Hoosier Pass, Colorado, and Hiking with a Toddler

   Above Breckenridge Colorado, where you have left the world of juice bars (avocado is a fat, not a protein, people) you may find a random seeming trailhead under the bare green mounds of the mountainside, against the dominating, stony gray of the rocky peaks behind.  Though it did not occur to me at the time, something of the green round of the hills could put one in mind of Barrow Downs, only more vertical.

    We stopped here in great need of a hike after the tedium of driving, and the frustrations of spending much less time on our feet than hoped.  Mountain weather being quick to change, and the cold a concern, we first had to think of bundling the baby.  She had a warm hooded jacket, but her legs were down to one layer, and here is where we discovered a technique that should be more widely known among parents.  Once the child is in the carrier, take a sleepsack, and put it on backwards, tucking the feet in so that the baby's arms are holding it up, instead of falling off all the time like a blanket does when you try the same idea.  Warmly thus enthroned against the her father's chest, the child set forth upon the side of the mountain.

Smug as a baby alligator on its mother's head

    The first small stretch of our road took us over a gravelly ground of evergreen trees, and we took the road which wound about the side of the slope, rather than the path some took to the right.  After a short distance, the road curved about a ridge and the trees broke for a moment, and the valley opened beneath us.

    The road winds about the side of the ridge, trees about it as it rises, views of a green hillside between them.  In the valley below, a reservoir lay steely in color under the shifting clouds and the depth of the sky.  

We walked along the rim of the valley, still below the green hill which our road climbed.

On the edge of this valley, which looked like a dream to me, we halted and I sat to survey what spread before us

        There a world like a book lay all about us, and tiny flowers, growing from mossy roots in the gravelly earth, with a kind of special beauty that I cannot explain or describe.  If it lies in part from the encouraging effects of a walk in the sun, and the knowledge that you may only see these that grow here because you have taken your own two feet and left the world of rushing vehicles behind, it may be, but perhaps the elevation itself puts something into them which could be quantified by technical jargon.

But the path still lay ahead

A snowfield beside the road wept into the valley to drip into the reservoir below

The hill above

We followed the road about the curve of the hill, and discovered that our road passed the debris of a mine at the valley's head, and wound higher, turning toward a fork.  The hill we had been walking beneath was lower and lay to the right, and another hillside, which had been in our view since we rounded the ridge lay still higher, and between these lay the fork in the road.

We took the left, but were stopped from climbing higher by notices of private property.  Before we went back to reach the top of the first hill, we came around the side to find another abandoned mine.  The door was collapsed, and the tunnel extension was in part tumbled, but a small stream of water ran through the rocks from the hidden caves beneath the hill, and trickled away over the rim of the valley.

Red slag visible on the mountain behind the mine exit implies there were multiple shafts on this hillside, and that our path was in part a mining road

On the far side of the ridge, a blue and green valley runs into the distance under the feet of desolate peaks

At last we turned to climb the final hill.

Here more flowers grew with stolid roots and misleadingly delicate faces, thriving in the summer sun, that bear the harshest winds and fiercest snows, to rise again with a smile from what could be mistaken for lifeless ground.

And there was rested, enjoyed our provisions ("because that sounds better than "those funny sandwich cracker things" and Gatorade, and the baby and I nursed above the valley. 

 Having checked "nurse baby on mountain top" off my bucket list, I enjoyed taking another stunning picture of my ankles.  Behold, ye who bear witness of my shins.

After a satisfying nurse, toddler enjoys playing with a gatorade bottle, and crushing some crackers significantly more than the view

A mound of blossoms on a mossy seat.  Many of the flowers had some sort of moss-like base, spreading above a thick root which dug for strength, while the foliage above spread to catch sun or rain. 

When the time came to climb to the lot at the base of the hills, we followed the top of the ridge, and took the trail which ran down it, into the tree line again, down the road's beginning, and back to the car where we had set out unknowing how unlike anything else mountain flowers can be.

The toddler wakes, and I must go.

David, Bathsheba, and Sin of the Heart

     As I was musing in the shower, (a dangerous pastime, I know) I got to thinking somehow about David, Bathsheba, ancient Israeli housing arrangements and the nature of sin.  My habit of creating complicated trains of thought when I am not writing them down forced me to open the laptop while the toddler was being relatively good.  (I can still clean up all the game pieces she has on the floor later)

    To start with, when does sin begin? David, the man after God's own heart becomes a murderer over the course of this story, which he was not when it began. (Unless you count some raiding in his early life)

    "Great" sins can usually be traced down a line of differing iniquities, ultimately beginning with pride.  Sin, I believe in every case, begins with thinking subconsciously or not, that we are right in something in which God is wrong.  This is original sin.  Eve doubted God first, and disobeyed because of this kind of pride.  Adam chose to follow suit because he chose to do what God commanded against.  Original sin begins with putting God aside.  We all have original sin in our hearts.

    So then we come down the years to David, bearing the same mark of original pride as Adam, Eve, you, and me.  David, to start out with was probably bored.  As a mighty kicker of butt, he was cooped up at home in Jerusalem while his army fought without him.  (I believe this was after he was officially told "you're not allowed to risk your life anymore, Joab's got it, sorry.")  Thus, instead of kicking butt, he remains twiddling his thumbs.

Someone's model of ancient houses

    So it is that he goes to the roof, and sees Bathsheba.  There has been a number of ideas as to why she was visible.  Of course, it is always understood that David, on a palace roof, was higher.  I can't dig into the Hebrew myself to see if it actually means that she was herself on her roof, or simply that David was looking from his.  It is possible that as a member of David's guard, Uriah was in position to have an, or multiple upper rooms, which could qualify as on the roof, and thus mean that Bathsheba was not bathing on an open roof visible to everyone, but it has also been supplied that it was rather the house court that the open roof.  In the ancient world of the Near East, people tended to build rooms about the center court of a house, instead of onto the existing structure, leaving the family yard within the house and so private, and people would bathe in this space.  When I am able, more detail on the layout of these ancient houses, and how they connect with the second coming would be an interesting topic.  From above, David would have a view which would allow him to see what went on which those passing by did not have.  Thus, at first, both adulterers are innocent.  David goes to his roof, Bathsheba goes to the tub.

    As I was initially musing I had thought that what became murder began with something smaller and rather normal.  A second look.  David could have looked away, but she was beautiful, and beauty is hard to turn from as a man.  Nearly every man on the street knows this far better than I do, and perhaps even trying to talk about it on my part is ridiculous.  But there is a draw to woman's beauty like a indomitable magnet.  For some it is a struggle, and for those who do struggle, they know the power of it more than those who have never tried.  It is easy for me to set out blasé statements about morality of the eyes, when I simply cannot feel the power of that form of desire.  Yet, we ask, where did David's sin begin?

    The first sight cannot be helped, but the second look begins trouble.  And a sight of the kind of beauty as hers was not easy to look away from.  And here David fell.

    But it was not the second look that started the chain of sin and iniquity that led to death, of a faithful warrior, an infant, and the breaking of a kingdom.  First, David had to put God aside.  We cannot sin and be in communion with God at the same time.  It is easy for those with different temptations to push David's sin into a category of awful things we would never do when we forget what the first sin really was.  The same sin that I commit every day, every hour.  Before David had Uriah murdered, before he committed adultery, before he took the second look, he put God aside.  We duck out of what we think of as his presence, though he still remains, patient, if grieved, or angry, so often without even knowing we have done so, in order to do what we think better than what he has given.  We become Adam and Eve hiding because they realize now that they had left God's light when at the time they thought first of themselves.  Original sin is pride, selfishness, placing ourself in the in the position of God.  The ultimate, original idolatry.

    This is the reason that David later says "Against you, and you alone I have sinned and done what is evil in your sight."  No matter whom we hurt in our sin the first person we ever, ever strike is God.  For every wound, every grief, every loss as a fruit of sin, God has suffered first.  And I cannot even bear my own sufferings without him.

    This is what should strike home deeply to all those of us who pride ourselves on not being sordid adulterer-murderers.  The sins that follow the First Sin, the first sin of our hearts, and the first sin of all sins committed, they are varied and ugly, but the sin, the root, the seed itself is what we all share.  When I turn to bitterness, or fail to serve another with joy, it is first the First Sin.  When I neglect what I should do because I have become so self-focused as to think my pleasure is more important than service, it is from the First Sin.  When my heart makes it's morality my own desire, rather than the glory and hope that is the service of God, this is the First Sin.  When David looked again, and looked again, and betrayed Uriah, Bathsheba, himself, succumbed to a murderous heart, lost a dynasty for his children, and watched his baby die, it began with the First Sin.

    And for a time, God watched David stew after that first sin.  When Nathan the prophet finally comes to him with the call from God, how long had David been living in a spiritual crevice, knowing, or not knowing that he was hiding from God?

    

    Insincere repentance is one of the ugliest "decent" sight to be seen.  The false tears I have seen rankle me today.  Yet when David repents, he repentance is total, beautiful, and has blessed generations of sinners for three-thousand years.  He makes no excuses, but calls for help.  There is no reference to "will the grave praise you?" or however that goes, simply, "cleanse me".

    (I wonder if when he refers to "the bones you have broken may rejoice" he is referencing the shepherd's technique of breaking a wandering lamb's leg to keep it close until it becomes used to nearness with the shepherd, that it might, though temporary suffering, not suffer a woeful fate in tearing animal's maw.  Sometimes, God breaks our legs, and we don't think to thank him.)

    Then, after all this, he speaks of praise, first saying that God desires the sacrifice of broken heart, rather than an offering on an alter.  David understands what Jesus later makes very clear when he speaks of sins of the heart coming first.  Jesus, as he said, never abolished the law, he made it harder, or showed how hard it had been all along.  And only the mercy of God, then not yet made clear, but already saving, brings us to his arms.  David, in knowing this, was the man after God's own heart.  It is after this that David speaks of offerings, and God being pleased with them.  He knew repentance, and he knew that external service comes from that which is within first.

    And Bathsheba?  Her character is unknown in detail at the time of her liaison.  But after, she becomes the mother of Solomon, mother of the line of Judah, author of Proverbs 31, where she warned the king not to "give his strength to women".  She became far reaching ancestress of Joseph son of Jesse (Although there is a first or second century document suggesting that Joseph was a product of two different Leverate marriages, making him legally a descendant of the kingly line, but biologically a son of David by different children, thus giving him, and his legal, though not biological son Jesus a claim to the throne while avoiding a claim on the curse of Jeconiah--one of my favorite forgotten Biblical details, along with Zerubbabel the Son of Shealtiel, and all the signet ring language)  Don't you love parenthetical statements?

    

   So we find that our First Sin is the soul of every sin.  That putting God aside is death.  And that God is the maker of all beauty, even in the rubble of our failure.

 

Crochet Snood Pattern, and the Travails of its creation, and a little on Medieval Hairstyles

       

            Crochet snood pattern, free, originally intended for historical use

 [The following is my massive backstory, which may be entertaining, but if you slide past it, I will certainly not be offended.  I just feel like typing.]

     You would think it would be easier to find a crochet snood pattern on the internet.  Snoods are basically perfect for the medium.  They are screaming to be crocheted, and thus it is possible to find patterns, from those that call for stretchy yarn, to the vintage models, which force us to improve our crochet term repertoire.  There were also a distressing number of patterns for something from a Wednesday Addams show that from what I can tell were more like cowls and no use to me.  Yet none of these for various reasons quite worked, and so in an attempt to follow various different patterns, I was forced to improvise, and a new pattern rushed onto the scene.  I tried one which failed, probably because I used the wrong yarn, or because I have too much hair, and I started the classic Perky Snood from the 1940s which you will find if you try searching patterns, but I was confused by the fact that it didn't seem to be worked in round.  Referring to it for sizing, and using this (Not My Nana's Crochet!: Crochet Lacy Hair Net Snood (bebrightblog.blogspot.com)) as another reference, but altering the increase because I didn't understand it, and altering the ending to fit onto my head, I came up with something that suited my needs, and since there is a dearth of free snood patterns that made sense to me, I thought it my duty to put forth the following.  If I continue experimenting, I may come up with better.  I particularly like the idea of a diamond pattern.

    But, why, rambling woman on the internet, why must you have a snood?  Speak, for your every word is a pearl of wisdom totally unhindered by veiled sarcasm.

    This summer, my sister, a friend, and my mother all went in to help me make something vaguely realistic to wear as a medieval kirtle and chemise, which I have delighted in, but have been wearing with shamefully modern loose hair with bangs.  Though styles, trends, and modesty standards varied throughout the middle ages, it seemed more appropriate that I wear a proper veil and wimple or gorget, but my attempts to make something of the sort were thwarted by my lack of sewing skills and, not being Olivia de Haviland, simple inability to wear that kind of head covering well.  There are other forms of medieval headwear, however, but they seemed even more complicated for my skills, until I thought of what is today called the snood.

    Similar hairnets were worn in the middle ages, and I have always wanted a snood ever since the day a childhood friend came over wearing one.  They are simply fetching, and have an old-fashioned womanly look that connects to many different centuries, except our own.  The patterns from the 1940s can attest that our grandmothers wore them, and that they were at times a fashionable accessory.  

    In creating a costume I have tried to lean toward what is historically realistic, but only to a point which is realistic for me with my resources.  I am still aware that my dress is a sheet and a tablecloth.  That said, at least now I can wear my hair in a way that suits me, and the making of falls into my skill area, and doesn't leave me quite so shocking to those around me next time I accidentally wander into a time tunnel.  I don't want to be taken for some kind of hussy.  Still, I realize my style may be varied over multiple centuries, but at least I have a start.

Image of a Crespinette I snitched from this site10 | October | 2012 | Maniacal Medievalist (wordpress.com) 

Pattern

This pattern uses a magic circle, which is a substitute for working multiple stitches into a single chain as is often used when beginning a round.  Here is a tutorial.

I had to relearn the treble crochet stitch, so here is another tutorial in case it is helpful.  It came from Howsanne Handmade Crochet : Crochet Stitches

Uses US terms

I used probably a sport weight or sock yarn.

Size H hook

Row 1: Work 7 ch into magic circle, repeat *1tr, ch 2* seven times total Join using sl st.

Row 2: Chain 7, repeat *skip chain space, 1 tr in next tr, ch 2, skip ch space* around. Join

Row 3: Chain 7, repeat *skip chain space, tr in next tr, ch 2, tr in same stitch, ch 2* around. (you are doubling every tr and ch pattern) Join.

Row 4: Repeat row 2

Row 5: Chain 7, repeat *skip chain, tr in next tr, ch 2, skip chain space, tr in next tr, ch 2, tr in same stitch, ch 2* around (you are doubling every other stitch to increase following the net pattern) Join.

Rows 6-16: Chain 7, repeat *skip chain, tr in next tr, ch 2, skip ch space* around. Join.

Row 17: Ch 3, hdc in each st around, including ch, join

Row 18: Ch 2 Sc in each st around, join

Row 19: Ch 2, *Sc 4 times, decrease in next st* around.  Fill remaining stitches with sc. Join.

Row 20, Ch 2, sc around, join. 

Fasten off, weave in ends.

If the snood doesn't stay on easily against the weight of your hair, you might try a couple of clips to make it a little more secure.

I plan to try the pattern to double check all the stitches on a second snood.  If mistakes are found, I will update the posted pattern

 

                    

It gives me delight to see it in the mirror, hoping to borrow a graceful womanliness that our foremothers knew, but our hurried and changed age at times robs from us.

Update:

If you prefer a drawstring or elastic band, and a beautiful design, I finally found this pattern for free which I worked up and appreciated the ability to sinch it, as well as the lovely design. I did not need a ravelry account to access it.  https://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/crochet-snood

Over the Plains, Summer 2022, and Travels with a Toddler

     This summer I took a drive from Northern Michigan to the Colorado Rockies with my husband (who shall be henceforth fondly termed under that name, or at times, when I feel cheesy, The Last Knight), and our then eleven-month-old daughter, whom I have not yet given a cheesy anonymous title.  (She is currently nearing fifteen months, and intimating that nursing her is more important than typing.  Excuse me.)

    That interlude complete, and the child trying to climb my chair with less distress, let's move on to that complicated topic, travel with small children.  

I plan to cover highlights of that trip in a series of posts, one of which I have already posted, but in setting out more from the beginning, I decided to cover something of the issue of driving twenty-two hours with a toddler.  I have now limited experience in long car trips, and camping with a toddler, and there are plenty of people wondering about that topic as they forge into a life with children.  Can it be done? Yes.  Is it a good idea? Yes, but it depends.  Once the children come, much of your life is geared, not toward yourself, but toward them.  In a way, that is quite freeing.  You simply no longer have the same freedom to do things as easily as you may have before, but the trade, anything you may give up, is worth it.  So whether or not you travel means thinking how it affects this little person you love.  Yet, it remains that an important part of a child's wellbeing is learning the lesson that the world does not revolve around them, and that they must also accommodate others.  Then you fall into the complex waters of what your own child can handle, what is reasonable to expect from them at a given age, and at what point you are actually forgetting their needs for the sake of your own desires.  And there is no perfect answer, which leaves parents struggling in the confusion of frustration with themselves and at times their children, and the guilt of wondering when you're doing wrong, in any direction.  The only hope I can give to the problem of no perfect answer, is how I might say it to myself, to simply remind that there is none, and relax a bit, you bundle of self-important worry.

    Here's how it went for us.  Daughter Adorable (eventually I'll get good one), was set to turn eleven months over the course of our trip.  She was then taking an hour or so late morning nap, and around an hour and a half in the afternoon.  She had been walking for about a month, and begun to eat some solids, in the form of purees, or well smashed things off my plate.  I hadn't pushed solids early on, so she may have been behind the normal expectations, but she was not behind on development for her age.  We had never taken a trip of over twenty hours with her yet, and since we didn't know what to expect, we planned to take at least three days driving both directions and enjoy the process, using naptimes for drive time, and be prepared for a nice time in Illinois or somewhere if the trip turned out to be too much for her.  Holding plans loose may be one of the best ways to avoid misery in child travel.

    We set out from home with child in seat and managed to reach Holland Michigan without great difficulty.  Our first day, we stopped to give her a long break at Dutch Village, which I mention because it was one of the times we enjoyed most, though it was merely a few hours from home, and it was a great way to give Miss Adventuress (I'm trying, alright), a good break.  Dutch village is well known to many in Michigan, as is Windmill Island, where stands the last genuine windmill to leave the Netherlands before they were held back to preserve Dutch history.  Though we didn't stop there on this trip, it is a worthwhile stop.  Having been built in the 18th century, it sheltered some hiding from the Nazi's during the occupation of the Netherlands, and still grinds today before the eyes of tourists.  The mill stands over a marsh, surrounded by gardened grounds.

    Dutch Village is more difficult to describe, part shops, part petting zoo, and part park, it is itself beautiful and a whisper of history.

    When her second nap came, we packed her up and went on.  This was a pattern we tried to repeat over the trip.  I found that at times she was happy on her own with one of those bath books, which she would read by way of cute noises to herself, and would not be destroyed when it went into her mouth.  I brought a selection of toys, and board books (which she loves), and switched them out every day or few days with different ones to keep them interesting.  At times she needed company, someone to play with her in the back seat, though she fell asleep for naps better when left alone.  Reading to her was a wonderful thing to keep her happy, and then there were snacks.  Though she was still mostly breastfed, baby food packets were wonderfully portable, and kept her entertained.  Often they helped her get through to our next stop before a feeding.  Now that she's older, she loves plain cheerios (which I always thought akin to parental abuse, but oddly enough are a favorite) and puffs while in the car, since they are less messy.  She also enjoyed some video chatting with family at home, which was fun to be able to do.

    These were useful methods, but they were not infallible.  Our fear of her deeply hating the car was just barely averted.  All told, she did very well, but there were some moments of last half hours before stopping that were filled with tears and struggle as we tried to find a place for the night where we could get her out of the seat at last.  Only in desperation did we pull forth our secret weapon: a YouTube video of a Yeshiva Choir singing Shalom Aleichem which she has always found weirdly mesmerizing.  When even this failed, we turned at last to the Māori war chants.  If my child can perform a perfect haka at the age of five, you will know it is because she spent too much time in the car.

    This post is too long to tell all about the crossing of the plains, but I can say we managed to make quite a few interesting breaks.  One was a little town somewhere along the way that had a beautiful little park where Little Princess got to try the swings, toddle about, and one of the adults got to spend some time up a tree.

  We also managed to visit what another patron on exiting called "The cutest museum ever", spanning the freeway on an enclosed bridge.  

I will not disclose the location of our secret mulberry patch.  

    Our first night camping she did beautifully because the weather was warm.  We brought a tent large enough for a playpen, and the playpen is what she used under canvass and under roof.  In the colder weather, layering pajamas and sleep sacks worked to a point, but in the end we had to limit camping to warmer locations for the child's sake.  Child camping experts can advise better on cold weather camping.  We chose not to try it.  Having her walking was very helpful, however, because then she could be safely on the ground at a campsite without being in the dirt as a crawling baby would have been.

    So as to traveling by car with a toddler, it can be done, but it may at times be stressful for adult and child.  Taking it slowly, and not taking your plans too seriously may be helpful.  Breaks help, driving while napping helps, snacks and books help.  Apparently Australian accents help.  Driving to your next destination in the wee hours of the morning while the baby sleeps because your tent collapsed on you in the mountain wind can help.  (See my vague comments about weather in my Antero Reservoir post)

Playpens, that invaluable traveling tool

A sample of the Knight's photography at a rest area on the plains

Finally, if my calling my husband The Last Knight when he in not actually a knight in the literal sense is confusing to my readership, I must offer that it is merely a fondness geared toward his gentlemanly behavior and his interest in pre-gunpowder weaponry.  If this offends Elton John, I suppose we can talk about it.  If it were the late Christopher Lee taking offense, then I'd have cause to be worried.