Keep your eye on the bull. Never turn your back on the bull.

On the way home from the barn yesterday, Henry said that he wants to write a story about a goat that goes on an adventure. Quietly, my hands at the wheel, my heart leaps a bit. Riley said, "Oh yeah! Like the Miraculous Adventures of Edward Tulane?" And Henry replied that goats can move on their own, so not really so much like Edward Tulane's adventures, but hopefully a solid story none the less. Riley was quite excited by this. She chirped and clucked with all sorts of supportive ideas. I was still quietly listening, biting my lips. Ry finished by reminding Henry there is no pressure, what so ever, for him to actually write the story anyway. She made it clear though, she is in full favor of the idea.

I said, "Well that is one good idea for a homeschooling project. Let me know if you need any more paper or a new typewriter ribbon or just any thing at all. I'll be happy to help in any way I can." The kids kept chatting. I'm not sure what they were talking about because I was lost in a mire of 100 things I wanted to say. I wanted to remind Henry that Christopher Paolini wrote Eragon as a homeschooling project. (No pressure.) I wanted to ask him if he knew the elements of a story, which I was simultaneously reviewing in my head. You need a beginning, middle, and end. (Duh.) I wondered if I should offer a writing guide: Strunk and White perhaps? Oh yes, my mind was an educational whirl wind. Amazingly, I kept silent.

The backseat chatter filtered through my thoughts. The children were laughing and I heard Henry, dripping irony and good humor, say, "Yes, and don't forget characters! I find that characters really bring a story to life!" Oh my God, unknowingly, he was mocking my thoughts. I have nothing to teach this kid. If he ever writes the story, what he'll need is an editor. Maybe we can hire Aunt Karin? Never the less, the actual story is beside the point. Ry is exactly correct, the story is a foot note. The lesson is for me. Henry has already learned how to write. The rest of the way home Henry retold the Inheritance Trilogy without characters, save for one grasshopper.

The bull is not in Henry's story. The bull is back on the farm in the pasture where we can keep our eye on him.

I am constantly amazed by unschool. When I hear anyone begin to speak about what their kids are learning, I panic inside. I am never quite sure what my kids are learning. Because, I do very little teaching. Very Little Teaching. What amazes me over and over and over again, is that my children are learning. (They are learning how to read and write. They are learning current events and history. They are learning math and science. Art? Please.) It is a true mystery and a paradox. All I can do, really, is keep coming back here to write it all down. And here, perhaps, I can pull threads out of the mystery. I have one thread for you now. The less time the children spend in class, the more time they have to learn.

Which begs the question, why school? Why not school? I need everything I learn. Nothing I learn is ever wasted. I shudder before all I do not know. How could anyone justify not teaching, when learning is...everything. Learning Is Everything.

When we had Raspberry's horns dug out and cauterized we created two huge wounds on her head. When they eventually festered and sprouted maggots I got very concerned. I insisted on calling the vet and medicating her. When more maggots were found, I lost my patients and my calm and I made the vet drive all the out to our farm to look directly at my cow and her festering wounds. He was cool. I like him a lot. But he said he has never lost a cow to dehorning, not once, ever. There have been no fatalities in his practice. He said that cows are tough. You could dehorn 10 of them, send them out into the pasture for a year, and they would come back healed up just fine.

He patted my head. He gave me more medicine and instructions which, he subtly implied, were more for my benefit than Raspberry's. And he left. And I tended her, armed with my maternal will, some new found bravery (you try tying up a 400 pound calf and washing maggots out of her head,) and all my shiny new knowledge. I paid good money for that information. And I put it to use. She has slowly gotten better. While she is not yet healed, I am no longer too worried. I learned a lot from the vet.

So yesterday we turned Raspberry out into the pasture. As is our routine, we greeted her, gave her a treat, brushed her down, loved her up, and then walked her to the pasture. She stood in the morning sun lowing for the herd. Who came to find her?

The bull came around the corner and touched noses with my cow. She lifted her face to him with utter deference and relief, it seemed to me. He stood with her and sniffed her all over her face. And he began to lick her. And while I kept my eye on him, he cleaned every bit of her face. Over and over he licked her, paying special attention to her horn holes.

And it hit me all in a flash. We know, not much. Yet, we insist on teaching. How about that bull? I should spend more time just watching him.