Sunny Sunday

That garden is going to take lot of work. In two and a half hours, we cleared maybe a quarter of it, found some chard and carrots, and became closely acquainted with ground ivy, creeping buttercup, and mugwort, pretty nice names for a bunch of invasive weeds. I also found loads of tiny acorns, each with a pale green filament extended hopefully into the soil. I was sorry to disappoint them, but I gave them a vagabond's chance to put down roots somewhere else, tossing them into the bags bound for the county mulch pile.

Their source was a big oak tree about 20 feet south of the plot. We began to fall into its shadow at about 2 pm. The gardener next to us said that's a good thing; the afternoon shade will keep everything from searing in the heat come August. Sounds reasonable to me. It was hard to shake the feeling that we didn't really know what we were doing, mostly because we didn't, and although I was totally done-in at the end, the hoe and the rake didn't feel quite so foreign as I replaced them neatly in the shed.

And then I came home and took a nap.

Satisfying Saturday

I had a good day today. I woke up at 7, an hour and a half later than usual. I did a little reading, made breakfast, and showered before heading out to the community garden. We were not disappointed there. The place was bustling-- it was the spring membership meeting and clean up day, and everyone walked about with purpose and cheer. Within thirty minutes we were the custodians of Plot 47. Vagabond weeds had set up camp on the abandoned 15 x 20 rectangle-- it was solid green-- but it also had a hose, a compost bin, a few tomato cages, a huge rosemary shrub, some scrawny leeks, and several plants of bolting kale. It's partially shaded and located in one of the four corners of the garden, adjacent to the fence that runs along the road I take to work. I'll be right there twice a day on weekdays. Dogs are welcome in the garden, but there's also a dog park right next door. It's all good, especially since we haven't lifted a finger, yet. We couldn't stay at the garden, because I had already made arrangements to go into school to do some packing and pitching. It took less than hour for me to fill a large rolling trash bin and a full sized recycling can, but my storage closet is packed up. Next we turned to my actual classroom. Seven boxes down in there, probably 50 to go. I'm optimistic. The day was still young, so we got the dog and headed for a nearby state park. Three and a half miles was just the right ramble through washes and woods on this cool spring afternoon. Next up a quiet evening at home, and tomorrow morning the gardening gloves go on.

Urban Farmer

I like the place where we live. Sure, there are definitely times when I wish we had more room for guests, but there's space enough for the two of us and our pets. A few years ago we were shopping for something bigger: property values were high, our home equity was burning a hole in our pockets, and sub-prime mortgages were too easy to qualify for. But nothing we liked worked out, and after a few months of unsuccessful house hunting, we sat down and had a heart to heart. We decided that although this place is not perfect, anything more would be somewhat wasteful... the phrase "carbon footprint" actually came up.

After making the conscious choice to stay here, we decided to spend some time and money on making this place as close to what we want as possible. We re-did our kitchen, and we have a budget for some other improvement projects. We've worked at using our storage space more efficiently, and we're engaged in a one day at a time struggle with materialism: there's a lot of junk that needs to go. Sadly, we still haven't resolved the dilemma of where to keep our bikes-- poor vagabonds, they spent the winter outside, but I am going to take them for maintenance and tune-ups next week.

One thing we'll never be able to add to our townhouse-style condo is a garden. There is no outdoor space for growing much more than a few hostas and hydrangeas, plus I don't think the owners association would be too keen on what I have in mind. One of my interests is buying food as fresh and local as I can, and so I have it in my head that I'd like to grow herbs and vegetables and flowers and maybe even keep bees someday.

Fortunately, our county has a number of community gardens; unfortunately, there is a long waiting list for one. I put my name on it two years ago, and I haven't heard a word since. Until today! This evening I received an email, not that I had actually gotten a plot yet, but that I might get one this season. I practically jumped for joy at the prospect. Spring is here and this could be good.

Swinging

We knew this day was coming. Our school has been undergoing renovation since the beginning of the year. This extensive project is being conducted in phases and requires teachers to completely pack up our classrooms and move to a "swing space" for 4-6 weeks. Our instructions are to separate our materials into what can go into storage and what we will need in our temporary space. Oh yes, and we have to teach, too. School doesn't get out around here for another eleven weeks.

My team's area is phase four. Back in September we had high hopes that the construction would fall behind schedule and our move would coincide with the end of school. No such luck-- we found out today that our rooms must be empty two weeks from tomorrow. As the year has progressed, we have heard our colleagues in earlier phases complain about the inconvenience, the poor planning and communication, and the fact that we are expected to do most of this on our own time, without compensation.

I have dreaded the day when I would have to pack everything up. I've been in my classroom sixteen years, longer than I've ever actually lived anywhere in my life. I have a lot of stuff, too-- mostly books, but plenty of other things I've collected over my teaching career as well. So, how surprised was I, as I sat in the meeting this afternoon going over the logistics of our move, to feel a little vagabond smile sneaking across my face?

Turns out that I'm kind of excited to be forced to go through everything and pare way down, and being in another part of the building for a few weeks will be novel and fun. Plus the room I'm moving to is huge-- literally twice the size of the one I have now, and when I took a quick walk-through this afternoon, I could only see the possibilities.

In My Expert Opinion

Last Friday was the deadline for the online adolescent development course that I've been presenting; all participants were supposed to have their work in by then. In my mind, it was a flexible deadline, more along the lines of a vagabond's ETA, but everyone who planned to complete the course met it. Teachers! Sheesh.

So, I've been working my way through the assignments that have been submitted. It's a pass/fail course for re-certification points, and credit relies primarily on completion of the required assignments, but even so, I feel that everyone should get some feedback on their work, so that's what I've been doing.

This afternoon I looked at one of the final projects. It was a two page paper arguing against K-8 schools. I read it with interest, especially because I have the opposite opinion. It was well-reasoned enough, but ultimately I was unconvinced. Based primarily on the author's fifteen years of experience as a middle school counselor, near the end she cited a source. I did a bit of a double take when I saw that this expert and I had the same last name. Wow, I wonder who that is? I thought. I'll definitely have to read that article. Upon finishing the essay, I glanced eagerly to the bibliography.

Her source?

Was me.

She was citing the slide show that I authored which was the text for one of the units in the course.

I laughed out loud. Believe me, I AM an expert... in my own mind. At first, it was cool to have some independent confirmation of that, no matter how small. But then... I realized that she used my work to support an opinion I disagree with.

Hey! Is that even allowed?

Rear View

Last week I smashed the hell out of the side view mirror on my new car. Regular readers will be relieved to know that it was the same mirror I damaged the first week I owned it, AND that I hadn't had it repaired yet. That first accident destroyed the trim on the mirror, and it looked a lot worse than it was-- the mirror itself was never non-functional, and once I popped a few pieces back in place, it wasn't even that noticeable.

My second go at destroying it was much more effective. I heard a sickening crunch of plastic and glass as I backed down my sister's narrow driveway, just a little too close to the gate on the right. The mirror was shattered into at least twenty different fragments, and I was sooo mad at myself for not being more careful. The fact that it already needed fixing was only lukewarm comfort.

Unlike the vagabond only concerned with the road ahead, I worried about making the 600 mile trip home without that rear view, but I did my best with what I had: I adjusted the other two mirrors and hit the road. Fortunately, we arrived without any problem, and the repair is scheduled for tomorrow.

The other day I realized the strangest thing, though. When I looked at that mirror out of habit, I could clearly see what was behind me. Somehow, my brain filtered those twenty disparate perspectives into one, usable image. In amazement, I even used the switch to fine tune the view.

What a marvel of adaptation the human brain is! Or is it? Because, quite frankly, objects in the mirror are still a lot closer than they appear.

Look at the Bright Side

Today was our first day back from Spring Break and contrary to expectations, I invited students to tell the class something awful that happened over the vacation.

Oh my... there was certainly no shortage of misfortune: they recounted all sorts of  falls and scrapes and bangs and bruises; there were tales of long car rides with unruly siblings, games lost at the last minute, vagabond pets, cousins who wouldn't leave, sightseeing in the pouring rain, parents who forced their children out of bed for all manner of sunrise services, grandparents who insisted that reading at the table was rude, and television shows that simply disappointed.

Fortunately, those were the worst of it, and after all that, they couldn't very well complain about being back at school, could they?