Two weeks ago, I decided we were done with studies for the year. I didn’t tell the children when we were stopping, partly because I wasn’t sure exactly when that would be, and partly because I was afraid they’d start begging and whining (more than normal). We had worked fairly consistently over the last few months and were in a pleasant groove. There was no need to shake things up with threats of freedom.

But spring had definitely sprung. With the hotter days, I needed my cool mornings for outside work and kitchen tasks—both feel unbearable in the middle of the afternoon. Plus, on sunny mornings, the kids tend to wake up and walk out. No one has much patience for sitting inside and reading when the birds are chirping (and pooping all over the porch) so merrily.

All that first week, we reveled in our freedom. A trip to town, a baking project, gardening—all of these no longer felt like one more thing to squeeze into a crowded day. Instead, they were what the day was about. There was time for afternoon walks, magazine reading, visiting with friends, and volunteering. Kids gushed over their free time, got totally bored, and then eventually found something to do.

Towards the end of the week when I was reviewing the photos from the last few days, I realized that even though we were no longer doing our studies, learning hadn’t been diminished in the least. In fact, it had, perhaps, even increased.

For example:

Not pictured:

*the twin babies that the older three have been taking care of as Mother’s Helpers
*the new-to-our-area Muslim family that came for an afternoon visit
*the already-mentioned new job at the horse farm.

This same time, years previous: the quotidian (6.3.13) and hypothesizing.

This same time, years previous: small pasta with spinach and bacon, three reds fruit crumble, sour cream ice cream,

In an unexpected turn of events, my older daughter has landed her dream job: volunteering at a horse farm in exchange for riding lessons.

It happened this way. Close to our house is a camp for mentally and physically handicapped people. One of our neighbors volunteers there and asked my daughter if she’d be willing to help out during the Wednesday night equestrian therapy sessions. A couple weeks into her work at the camp, one of the other volunteers suggested that my daughter might want to improve her riding and invited her to come work at her horse farm in exchange for lessons.

The farm is three miles down the road. A couple years ago, we stopped to inquire about lessons, but the cost was so prohibitive that I completely dismissed the idea. But now my daughter is spending her days there, mucking stalls, fetching horses, cleaning hooves, and riding.

She wakes early to care for her chickens and sheep, works all day, comes home and immediately packs her lunch for the next day (she’s labeled a shelf in the refrigerator with her name so her father doesn’t “accidentally” steal her lunch), does evening chores and some household jobs, eats supper, showers, and sleeps.

I don’t know if I’ve ever seen her more happy.

This same time, years previous: spicy cabbage, the race we saw, a bunch of stuff, on the subject of grade level, showtime!, the saturation point, down to the river to chill, barbecued pork ribs, rhubarb tea and rhubarb tart, and fresh strawberry cream pie.