Can we coexist in shared spaces?

 

I missed a job application deadline.

I would have been a contender. Really. Yep, whip out those violins. Anyways, when investigating the position, I came across the UK’s first affordable cohousing project, Lilac. Imagine: living lightly on the earth and a village helping to raise children. I probably wouldn’t have done it pre-kids but now, I’d do it in a heartbeat. My husband possesses a directly opposite opinion, yea pre-, no post-babies. I suffer currently from a lack of community. But introduce me to a built-in community where my front entrance is a revolving door for little ones, nips of G & T and wedged for moments of silence. Why, yes please.

This all came to mind conveniently with this week’s book The Tree by Neal Layton. Birds, squirrels, owls and rabbits harmoniously live in the tree. Along come the humans with grandeur plans for a mansion in the wilderness. A dislodged nest manifests the reality of natural habitats and a new solution for shared space emerges. Whimsical illustrations coupled with minimal text portray subtle environmental satire reminiscent of Michael Leunig. Can we live lightly with respect to the ecosystem? Absolutely, if we scale down.

Ankle biter 1 and 2 enjoyed the simplicity of the book. The sparse text allowed Ankle biter 1 to narrate his own story. “What’s a drey?” I had to look that one up myself. “What is that cloth around the tree?” The first reading was a good one for Ankle biter 1, subsequent readings were not so as the book is too simple for his budding taste in longer narratives (i.e. chapter books). Ankle biter 2 though will humour me and sit through this short tale.

For me, this book is not exactly co-housing but definitely shared spaces in an infill-kind of way. It opens up questions about sprawl and development of treading lightly on the earth and co-existing with others. Build up not out. Will it instil compassion for others? Who knows, at least it gives a reference point when we see the highly sporadic fallen bird from the tree along our neighbourhood walks. A serious contender for best book about housing development for the young ankle biter set. What about you dear reader? Would you consider co-housing?

How to start a little free library

 

Little free library.

Take one. Leave one.

I finally did it. I opened up my own little free library. It’s been something I’ve been wanting to do since my mother-in-law spied and frequented one back in Melbourne. Before we moved, I carted a few over and left some cherished but extra unneeded weight: David Sedaris, Bill Bryson and some Bronte. I always promised myself when we got settled wherever we landed, I’d establish my own nook of communal kindness.

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free little library coming soon

To help you start your own, here are four things you need:

  1. You want to share and open your footpath space with others. For being a side street, we do get an awful lot of foot traffic: four-legged and otherwise. That being said, you do need to appropriate a space for your little library.
  2. You need a library: a container for your books. There are some neat ones out there to get you inspired like this one or this one. But here, Leeds is wet. And we’re all thumbs with wood and nails. So I’ve just been waiting for the perfect receptacle. It so happened that down the road, someone put out a lil bar fridge. It’s a bit small but it’s something. The seal works just enough to keep the rain and frisky cats out.
  3. You need books. Some kindred spirits passed along a few books which I never got an opportunity to read. So I shared them out along with some others: a mix of children and adults because that’s the kind of hood in which we live.
  4. Patience. It’s up to you how you want to promote your little library. We’re rather low key here and had a quiet opening. I’m solely relying on the paw and footfall. I’m considering it a summer trial: see if I have equal amounts of takers and leavers.
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little free library open

Let summer reading begin!

Is there such a thing as too tidy?

As every parent to ankle biters know, tidiness takes a back seat to cooking, laundry, storey time, laundry, fixing school bus’s perpetually breaking door, laundry, sleep, laundry. I mean we have it easy because we don’t own much ‘stuff’ to even try to tidy. Cutesy trinkets, glamorous flower vases, magazine subscriptions, furniture: we bid you adieu when we moved pre-kids. So yes, keeping the home tidy hasn’t -knock on wood- been too much of a hindrance for this family.

Still, this week’s book is a joy: Tidy by Emily Gravett. Pete the Badger is the Marie Kondo of the forest. He tidies everything and everyone in his wake. Scrub, sweep, discard. To a point where a tidy landscape for Badger meant nary a tree in sight. With no trees to help divert the pouring rain, floods and mud ensue to the bane of Badger’s existence. ‘Concrete over Everything,’ becomes his battle cry to maintain pure, unadulterated tidiness. With a satisfied contentment and associated hunger, Badger seeks respite. Shock horror. His home is buried beneath the concrete. With his forest friends at hand, they replant trees and return the forest to its natural untidiness. The illustrations are lush and unfold across two page sceneries.

I won’t lie, Ankle Biter 1 appreciated this story because of the DIGGER that makes an appearance. “Why is he brushing the birds?” “Where will all the garbage bags go?” “Why is it flooding?” “What are the worms doing?” “Are they eating the worms?” So many questions and only a good book can not only instigate this line of inquiry but help answer them as well.

This book brought back to mind an undergrad class where I learned that while COE meant Corps of Engineers to some, it meant Concrete over Everything to others. So with memory in hand, I chuckled over this book and cherished the complexity emanating from its simple yet engaging story. Yes, everything is connected to everything else. (I’m looking at you fallen leaves, thank you for your mulch).

And Yes, I think there is such a thing as too tidy.

Forget about house tidying.

Stop trying to tidy up the great outdoors off our children.

Uninspired playgrounds, structured play, even our involvement hinders their growth. Play is MESSY. Get outside, dirt beneath the fingernails (of course I bought a nail brush), my goodness, what’s that in your hair, hours in the sun/rain mixed with earth parfum GRUBBINESS. For in all this glorious dirt, the ankle biters learn about movement and imagination and smelling the difference between soil and scat and whole host of other things that I’m sure manifest themselves as the days go by.

Support untidy play.

Bicycle, Airships and Things that GO! A sustainability primer

Sustainability.

Do the ankle biters know what that means? No.

Do they know the watershed from which the water filling their evening personal pool originates? Certainly not.

Do they know that 90% of the things they own are preloved? Maybe the younger one, but he’d never say.

Do they know that their veg is a little less than perfect or their fruits a bit wonky? No way.

But ask them about their favourite way to get to school and from both you’ll get an enthusiastic ‘BIKE.’ Or jogger pram. Sometimes bus. And before they could speak, trams. Do they know that these forms of transport are better for the environment? No. They just know what they like. And they like the freedom and the speed and seriously the wind on their face. “I like the fresh air, mum.” To inculcate sustainability, or preservation for the future, such a concept needs to be incorporated into their daily lives. They know no other and that they have fun doing it, so much the better.

Thus, this week’s book is a special one. Bicycles, Airships and Things that GO! weaves a sneaky spy tale set against a futuristic sustainability backdrop. Written by Bernie McAllister, this book follows a family of four bears on an excursion from their eco-village to deliver an LED light suit created by Momma Bear to the Sunnyside Science Museum. Along the way they embark upon various forms of transport: bicycles, air ships, bike buses, high speed trains and ferries. A mischievous pair, Monkey and Toucan, are out to steal Momma Bear’s invention. Will they succeed? Think of it as a triple scoop delight of Richard Scarry’s Cars and Trucks and Things that GO!, Thomas Friedman’s Hot Flat and Crowded and Hanna & Barbera’s the Jetsons. It certainly gives a nod to Scarry’s animal anthropomorphism, explanatory captions as well as the loveable Goldbug (here represented by solar hornet). With its display of wind turbines, solar power plants and electrical vehicle charging stations, it resonates with Friedman’s clean technological breakthroughs. And the Jetsons? Well, the future awaits and we have the inspiration and technology now. The story isn’t overtly about sustainability but it’s easy to convey as much or as little as necessary if you are reading to ankle biters as I do.

Source: Press Kit | Kids Future Press

Ankle biter 1 sat intently through an online viewing* of this book. His favourite page features balloon cars. I think it’s because, other than the bikes, it was one of the few tangible things he recognises. “How do they move?” Silence and then “Do the balloons move the cars?” A nascent STEAM wonder on our hands.  He also asked about the wave energy machines. “What is THAT?” I thought they were large ocean snakes. (Are they? *ACK* I had to look it up. Perhaps during later readings, I could talk about biomimicry???  Floating snakes could feasibly inspire wave energy collection, hey?) Given the digital nature of this experience, finding solar hornet was a buzzkill- all pun intended. Rather than the glowing solar entity it should be, solar hornet is a difficult shadow to uncover. As for the story in of itself, it’s agreeable akin to this book about public transport or this book about cross-town adventures. Although when Momma Bear recognises the precariousness of Toucan’s and Monkey’s situation, I expected a tiny act of kindness.

I do adore this book because it provides an opportunity for the ankle biters to envision something different. We can’t expect change- sustainable, resilient, healthy, stimulating, whatever buzzword we want- if we can’t envision alternatives. This book helps depict an urban that I can imagine. I delight in the overflowing bike parking garages, vertical gardens, rooftop gardens, indoor urban farm and most especially the interactive public art installation inspired by this. Building an ankle biter’s budding vocabulary with ‘bus-top garden’ and ‘interactive tiles’? Yes, please. This book is gracious enough to include real world inspirations for each page. As such, there is much that can spark the urban imagination.

Whew. Will you read it? We will, again and again.

*For this review, I was generously given a digital, watermarked copy to review. The opinions here, as always, are my own.

I don’t eat green

 

Just when you think you are doing everything right because the ankle biter inhales everything on his plate, he decides to sprout his authority one evening and say “I don’t eat green.” This coming from the mouth who has curated a fine palate for gorgonzola DOP and Cropwell Bishop Nottinghamshire blue. Don’t get me started on the olives (incidentally a briny green). But anyways, there always comes a day when anything resembling a vegetable gets pushed back. All I can do is push the plate back with a smattering of grapes (a translucent green) or blueberries or rice and soy until this green resistance (obviously aimed at Genus vegetablis) subsides.

So this week’s book, not coincidentally, is a celebration of food. Nikki McClure produces a stunning picture book about local farm fresh food sold by its growers. To Market, To Market follows a mother and her son as they shop at their local market day. They visit stalls selling apples, kale, smoked salmon, honey, blueberry turnovers, napkins and cheese. The story ends with a market feast around the home table with friends and family. The beauty of this book is two-fold. Firstly, Nikki McClure’s paper cut imagery is mesmerising. Each product on the list is showcased in one unmistakeable hue. Secondly, the provenance of each product is shared on a separate page: of how salmon is smoked and cloth napkins dyed. Each mini story ends with a gracious thank you.

Anklebiter 1 liked this book because let’s face it, he’s a closet foodie. For as far as I can remember, he does this thing where he picks food off the page, pops it in his mouth and savours it. For this story, he doesn’t understand why there is blueberry filling spilling from the turnovers or what kale is. But he certainly appreciates the  ‘crunchy apples’ and  the ‘goat making cheese.’ Insert fingers scooping up imaginary food.

I like it because it does bring to the forefront the slow food movement and emphasises that food doesn’t simply show up on grocery chain store shelves.There is a celebration linking people with their food (for example: here, here and here). Local is good but local doesn’t necessarily mean family-owned farms or organic. Although I am a bit weary of how local food has somehow transformed itself into ‘artisanal’. When has grown local, invest in farmers, no mangoes don’t grow year round become cult? It should be the norm and not in the hands of the elite. I refer the non-anklebiters to be inspired by David Mas Masumoto (who I heard speak so eloquently in Las Vegas of all things). Knowing where our food originates and eating with the seasons nourishes our own bodies and sustains local livelihoods. Just for awhile, farmers of green things, I’ve supporting the other colours.

[Sources: top, Getty Images, below, To Market, To Market by Nikki McClure]