When my oldest was still a baby, picking flowers out of our garden, a nature-loving neighbor gave me a book. It was called, A Pocketful of Pinecones. It was a fictional story about a family in the great depression era, who were teaching their children at home, Charlotte-Mason style.

The family started out in the city, and treasured trips to the library or bookstore, and making scripture reading a daily staple. But when things got tough and the father lost his job, they moved to the country to be near family and had all sorts of outdoor adventures, mixed in with handwriting reading and math. Neighbors were visited. Spiders were studied. Families were strengthened.

And it seemed like a lovely way to live. I know that there is probably nothing more annoying in all the world then people who have no children, telling others who have children, how they should be parenting, but quite possibly the second-most annoying thing a person can do is tell others how to teach children, when their children are still babies. And I think I might have done a little of that while reading this book.

Fast forward four years, and we had the dreamiest preschool ever, just little girl and her mommy, and the birds in the field. We made a journal and kept track of a few things. But now we are getting into a new phase of life and I think we will start doing it again.