My son Woody turned six in November of 2011. That would have been the kindergarten year for most kids, 180 days that mark the beginning of the school career. But Woody did his learning in the big, wide, beautiful world, without school being a part of it.

I'm Teresa Honey, and I kept this blog to document this time in my son's life, to share pictures and stories with far-away friends and relatives, and to add ours to the many stories of families living rich, engaging, loving lives with learning happening all the time and in many forms, totally inseparable from every other part of being human.

Here you'll find 180 or so learning moments recorded from August, 2011 to April, 2012 in the life of a 5-turned-6-year-old radically unschooled kid.

Tuesday, January 31, 2012


January has been a month of big things for the Honeys--the turn of the new year in our new state; a trip to Chicago; a huge cache of new-to-us toys; a good, long visit from our family friends; and also--this is one that was more about me and Daddy Honey and less about Woody, hence its heretofore omission from the blog--a discovery of an early pregnancy and then the loss of that pregnancy a week or so later.

Our hike today was well-timed for the last day of this month full of so much great and a little bit of hard: we went for an afternoon walk up the hill on a rocky but beautifully lit path, radiant with fresh moss. At the top, we paused to enjoy the huge rock outcroppings with that glowing moss above and shallow black caves below. When we resumed our walk, we discovered that the path back down the other side had been completely blocked by a fallen treetop. Woody and I (with sleeping Fox on my back) made an attempt at going around and then through it, but shrugged, turned around, and went back the way we came.

In so many ways, we are brought back to the beginnings, not always by way of a new adventure, but rather, via a familiar path, an opportunity to reconsider how we got to the place where we were when we stopped to wonder whether we were willing or able to keep on in the same direction. It's a bonus to make the trip back down with someone you love.

Woody asked if he could use my camera to take  pictures along the way. He was taking pictures, he said, of things he liked. With the exception of the picture above, which I took of him and his brother, the pictures in this post are his images, selected from about thirty but unedited.

This is my favorite of Woody's photos, and how I look in my mind's eye on my best days: onward mama in the big woods, gray skies notwithstanding.