A Beloved Arkansas Campground

Dear Longpool,

Just the other day I was going through a box of old photos (a winter project suitable for a string of days of sub-zero temperatures).

I came across this sweet photo of our three oldest kiddos on our first camping trip to your perfectly situated riverside campsites.

It was a gorgeous Arkansas autumn weekend in 2005, the kind you dream about when you plan a fall camping trip but that you hardly ever get. (Many fall weekends end up being colder than usual or more rainy than sunny.)

The temps that weekend were cool enough for jeans and fires at night, but so warm and sunny during the day that the kids dared each another to swim.

The leaves were dazzling shades of yellow all around. We hiked campground trails, skipped rocks into the river, climbed giant boulders, and sat in the sunshine enjoying the views.

At night, we read one of the Chronicles of Narnia out loud around the campfire. Long days of playing hard outside meant the kids fell asleep quick in their sleeping bags at night. Then the adults sat up late visiting around the fire, staying until it was just embers and coals and we longed for the warmth of our own sleeping bags.

Longpool, you gave us such a perfect weekend on that first visit that we came back again and again. Soaking up our old memories and making new ones.

We returned with more families and friends to try to catch the leaves turning the perfect shades of yellow again.

We came back after our youngest was born, and my husband and I took turns carrying him around in a baby backpack. It was colder that year and I remember digging out every scrap of extra clothing I brought to keep our daughter’s friends warm.

She had brought several girlfriends and they spent their days making a clubhouse on an outcropping that they tended to all weekend. Their sweet giggles made me smile.

The boys dared each other back into the river, even though it was cold.

I loved nothing more than watching my kids play outside when we were camping. Far away from TV and video games, before any of them had a phone, they had only trees and rocks and dirt. And sticks. Sticks for beating the ground and using as swords. And then sticks for the fire and for roasting marshmallows.

Our son, Ben, called marshmallows “marshalotes” when he was little, and he would always ask for “one last marshalote.”

(He always had too many.)

My husband would make pancakes for breakfast, sandwiches for lunch and various stews for dinner. Then he lead everyone on hikes and across the river to climb the rocks.

We came back in the winter the year after we bought our pop-up camper. We moved to a different loop of the campground to take advantage of the electrical hook-ups. The temperatures were below freezing, but we had a little space heater so we could thaw out at night after hiking in the cold all day. We had to stay moving to keep warm that winter weekend.

Now it’s been many years since I’ve set up camp in one of your loops or kept warm near one of your metal fire circles.

My three oldest have grown up and left home. It’s been a long time since I saw one of them ride a bike around a campground loop.

I can’t remember the last time one of them brought me something they found in nature, a rock or a stick. A frog or a bug.

Longpool, I’m grateful you have so many of our Chino Family memories stored in the earth there. I’m glad that the trees, rocks and river have collected the laughs of my children.

I think any one of them could return to spend some time in your woods and recall fondly the hours they played there.

Thank you for providing a place for their simple, pure, unadulterated joy.

Hold onto it for them, Longpool. I think they will need it some day.

In awe and gratitude,

Alison

The post A Love Letter to Longpool appeared first on Alison Chino.

Do you know what happens in February?

First and foremost, it’s Black History Month, so it’s a good month to read a book by a Black American. (Need a suggestion? I got you.) 

But also, February is sometimes all dressed up in PINK, 

Because of St. Valentine’s Day. 

Which I know has been co-opted into a commercial day, 

Otherwise known as 

The Day Of Inevitable Disappointment. 

Seriously, for a lot of my life, Valentine’s Day was definitely a no-win situation. It was one of those moments of the year that I expected something AMAZING to happen and then it (or he) didn’t deliver. 

But at some point, I shifted my thinking around Valentine’s Day and began to think of it as an opportunity to express my love. And not just romantic love, although that’s cool too. But as a way to spread all kinds of love. Because I have a lot of love to give. 

And so I bought all the favorite things I loved for so long, like construction paper hearts and pink tissue paper and doilies, and used them to make valentines to give away. 

Feel my love in the form of chocolate and lace.

I haven’t made valentines in a while. My kids got older and we moved eighty times and somehow the craft supplies didn’t make the cut. 

But I still LOVE a good Valentine. 

And what I really love…

Is A LOVE LETTER.

Of course, I love the “bleeding heart confession of undying love” kind of love letter. 

But I also love the “friend, your presence in the world is what makes life bearable for me” kind of love letter.

And the “Mom, you are the BEST!” love letters. 

And the “Hello gorgeous co-worker! I just want you to feel SEEN today!” love letters.

So in order to spread MORE LOVE this month,

I am doing a fun little email course I am calling:

Love Letters

For one week, I will pop in your inbox with an idea for a letter you can write.

Seven days.

Seven letters.

SO MUCH LOVE.

So grab your pen and join me in spreading the kind of LOVE that makes someone’s heart skip a beat.

Construction paper hearts optional.

UPDATE:

This course has finished but you can now access it as an ebook right here. Happy writing!!

The post Love Letters appeared first on Alison Chino.

Dear Sweet Ones,

I want to tell you something about creativity.

To create is to reflect the image of God, the Creator.

To create anything is to participate in the divine purpose for which we were made.

I hope you will let those words sink deep into your soul.

Whenever we spend time in creation, I am in awe of all God’s great gifts in nature.

I wonder at all that God has made.

The trees, the hills, the flowers, the mountains, the rivers and streams. The great expanse of the sea. I love spending time seeing what God has created, and I have tried to teach you to love it too.

I want you to love it a little bit more every day by making time for walking outside.

But maybe I have missed teaching you to participate in creation by also being a maker.

I think it’s hard to be a maker in our family because we like everything to be already perfectly made. And we tend towards criticism. When things are still in process, we interrupt creators with discouragement.

I grieve that I have perhaps taught you to point out imperfection rather than to participate in creating.

So I am trying to make more imperfect things.

I am exercising the muscle of creativity in places that are unfamiliar and awkward and maybe even pointless.

One of the ways I am making time for creativity lately is by drawing and painting.

I have a little tiny set of watercolors I have been carrying around with me for a couple of years now, and I am filling up some of the pages of my journal with perfectly imperfect creations.

I am trying to look more closely at the places we walk by the act of drawing them.

I find it hard. And very slow. (Not unlike learning German)

But when I make time for this act of pointless creativity, for wasting time doing something at which I am not very good, I am surprised by the calm I experience and the small joys it brings.

I’m surprised by what I notice.

Here’s what Brené Brown says about creativity in her brilliant book, The Gifts of Imperfection:

1. “I’m not very creative” doesn’t work. There’s no such thing as creative people and non-creative people. There are only people who use their creativity and people who don’t. Unused creativity doesn’t just disappear. It lives within us until it’s expressed, neglected to death, or suffocated by resentment and fear.

2. The only unique contribution that we will ever make in this world will be born of our creativity.

3. If we want to make meaning, we need to make art. Cook, write, draw, doodle, paint, scrapbook, take pictures, collage, knit, rebuild an engine, sculpt, dance, decorate, act, sing—it doesn’t matter. As long as we’re creating, we’re cultivating meaning.

So I hope you will take some time to make things for the sake of making. I hope you will not hear my critical voice in your head telling you that you should be busy with more practical endeavors.

Find ways to express the creativity that is within you.

Join in with the wonder that is creation.

I love each of you and all the ways you make life more beautiful,

Mama

The post A Letter to My Kids About Making Time For Creativity appeared first on Alison Chino.

Happy Ten Year Blog Anniversary to Me!

Ten years ago I started writing on the internet, and to celebrate that little milestone, I am releasing a little 60-page book of letters I wrote right here:

It’s called Letters from Alison.

I hope you enjoy it!

Blogging has been the most wonderful gift to me as a writer, an opportunity to take many of my ramblings out of my journal and onto permanent web pages, where I can edit them and add pictures and create pieces of work that I love.

My blog holds lots of little fragments of my heart and has been a way to freely share my art with others. I’m super grateful for the place it has had in my life over the last ten years and for every person who has spent any time reading what I’ve written.

Friends, thank you so much for popping over to my corner of the internet and reading my stories.

I appreciate it so much!

XO

Alison

The post A Book of Letters appeared first on Alison Chino.

A Letter to My 15 Year Old Son Who Traveled With Me To Lake Constance

Dear Ben,

I am sorry that I give you such a hard time for cracking eggs all over the counter in the kitchen.

And for throwing your clothes on the floor. And your backpack. And your shoes.

I am sorry for the way I respond when you’ve been on the computer for one hundred and sixteen hours and you eyes are bloodshot from staring at little dots moving around the screen.

I am sorry for the way I focus on the clothes and the computer and the eggs when I should be saying how grateful I am for you.

Because you, my son, are the most wonderful company.

I am so thankful for how you embrace the adventures we have together.

I am so thankful that nine times out of ten, when someone says, “Who wants to go with me to do X?” that your answer is, “I will!”

Who wants to go with me to the store to help carry groceries?

I will.

Who wants to go for a walk with me in the woods?

I will.

Who wants to try this strange new gingerbread?

I do.

Who wants to walk down to the chocolate market and try all the samples again?

I do.

So when I asked you if you wanted to go with me for a few days to Lake Constance, for a little mother-son adventure by ourselves, I was not surprised that you were game.

And I just love that about you.

That you are game.

I think we’re going to take a bus.

Game.

I think we’re going to stay in hostels.

Game.

What do you think about going to this classical musical concert in the big cathedral in Constance?

Game.

Coffee?

Game.

Donor Kebab?

Game.

Pretty much any food?

Game.

You are a wonderful travel partner. You make everything more fun by being enthusiastic.

It’s unusual for you to complain. You’re super flexible. You can walk for ages and carry the heavy stuff, and if we happen to find ourselves in the woods after the sun sets or in a dark part of town, I kind of appreciate that all of a sudden you are becoming a young man, a fact I usually lament.

Thank you for going with me to this new place. For walking all over Constance and Meersburg and Lindau.

For sitting in the sun and reading together.

For long talks about language and living in Germany.

For longer walks along the lake and through the woods.

For sitting through a concert that was not so interesting to you.

For riding the ferry and looking for coffee shops.

For being willing to eat in restaurants and hostel kitchens and on park benches.

For all the ways you make life fun and point out the beauty of the world.

I love seeing it through your eyes.

And I’m grateful for many more days ahead of sharing new experiences with you.

I’m grateful that you are still with us. And that we are getting days together that are different from ones we have had before, because it is so often just the two of us, carrying apples and milk, stomping through the woods or exploring yet another Christmas market.

Thank you for being willing to say “Yes,” and for how you are teaching me to say it too.

Yes, you can build a gingerbread house.

Yes, you can play that game.

Yes, you can put that candle out with your fingers.

Yes, you can put that punch in the grocery basket.

Yes, you can order the pastry that is as big as your head.

Yes, we can stop and sit for a while.

Love you so much.

Mama

A few details in case you want to go to Lake Constance. We stayed in Constance/Konstanz at the most darling little hostel called Glückseeligkeit which translates to “bliss.” They only have five rooms but one is a family room and there is a fully stocked kitchen and living room/lounge for meals and such. Ben and I stayed in the attic room that had its own balcony and view of Konstanz. This hostel did not sponsor our trip in any way, but we loved it so I thought I would mention it. (In fact, we stayed in another hostel in Lindau that we did not like at all so we wished we’d spent one more night in ‘bliss.’) We spent three nights in the area and wandered around the towns of Konstanz, Meersburg and Lindau. At the end of October when we made this trip, it felt like much of the activity around the lake was closed up for the season. I think it would be fun to go when it is a bit warmer and bike at least part of the cycle path that goes all the way around Lake Constance (and covers three countries!) MacsAdventure has this tour available as one of their Germany adventures if you’re looking for a biking adventure in Germany. If you happen to go to Konstanz, a little coffee shop called elf (“eleven” in German) serves up the best coffee I’ve had so far in Germany, but unfortunately they don’t open until 11. 

The post A Letter to My 15 Year Old Son Who Traveled With Me To Take These Snapshots of Lake Constance 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.

In this day and age of email and texting, it is a rare but delightful occurrence to open your mailbox and find a handwritten letter waiting for you.

In this last year especially, I have rediscovered the joy of writing letters.

I’ve been sending lots more letters.

I mentioned briefly last week that I am starting a new writing project.

It’s called Letters from Alison.

Some of the letters are to myself, some are to my children. Some are to countries or places or people.

Some are letters I have actually written and sent and others just exist in this space.

Not unlike other writing projects I’ve done in the past (12 Days of Stories or 48 Walks), this project has been a little injection of creativity for me and has informed much of the free writing I’ve done recently.

Over the next few weeks, I’m going to share a few of these letters on my website.

I hope that they will bring you a little joy or inspire you to write a letter or two of your own.

By way of introduction, here is a little gem my mama saved from 1984.

I wrote most of my letters back then at school.

I’m sorry for those who have grown up with texting because that they have missed the glorious old phase of life known as “passing notes.”

I passed many a note in my school days.

One day I wrote one to my mama, as she often stuck notes to me in my lunchbox.

I’m so glad she saved it.

PS. You can subscribe to my blog via email right here if you don’t want to miss any of the other letters.

The post Letters appeared first on Alison Chino.

In honor of wishing I was smack dab in the middle of a giant family gathering today, I am sharing an ode to one of my favorite spots in my hometown, Lakewood Lake.

A Love Letter to Lakewood Lake

You have been my stomping grounds since I was a wee thing.

My sister and I used to jump in the water after sweating through church picnics in the neighboring pavilion.

In high school, I started running the loop around you with friends, trying to work off all those curly fries and milkshakes from our waistlines.

I wandered around you in the dark after school dances. I may or may not have kissed a boy or two under the trees that surround your shores.

My mom and I both have measured our improving or declining health by how many times we can do the mile loop that circles you.

And I have measured each of my children’s growths by what they can reach on the playground or how high they can climb on the structures that are so old that my parents climbed them as children.

The kids all played in Saturday soccer games on the fields next to your waters, and Taido has played tennis with them all on the courts.

We have come to see you straight from school on many afternoons to burn off energy, play at the park and eat snacks at the picnic tables.

I cannot begin to number the times I have come here to read, to write or just be alone with my thoughts. To take a deep breath.

There are few bad days that an hour at Lakewood Lake could not improve for me.

Every time I see a picture from home of you, I die a little inside. I miss you so much. I live near the sea here in Aberdeen, Scotland, so you would think that would be a fine substitute for a small neighborhood lake. But the North Sea is not holding all my life memories like you are, Lakewood Lake. It is almost as if the water itself is keeping vigil over my stories of growing up and living in Arkansas. And when I return, you hand them back to me one at a time, or let me add a new one.

I love you in every season and in all sorts of weather, and you can bet that you will be one of the first places I go when I make my way back to Arkansas.

PS. Friends, if you live near the lake, walk a loop for me today after you eat your Thanksgiving feast and send me a photo. 

Is there a place in your hometown that is like this for you? I would love to hear about it!

Want to keep up with all of my travels? Maybe you’d like to subscribe to future posts by email or receive my occasional email newsletter.

The post A Love Letter to Lakewood Lake appeared first on Alison Chino.

A year ago Mary Polly and I were about to set sail on our Mediterranean Cruise.  We’ve been reliving the memories and marveling at all that has happened in a year.

When Mary Polly and I boarded our airplane for home at the end of our trip, we had no idea that less than a year later, we’d be living in Scotland.

And though this move has been difficult in many ways, there is no doubt that it is the fulfillment of a dream.  (Or an obsession, as Taido says.)  On the days the dream threatens to undue me (yesterday was one of those days), I have to remind myself that this is what I wanted.

I even have proof in writing.

A week before Mary Polly and I left on our trip, I ran into a young gal who had just returned home from a season out of the country.  We had been swapping study abroad stories at church and I went home that afternoon and penned this letter to her.  I thought it would be fun to share it with you.

Letter About Traveling Abroad

Sweet Friend,

I so enjoyed visiting with you at church today. Our conversation about spending time abroad and coming home again has been heavy on my mind all day. I think perhaps it is the timing–one week before Mary Polly and I leave for our cruise in Europe–that has me thinking so much about what travel does inside of us.

Travel, Adventure, Exploring.

They call to me.

Just like they do for you.

When I was your age, I wanted to see the world beyond here so badly, so I jumped at the first chance I got to hop a plane in the name of studying.

To Prague I went with a suitcase full of dreams and a heart full of wonder. I was amazed by truly everything.

My eyes hurt from trying to see so much at once, and even now, I remember being in awe every time I turned a corner.

My heart hurt from trying to squeeze in every person I met, wanting to be dear friends for life with everyone and still hold tightly to all the precious souls back home.

I grew to adore roommates and hallmates. I met people on the streets of Prague, in university classrooms and in cafes.

I walked the halls of museums, scribbling down names of artists I’d never before heard of but wanted to remember forever.

I learned to drink coffee from tiny cups in street cafes.  I warmed my fingers on hot spiced wine.  I devoured Eastern European novels.  I wanted to crawl inside of a tragic Tolstoy character and board a train for Siberia.  I wanted the night sky to stay forever over the Charles Bridge.  I wore crushed red velvet boho dresses and black lipstick.  I ate cheeses that you could smell from another room and rum soaked fruit.

I can’t begin to measure how much LIFE I managed to cram into my months abroad, but I can tell you that I went for it with all my heart, jumping in with both of my Doc Marten boots.

At the end of my time, I longed to go home and to never leave all at once.  I cried at going and coming and being.

Back home, I wanted everyone to experience this treasure of discovering somewhere new.  I was certain that other people could not possibly be fulfilled without traveling in Europe.  Everyone should learn languages and spend half their days overseas, I preached with great conviction.

For weeks, I was that annoying person who says, Well, let me tell you how they do that in Europe…

Soon enough, you learn who cares and who does not.  I tried to limit my constant retelling to my family, who would both listen to my stories and openly mock me.

Years later, my parents went to Europe (on the way home from Israel), and they found it no where near as special as I had, which was bitterly disappointing for me.

I can still hear my dad saying, Man, that Vienna is one fancy schmancy place.

(I had shed tears at the beauty of Vienna, falling in love with Egon Schiele and Gustav Klimt.)

Their experience with Europe caused me to doubt my own, to wonder if I had only dreamed it was enthralling because of my youth.  I wanted to go back again and see, but it would be six more years before I did.

Taido and I went to Italy for our 10th anniversary.  Like stepping back in time, I remembered the sound of a romantic language, the smells of the train station and the anticipation of exploring a new city full of museums I’d never been to before.

It was a magical week in Italy and we loved every minute.

How relieved I was to discover again how much I loved being overseas and traveling.  It was then that Taido and I dreamed up the idea of taking our kids on trips for their thirteenth birthdays, even if we had to do it at the expense of other things (college savings? new cars?) and these days we talk lots about taking our kids abroad for a season.

Friend, it will always be with us, this desire to GO and SEE, so even if you settle near home, make space in your life (and your budget) for travel (and be certain to marry someone who shares your love for it!)

And for now, when you have a choice between doing whatever everyone else is doing and going somewhere new, I would almost always say: Choose travel!

Love you dearly,

Alison

The post Letter About Traveling Abroad appeared first on Alison Chino.

Lots of mixed feelings this week, closing up the house and saying goodbye to our life on Cedar Street.  Reprinted below is the text of an actual letter I wrote to my sweet neighborhood to say goodbye.

An Open Letter To My Neighbors, Upon Saying Goodbye

Dear Neighbor,

My family and I have moved everything out of our house on Cedar Street to embark on a new adventure halfway around the world.  We’re moving to Scotland for three years where Taido plans to get a PhD at the University of Aberdeen.

As we have packed up and let go of so many things this summer, I have asked God for the strength to leave a place we love so dearly, and a place where we have been so dearly loved.

Since I don’t know when I will have the opportunity again, I want to thank you.

Thank you for your gracious understanding as cars lined the street and people poured in and out of our house.  Thank you for being a part of a safe place for our kids to play outside, to walk to and from school and church.  Thank you for slowing down when our little ones were learning to ride their bikes and tossed footballs to one another in the street.  Thank you for every kind wave, for every hello, and especially for every time you looked the other way from our eye sore of a front yard.

As I leave, I cannot help but be struck by all the ways I have failed to be a good neighbor.

It’s not my lack of grass that I regret, it’s my lack of kindness.

I am sorry for the way I have flown by without a moment to spare for you.  I am sorry for all the joys and sorrows in your life that I have missed by not being brave enough to get to know you better.  I am sorry for forgetting even your names.  And I am sorry for the times you’ve had to listen to me yell at my kids.

I hope you will forgive me.

I am especially sorry, because when I look back at our move to Cedar Street eleven years ago, I remember that I longed to be a source of light and love and everything that is good.  I prayed that this house, which was a blessing to us, would also be used to bless.

When we moved back to North Little Rock after a season away, we were determined to live in this neighborhood.  We wanted to send our kids to school right across the street from Fellowship North, where Taido was working.  We wanted to be able to walk or ride our bikes to school and church.

We wanted God to use us to bring light and love to this little corner of the world.

And neighbor, our house has been filled with love.  Prayers have been heard and answered.  We have shared laughter and tears in this place.  We have broken bread and played silly games with many friends in this house.

But still, I wish I had invited you into this house we have loved so much.

As we leave, I pray the spirit of our home will continue to flow from within it, that whoever lives there next will bless this sweet neighborhood.  I know that they, like us, will have their own journey of life, love and learning on Cedar Street.

Thank you so much for being my neighbor.

With so much love,

Alison

PS If you want to keep up with our family’s journey in Scotland and beyond, you can sign up to receive blog posts via email right here. 

The post An Open Letter To My Neighbors, Upon Moving Away appeared first on Alison Chino.