Tabletop Trees

The most successful crafting I do with my youngest is usually spontaneous, using the materials we have on hand. He is an energetic preschooler, and his attention is, shall we say, very fluid and comes in short, intense bursts before he drifts off to another activity. This morning we were molding a Santa and elves out of play dough when we started talking about what should go on his holiday nature table. (The Waldorf tradition of keeping a seasonal nature table is one of my favorite aspects of my son's school. We look forward to seeing the new items on the table at school each week.)

My son took the doughy Santa and put it on his kid-sized play table, which he had pushed next to our nature table/antique Japanese tansu. Then he asked for a tree for his table, like the one I had made the previous day, and this is what he assembled, largely on his own.

The materials we used: small terra cotta pot (any other heavy-ish, sturdy container will do), medium-sized rocks for weighting the bottom of the pot, small branches, and smaller rocks and sea glass added as decorative filler on top (any number of natural materials could be used decoratively on top: undyed fleece to look like snow, chestnuts, hickory nuts, acorn tops, etc.).

First he gathered some medium-sized stones from our nature table that we have been collecting and put them in the bottom of the pot to weight it down.

My son loves doing yardwork, and a few weeks ago he helped me drag many branches from the tall hickory tree that had fallen in our back yard. (He tagged after the guys who helped us clear the biggest branches and trunk, and he now wants to be a "tree guy" when he grows up.) We have a few of the branches still on our deck from the large "trees" we assembled for last weekend's Waldorf Elves' Holiday Faire, and he happily went outside and used garden shears to snip off about a dozen small branches. He advises using as many branches as you can.

I held the branches for my son and placed the smaller stones around them to hold them in place. Then we counted out pieces of sea glass as we put them as the top, decorative layer of the pot. Fifteen minutes of easy effort, and he was done! Now he has a beautiful centerpiece for his nature table, which we will be decorating with handmade ornaments from our advent calendar.

I'll try to share the evolving tree as it gets decorated. I have visions of birds nesting in the branches and mushrooms, elves, and other fey creatures taking root amongst the rocks.

Crafting with a Crowd

Crafting for me is usually a quiet, meditative activity. But for the past few weeks I have experienced crafting as an inspiring, community-building group activity. Parents at my son's Waldorf school got together to transform an old gymnasium into a magical Elves' Holiday Faire.

A group of moms dyed silks in a rainbow of colors that rippled on the line on a sunny November day. We oohed as ahhed as each silk emerged from its colorful bath, shimmery and vibrant. We exclaimed as our overdyeing experiments created teals and purples and plums and pinks. These natural colors were echoed in the sheets that draped wooden frames to create cozy crafting "rooms" at the Faire.


Students and parents together folded paper into the nesting tiers of origami trees (tutorial here) and lanterns (tutorial here) for table decor. We folded hundreds of simple paper stars and hung them in strands from branches. The kids also worked over several weeks to make other decorations, too, including multi-tiered God's eyes on long branches.

We also assembled branches from a downed hickory tree to make a mini-forest of trees in the gym, decorating them with twinkly lights and paper ornaments.

(Unfortunately I was too busy enjoying the faire to take any pictures! I'll leave it to your imagination.)

It was exhausting work, but so fulfilling to see children absorbing the magic of the transformed space. It came alive with music, laughter, and the joyful sounds of play.

Creating Spaces

Last week I flew to Portland, Oregon, where I spent a long weekend enjoying the very walkable downtown area. The city is a crazy quilt of vintage and modern, old brick buildings next to modern skyscrapers, with the whole urban, industrial sprawl running along the beautiful and broad Columbia River.

There was something about the severe spatial displacement of traveling across the country from my cozy nest of a home in an East Coast town to the big city in the Pacific Northwest that made me hyperaware of all the unique spaces that these city dwellers have created.



Some of these spaces spoke of grim survival. A pile of leaves under a bridge and a sleeping bag tight against a brick building under an awning protected homeless people from the constant rain. Three shopping carts loaded with scavenged possessions carved out a square patch of private sidewalk. At the same time, stately old buildings had been eviscerated and turned into parking garages, sad remnants of rosier economic times when it made more financial and moral sense to house people rather than just their cars.



Other spaces evoked a sense of mindful practice in the midst of busy city life. I spent a lovely hour or so soaking up the quiet at the Blossoming Lotus, a vegan cafe housed in a yoga studio. I felt revitalized after my time in the space, and I imagine that this type of space represents spiritual survival for urbanites.

Just down the street, a beautiful, light-filled space created a platform to honor craft as art. The Museum of Contemporary Craft opened up a space for multiple conversations--between artists and theorists, and conversations about the crafts themselves. I was thrilled to make my way through the exhibits and see how craft is being taken seriously and examined from a critical perspective. I don't think I've ever had the chance to talk about craft in such a deep way as I did when I spoke with a museum docent. We chatted about the specific works presented in the exhibits, and our conversation touched on the influence of the Bauhaus on contemporary craft and the connections between artist and student, which were spatially mapped out in a ceramics exhibit. I also experienced the work of Jiseon Lee Isbara, a textile artist whose silk and paper fiber work rendered our multitasking lives as quilt-like art.

Another amazing space brought entire landscapes together into a block-sized enclosed garden. As I wandered from space to space within the Portland Chinese Classical Garden, I experienced a sense of order, symmetry, and peace that was a welcome antitode to the crowded city streets. Each window and door created a frame for a particular tree or shrub, inviting viewers to experience each plant as it changes with the seasons.

I left Portland with a feeling that I had woken up--that this vital, energetic, intensely creative, and complex city had jolted me into an awareness of all the living that goes on behind the facades of buildings. It made me think about how very basic our needs are--for food, shelter, and human companionship--and yet how we still strive to create more complex spaces that feed our spiritual and creative needs.

I'd love to hear about the specific places that help you thrive spiritually and creatively.