So for our family vacation this summer, in addition to spending some time in the Shenandoah, we went camping for a long weekend in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan to Porcupine Mountain State Park.

Our connection to Porcupine Mountain began the summer Simon was born.

Taido loaded up the three big kids + one cousin and took them all camping there. He drove our mini van (pulling a flat bed trailer full of gear) all the way up to the north of the north of the north.

To Lake Superior.

It was 2006.

The barefoot child in the above photo just graduated from college.

15 years ago, these four ran and played and swam and threw rocks…

And experienced the joy of being in this beautiful place.

While I was at home nursing a baby, they climbed through forests and made trails over their own little mountains.

They even enjoyed a little (probably enforced) camp chill time.

They walked the long staircase every day to stand in the freezing cold lake, and to watch the sunset.

And then they drove back home and told me all about it.

But I forgot about this place I had never been to.

Until 15 years later, Taido suggested we go there again. He said it would be cooler in the summertime, and that the drive would be shorter since we don’t live in Arkansas.

So a plan was made.

A long weekend in July was marked off on the calendar.

And off we went.

Again there were four kiddos. Much bigger this time.

And a different set of kids, save Ben.

We drove to the north of the north of the north and escaped the hot summer sun.

We walked the same long stairway down to Lake Superior.

We hiked the same trails.

And found ourselves in the middle of quiet woods.

And alongside waterfalls.

The kids crawled over rocks.

They sat by the river and watched the water flow by.

Now that the kids are older, sometimes we left them back at camp and went on morning hikes while they were still asleep in their sleeping bags.

We walked along the river in the cool shadows before the sun was high.

And we pondered how it is possible that piles of rocks can be so gorgeous.

When the kids were awake we drove as far north as we could go.

And everyone at least touched the ocean-like lake, and some brave folks got all the way in.

And then more hiking!

Porcupine Mountain State Park has miles and miles of beautiful trails.

This trail above The Lake of the Clouds might have been our favorite.

But it’s hard to choose! We also loved the river hike along the waterfalls.

And we enjoyed not having to watch little guys so closely.

I remember when Taido came home in 2006 and he showed me pictures of the giant staircase down to the lake, I thought that if I had been there, I might have been a little nervous about the kids camping up so high. Of course, this time I didn’t even think about the kids running down to the lake on their own.

Though I was still tempted once or twice to tell Ben to be careful.

And after hiking and swimming, we had a little camp chill time.

Napping + Outside = Dreamy Summertime.

This time, no one had to be forced to nap.

We had no cell service at our campground. Such a rare gift in 2021, y’all.

My niece Emily let all the cousins use her drawing materials.

I honestly can’t remember the last time I saw these boys drawing.

And just like in 2006, we went down to the lake every night to watch the sun drop below the horizon.

The colors were different each night.

It’s amazing how the sunset happens every day but is never the same.

And of course, the kids still got their shoes wet.

And they still spent hours skipping rocks.

Our sweet camping trip reminded me again and again that you’re never too old to play in the sun.

I found this passage about teaching kids to love the outdoors in a Mary Oliver book of essays recently that I just love:

Teach the children. We don’t matter so much, but the children do. Show them daisies and pale hepatica. Teach them the taste of sassafras and wintergreen. The lives of blue sailors, mallow, sunbursts, the moccasin flowers. And the frisky ones — inkberry, lamb’s-quarters, blueberries. And the aromatic ones — rosemary, oregano. Give them peppermint to put in their pockets as they go to school. Give them the fields and the woods and the possibility of the world salvaged from the lords of profit. Stand them in the stream, head them upstream, rejoice as they learn to love this green space they live in, its sticks and leaves and then the silent, beautiful blossoms.

Attention is the beginning of devotion.

(from Upstream)

My little kiddos grew up so fast (just like everyone told me that they would.)

This camping trip was a blessed pause, a moment to see that yes, I think we did give them the field and the woods.

I hope we showed them the possibility of the world salvaged from the lords of profit.

And I will always rejoice as they learn to love this green space they live in, its sticks and leaves and then the silent, beautiful blossoms.

A few details for if you go to Porcupine Mountain:

There are two campgrounds in Porcupine Mountain State Park: Presque Isle and Union Bay. Both of our camping trips were at Presque Isle (no electrical hook-ups + pit toilets), but we drove one day to Union Bay, and it is lovely as well. Reservations are accepted (and recommended) at both campgrounds. There are also several great-looking backcountry sites, which we have our eye on for a return trip. The closest town to Presque Isle is Wakefield, which was a good 30 minutes away, so stock up on ice and firewood when you drive through there on your way.

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It’s been a little over six weeks since we boarded a plane in Switzerland to come back to the US.

Back home.

Taido is teaching for the fall at Lyon College, a small liberal arts school that is about ninety minutes up the road from where I spent most of my childhood. It’s a temporary post. A chance to be in close proximity to family and friends here again.

To say the boys are glad to be back is like saying I kind of like butter pecan ice cream.

They are elated.

In the weeks that have passed since we’ve been home, I have visited Mary Polly at her new school (Wheaton College), watched Cole start a new job (Starbucks) and move into a new place, driven carpool to the junior high and high schools I went to, praised the Lord at my beloved home church, and walked lots of sweaty miles with my Mama in the Arkansas humidity,

I am so grateful.

This season feels like a incredible gift.

And also a strange and confusing gift because we left suitcases and boxes in Germany (we might go back) and we are not fully settling here yet (I’m living with my parents and Taido is coming back here on the weekends). And we are not at all sure what the future holds for the Chinos.

But still, a gift.

Taido is excited but wants us all to think of our season in Europe being paused rather than completed.

But even if we return to Europe, I know it won’t be the same.

So this is another ending for us.

And another beginning.

It is a trusting and a growing and a looking for all the ways that God is leading again.

Whatever else happens in this wild and wonderful life of ours, I know for certain that I have been given this time at home to be present here. Fully present.

But in the whirlwind of leaving Germany, traveling to Switzerland and jumping into life here with both feet, I feel like I’ve left a little bit of myself undone.

Somehow the strands of the stories of our life abroad are still dangling in my mind.

And probably it will always be that way because we have left (again) many folks we love.

But in an effort to hold on a bit to the year we had in Germany before we get all the way to Christmas here in Arkansas, I am putting together some simple pieces for this space that will help me remember.

I want to hold onto the fact that all the moments are gifts, the ones here this autumn in Arkansas and the ones we spent last year in Germany. All gift.

The post A Walk Home appeared first on Alison Chino.

November 15, 2016

Dear Grace, Emily, Wilson, Campbell and Phineas,

Now that it’s been a few months since we all went camping together in Colorado, I have almost forgotten about the rain and the mosquitos.

I almost don’t remember the days of washing and drying a gajillion wet tents and sleeping bags that had mildewed after a week of rainy camping.

Today I am well rested because I slept in a real bed last night, so the mornings of waking up all stiff from sleeping on the ground are far, far away.

And now I can look back at pictures of our week together in the mountains and remember why our family loves to go camping with you.

In a world where we spend more and more of each day inside and on screens, camping forces us into a total reboot.

You have to be outside. There is no other option. Even if you hide in the car for a while, you can not stay there forever. Eventually, you have to get out. And when you are outside, for days and days strung together, you begin to do things naturally that in your regular life are not normal.

You run and shout and play with rocks and sticks and pinecones.

You are not just connecting to the earth. You are merging with it. You have it under your fingernails and between your toes and even in your food.

You are dirty with the earth and you do not mind too much.

You recognize and live within the rhythms of nature when you are outside all day. You notice when the sun comes up and when it sets, you come closer to rising and sleeping by it.

You play with fire. You find the wood, you build the fire, you tend the fire, you eat things you stick in the fire. You warm your dirty toes by the fire. You sit around it and listen to your Grandpapa tell you old, old stories.

Sometimes when you are camping in the mountains, especially with your Grandpapa and your Uncle Taido, you push your body further than you ever thought it could go.

You climb and climb and just when you think you cannot possibly go another step, you catch your breath and take a few more. You do this over and over until all of a sudden you are standing on top of a mountain and never in your life has the world ever been quite as beautiful as it is right in that moment. That moment, hard won with today’s sweat and tomorrow’s aches and pains, is only possible because you came on this camping trip.

You will carry that moment with you for far longer than the mildew smell of your wet tent or the itchy red bites on your skin.

I hope you will carry it for so long that it will compel you to go camping again one day.

I hope you will grow up and take your own children camping and carry on these wild traditions of spending your vacation days being outside together, telling the old, old story around the campfire and getting dirt under your fingernails.

Love you each so much,

Aunt Alison

PS. Here are a few of my favorite photos from this summer’s trip taken by Uncle Taido, me and your mama/Aunt Whitney.

The post A Letter to My Nieces and Nephews about Camping appeared first on Alison Chino.

A light drizzle was falling on us as we made the drive to Aboyne, Scotland.

It was a Saturday morning in March. Nearly Easter.

We were headed to meet our friends Patrick and Nicola for a walk with our kids and theirs.

Soon we were standing around in the car park in the rain. (car park = parking lot, My friend Tanja likes to say “The car park sounds like it’s where all the cars go to play!”)

All of our kids were tugging at hoods and zippers to get a bit more cover from the rain.

When you are still beside the cars and it is raining, you feel that maybe you should just get back into the cars and forget the walk. It’s discouraging to begin a walk in bad weather, and it’s hard to just walk away from those metal coverings that have dry seats inside of them.

But we had driven an hour to reach Aboyne, so no one balked when Taido said, “Ok, this way.”

We filed behind him along the sidewalk until he turned left off of the road and onto a trail.

The joy of being with another family is that we could all laugh together about being out in the rain. If it had just been Chinos on this hike, there would have been attempted mutiny and non-stop complaining.

But when you’re with others who say things like, “Auch, well, it’s good to be outside on a Saturday,” then everyone is more inclined to be cheerful.

We traipsed through damp woods over brown ferns and grasses, not yet showing any signs of spring green. But on this wet March day, the air felt warmer. The winter chill was definitely beginning to pass even if spring was not yet visible.

The rain stopped after a bit, and the kids scrambled ahead of us, shedding their raincoats and climbing trees.

Nicola and I fell behind a bit, chatting and catching up after weeks of quick hellos at church. A proper chinwag while walking a wooded trail is my favorite way to spend time with a friend. Maybe it’s my introverted nature talking here, but it’s so much easier to walk and chat than sitting face-to-face. The pressure is off. You can walk and talk or walk and listen or walk and be quiet. Anything goes. This day we talked quite a lot. Easter was upon us and we were both feeling the sting of having one older child away from home for Easter. We talked about Easters of years past and how the day is not quite the same without little ones. We spoke of children getting older and living with mostly boys. We talked about the future and the hopes and worries of our hearts.

Before long the kids were shouting from a pile of rocks that we had reached the top and it was time for lunch.

We pulled out sandwiches and tuna wraps and apples and carrots and homemade blondies. We passed around treats and pretzels. The wind picked up and we all got chilled quickly on the exposed hilltop. Taido poured tea from a stainless steel flask and Patrick poured coffee from his blue and green thermos.

“I feel raindrops!” one of the kids said. “Let’s get going.”

Time to walk again.

Taido led us back down the hill we had climbed and then we looped on a different trail back to town.

We came down through a grove of pine trees and out by a field where the views opened up and we could see the mist-covered mountains. More of the ground and the trees were beginning to be green.

Spring was almost here.

It’s a long exhale every year when I realize that I have made it through another winter.

We walked along the field, everyone’s pace quickening in the rain.

I stopped to tie a lace and got behind. When I looked up, I saw our kids walking ahead together and then Taido with Patrick and Nicola following on the lane.

And I remember thinking then:

This is how I always will always remember our days in Scotland. Wandering in the Highlands on the days when the weather is not the best and even the season is not my favorite, but we are outside and we are together.

The joy of opening a flask of hot tea or a tupperware of homemade treats with a group of friends on a rainy day is a feeling I want to bottle. It is simple and lovely and inexpensive and uncomplicated. And on nights that follow days like these I fall into my bed with tired legs and full heart.

Many, many of our Saturdays in Scotland have been marked by this simple rhythm.

Steps on a path and friends alongside.

PS. Aboyne, Scotland is a super lovey little town in Royal Deeside (west of Aberdeen in the Highlands). You can find the walk we did at Walk Highlands, and if you find yourself in need of a cup of tea after a wet, cold walk, I highly recommend stopping in the Black Faced Sheep in Aboyne, Scotland before you head on your merry way. Another really charming spot for walking in this area is Glen Tanar.

The post A Wet Almost-Spring Walk in Aboyne, Scotland appeared first on Alison Chino.

When I read these words, out of Sarah Young’s Jesus Today this week I realized that I was holding onto the good gifts of my summer.

When I arrived in Arkansas in June I began to soak in every detail.

I drank deeply of place and people I dearly love.

Constantly welling up with emotion and awe at being granted a summer season at home.

But towards the end of the summer, and on my return to Scotland I was holding everything with tight fists.

Big things and little things.

Oldest son and parents and family and friends.

Hot sun and swimming pool and Vitamix smoothies and bottomless bowls of tortilla chips.

They were mine and I wanted them.

Not just for a season, but for all seasons.

Beware of feeling entitled to my good gifts. 

Oh yes, entitlement was rearing its ugly head in my heart.

And so it is time. It is past time.

To list as many of the incredible gifts of a summer at home that I can remember.

And then to open my hands to the sky.

And let them go.

Because my God is a good God.

And He has more good gifts to give.

And though I don’t know what they are and maybe like a spoiled child, I think I do not want them, I am trying.

I still have another phase of letting go in the days ahead. (Saying goodbye to Scotland.)

And then I am praying that God will begin the wrenching open of my heart to what is next.

SUMMER GRATEFUL

familiar faces at the airport // feeling the hot night air // sweating // driving my mama’s car into the Ozark Mountains // gorgeous green trees and hills // arriving at camp and finding Cole // big hugs and sweet reunions // Ben jumping in on work crew and Simon jumping in as a camper // my three boys together, serving, loving // goody bags from friends // going into church and seeing so many faces I love // hearing Dena sing and Harold preach // the smell of honeysuckles // bunnies on the walking path // black-eyed susans // the sticky scent of summer // going to the Boultinghouse’s farm // Sandy and Carol holding a baby lamb // fresh pesto with basil from the garden //

ARKANSAS GRATEFUL

going to the pool // American flags all over everything // Sonic happy hour // the smell of sunscreen // flip flops // Simon with his cousins // making smoothies in my mama’s Vitamix blender // seeing Daddy up early in the mornings with his books, getting ready to preach // long flowy skirts // singing at church // smelling like a mix of a dozen perfumes after so many hugs at church // being with my daddy on Father’s Day // celebrating SB’s bday at Bev’s and laughing so hard // bran muffins // live jazz bar with my princesas // pedicures // sticky sweaty walking with my Mama // Simon’s birthday // chik-fil-a // chocolate cake and Blue Bell vanilla ice cream // getting gas station fountain drinks with Simon // Ben riding the Halls’ borrowed scooter up and down the street // seeing my aunt for the first time in three years // meeting up with friends // froyo // watermelons and berries // biting into a peach and the juice drizzling down my chin

BEACH GRATEFUL

Peter and Whitney inviting Simon and me to Fort Morgan // Mama keeping, loving, cooking for Ben and Cole // sandy feet // chairs and a tent all set up // Simon squealing when he realized how warm the water was // floating in the waves // Peter making breakfast // coffee and mimosas in the morning // dinners together with lots of friends // kids looking for crabs with flashlights // going for long walks by myself in the morning // seeing the sun rise over the water // fresh fish // a little bit of sunburn sting // fireworks on the beach // Lulu’s // laughing so hard // catching up with old friends // meeting new friends // shrimp and grits // glowsticks // Simon piled on the couch with Wilson and Campbell, reading // Whitney taking photos // shrimp boil in the rain // being still // Chris playing guitar // chairs in a circle // talking to Taido and MP, both celebrating big accomplishments: a turned in thesis, school finished well

COUSIN GRATEFUL

Simon and I making our flight to Chicago even though we were sitting at the wrong gate // a new house // Fourth of July // lemonade stand // sleeping in my Grandmother’s old bed // working with Anna at Blackberry // backyard fire pit // s’mores // walking to the library and the park // picking raspberries in the old backyard // Taido and MP arriving // processing this hard in between time together with Taido // Bob and Anna loaning us their car // road trip to Arkansas // laughing hard // music // taking five cousins to meet up with the other four // Simon’s reunion with Campbell and Wilson // 9 cousins at the pool // playing “Empire” // singing in the choir with Peter, MP and Emily // Simon’s baptism // Taido preaching // letter from my sweet friend in Scotland // rainy afternoon // watching movies and eating popcorn  // six big cousins staying up late together // coffee and tears in the early morning with Diane // homemade popsicles // outlet mall shopping // giant chick-fil-a nugget platter at the pool // drinks with Carol // four cousins to youth group // MP seeing her friends // Taido getting a “yes” from Tubingen

COLORADO GRATEFUL

Road trip to Denver // CoraFaye’s Soul Food // Picking up Anna // Trader Joes // finding Daddy at the campsite outside of Lake City // Last car arriving // Everyone finding their spots in tents and hanging up hammocks // All nine cousins around a campfire // Taido and I having our own tent // Aspen trees // lunch and ice cream in Lake City // boys buying slingshots and knives // playing Empire and Bungalo // the sound of the river running // being with Cole on his 19th birthday // Daddy giving wild rides in his car // Ouray Hot Springs // everyone racing on the obstacle course in the water // Peter giving the name “Malachi” for our burger order–making us laugh // sharing highs and lows around the campfire // TC making salmon and “special pasta” // walking to the river to get more “perfect” stones for the slingshots // reading in a tent in the rain // peak climb for six big cousins // lunch in town with three “littles” // chicken fried steak // kids sad to be leaving camp // last night at a hotel in Pueblo // swimming and grilling burgers // Phineas choosing John Stott and Mama choosing Jason Mraz for the last round of Empire // praying for each other by the pool

DOGTOWN GRATEFUL

giant washing machine and dryer // being back at the pool, back in the hot sun // lunch with the Halls // dinner with Earles // hearing Bobby preach // singing Victory in Jesus // sitting with Nikki // crying through church // crying to Sarabeth on Sunday afternoon // Mexican food and margaritas // walking with Mama // taking MP to the farm to talk about her trip to Kenya with the Boultinghouses // thank you dinner at the Eubanks // jumping in the pool at the end // Diane’s prayers // early morning family photos with Whitney // saying goodbye to Cole and MP and Taido //  calmer dinner table with only 4 grandkids // watching Napoleon Dynamite // frozen yogurt with a friend // dinner and late night drinks at The Pantry with friends // River Market peaches // breakfast at Community Bakery // pool, pool, pool // playing games with Simon and Campbell // Daddy’s sermon on hope // singing It is Well // praying with Skyla // summer farmers’ market dinner // meeting Kelly for coffee // walking on  the Big Dam Bridge with Donna // being hot and sweaty and still loving it // Blackberry Pie // final trip to the pool // Ben at Good Eats // saggy bathing suit bottoms on little kids at the end of summer // early coffee with Diane and Tanja // making sushi with Cole, Wilson, Simon and Whitney // crepes on our last morning // tears // the hard goodbye // seeing familiar faces at the airport // welcome ladies passing out mints // strangers who call me “sweetie” // that being so sad is an indicator of so much love

The post Summer Grateful appeared first on Alison Chino.

Once upon a time we moved from Arkansas to Scotland.

It was a long, long way away and we did not know what to expect.

My mama bought a ticket to come and see us before we had even left Arkansas.

She made plans to visit before even she knew where she would sleep.

In fact, she arrived even before we knew where we would sleep.

She arrived a few weeks after we did, and in the midst of a crazy storm of emotions.

Children were in new schools.

Adults were learning to drive on the wrong side of the road.

Children and adults were adjusting.

Some less gracefully than others.

And she cheered us on.

She walked to school with the kids and to the store with me. She helped me turn a tiny flat into a home.

She went with us to visit our very first castle.

And to visit the church we now call home.

Then she flew back to Arkansas.

She came again at Christmas.

This time with my dad.

For the two darkest, coldest, and possibly wettest weeks of the year.

The two of them together were the best Christmas present ever.

A year passed and we went home to visit and then she came again in the spring.

For three weeks.

We drove all over Aberdeenshire on little tiny ribbons masquerading as roads.

She was amazed at how I had learned to navigate driving in Scotland.

We went for walks in forests and along the rocky cliffs of the coast.

We bundled up against the North Sea winds and took a train journey.

Then she flew back to Arkansas.

After almost another whole year, she came back again.

Four times she has taken the multiple plane rides stitched together to make an all day (or all night) journey from her home to mine.

This last time she stayed for a month.

We went to some of the same spots and a few new ones.

We had many bowls of soup.

And even more pots of tea.

We went on a weekend adventure to the Lake District and on many smaller adventures around Aberdeen.

We talked about the unknown future, even though there is not much to say but only to wait.

And to pray.

And to wait some more.

But no matter where we go,

one thing I know…

Mama will come to see us.

She will bring her special blend of adoring grandma and endearing companion.

She will make us all feel loved.

And she will make us remember we are not alone in a strange new world.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mama!

The post Mama in Scotland appeared first on Alison Chino.

It’s been exactly a month since Christmas. The holiday season already seems like a long time ago, but it was such a special time that I wanted to dedicate a post to its memory. I don’t have photos of all the bits I want to remember, but this collection of random snapshots captures a lot of what I loved about this year’s sweet season.

Preparations for a girls’ movie night to watch my favorite movie of the year, Far From The Madding Crowd. Lots of laughs.

Simon and his glee over all things Star Wars. (also, his shirt with “homemade thumbholes” which my friend Diane did for him because he wanted one with thumbholes like his brothers)

Daily Christmas readings and coloring Jesse Tree ornaments.

Running a gingerbread man table at a ladies’ craft night.

A winter hike around Crathes Castle with friends.

Kids being silly.

Hot mulled cider.

Baking with my kiddos.

The kitchen covered in treats.

The Christmas tree at Kings College. (and gray December days)

Sharing our favorite Christmas stories with some of our favorite people.

Our two favorites are The Last Straw and The Christmas Miracle of Jonathan Toomey.

I made a point of finding some wee ones to read to this year because I do miss having little ones around at Christmas.

Taking my four loves to be around these four little munchkins makes me super nostalgic for those crazy toddler days.

Lemons and lots of lemon zest. For lemon cakes and apple pies.

Making lots of batches of winter punch that could be served to the kids or added to alcohol for adults.

Going to the beach to see the sunset on the shortest day of the year.

Fires in the backyard on cold nights (with marshmallows and whisky).

Taido and his mama having lots of time together this year. (Before she arrived for Christmas, they went on a Danube River Cruise!)

Taido in the kitchen. Doing his thing.

Christmas Morning at church with Harriet and Koko (Taido’s mom and sis).

Jigsaw puzzles on the table.

Taking Koko (my sister-in-law) to Stonehaven for the day.

Seeing a rainbow on the way to the castle.

Sitting in one of my favorite pubs after a misty walk to the castle and back. Warming up with pints + Cullen Skink (a Scottish seafood chowder) and talking for hours and hours.

Also, here’s Koko sneaking over the fence to retrieve her dropped glove.

The white foam on the North Sea looking like snow.

Days and days and days of rain and flooding.

Out for a walk all by myself in the rain, to see how high the river was and to breathe deep after Cole’s departure to America and all our visitors had come and gone.

I’m smiling at you and wishing you a happy 2016, friends.

The post Snapshots of Christmas in Scotland appeared first on Alison Chino.

#CarveAHeart

As a little something different this year, Simon and I carved hearts into our pumpkins in partnership with World Vision.

Because Halloween is a night of “scary fun,” for my kiddos, it’s an easy time to talk about what it’s like for children all over the world to be in fear.

Simon is really my only little pumpkin these days.

Like most years, he draws things that are a little too complicated to carve, so we have simplify a bit when we transfer the design to our pumpkin.

I remember when we first started carving pumpkins at our house, the kids were so little that I kind of did everything. It’s kind of great to be able to hand over more of this project these days.

Especially the digging of the guts out of the pumpkin.

We’re all ready for Halloween now with our happy heart pumpkins! 

If you’re in the UK, you can text HEART to 70060 to donate 5GBP to help children who are living in fear. And if you’re in London, there is a Refugee Prayer Service tomorrow (Halloween) night at Christ Church Spitalfields at 5:30pm.

And if you want to #CarveAHeart with your kiddos, you can download resources from World Vision that will help you talk with your own kids about the needs of kids around the world.

The post Carve a Heart appeared first on Alison Chino.

Our second week of walking new trails in Scotland was on the Kintyre Peninsula in Scotland.

My sister and her husband, Robert, and their three kiddos were in town in July for two weeks. The first week we spent in and around Aberdeen, and then we rented a second car and headed west.

We stayed way down at the very bottom of Kintyre in Machrihanish, right across from a golf course and the beach on the west coast.

The sunsets looking towards the Isle of Islay and Isle of Jura were the highlight of every day.

Often these golden hours were the least rain-drenched part of the day, so we looked forward to heading out to the beach for as long as we could stand the cool air in order to watch every last drop of color drip from the sky.

Our days were filled with walking and with warming up from walking.

We took walks on the beach, around the Mull of Kintyre and Campbeltown.

Then we would head for the nearest pub for something warm or hunker down with hot water bottles and blankets in our gorgeous, but drafty holiday rental.

The kids played poker, read books and watched movies while my sister, Anna and I sipped tea and read our novels on the couches overlooking the sea.

Taido and Robert went for walks with us too, but then they took a few days to head off to the island of whisky (Islay) on their own. Before traveling west, they also managed to catch a day at the British Open in St Andrews.

On the days they weren’t at the Open or doing a special warehouse whisky tasting, they were enjoying those same two worlds (golf + whisky) from the inside of a dark, cozy pub down the street from our house. So basically, they were in man heaven.

During our week in Machrihanish, we tried to get the kids outside no matter how icky the weather was.

This blurry photo is a hysterical interchange in which Taido is negotiating with the kids and saying he will take them all to a pub for lunch if they will go for a walk in the mist.

This is the kids regretting listening to him.

So the next day, when Anna and I went for a walk on the farthest south end of Kintyre, no one would come.

And it turned out to be so pretty.

Of course a few hours later it was raining again.

One afternoon we talked the big kids into going on a boat tour by themselves while we took the little guys for horse rides.

They came back with blue lips and frozen fingers, but they got to see puffins and seals and had all kinds of fun.

And oh my goodness, Simon and his cousin, Phineas loved this horse ride more than life.

Well, at least Simon did. He told his guide that he would like to become a horse rider please.

Phineas told someone on his return to Chicago that his favorite part of Scotland was the pubs. Love.

Our last day on the West Coast we walked a causeway just outside of Campbeltown to Dunvaar Island, a spot that is only an island twice a day, when the tides roll in. So you have to check the tide times to make sure you can get back.

Everyone made it out on this day and it was our grand farewell to Kintyre and to Scotland for our cousins.

The next day we drove back to Aberdeen, and we managed to turn the five hour journey into an all day affair with a flat tire (tyre), a tow truck and some car sick kiddos. Yikes.

And the next morning we said a sad goodbye as we put my sister and her family on a plane back to Chicago.

I ugly cried all the way home from the airport and for most of the weekend.

I miss Anna like crazy and the kids are all long faces without their cousins.

But I’m holding tight to these memories of sunsets and sweet sister moments.

Who would have dreamed I would get to walk so much Scottish soil with so many of my dear family and friends?

Oh, summer in Scotland. Despite having to turn on my heat and wear a constant raincoat, you have been lovely.

The post Chasing Daylight in July: Part 2 (The West Coast) appeared first on Alison Chino.

Stone-cold sober, she was more free in spirit than most people are three sheets to the wind.

I won’t be able to be at her memorial service today, but as my family has gathered photos and stories back home, I have been thinking about all my grandmother has given to me over the years. I cherish the days of learning to make blackberry jam in her kitchen at Chimney Cliff, but the intangibles that I’ve discovered in my heart as I’ve sat for a couple of days in a world she no longer inhabits are almost more precious than my scribbled recipes.

She taught me how to be an artist.

She actually taught me how to paint, but more importantly she set an example of a life as an artist that is important for me as a writer.

The fourth of five children, my grandmother grew up on a farm in Kensett, Arkansas. She decided early on that she was an artist, a calling that took her through many seasons of learning, ultimately becoming an accomplished painter of landscape watercolors. Determined to find ways to pursue her craft, she trained to be an elementary school art teacher while her brothers were working the family land and fighting wars.

She kept a world wholly unto herself by holding onto her art and relentlessly making time for it. It was a world that she opened up and shared with others, teaching art in school, giving lessons at her house and later on a public television show, Miss Polly’s Paintbox, bringing her gift of art to whoever would tune in. But it was still her world. There were paintbrushes only she was allowed to touch, and a revered easel where her current work in progress waited.

She often joined a group of traveling painters to spend a week away with other artists. They set up their easels in front of mountains in Colorado, red desert rocks in Arizona, many-colored bungalows in Mexico City and even the heather covered hills of Scotland. When I think about how she had to scrimp and save to make these trips possible and then try to sell her work afterwards to pay for the next one, I am in awe of her belief in herself as an artist.

One of the hardest parts of being a writer for me is the part where I market myself, either to a company or even to you, my reader. The part where I ask you to come over here to this little corner of the internet and read what I write makes me cringe every time. But Mama Polly was unabashedly proud of her work. She was constantly entering competitions and trying to have a painting included in an exhibition. She displayed her art all over her house and if you came over for a party (of which there were many) and you had your eye on one of her paintings, well, she was always ready to make a sale. Unashamed, she would pocket your money and put it towards her next holiday.

She taught me to follow my husband with blind faith. And to enjoy the ride.

My grandmother fell so hard for my grandfather when she met him that she hardly came up for air in the seven decades that followed. Even last week if you had showed her my Daddy Bill’s photo she would have told you how he was the best looking man in all the world. Her schoolgirl love for my grandfather, who was a giant of a man (in both stature and personality), caused her to chase him to California. She married him in a borrowed dress before he was shipped off in the navy during World War II.

Later they settled in North Little Rock, Arkansas where they had four sons, the third of which was my daddy.

My grandfather was a difficult man to cross, and my grandmother was happy to let his word be the last on most subjects. I wonder at how her spirit was not crushed by his personality but then I remember the small ways she maintained a world unto herself.

The family of six lived in a small house in a much loved North Little Rock neighborhood called Park Hill, and they did not have air conditioning. One summer while the boys were gone with my grandfather for a week of scout camp, she bought a window unit air conditioner against my grandfather’s wishes. When the boys came back from camp, nothing was ever said about it.

Years later, my grandfather quit his steady job, grew his hair out and started building a cabin in the woods.

My grandmother never missed a beat. She followed him in faith that he would continue to provide for them and soon after he finished building their dream home, an A-frame overlooking the river that she named Chimney Cliff, he opened an art gallery in the nearby town where she could paint and teach art lessons. He started a framing business in a back room of the gallery.

Every August, they would close the gallery and head out on the road somewhere. She went wherever he drove, camped wherever he wanted to stop and followed him into whatever wild plan he came up with. One summer, after he heard that senior citizens could ride the ferry boats for free in Alaska, they boarded a boat with only their backpacks, sleeping on the decks of ferries and staying in hostels of small Alaskan towns. My grandmother carried little sketchbooks that she filled with her memories of their summer days. New friends they met, a berry farm near their campground, a crawfish boil in Louisiana. There was no dance, drink or shindig that my grandmother would not have a go at.

When their first grandchild was born, my grandfather said he was not ready to be a grandpa, and so my grandmother named them Daddy Bill and Mama Polly, to the grandkids and to all our friends.

She taught me to make do with what I have, and that I have more than I think.

Sometimes we think the lesson of “making do” was a gift from an older generation that only involves money. And my grandparents definitely understood some important things about money that it seems like we are quickly losing in the modern world. Living within one’s means, staying out of debt, eating from the earth and only consuming what we need are some of the simple truths that were second nature to my grandparents.

But lately I have been struck by how my grandmother applied this lesson to so much more than finance.

As a mother of boys, she let go of them with grace when they each married. She welcomed their wives into her world and lapped up the time she got to spend with her children and grandchildren, but she did not make a lot of demands or have a lot of expectations. She was always glad to see you when you came and she would open her heart and her pantry to you while you were there. She did this without making you feel guilty for how long it had been since your last visit, but instead delighted in the moments she had with you.

It is worth noting that all four of her sons doted on her endlessly, until her dying day, and that her oldest son and his wife, my Uncle Steve and Aunt Sherry, moved her close to them at the end of her life so they could visit her daily. I have three sons myself and I wonder at the paradox that maybe the way to keep them close is to hold them so loosely in their adulthood as Mama Polly did.

Mama Polly made the most of the time she had with each of us.

She was not present in my life the way my other grandmother was. I’ve talked loads about my mom’s mom, my Grandmother with a capital “G,” who was my closest grandparent in proximity and an almost daily part of my world. When I step back, I think that Mama Polly could have let my relationship with Grandmother keep her from feeling like she could also be “grandmother” in my life.

But I don’t think she ever even thought about that. She was “grandmother” in her way, with what she had and in the time she had to work with.

Every summer she had a week at her house called “Cousins to Chimney Cliff.” My parents would drop us off for a week of peach-picking, swimming hole diving, art lessons in the garden and afternoon siestas, during which Mama Polly would make us all lie down and be quiet for an hour while she sunbathed stark naked on her deck. I. Kid. You. Not.

And in spite of the fact that my grandfather drove us around in his hotter-than-hell windowless, benchless cargo van with a cigarette in one hand and a beer in the other, we had the time of our lives.

It never bothered Mama Polly that I came home from her house with bruises and chigger bites and from my other grandmother’s house with new school clothes and shoes. Mama Polly gave the gifts she had to give, and as it turns out, they are too many to count.

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