Four bodies moving.
A sacred familial circle dance.
Relationships grounded and integrated.
Becoming a mother and a tipi dweller happened synchronistically for me. I give thanks for this. I am a better mother because of my home. We live on the same level and it is because of this that my experience of intimacy with my family deepens further than I imagined possible.
Isla sleeps wrapped in her basket through the sounds of onions cooking on a crackling fire, the chopping of wood and the crashing of Rowan’s tall block towers he builds over and over. You might think our home is small, only 19′ in diameter, but really it’s much bigger than that. Our roof is the sky and our floor is the earth.
There’s no “child proofing” a tipi, thankfully. With fire and jagged hearth stones in the middle, a bow saw and hatchet in the wood pile at the door and kitchen knives on the food box, everything is available to the little ones. It’s tough to hide something from them (which can be annoying when I want to stuff my face with chocolate). I think it helps them to develop a strong awareness of their surroundings, a slow and cautious way of moving in the world and a solid sense of trust in themselves.
They get to be a part of entire cycles of things. We’ll go out amongst the trees to get wood, come back to break and saw it up, stack it inside the lodge, make a fire with it, keep the fire going to heat a bucket of water, wash the dirty dishes with it, bring them inside for food preparation, maintain the fire, cook a meal etc. They get to experience things directly. Wood for the fire comes from the trees, water for washing comes from the creek, water for drinking comes from the spring, fire for cooking comes from the wood we gather and so on. I can imagine it would make sense to a child.
I have heard that our homes are reflections of ourselves.