In the other gardens,
and all up the vale
From the autumn bonfires
See the smoke trail.

Pleasant summer over
and all the summer flowers.
The red fire blazes,
the grey smoke towers.

Sing a song of seasons,
something bright in all.
Flowers in the summer,
fires in the fall.

Robert Louis Stevenson.

I have to constantly remind myself of the life I want to give my children.
A different life. 

A “free-range” life.
My “chickens”.

And don’t be threatened.  
I am not judging what you have chosen for your kids.
Really, I’m not.
God has given you and your husband wisdom for your children.
We must all humbly seek it.

It’s sad that I have to write that.

I want freedom for my kids.
Before a life that weighs them down.

Yes, they have a-lot.
A lot.
They keep living creatures alive for crying out loud.
And some think I am too hard on them.

I am.

And then, I am not. 

And sometimes (I am ashamed to say)
They strive to live up to my demands.

But this is a small example of what I want for them.


Freedom when an autumn day beckons to pack up the books and bring them to the firepit.

Freedom to gather leaves and just BE with nature while others sit at desks.

How many of us know how to “just be”?  
Freedom to interact with siblings instead of being apart all day long.
Freedom to smell the smoke. 
Freedom to feel the rain come in.
Freedom to learn about how not to get burned.
Freedom to play “games” with the owl in the tree.
Freedom to figure out where he has flown to by listening to his “whoo-whoo.”
Freedom to sing out loud.  Bless the Lord oh my Soul, oh My Soul…
Freedom to pray together at random.  For Daddy, for Africa, for our friends who don’t know Jesus…

I don’t mean to say that others don’t have these freedoms.
But this is how we roll.

And we love it. 

Kiss your babies.
It will all be gone so soon.

Parisienne Farmgirl