Before we left for our trip this morning there was an announcement reminding all teachers to have their emergency procedures folder updated and handy. It was code for There's a possibility of a tornado.
"Wouldn't that be ironic if a tornado hit the school and we were all okay because we went on the field trip?" I laughed as we pulled out of the parking lot.
Gallows humor prevailed as our brand-new charter coaches glided into the gathering storm. Five minutes from our destination, the sky became literally as dark as dusk, and thunder rumbled in the not very distant distance. Another teacher turned to me as lightening flashed. "I'm guessing no zip line?" he asked.
"No, but there might be a zap line," I answered.
Torrential rain followed, but it was mercifully brief and only a drizzle by the time we disembarked. The kids dashed to the cover of a white-tented deck that was quite obviously used for weddings. Our guides were prepared, though, and led the group through a couple of fun games. Still, as our 100 students roamed the area, challenging each other and pounding their fists to their palms, another of my colleagues came up to me. "They paid forty-five dollars to play rock-paper-scissors in a tent in Maryland?" she asked.
I laughed and shrugged. "Well, if you put it that way..." I raised my eyebrows, but just then one of the camp leaders announced that the storm had passed, the thunder was through, and adventures awaited.
And he was telling the truth. Despite the fact that our school system back home was pondering whether or not to close early, for the next 2 1/2 hours the kids had a blast, and they even got to ride the zap line.
"Wouldn't that be ironic if a tornado hit the school and we were all okay because we went on the field trip?" I laughed as we pulled out of the parking lot.
Gallows humor prevailed as our brand-new charter coaches glided into the gathering storm. Five minutes from our destination, the sky became literally as dark as dusk, and thunder rumbled in the not very distant distance. Another teacher turned to me as lightening flashed. "I'm guessing no zip line?" he asked.
"No, but there might be a zap line," I answered.
Torrential rain followed, but it was mercifully brief and only a drizzle by the time we disembarked. The kids dashed to the cover of a white-tented deck that was quite obviously used for weddings. Our guides were prepared, though, and led the group through a couple of fun games. Still, as our 100 students roamed the area, challenging each other and pounding their fists to their palms, another of my colleagues came up to me. "They paid forty-five dollars to play rock-paper-scissors in a tent in Maryland?" she asked.
I laughed and shrugged. "Well, if you put it that way..." I raised my eyebrows, but just then one of the camp leaders announced that the storm had passed, the thunder was through, and adventures awaited.
And he was telling the truth. Despite the fact that our school system back home was pondering whether or not to close early, for the next 2 1/2 hours the kids had a blast, and they even got to ride the zap line.
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