Coyote Parenting (eBook)

From beaches to shamans, a young family's wild journey through Mexico

Luana Lynch (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2025 | 1. Auflage
216 Seiten
Bookbaby (Verlag)
979-8-3178-0515-9 (ISBN)

Infos

Long -time Joshua Tree resident Luana Lynch tells the story of how she and her husband packed up their dog and four young children in a camper van for a three-year adventure through Mexico, creating a school of nature immersion on the road. Their search for deeper family bonds and cultural experience is told in coyote-style, full of tricks and surprises. From fishing in shark-infested waters and finding a desert oasis, to becoming initiated as a shaman, their 'magic circles' family meetings hold them together with truth and respect, offering a valuable tool for families today.

Luana Lynch is an artist, a devotee of the natural world, a story-teller, a 'coyote trickster' and a respected elder of Joshua Tree, California. She made her mark as a teacher and therapist, specializing in sand tray therapy for children. Later in life, she led workshops and vision quests to help people discover their greatest potential. You can catch her hiking in the national park near her home, dancing at a yoga festival or quietly sitting in her cactus garden, visiting with family and friends.

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Long -time Joshua Tree resident Luana Lynch tells the story of how she and her husband packed up their dog and four young children in a camper van for a three-year adventure through Mexico, creating a school of nature immersion on the road. Their search for deeper family bonds and cultural experience is told in coyote-style, full of tricks and surprises. From fishing in shark-infested waters and finding a desert oasis, to becoming initiated as a shaman, their "e;magic circles"e; family meetings hold them together with truth and respect, offering a valuable tool for families today.

Textauszug

Chapter 1 Constantina & Seville, Spain Our Family is Born

Our story as a couple began when Jerry and I met in college, before there were kids, campers and the call to live in Mexico. We vowed if we ever married, we would live a different lifestyle than that of the fifties era we had grown up in. We wanted an adventurous life; both of us were already seasoned travelers and campers at young ages.

One summer’s day in 1961, Jerry and I were leisurely sunbathing on the sands of Newport Beach with my girlhood friend, Dotty and her husband Bob Manring. They were on summer break from Bob’s job teaching children for US Air Force Dependent Schools in northern Spain. Dotty brought their photo album to the beach to share with us what their life was like living in Spain with their two children. Living in Spain was magical. I was excited for them and also drooling with envy as Dotty shared photos of their adventurous life.

Since Jerry and I were both teachers, I asked Dotty and Bob if they thought we could somehow get jobs teaching as a couple in Spain. Bob told us if we were married, we would become eligible to be hired to teach and run a school of our own. He further explained that there was a need for married team teachers at six remote radar site schools located throughout Spain. However, if we were not married, we might get hired as singles but most likely not in the same region.

“We want to be together, but unfortunately we’re not married,” I hopelessly responded. Dotty made a sly suggestion: “Perhaps you could get married?” Dotty’s suggestion and Bob’s offering to sponsor us pointed the way toward a sudden dramatic turn that would change our lives forever.

That night I couldn’t stop thinking about the prospect of Jerry and I getting hired to work as team teachers in our own school in Spain! We were staying at Dotty’s mother’s Newport Beach oceanfront cottage. Dorty was like a second mom to me and I was sharing the bedroom with her. I really couldn’t sleep between listening to her loud snoring and the waves crashing on shore. I was too excited to sleep anyway, thinking about the prospect of getting married and moving to Spain. It seemed too perfect. Up until then, I hadn’t wanted to marry anyone unless I had a good reason. This was a good reason; my mind was made up.

Jerry and I had drifted apart earlier that summer while he was vacationing in Acapulco, where he met a girl on the beach. In his absence, I was casually seeing others while staying in Laguna Beach. But when he returned we quite naturally got back together again. We wanted to stay together that night, but Dotty’s mother had arranged for me to sleep with her while Jerry slept on the screened porch.

I couldn’t sleep; I could hardly wait until daybreak to propose to Jerry and get his commitment.

I waited for the first light before entering the screened porch where Jerry was sleeping to awaken him. I felt like a little girl when I excitedly begged him to get up because I had something important to tell him. He pulled himself together as I led him to the nearby shore just as the sun was rising. I asked him to sit atop a steep sand dune facing me and the ocean.

With loud waves crashing behind me, I knelt on the sand dune before him and sincerely asked, “Will you marry me?”

He was surprised and looked at me in a new way, considering his answer. “Yes,” he said, “I will marry you.”

A rush of happiness washed over me. “Now it’s your turn to ask me,” I said.

We exchanged places; Jerry knelt before me and asked me to marry him. “Yessss,” I said in unison with the rhythm of the waves and sound of outgoing water rushing over rocks. For the launching of such a serious commitment, our mutual proposal almost felt like joyful child’s play.

Our Polish-Norwegian Wedding

Jerry and I loved to travel and we loved teaching. We hoped to live and work in a foreign country together someday, but we had no strategy until then. Some might say we had an arranged marriage, but this was one we arranged ourselves—for a life of adventure.

Before we could accept or indeed even be offered such a position teaching military dependent children overseas, we had to make our union official—recognized by the state and church, and feted by our families. Jerry and I had agreed upon a small wedding, but when our families heard about our plans to marry, they went all out planning a big fat Polish-Norwegian affair. It was to be held at Mom’s small Catholic church, St. Francis de Assisi, in North Hollywood. In the end, we enjoyed, endured, and became transformed by our ceremony.

Our wedding day in February was marked by an historic storm in Los Angeles. Postponing the wedding was out of the question because we needed to be married before we could even apply for the teaching positions. For family and guests to attend, they had to fight gales of wind, sheets of rain, and puddles so deep that the waves of water made the road momentarily invisible.

Even though I was worried about the storm, my head was swimming with the old fashioned mantra: “Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue.” I trusted that for a successful marriage all I had to do was follow tradition. I covered those bases: My best friend Lynne, Dotty’s younger sister, who was a fashion model, as I had been, lent me her very simple princess-style, Vogue-worthy wedding dress. We laughed together, remembering the contrast of today and our girlhood days riding bareback all day and sleeping in the barn with our beloved horses at night.

During the wedding ceremony, based on Polish tradition, I carried a special bouquet, a smaller one tucked inside a larger one. I felt moved to present my inner bouquet at a side altar at the foot of a colorful statue of Mother Mary, who symbolically embodies the divine feminine. I left Jerry at the main altar while I made this offering for both of us. The red roses, pink carnations and fragrant white jasmine delighted me. I kissed the flowers, laid them at her feet, and prayed for guidance. I knew that taking my vows this day was a forever thing.

Inside the church, the feeling of togetherness with friends and family intensified as the storm raged outside. Guests told me they came in spite of the storm because they were fearful that others might stay away and they wanted our wedding to be successful for us. What an honor! I felt overwhelming gratitude, mixed with excitement. The church was plain, nothing extra; I felt like we were on a boat, or maybe it was a shipwreck, grateful to be safe inside.

With my dress trailing on the floor, I had to be carried, wrapped in plastic, across the parking lot to the reception hall as it poured buckets. Guests told me that rain on the bride’s wedding day is good luck for the marriage. This bride definitely got rained on.

Being a Polish-Norwegian wedding, ours was bursting with homemade food of all sorts, including turkeys, hams, roast beef, and non-stop champagne from the private club where Jerry had bartended. “You’ve gotta go, we’re getting flooded out!” was a refrain that was becoming more insistent. Jerry and I were having such a good time that we didn’t want to leave. The guests, like us, were dancing polka to the rhythm of the winds, lightning crashing with the roar of thunder, and pounding rain on the roof. It made leaving scary and staying desirable. Relatives and friends still smile broadly whenever the “stormy wedding” is mentioned.

The plans for our honeymoon had to be changed when mudslides closed the coast highway. Perhaps this was a metaphor for our life together—changing plans in midstream and traveling a new path.

Six months after our wedding, we re-located to Andalucia, Southern Spain with our official passports and household goods. Flying above Constantina, we looked down on a mountainous region near Seville, where we had our first glimpse of the village where we would live. It was a whitewashed village with red tile rooftops flowing down the canyons. Church spires jutted up from the center of town with Roman ruins on the hilltop. Was this to be our home? Yes—for two years! This exciting turn of events within just a few months filled us with awe. Thank you dear God! We were stepping into a fairy tale life where we would become central characters. It was as though a fairy godmother took us by the hand and led the way. It was that enchanting.

The village of Constantina was located in mountainous terrain. It was surrounded by a pine and cork tree forest, with unending stretches of olive groves, and grape farms that were sparsely interspersed with ranches that raised fighting bulls. Constantina was founded by the Roman emperor Constantine, who gave the town its name centuries before.

On the first day, we hiked to the Roman ruins above town that commanded a view of the village. Children’s voices echoed in the narrow streets from below. Roosters, goats and sheep added their voices to the scene and straight into our hearts—Constantina, this old-world, Spanish village felt homey and welcoming.

While searching for a place to live in Constantina, we looked for something cozy, but both the Base Commander, Colonel Wells, and Paco Grajera, the mayor of the town, pressured us into renting part of Paco’s large ancestral home. Politically speaking, renting a portion of the mayor’s house was the right thing to do, as our close association would help strengthen relationships between the Base...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 12.12.2025
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Biografien / Erfahrungsberichte
• ISBN-13: 979-8-3178-0515-9 / 9798317805159