did this to make a statement to my roommate, who really wanted that girlfriend out of her way;-) My heart was 2 hours away; when I need a "duty date" to some function or another, he obliged. He wasn't a typical fraternity guy. Instead, he liked to shake things up a bit. So he started his own fraternity that first year.

His brother was in the cast of the then-hit TV show Dallas. We had Dallas parties in his suite every week. He talked about his parents all the time. And always, always, he made it very clear that when he was finished with this southern institution of education, he was heading home to New Jersey to work in Manhattan.

And he did, because if anything defined Patrick Sean Murphy, it was his strong will. Patrick loved to play basketball at the rec center behind our dorm. It didn't matter that he was only 5'9". He had that will--he willed himself to play tall. And he had quite the three point shot.

He also had a very strong sense of justice. The only argument we ever had was when he thought I'd overstepped the rules of sorority rush in a private conversation with his girlfriend (who eventually came to UVA too). In the end, I won that argument (which still amazes me) and he understood that I was careful not to break any rules, while still offering a sounding board to Cindy. I remember the conversation so well because I remember the sting of his disapproval and how much it hurt to think I'd let him down. And I think of the conversation often even now. If sorority rush rules evoked an impassioned discourse from him, what would he think about the people and politics that took him from his family? What would justice look like to Patrick Murphy?

He was the father of two children and a devoted husband on September 11, 2001. He died that day in Manhattan.

I remember you, Patrick. I see you holding court on a late summer day in 1983, on the hill in front of Balz, directing directing traffic, making every other nervous first year student laugh at their very nervousness, and I see you twinkling, always twinkling. Rest in peace.

Tribute to Patrick Sean Murphy