Tag: teaching

Mycology Morning

Posted on by Rachel Lonas

When you homeschool and do sports, your field options are limited. My middle daughters are both running cross country this fall, so public spaces are our friends. We have been at three different locations for team practice and they have all been verdant, humid, and somewhat muddy because well, Chattanooga is like that sometimes. This year we had a very dry season followed by an incredibly rainy season and when the rains come down the mushrooms come up!

In the bolete family
Thinking it’s a hygrophorus milkcap (edible, if so, but not going to try it!)

So while patrolling the trail the students run on, I snapped a lot of pictures of those mushrooms because I want to get to know them at least a little better. I have an app called iNaturalist that I upload them to in order to attempt to identify them (but it’s still hard!). Of course, I have no intentions of being a mycologist or forager, but I do want to always be an observer and discoverer.

In the book Atomic Habits, the author explains that if you want to become something you have to have the habits of someone who is that. For instance, if you say to yourself, “I am someone who observes things closely.” Guess what you have to start doing? Act like someone who observes things more closely. You might start noticing what color your co-workers are wearing. You might count how many stairs you have to climb to get to your bedroom. You might start looking for mushrooms on your nature walks when it’s soggy.

Hmm.. Gray bolete?

For me, my default can be inattentiveness. I have tons of exciting ideas visions swirling around in my head, so taking time to notice what’s been showing up in creation year after year is often a big effort on my part. However, as I have been developing this habit (and encouraging it in others) a whole new world of wonder has opened up to me. Something breathtaking finds me when I least expect it.

Learning even the tiniest bit about mushrooms in one local spot means I will also learn to call them by name around my house and that’s exciting news. I can start asking more questions about them. I can paint them. I can enjoy them with my kids. I can understand my region better. The possibilities are endless when you’re curious!

So next time you’re out at Enterprise South for a run, say hello to the runners, bikers, walkers, and fungi you meet! Trust me, with as many varieties as there are out there, it will keep you busy for a lifetime…

Possibly a ruby bolete?
Some kind of turkey tail?
This could be lots of things in the coral fungus family?
Perhaps some kind of amanita? (if so, poisonous!)
Red Chantrelle? (edible, if so!)

On that note, here’s a poem to encourage you on your way to more observing!

The Editing Process

Posted on by Rachel Lonas

I was recently given an advanced copy reader by a college friend whose book is coming out in July. I was so moved by her words that I wrote a book review to hopefully help it get some early press. I spent several hours over several days typing up an opening story and deciding on the section headers and how to flesh them out. I edited it multiple times and thought, “This is long, but it’s pretty good after all the effort I put in!”

And then I let my husband edit it.

Comments and edits galore in the margins. At one point my hand got tired of clicking all the accept changes. In full disclosure, editing is part of what he does for a living, so I know anything I give him is in capable hands. However, it’s still hard to “watch the sausage being made” as the saying goes. I want to believe that I can dash off something amazing with no help — my ideas are pure and unadulterated. But if I buy into that kind of idealism, it only hurts my work, not helps it. My tunnel vision can end up squandering my gift, not nurturing it.

Per his advice, I went back and worked on it some more. He promised to look at it again before I submitted it to a publication. If it gets accepted it, there will be minimum of one more set of eyes to shred it again.

After my husband told me he was finished, I asked him if he thought the place I wanted to send my work to would shave my work down substantially. I reminded him that he had submitted a book review there that was 1900 words and they chopped it to 1400. He said it depends on what the publication is going for, but that he actually appreciated the edits he received because nothing the editor did took away from the big picture. Even editors liked being edited well!

To be a better writer you have to be vulnerable and acknowledge that your idea might need help. When you think you’ve done your best work, there will always be someone out there to suggest an opportunity for more word color or to say, “I see where you’re going, but this train of thought doesn’t fit.” If you’re always defensive about a comment or think that your words are right up there with Shakespeare on the first draft, you’re in for a harsh reality check. Consider the editing process a collaborative effort, not a competitive one. You’re all on the same team with the same goal– making your work shine for maximum impact. Having your words filtered through multiple lens (of which include might include people of a different race, gender, geographic location, etc.) before your piece gets sent out into the world can be a blessing not a curse*.

*A slight caveat. I have had a friend say that she worked on a piece for over a year and she shopped her work around. Some places rejected it, some said it needed tweaks, and finally one publication took it as is. She chose that publication for that particular piece. There were other pieces where she received some feedback and gave both pushback and acceptance of their edits. Ultimately, you have the choice to negotiate (or not!) whether the other person looking at your work is catching your vision and voice. On the whole though, most editors have had enough experience to craft and not wound.

Witnessing Childhood

Posted on by Rachel Lonas

Our neighborhood is very walkable — gridlike in its layout. Over the years we have burned up the pavement with our tennis shoes, wagons, scooters, and strollers. We walk to the library. We walk to the cemetery cattycorner to our backyard. We walk to church. We walk to restaurants. We walk to playgrounds. We walk to Wal-Mart.

Toward the end of the month I am moving our time away from the farm and over to my town so we can walk on asphalt instead of lush grass. We will first pick up a lot of trash, as it’s one of the things you notice right away when you pass by all the ditches and little creeks. I’m excited to see how much we collect as we discuss all the signs of spring!

I also hope that we come across something like this:

I don’t know the story behind this, but it brought me a great sense of joy as I passed by it in a neighbor’s yard last night. Getting an opportunity to witness someone’s childhood is no small thing.

In Praise of Reciprocal Memberships

Posted on by Rachel Lonas

One way I encourage families to keep a family culture of being outdoors is through a “hack” we learned about several years ago — reciprocal memberships. Where we are in Chattanooga, we have access to a place called Reflection Riding which is a member of the American Horticultural Society. This association allows its members access to any other affiliated gardens on their list for a discounted price or usually FREE. Financially speaking, it’s a no brainer to join. Here’s some math:

Visit Atlanta Botanical Gardens once = $126 for our family of 6

Family membership to Reflection Riding = $70 AND we can go to any of the 330+ gardens for discount or free.

If you have access to gardens that offers these benefits, take advantage of them for you and your family, especially in the winter season when you might be less encouraged to be outdoors. Sometimes you get a surprise like we did yesterday, having a beautiful day in the upper 50’s. In addition, some places have greenhouses year round. Seeing how they will decorate the poinsettia tree (see below) is one of the highlights of the winter break for us. Actually, it might be the largest reason we created the tradition of going every year right before Christmas!

Displays at the Atlanta Botanical greenhouse never get old!

2021 Reads

Posted on by Rachel Lonas

This is by no means an exhaustive list of my 2021 reads, but since it is getting close to the start of a new year (presumably when people make resolutions to read more widely), I will pick a handful that I think are worth your time. They are listed in no particular order.

  • Everything Sad Is Untrue by Daniel Nayeri
  • Finding Langston by Lesa Ransome-Cline
  • What Happened to You? Conversations on Trauma, Resilience, and Healing by Dr. Bruce Perry and Oprah Winfrey
  • Skunk and Badger by Amy Timberlake
  • Where Stars are Scattered by Victori Jamieson and Omar Mohamed
  • Disability and the Church: A Vision for Diversity and Inclusion by Lamar Hardwick
  • Jacksonland: President Andrew Jackson, Cherokee Chief John Ross, and a Great American Land Grab by Steve Inskeep
  • Prayer in the Night: For Those Who Work or Watch or Weep by Tish Harrison Warren
  • On the Spectrum: Autism, Faith, and the Gifts of Neurodiversity by Daniel Bowman, Jr.
  • Talking Back to Purity Culture by Rachel Joy Welcher
  • Dog Songs and A Thousand Mornings by Mary Oliver
  • Wintering: The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times by Katherine May
  • The Children of Men by P.D. James
  • This Too Shall Last by K.J. Ramsey
  • The Warmth of Other Suns by Isabel Wilkeron
  • Farewell To Manzanar: A True Story of Japanese American Experience During and After the World War II Internment by Jeanne Wakatsuki Houston
  • Turning of Days : Lessons from Nature, Season, and Spirit by Hannah Anderson
  • The Sum of Us: What Racism Costs Everyone and How We Can Prosper Together by Heather McGhee
  • The Code of the Woosters by P.G. Wodehouse
  • A Walk in the Woods by Lee Blessing





Consider the Wildflowers

Posted on by Rachel Lonas

It could have been my imagination, but the air felt much more biting on the walk home from church at noon. In my mind, the day should always promise more warmth as the hours go by, not less. We walked anyway.

Walking to and from church is a normal occurrence for our family. We pass the apartment buildings behind our home, the local cemetery, the Methodist church, the title pawn shop. Then we cross the busy four lane road (which has no crosswalk), past the used tire store on one side and emergency service vehicles on the other. The final stretch is the row of homeowners, their various and sundry yard ornaments, and curious yappy dogs.

Today, however, the walk was a bit blustery even for our usual dogged determination for exercise and insistence on the children being more pedestrian (in all uses of the word) than they would normally care to be. Despite having to cross the traffic-filled street together at lunchtime, the route is very close to a straight line from point A to point B, so none of our children could ever get lost. Even the three year old knows to walk on the correct side of the road at all times, but we still have varying paces. My husband’s lumbering 6’3″ stride is not the same as my impatient I-feel-like-I-had-3-cups-of-coffee-already stride, nor is it the same as our preschooler whose inconsistent stride is always based on her whims.

So being vigilant, but still several paces ahead so as to encourage our 3 year old to reach the warmth of our home faster, I suddenly saw her stop on the side of the road and shriek with delight. What could have caused this burst of exuberance in such a chilly climb up the hill?

She found a lone dandelion.

Being so low to the ground, a burst of sunniest yellow had caught her eye amidst the dull and dark browns while the rest of us just motored on past so we could reach our destination. She laughed so naturally as she picked it for me to put in my coat pocket. Once inside, I started talking with my husband and getting out the leftovers to heat up for lunch, forgetting all about the flower. Out of the corner of my eye I saw our daughter filling up a clear plastic cup half full of water from the fridge.

“No, that’s too much for you to drink. You need to get a straw and then take it to the table.”

Frustrated in being redirected and misunderstood she said plainly, “No, it’s for the flower, Mommy!”

She hadn’t forgotten it.

I don’t know if her instinct to give the flower water came from watching her 7 year old sister do this all year round with “shot glass bouquets” from the yard or if she just knows that flowers need water to even have a chance at surviving in a house. She wasn’t thinking about how quickly it would wither once brought inside; she wanted to preserve and share the beauty of God’s creation as best as she knew how. Either way, her exceeding childish joy and loving care for something we older people ignore or pull up as a nuisance gave me a needed opportunity to reflect on the Lord’s Day.

“Consider how the wildflowers grow: They don’t labor or spin thread. Yet I tell you, not even Solomon in all his splendor was adorned like one of these! If that’s how God clothes the grass, which is in the field today and is thrown into the furnace tomorrow, how much more will He do for you—you of little faith?” Matthew 6:27-28 (HCSB)

My husband reminded me that this passage from the Sermon on the Mount is actually a meditation on the first commandment, where Jesus tells His listeners that in God there is no need for worry because He is the provider. The Greek in verse 27 essentially translates into “be discipled by this flower”. In our age of instant and easy answers, how strange it is to be taught how to orient your life by a plant. And yet that is what I was called to on the roadside — to notice that He is still giving me an opportunity to push out distraction and comfort to see His wonder and provision that was so evident to my little girl. Being outdoors with my children is a constant reminder that I am too addicted to the illusion of self-sufficiency and far too rational to seize moments of discipleship that have been there all along.

Shades of Bronze

Posted on by Rachel Lonas

Last week my family and I drove up to see my in-laws in North Carolina for Thanksgiving. It’s a day where we usually think of bright pumpkins and yellow and green striped gourds with fall leaves in a cornucopia. However, I saw a different side of the season this year while taking a walk with my husband and two of our daughters down to a frozen pond.

I’m actually ashamed to say that I never noticed it before then; I had walked that property in the fall many times over the 15 years my husband and I have been married. This year the shades of bronze from all the spent plants on their 23 acres (and neighboring property) sang to me. The milkweed pods with their wispy white interior and curved shapes, the playful beige fluff of the goldenrod stalks, the crispy four-lobed pattern of tan hydrangea petals, the scraggly splash of lemon yellow from the witch hazel.

The next day we took pruners and a leftover cardboard box, snipping anything bronze, off-white, or muted yellow. After reaching the garage, I sat and made an arrangement of mostly dead things. As I worked, it struck me that what I was constructing was the opposite color palette of those bright fall images you see in Thanksgiving kid crafts and Hobby Lobby decorations. The items in the vase were devoid of the colors we are used to identifying them by, which would signify to many that the “abundance” has already passed or the usefulness of the plants were withered or diminished. But that’s not what my eyes saw as I strolled down the chunky gravel road.

I noticed two things:

1. Even if the color and shapes had changed some of these plants, it did not detract from their fundamental beauty. The textures, shades, and lines were simply stunning. It was almost like once their usual color was stripped away you could see aspects of their character that would have otherwise been concealed.

2. The arrangement wasn’t there to show creation’s abundance had left and was no more, but its beauty was actually a reminder that abundance is still here, albeit a different, but no less lovely form. It served as a reminder these plants will show up (and show off) abundantly again next year and for years to come.

One of the Nature Connection videos (from John Muir Laws) the Maple Key girls and I watched was on drawing and making collections based on a theme you notice as you spend time outdoors. I truly believe I noticed the shades of bronze last week because my eyes are getting sharper. Not literally, of course (I inch closer to the big 4-0 each year!), but rather through being diligent to listen to Laws’ lessons on what it means to live a reflective life outdoors. He gives his viewers better eyes to observe even when they don’t know they’re supposed to be looking.

What a gift to be able to notice God’s generosity through walking in His free wonders and delights.

Be Astonished

Posted on by Rachel Lonas


If you’ve never read Mary Oliver’s poetry, you’re missing out on the sublime. I can say this because for most of my life I haven’t been a patient person with poetry. I don’t recall it being taught to me with joy, often only purpose and meaning. I thought it always needed to steep in my mind for it to be worthy of consideration. The economy of words it required made me feel insecure about forming a decent interpretation. I hate admitting that. I feel the weight of guilt — literature majors are supposed to have an innate love of the word in all forms, right? It wasn’t until I understood that poetry could simply be approached with delight (as opposed to only seeking joy in the clever meaning or rhythm) that things started to change course. I thought and taught differently.

Enter Mary Oliver. She just passed away in 2019 and was eulogized like this:

“Mary Oliver isn’t a difficult poet,” Franklin says. “Her work is incredibly accessible, and I think that’s what makes her so beloved by so many people. It doesn’t feel like you have to take a seminar in order to understand Mary Oliver’s poetry. She’s speaking directly to you as a human being.”

Oliver told NPR that simplicity was important to her. “Poetry, to be understood, must be clear,” she said. “It mustn’t be fancy. I have the feeling that a lot of poets writing now, they sort of tap dance through it. I always feel that whatever isn’t necessary should not be in the poem.”

Oliver’s world is simultaneously whimsical and serious without melodrama. Her collection called Dog Songs could be read to all ages and guaranteed to produce more than a few tears of joy and grief. I started reading these poems with the Maple Key girls and the anticipation is high on which of Mary’s canines we will have the pleasure of meeting next week.

God bless you, Mary. If somebody had told me about you when I taught high school, I would have read you every day to my class. The world is a bit sadder without your wholehearted presence speaking to our tender souls.

What Awaits us in the Woods

Posted on by Rachel Lonas

My older 3 girls started taking swim lessons this fall. They wanted to gain some confidence in the pool and learn new skills, so two days a week we head to a local university where college students run both a swim program and a gymnastics program for children.

During that time I take our 3 year old out on a nature walk on campus next to a creek. I enjoy that special time with her because she goes to a preschool program from 9-2 on those days. She and I have no agenda. Just walking and seeing what awaits us in the woods.


As we got to the end of the trail today, she asked if she could throw rocks in the water and “make music” with her splashing. I told her yes and watched her pure joy for several minutes. It struck me how different my unhesitating response is to her than when my oldest was her age. It has taken me more than a decade to grow into a mom who can say yes to their many requests about exploring the outdoors on their terms. Watching a lot of webinars from experienced early childhood educators has helped me revisit the limitations I used to set out of my exhaustion or anxiety. Their refrain is always the same: Just let them play. Let them learn about the world in their own way.

So I did. She tossed stones, carefully held and observed a pokeberry, asked me to take a picture of a small green bug she spotted, requested a smartweed plant be put behind her ear, wondered how to pronounce the plant I picked up (‘Osage orange’), and took her precious sweet time coming back to the building when we needed to collect sisters to go home.

I can’t believe she spotted this guy!

If there is a takeaway from these little excursions of ours it’s that every time we in the larger culture make time for these moments, we are teaching the next generation that accepting nature’s invitation is a worthy pursuit. Eventually observing nature will no longer be a pursuit, but a lifestyle that has “snuck up on you” as we say in the South. My husband has steered our family in this direction in the most humble and patient ways, and yet he always foremost credits his grandfather who grew up surrounded by gardens and animals as showing him a slower, more intentional way to live.

Sweltering in Summer

Posted on by Rachel Lonas
The view from my house this summer

They say to draw readers in, the more senses a writer can incorporate the better — show, not tell. Make the reader smell what soiled laundry your character is washing, make the reader taste the rosemary butter steak your character is eating, making the reader hear the mysterious rustling in the woods. Concrete over the abstract.

For example, I can try and make you feel the temperature in my house earlier this summer when our air conditioner was broken. I was constantly thinking: how sticky and damp the painted walls felt, how I told the kids if they just want to wear a bathing suit for a few days that would be fine, too, how irritable and unfocused my mind was unless a heavy fan was blowing directly on my face, how it was actually hotter and more humid inside the house than it was outside the house. The patina of malaise was slowly coating the activities of everyday life. I reminded myself that it was going to be fixed, but the constant beads of sweat trickling around my hairline was making me delirious.

So why am I telling you this?

It occurred to me that as my family endured this “house camping” inconvenience that robbed our sleep for several days, I had encountered this “sweaty” feeling before. I have read poems and books that describe the very things I was physically feeling yet with so much more at stake. Families for whom air conditioning is either non-existent or a luxury. The poets and authors described them with such nuance that I felt like I was transported to their open-air houses, packed apartments, or small villages.

Even though us suffering through a few days of grimy sweat is entirely insignificant compared with the poverty and marginalization of those whom I have read, there is still a small sense of overlap. If we have the eyes to see, literature is constantly showing us Venn diagrams — where do we have connection and where do our lives differ?

As a reader, our job is to take those weighty observations and say, “So in light of this… what do the comparisons and contrasts mean for my community, the world, and me?”. As a writer, your job is to keep playing with language and reading your work aloud to see if your words are carrying the sensations you want your reader to feel.