yeah!

Awesome news for Oliver! Good hip looks OK - just stiff, but his range of motion was SO much better in the right that she said he can actually walk for now unless he's limping. No running, jumping or hopping, but he can walk as long as he isn't limping. It's hard not to worry it'll flare up again, but we trust our doc - we can always dial back what he's doing if it doesn't go OK. He'll use the wheelchair only for long walks - like to the mall or something. The doc said the PT we're doing at home is clearly helping, and that his exam looked really good. She also seemed hopeful that it wouldn't get that bad, and mentioned again that there's still a possibility he has a congenital variance rather than true Perthes. She'd earlier also said not to get our hopes up about that, though it's hard not to. But it's amazing how suddenly doable "not running, hopping, or jumping" feels compared to thinking that Oliver might be in that chair full-time for a long time. The ER doc had said, "it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck but we need a little more time to prove it's a duck", so I was fully prepared to hear that he might or does have Perthes in the 2nd hip. What happened instead was such a happy shock. We'll take it as long as it lasts - what a wonderful Christmas present.Time to focus on something other than this disease for a while.

Update

Merry Christmas, everyone. This is a busy season for the family of a church musician –and this year is no exception. Somehow, though, I haven’t had the bouts of frustration I usually have this time of year – the feeling that our priorities are being pulled a little out of whack as we move from one busy event to the next or give in to the pressure to buy too much stuff for too many people. I’ve managed to turn down a couple of worthwhile but potentially hectic events, we’re keeping the Christmas giving simple and fun and not too excessive, and the boys have been overjoyed at the best Christmas traditions – trimming the tree, participating in the Christmas pageant at church (where they each got to read part of a Rudyard Kipling poem aloud), singing Silent Night at the end with just candles lighting the whole church. Oliver whispered to me as he had his candle lit, “the light represents a gift from God!” I don’t quite know how this particular Christmas, with all its stress and sometimes sadness, can feel more like what it ought to be than the same season celebrated under more ideal conditions in recent years, but it does. Something about all of this puts the season in its proper perspective -and it is a powerful reminder to me that less really is often more. We’ll spend Christmas even with Joel’s family and then head to Bryn Mawr church that evening. Christmas morning will be spent at home opening presents and eating pancakes. A few days later, my parents come to bring in the New Year with us. Lots of goodness coming our way.

That said, things aren’t exactly easy around here. Oliver has been having some pain in the other hip, and it is unclear exactly what that means. He says it feels just like his Perthes hip, which of course, is not good at all. At first it came and went, so we hopes he’d just strained it, but now it’s more often and we see the doctor again on Wednesday. Chances are, we won't know anything from an x-ray this early, but we need a plan for what can safely do right now. If he does have it in both hips, it’s a serious game-changer: he’d have a poorer overall prognosis in terms of how long it will take to heal, how likely he is to need major intervention and/or surgery, and how likely he is to have trouble in his forties or fifties. It also means he’d be a lot more disabled for the duration of the disease – probably confined to a wheelchair for all or most of the time. We may need to look at ramps; a lot of the things we’ve been able to do will not be possible, and school will be a lot harder. It’s overwhelming to even think about, to be honest, but I am continually reminded that we can do the things we think we cannot do. Oliver has good days and bad days – he is still very angry sometimes, though he puts on a good game face in public. He hasn’t been as focused in school, and he’s definitely in some pain, sometimes significant pain. I think he’s trying really hard to adjust, but it’s just really hard sometimes. It's painful to watch too - I know what chronic pain is like, and I really wish I could take it away for him.

He does have a new and much better wheelchair – it turns out the company that gave us the first one gave us the wrong size, and a crappy refurbished one at that. When they swapped it out, the difference was huge – he can do a lot more with it. It’s also slightly lighter than the old one, and with the feet off, I can just manage to get it in and out of the car. I have this complicated but (barely) workable thing going right now where I put the 15 pound transport chair in the front seat, the wheelchair in the trunk, and use the lighter chair for quick outings and the wheelchair for everything else. Last weekend, we went to the (wonderfully accessible) Works museum, Subway for lunch for the boys, then the Courage Center to swim. We took the wheelchair in to the museum and the Courage Center, and Oliver completely propelled himself, and very well. He needs the exercise and the feeling of independence, so that’s really important. It’s not as big a deal for a quick run into Subway, and using the transport chair for that saves my back one time of hauling it in and out of the car. When I do haul the chair, I balance it and then slip it over the bumper and back off of the bumper using a very slippery sleeping bag, which helps a little. Our life is full of these messy adaptations these days, it seems like. A minivan would be a lot easier, and we’re thinking about trading in our Civic hybrid for a used one, but we hate to give up our very reliable and efficient car for something that would be probably less reliable, with higher miles, and cost more to drive. We’ll see. There’s not much he can’t do with a wheelchair than an adult couldn’t – popping wheelies and all. He’s getting adapted gym class now as well, which is great – he practiced advanced wheelchair skills, learns some ball games, and really gets his blood pumping.

I’ve been really proud of Noah lately, both in how he’s doing in general and in how he’s been dealing with all of this. As anyone who knows him knows, Noah is a bit of a spacey kid – very bright, but very in his own head. He’s not always easy to communicate with – he’s a true introvert,, and sometimes he’s thinking so hard, he doesn’t even hear you, or gets over stimulated by being around a lot of people then acts kind of goofy. His teacher did mention to me that “everybody thinks their six-year-olds are immature – that’s just six-year-olds”, which gave me a little perspective on his silliness – I had lunch at their school yesterday, and I see much the same in his peers, especially the boys. Noah is doing very well in school, though, doing lots of challenging work, being diligent about his homework, helping other kids with reading, participating more in class (his teacher’s big goal for him). With us, he’s been a big help with carrying bags, opening doors, and all those little details when we’re out and about. I could not have imagined a month ago how good he would get at all that, and how willing he’d be. It’s nice to see glimpses of a new maturity in him, and he can also be utterly sweet. I found this note on my pillow the other day:

Noah never says these words, and is very selectively affectionate, but he’ll write them down and put the notes in my pocket or purse, sometimes with a piece of Halloween candy taped to them. Ollie is such a lover, but I equally cherish Noah’s ways of expressing his love. I write him notes back sometimes, and he loves that too. That kid is just head over heels over the written word!

We see the doctor again tomorrow, but I doubt she’ll have a clear answer about Oliver’s “good” hip, as it’s not showing on the x-ray yet. This is typical, so it may be months before we have enough data to predict much What we will likely have is a recommendation about what he can and can’t do for now. We’ll keep you posted. Thanks for all your love and support.

Thanksgivings

We're plugging along over here – and adjusting to things pretty well, I'd say. We had an appointment with Oliver's doctor, and she was pleased that he was pretty much the same as before. There's a tiny chance he's got more of a congenital variance or abnormality rather than true Perthes, but it's not likely. We'll have enough data in January to know for absolutely certain. He has a little pain at night, but it's not too bad, though he shifts his position a lot and has a hard time sitting in a chair for a long time. He got permission to swim and to bike a little – not far and up big hills or anything, but the position that puts his hips in is good for the reforming of the bone. His range of motion is still decent – we do lots of PT exercise to make sure it stays that way, and the doc said that if she reffered us to physical therapy, the goal would be to get him to where he is now, so there's not much point right now. That could change, and we did apply for care at Shri*ners, which is a stellar orthopedic hospital for children near us.

I think we're going to confuse the heck out of the neighbors with child who takes the handicap-access bus, is sometimes in a wheelchair, and sometimes biking up and down the block! But it makes sense if you think about it – he can't do much of anything not fully weight-bearing, including walking. He can't very well use crutches over big snowbanks or on slippery streets, and in winter, I sometimes have to park halfway down the block, so a handicapped parking spot will be needed as well. I'm glad we have a little house, though, because in it, he is allowed to walk for a bit every day. The rest of the time he stays on crutches, a walker, or the chair. I'm grateful for his generally compliant nature and he's doing a great job with everything, but it does all get to him at times. He gets worried, and we have to remind him that we'll handle the details. The lift on the bus really scared him. He sometimes gets really angry and frustrated and anxious, and then he'll be back to his old self again. To me, sometimes 2 years or so seems like it will be a blip in the tapestry of his childhood, but other times it feels like a sizable theft. It's hardest of all to watch him watch his friends run and play. That makes me want to get him as much pool time as we possibly can.

One of the challenges that also really bugs Oliver quite a bit is the constant comments from adults. I think it's the crutches hanging off of his chair – people assume it's an injury or accident of some kind, and that sympathetic comments or questions are OK. And they mean well, we know that they do, but Oliver really just wants to be seen for the funny, sweet and curious kid that he is, and I think he feels like all people see is his equipment. And then there's the occasional true jerk – like the lady at the Glo*bal Market who teasingly accused him of faking his disability, causing him to burst into tears at the thought that someone would think that. I told her that her comments we not funny, helpful or appropriate, and I hope that Oliver felt I stuck up for him OK. I reminded both him and myself that there are many, many kindhearted people for every insensitive buffoon.

Last week, we went to Coura*ge Center, a center for people with disabilities to do sports, recreation, and therapy. We went to their family swim, and Oliver was so interested in all the wheelchairs, and all the pictures on the walls of people with handicaps doing athletics. There were several kids with wheelchairs at the pool. He really wants to go back there even though the Y is much closer, and I think that's because he really craves a place where he doesn't feel different. In the pool, he's just like anyone else – free in his body, but he also sees other people dealing with some of the same stuff he is. They have a weekly family swim that's not too expensive, and I think we'll make that part of our routine for now. We also need to figure out how to get both boys some lessons somewhere, because we might as well use this time to hone those swimming skills and burn some energy this winter.

Slowly, all these details are starting to feel more like just what life is right now, and less like a new part-time job. Joel and are organized and on the same page – we have a file with sections for research, medical records, school paperwork and what have you, and we work daily to have the same understanding of what needs to be done. We've had to push a bit with the school to get some of what Oliver needs a bit more formalized, but overall, they've been fantastic and incredibly kind and helpful. You would not believe all the little logistical details it requires to make things more or less normal for him – it's a lot, and his teacher has a whole bunch of other kids keeping her busy too. I've been equally impressed with the students at their school. Caring for each other in practical ways is a big focus there, and you really see that at work in a situation like this that requires a bit of extra understanding and assistance.

So we're OK, folks. We're not sitting around mourning what could be at this point, and it really is possible to get your head around something you didn't think you could and march somewhat bravely on in a fairly short amount of time. Oliver's not quite there yet all the time, but that's OK – understandable, and he has a lot of loving support to deal with that. I think it's quite likely that good will come of this, that it will shape his childhood in some positive ways as well as showing him what it looks like to overcome challenges as a family and as a community. That applies to all of us, actually. A bit of adversity can shape us in meaningful ways, whether as children or adults, even though as a parent, it's hard to watch. On the other hand, if he ends up as one of the 10% that gets Perthes in both hips, I might have a tougher time being so positive... Right now, I think that's my biggest fear, that he'll get it in the other hip in a year or two and end up with years of staggered disability and a poorer prognosis as a result. The other one is that he'll be in pain; it's hard to tell how bad that will be, but the worst is yet to come. Most kids do OK with some minor pain meds and being able to shift position a lot along with some other strategies, but some really struggle.

A couple of years I wrote what I was grateful for at about this Thanksgiving time of year – I think the above about covers it this year. There's lots, and we're not short on gratitude on the moment – it far eclipses any woe. Wishing you and yours a lovely Thanksgiving as well. Thanks for reading.

Halloween

A few photos here (viewable even if you're not on Facebook).

better

Every day still feels different around here -I can't say we're really quite adjusted yet to our new routines and what Perthes brings to our lives. I can say that we gave it our very best this week - especially Oliver, who had to go to school and adjust to being in a wheelchair and/or walker all day. He did really well, and the kids and staff have been extremely kind and helpful. In this situation, it's great that they're at a big school with good services and resources. At home, things were harder - he'd go all day maintaining his composure, and kind of lose it at home with being sad or angry. I think that's pretty understandable and normal, and even that's gotten better. Noah is adjusting as well, I think - the two of them are finding new ways to spend time together harmoniously, and sometimes that's hard. That boy can be so reserved and introverted, and I've made a real effort to try and talk with him often. Sometimes he just wants me to leave him alone so he can read.

One thing that made me feel much better about everything was the transport chair arriving. It weighs about 15 pounds and handles a little easier than a sturdy umbrella stroller - a huge difference from that 45 pound beast we can now leave at school. Ollie needs the wheelchair at school - he can propel himself in it, which he can't do in the transport chair - but the transport chair will allow me to take him places. I'm supposed to be on a 20-lb.lifting restriction with no bending while lifting - I really couldn't manage that getting that chair in and out of the car much longer. He can also scoot himself along in it with his feet, so he's not totally stuck in it as I'd feared he'd be.


And look how small it folds!



Ivy seriously has her eye on those tennis balls.



I also spoke with his doctor briefly, and she did say that the MRI didn't look any worse than the x-ray. That's good news -it's possible that this means his femoral head was only partially affected, which would mean a likelihood of better healing with fewer complications.

Tomorrow, we go pick up a handicapped tag or plates (a 2-year one which I promise to only use with my son in the car), and then the 3 of us will volunteer at the Twin Cities MCC World Relief Sale in the children's area, and then on to cousin Lily's second birthday party. (How did that happen, by the way?) Much to celebrate and be grateful for.

I get a little sad when I think that it will be some time before we see this:



But it won't be forever, and if his daddy is any indication, he'll have many years of tree climbing ahead of him. Oliver got invited to a birthday party this week - bowling, which I think we can manage. People have been incredibly helpful and kind - your support and prayers are felt and appreciated.

school

Yesterday, we went to church, and made use of the new elevator. Oliver was really quiet, and kind of upset a couple of times, partly because my mom had left that day, and he was sad about that too, and just overwhelmed. We went to the school playground, and he got some wheelchair races with Auntie Meagan on the baseball diamond. He had a great time until I made him slow down on his crutches at one point, and then he got furious at me. A lot of his anger is pointed in my direction, which I know is because he feels safe being angry with me. he accused me of treating him like a baby, so I've been trying to figure out how to protect his hip and still not make him feel like a baby because he's in a chair and limited in what he can do. I can handle that - it's understandable, and he also need and gets lot of hugs from both his parents. He had a better afternoon, watching a movie with popcorn and his brother next to him, and playing some UNO with his grandparents.

It was hard to leave Oliver at school today, but it seemed to go OK. The kids asked such great questions when we shared about his condition. He's going to get some extra swinging time at recess, since that's all he can really do there for now. He's pretty up and down emotionally, but I think he's doing about as well as he could be. I think he's just old enough to understand it's not forever, but in some moments, that's just not enough. It is what it is. We're lucky to have such great support, and believe me, we appreciate it.

quick update

We're hanging in there. It's been beautiful out, and we've gone out somewhere every day, partly to prepare Oliver a bit more before he goes back to school. Today, we went to piano lessons, the very accessible No*komis Library, and the huge and wonderful accessible playground at Hia*watha School. Oliver was in good spirits - he was able to get some exercise without overdoing it, and I think he felt a bit better about using the chair. Noah and he are slowly finding some ways to play together at the playground, though that's a challenge. Oliver could ride all over the playground equipment in his chair, practiced a bit in the parking lot, and was able to browse the books in the open bins at the library. We even practiced in the handicapped bathroom, and he was quite pleased that he could use the sink from his chair - though that may well not even be necessary often. He's also gotten much better with the crutches - which my mom was really good at helping him with. She has a lot more experience with them than I do because she's had so many knee surgeries. All in all, a hopeful day.

Tomorrow, we navigate church for the first time. I am so struck by the fact that neither Faith (where the boys and I go every Sunday) nor Bryn Mawr (where Joel works on Sunday mornings) were accessible a few years ago, and both churches have put in elevators and other improvements since. We are grateful for the commitment and good choices made by those communities in regards to accessibility, because otherwise, we'd be unable to come to church now! Our pastor is going to touch on what's going on during the children's time during the service tomorrow, and we'll do a quick explanation together. Oliver seems relieved about that - he's very disturbed by the thought of people being surprised by the chair and having to answer a lot of questions. I've been trying to head that off a bit for him with some e-mails to his friends' parents, and a few neighbors, etc.

Joel and I are also going to do a quick update at the sharing time in his class on Monday, and answer some questions if the kids have any. Oliver will get to pick a buddy to help him get to his specialist classes (like art and science), lunch, and recess. One of the things I'll go over in both church and at school is the most basic rule of wheelchair etiquette: that you don't move a wheelchair without the owner's permission. Oliver hates the idea of kids moving his chair or wheeling him around without him being OK with it, and that's a level of control he really needs to be permitted. We have that over our legs, and he needs it over his chair and other equipment. Oliver's teacher thinks the kids will be good about that and eager to help him - and she emphasized that he'll quite well-liked, known for being kind, and friends with a lot of different kids. That will help him a lot, and it was very good to hear.

the new normal

We’re plugging along through a lot of logistical details and challenges, and it’s really overwhelming at times. On Wednesday, the wheelchair was delivered. My mom came in right at that time, which was really good – it was kind of a tough afternoon. I can’t say I was at all prepared for how big and heavy a wheelchair actually is – even a lightweight youth model. When the boys were 3 and a half and we finally retired the twin stroller, they were 35 pounds or so each. Oliver is 60 pounds, so while I remember how heavy that 70 pounds was to push, I did not anticipate that this would be so much harder. A wheelchair is no stroller – it is heavy and full of hard places to hit yourself against, and awkward. Oliver really can’t propel himself far in it far– he will definitely need a push between classes. I’d thought that we could take it pretty much where we used to take the big twin jogger, but every section of sidewalk higher than about ¾ of an inch requires a stop and a careful push over, and there is no leverage bar in the back. The handles are a couple of inches too low for me and several for Joel. It is impossible to bring up or down steps even empty, or push up a steep hill, like the one to our front door, with a child in it. We can get it in the trunk, but within about a ½ inch, and only with the floor of the trunk removed. The whole thing feels terribly jerry-rigged and precarious and kind of impossible – I know it isn’t, but it feels that way right now. I have a bad back, and that doesn’t help at all. I did find out today from a co-worker that what we need to purchase is a transport chair – they don’t allow Oliver to move himself, but will allow me or Joel to get him to class and back and in and out of public places easily, and probably leave the wheelchair at school, where he can work up to some mobility with it. Maybe we’d bring it home on the weekends for longer outings. I just don’t see lifting a 45 pound chair awkwardly in and out of our car constantly. We've ordered one, and it should be here next week.

Oliver had a bit of a tougher time over the last couple of days, though he was very glad to see his Omie, and that helped a lot. The wheelchair was a shock for him – I think I’d unfortunately overpromised the mobility it would offer him, and it came as a surprise to both of us as we went around the block, how hard it was to maneuver and keep straight and go over cracks and up hills. He got pretty angry and upset in the middle of it, and really, I just felt he was so entitled to those feelings. It’s such a fine line in everything – I’ve been careful to cut him some slack when his feelings spill over and he gets frustrated, and lots of hugs and encouragement and validation, but I also think he needs some normalcy in terms of our standards and routine. I’m rather going on intuition here and it’s new territory, but I think he needs to know that there are still things that are the same – we still set the table, even if I bring the materials to him, he still needs to be respectful, he can still do his homework and feed the dog and go to school. If I thought letting him do whatever he wanted right now would help him, I’d do it in a heartbeat, but I think he needs to know some things are going on in a perhaps adapted form of what was. He’s a smart cookie – and especially good at seeing things from a variety of perspectives. I think that’s what lets him be such a little builder and engineer and so empathetic, but it’s also what’s having him mull over many worries and possibilities right now. I’m trying to make sure he knows that the big stuff, and any worrying, is the adults’ job – that it’s his job to just be a kid and do his best, and try and remember that this isn’t forever. If I’m careful of what I say in front of him, that’s why – he is the kind of kid who hears everything. We’re trying to find the balance between being encouraging and upbeat – which he responds well to – and also letting him feel what he needs to feel.

I guess I’m trying to remind myself of the same thing – that being a bit mad at the world and overwhelmed and sometimes sad right now doesn’t mean I’m not also utterly grateful that it’s not worse or forever, or that I don’t trust God or believe it will work out. I do.

A bright spot in our day over the last couple of days (besides my mom coming at what could possibly be the best timed visit ever), though also hard, was the school’s response. Joel and I had conferences anyway on Wednesday, and everyone from the school social worker to the specialists to his teacher and speech teacher pulled together to help us work through details large and small. I was so impressed and grateful. I find it rather terrifying that he’ll be away from us for 6.5 hours a day, possibly overdoing it under any one of those peoples’ care, and was much reassured. On Monday, we’ll bring him (that needs to be the plan for now, I think), and meet with the recess folks to see how we can get him some swinging time at recess every day. We’ll talk with the class about what’s going on, and answer their question during “sharing time”. Oliver will choose a buddy to wheel him around and help him to the bathroom - he can wheel there, and take a walker from the door.

Yesterday, we met a friend and her kids at the park, and gave it a whirl as to letting him do some hanging and hand-over-hand stuff (which he can do, but I can’t really lift him to help with all that well), and swinging. It went well, overall, but was also hard. I could see him thinking, realizing that he can’t run after his brother and friends, was left out of a game of hide-and-seek. It was hard for Noah too – they were both upset at one point or another in the outing, but also joyful at times. And that was rather the point, to help him start to come to grips with that before he’s at school and we’re not there to give him a hug when he’s sad.

A lot of people have thoughtfully asked after Noah – and believe me, we’re aware that this is hard for him too. I’ve been giving him a lot of little bits of extra attention whenever I can, and letting him know that he’s equally important to us and that we understand this is a big adjustment for him as well. He’s lost his racing and climbing buddy, and Oliver is getting a lot of attention. He’s been pretty sweet with Oliver, but last night at bedtime, he said, “I hate Oliver’s handicap.” Those were strong words for my reserved little guy. I did order some book from the library on the topic of siblings with disabilities, and might look for a support session or something for siblings. So much to look into…

Right now, we’re focusing on the logistical details and such, and not so much the medical stuff – mainly because we have another appointment on the 9th, and there’s not a thing that will change between now and then that could be affected by my scouring the internet, and I can do something about the practical details. We want to get both boys swimming and possibly biking (that’s a possibility when he’s at his best, as it’s good for hip range of motion and much less weight-bearing than walking). We want to find ways to be active again as a family. We’re looking into the Cou*rage Center, and a tagalong bike, and other ways he can be active and feel good in his body. I see some glimmers of hope in the new normal, and I guess we’ll just keep plugging along until we find our stride. Thank you for your love and support.

Oliver's not so excellent adventure

I have some unfortunate, though not catastrophic news. As some of you know from Facebook, Oliver was diagnosed with Legg-Calvé-Perthes Disease this today. It's a disease where part of the hip bone dies due to loss of blood, and has to grow back, and grow back in the right alignment and shape. He's in the beginning stages, and it will take 2 years or so for it to heal enough to where he can be active again. He'll need a wheelchair and/or crutches or a walker some of the time and to avoid running and jumping. Surgery is a possibility down the road, and it is especially a hope that he doesn't get it in the other hip. He's got a fabulous medical team for this rare condition, which affects about 10-15 kids in the metro at one time. He also has a great attitude, and we know he can do this, even though it will be challenging. If you want more information, this is an excellent, short overview that fits with what the doctor shared with us.

We've experienced a lot of love and support from friends and family today, and really appreciate your prayers and support. There are a lot of details to work out - his school situation, finding him therapeutic swimming somewhere (a great non-weight-bearing option), just figuring out how to get him in and out of the house. He's 60 pounds and I have significant back problems - it's going to be a real challenge, and I don't even want to think about the snow. It's a lot to digest. I start to think we'll get through this (and I know we will) and then I think about Halloween, for example, with all those many steps, and it doesn't even occur to Ollie yet as he talks excitedly about Halloween. It will take a while for him to digest it, I think - and I think it will be hard to watch his twin do daily what he can't. It will be hard for Noah too - I reminded him at bedtime that he and his needs are just as important, and promised to check in with him to make sure he feels that thats the case. And yet, I know it could be much worse - this is a self-limiting disease, generally. He should run and walk normally again, even if he won't ever be a marathon runner. There are small blessings everywhere - that my mom happens to already be on the way here this week, that we could get into an MRI right away and be seen by the only doc in town who specializes in this, that Ollie has crazy upperbody strength from all that climbing he does. An even larger blessing is our wonderful family, church, and friends. Less wonderful is the fact that the clinic is a tier 2 on our insurance, and we have no other options - that makes things a lot more expensive. Shriners may be an option - we're looking into that. We see the doc again in 2 weeks, and should know a bit more then - she's sharing the results of the MRI with her colleagues in Texas, where they have a center for this.

We'll keep you posted - thanks for listening.

welcome to Plot 125

Six years ago, when the boys were wee babies and I was often tired and overwhelmed, I used to occasionally pack up both boys and a double stroller that only barely fit into my small station wagon and drive a couple of miles west to walk at Do*wling Community Garden. Dow*ling is a fairly vast community garden, one of the oldest in the country, and one of two remaining Victory Gardens dating back to World War II. During the height of the Victory Garden movement, over 40 percent of fresh vegetables consumed in the United States were grown in Victory Gardens. Dowlin*g is one of only 2 remaining Victory Gardens in the U.S.

The grounds are lovely and flat, and I loved walking the stroller along the paths, watching things grow, seeing how other vegetable gardeners like myself trellised, interplanted, and mulched. It seems cooler and breezy down by the river, and there are woods with paths, and an orchard to walk through. One afternoon, I looked down at my 8-pound babies and had a mental image of 2 healthy, strong boys running off into the woods there, and thought that perhaps when they are older, they could take part in this lovely community of gardeners with me, climbing the trees, roaming the woods, and enjoying a tiny slice of country life in our fair city. I submitted my name to the waiting list inside a small box on a pole at the edge of the garden. It felt a little foolish, I remember - to think I could tend anything beyond my new brood at a time when it seemed such a difficult thing to even find time to mow the lawn.

For years, I heard nothing. I checked in a couple of years ago, and found out the list was so very long, it had been closed. I gave up hope of getting a plot there, thinking it was just too unlikely we'd ever be called up. When they were one, and two, and probably three, it would have been impossible - they would have climbed all over things they shouldn't. At four, and five, it would have been a challenge, but maybe possible. But then, this spring, we got a call: our name had come up, there was a plot available for the modest price of $25 per year and 6 hours of work; compost, water, and access to a shed full of tools included. And they are six; old enough to roam without being constantly within my sight, to follow some rules reliably and well, to really help, even. This is the perfect age for such things.



Our plot came with a bed of strawberries, a rhubarb plant, and some garlic chives and onions. It had been rototilled, and there was a pole bean structure in need of some fixing. The soil needs some work - it is sandy and gray, but already, it had the bones of a lovely garden - 20 x 20 in full sun for much of the day, and close to the water spigot and tool shed. There are gardeners who have been part of this community for 40 years or more, and I often hear the laughter and banter of good friends calling between the plots. Once a month or so on a Saturday morning, a class is offered on seed-saving or some such topic. It is nice not to garden in isolation, and I've learned a few things already this year. And the sun! I've never had the luxury or growing things in full sun before, and what it difference that makes.




Sometimes the boys help, digging or watering, but most often they play and climb.





There are many kids who play and build in these woods as their parents dig and weed and water.











Sometimes we put their bikes on the rack and they ride all over.





We often meet people here for picnics, combining a little gardening and social time.



(Don't you love the mother-son resemblance in the picture below?)













The boys have named the paths in the woods, and some of the trees. They have claimed a spot under the trees and brush as their "camp", and made a pretend fire ring, and a structure out of sticks.



Do you remember doing this? I do. Kids don't often get the opportunity anymore, at least not here.





They run off together, into the woods, strong and lean and glorious, and check in with me to tell me their discoveries. I tell them mine - the beans are up, the berries are ripe - our souls are filled near to bursting with all that is growing and whole. Sometimes good things come our way at just the right time.