We’re walking through the woods on a damp Spring day.
The Robins are back, singing us an April song of return. The vernal pool by the edge of the familiar path is back again and our children race to greet the swampy waters with a warm welcome.
“They’ll be toads soon, Mama,” my eight-year-old daughter informs me. She’s beaming.
And she knows this as fact because we’ve studied and enjoyed the tiny toads here for as long as she can remember.
Our youngest son is sloshing through streams and puddles, curious of every new and living thing. Our eldest is gazing up at the birds overhead, commenting on the roar of the fast flowing river that was frozen solid a few weeks ago. This is an afternoon of study in our family. And it is the glory and enjoyment of this kind of learning that drew me quickly and easily to Charlotte Mason’s philosophies…