four&twenty

Making Our Teepee

Since my daughter was a wee one, we've always made a summer wishlist—places to visit, things to make, people to see. Every idea gets put down on paper to hold us accountable to some good memory-making and to have a go-to list when boredom creeps in. At each summer’s end, the truth is that we would usually only have accomplished a small handful of things on the list and I’d feel kind of guilty and dissapointed in myself for not following through. As I get older and wiser however, each end of summer comes with less guilt—we'll do what we can and enjoy it fully...but no regrets allowed for what is not done. Certain items are simply forgotten forever and some get moved to next summer’s list for another chance at life.

Making a teepee is one thing that’s been on the list for about five years now. My daughter REALLY, REALLY wanted one, and so did I actually. Teepees are cool, plain and simple! As this past June rolled around, I came to the sobering realization that it was Cloe’s second to last summer before graduating from high school. In the words of David Byrne, "How did I get here?" OK MOM...TIME TO MAKE THIS THING A REALITY!

I love the internet. I simply Googled "DIY Teepee" and within seconds I had a list of approaches and step-by-step instructions on how to make our Arapaho dreams come true. I took "Home Ec" in junior high and I have a pretty crafty mom so I can find my way around a sewing machine. Straight lines are my specialty but beyond that, sewing isn't really my thing and I knew in my gut that I didn't want to pull it out for this project. I wanted to take a more resourceful approach and less of a perfectionistic approach—more intuition, less precision! I also made it a personal challenge to build our teepee using supplies I already had lying around, supplies long-ago abandoned and intended for projects that never got done. I wanted to get in touch with my inner Sacagawea and use what I had and what I knew to build something.

After studying a handful of tutorials and formulating a loose plan in my head, I set to work, feeling excited but a little nervous. After about two hours, we literally had an awesome teepee standing before us and my daughter and I were inside, sitting indian-style (of course) sipping iced tea and reading magazines. It was great fun and many hours have been enjoyed inside by all this summer. Although for us the goal of this project was a simple summer backyard dwelling, you could easily incorporate it into your study of Native Americans, architecture, science or handwork. It really is a fun and doable project (which I should have done years ago)!

Crossing this one off the list!!!!

Here’s how it all came together:

1. Most tutorials recommended eight to ten, 12-foot poles. Panic! I only had six, 8-foot bamboo poles. I reminded myself that Sacagawea did not have a Home Depot down the street to bail her out so I determined to just press on and make it work.

2. For the cover I used a large canvas painter's drop cloth that had been collecting dust, unused for five years in our shed. The material was perfect and the size eliminated the need for sewing panels together to make a piece large enough to cover our poles. Bonus!

3. I folded the dropcloth in half and used a pencil/string device to outline a half circle. I cut out the semi-circles and ripped the cloth in half which gave me a nice rough edge.

4. Cable ties are one of the handiest inventions ever and I had about 30 leftover from some other who-knows-what. I laid three poles on the ground and used one to hold them together at the top. I set up those three poles, and then positioned the other three in between each wedge. It was working! Our teepee was starting to look totally legit! I ripped a strip of canvas from the scraps and tied all six poles together for added stability and frontier charm.

5. I then took one semicircle and draped it over the poles. I was delighted to find that the length was perfect in proportion to the poles! The craft fairies were on my side for once! I thought for sure that I'd have to pull out the dreaded sewing machine for this part but then I stumbled upon a box of colorful metal brads I had bought in a weak moment eight years ago at the scrapbooking store. These will work, I know it!

6. I used the brads to attach my two semi-circles together to create the conical shape that the cover needed to fit properly around the poles. The weave on my canvas was course enough that I could just manually push the brads through the two layers of fabric and it was thick enough to hold together without ripping. I trimmed the extra canvas with scissors to tidy up the inside seam.

7. Lastly, I decided to use the cable ties again to hold the cover in place to each pole and create a cleaner, tighter shape. I simply poked two slits in the canvas with an exacto knife at each place I wanted a cable tie and then I fastened the cover to the poles.

8. Lastly, I adjusted the poles a little so that the teepee was as stable as possible and pulled a small quilt from the linen closet to cover the grass. Mission accomplished!

Da Vinci Summer – Trash Force 141!

We moved to the city when my boys were toddlers. I shed tears in sessions, endured a hefty dose of grief. During one particular session, being a forward thinker (worrywart), I heaved gut-wrenching sobs for the loss of freedom to roam the countryside that my three sons, then toddlers, would experience.

We’ve been city dwellers for seven years. My boys aren’t toddlers anymore and, it’s true, they don’t have the freedom to step outside their backdoor to explore green roaming hills or wide open fields. But they do have a neighborhood and they do have bikes. Still, in the city we have rules. So they are free to roam as long as they stay together within pre-determined neighborhood boundaries. And they have to check in every hour…

“Mom!”

“M-o-m!”

I get on my feet fast when I hear two moms in a row!

“Mom, today is TF141!!!”

I relax, “TF141?”

“You know… Trash Force 141!”

It began with a blow up raft, the kind you use in country ponds or on lakes. We live near the beach, but this is certainly not an ocean raft. I suggested it might make a fun pool raft.

“No mom, can we blow it up and use it in the studio?”

“…O-k-a-y, sure, of course.” Why not? Imagination is, I reminded myself, more important than open fields.

The next hour Søren and Liam came home with a wooden sword and the hour after that it was a life-sized Sponge Bob costume.

I thought I had seen it all, but later that day when I began closing down shop— putting Legos and colored pencils and bike helmets in their proper place—I found an old backpack I had never seen before and an empty suitcase! I took a deep breath and prayed that our family was not going to become the neighborhood refuse-sorting center. I would give it a week or so, surely the novelty would wear off.

That night after dinner—the hour when activity shifts to quiet mode—I kept hearing a faint music box playing. I chalked it off to Taylor composing something on Logic. But then Søren came into the room with the head of a toy zebra impaled on a wooden skewer. He began to explain that the object is part of an idea brewing inspired by Leonardo da Vinci.

Turns out the creepy music box melody was Taylor composing. He had rescued the music box that was once tucked inside the stuffed zebra and was in the studio recording it to incorporate into a composition.

One man’s trash is another boy’s treasure! I’m so glad my boys can be boys.

Salvia & Vinca

I imagine spending summers with my family at Dalguise House in Pertshire with Beatrix Potter. I imagine chasing Peter Rabbit down a lush Scottish lane.

But hoe in hand, all the chopping at clay soil I can muster does not a Dalguise garden make. I don’t know what color my thumb is but it certainly is not green.

So I imagine a compromise. I stop fretting about the lawn in my front yard that manufactures crabgrass and settle on crafting miniature gardens in containers where the soil is controlled, pliable. I have, in my suburban plot of land, fashioned a satisfying eye-full of Scotland in galvanized tubs.

I have created a backyard biome for my children to observe nature in the city. We have worms, and moths, and butterflies, and June bugs, hummingbirds, and squirrels. We even have a rabbit named Greybone that goes lippitey lippety in circles around the containers.

Salvia is a favorite in my garden—easy to grow and that lush purple hue, well the image etched on my retina says it all. It had to be related to sage… I just knew it. Turns out I was correct. Those velvety leaves were a dead giveaway. I love these unkempt ornamental shrubs and their aromatic flowers that bloom and sway in panicles.

Liam’s favorite four-letter word is still “d-i-r-t” so he jumped at the offer when I asked, “Hey, how about working in the garden with me today?”

“Sure Mom!”

We walk up the hill with the squeaky rusting wagon to the neighborhood nursery to pick up some plants for a handful of containers that need refreshing. I suggest Liam choose some plants for the raised bed near the front door.

“Really!!!”  (His response warrants three, if not more, exclamation points). 

“Yes, of course you can!” He sets out on a furious journey and is back again sooner than I expect with an armful of Vinca.

The flowers flash in my face and make my heart sink. It’s true. I am actually shocked by my response to this mass of cutie pie flowers. I mean, I have to engage in some serious and immediate introspection, “Vinca doesn’t match the rest of the garden, is that it? No, I don’t think so…that’s not exactly the rub. I shake my head, snap out of it, and pulled it together for my lovely son, “Great Liam.” I feel much better when I see his proud smile beaming from ear to ear.

Back home, Liam takes to task without a prompt. He turns the soil, digs holes with his bare hands for the tiny plants, pats them into their new home, and sprinkles the bed with water all the while smiling cheerfully. Cheerfully… yes, that’s it! 

Liam chose Vinca because these flowers are just like him: Cheerful. And cheerfulness is not exactly the first word that comes to mind when describing me. I can be cheerful, but I am, by nature the Salvia melancholy sage. I am not the image of Vinca though I’ve longed to be that image at times. I truly believe that my gut response was because, in that moment when Liam lifted the mass of Vinca to my eyes, the flowers caught me off-guard and sneered, “You are not like us.” And in that moment I slipped into an ancient insecurity.

But I’m the teacher who values individuality, even my own. I am thankful for the Vinca challenge that kept me on my toes that day. Sipping a glass of iced tea on my front steps, I smile at Liam’s bed of Vinca, thankful for his cheerful nature, and then, when ice is left to jingle in the glass, I wander to my Salvia nearby.