Visualize

"Can we draw stick people?" is perhaps the most common question sixth graders ask when an assignment calls for them to produce a visual.

"Sure," I answered this morning, "but there is a bear in the story. What is he going to look like?"

Not to worry, my student assured me, and he was right. In fact the whole class was charmed by the character we dubbed "Square Bear."

Internal Clock

We drive by our community garden plot every day on our way to school. I've developed a sharp enough eye that during the growing season I can usually tell if there is a need to stop sooner rather than later to harvest, cut, gather, water, or weed. In the winter, though, I sail by barely noticing even if the lid of the small potting bench has blown open; I've learned that the winds will shift and slam it shut again.

This year it's been a cold spring, and we had not been to the garden even once to check on the persistent covering of weeds when late last week, perhaps from reflex, my head turned and my eyes were filled with a wee purple haze blossoming from the far side of the plot. It wasn't until Sunday that we actually stopped to investigate. As discouraging as the unwanted blanket of vetch, false chrysanthemum, and clover was, the peonies were sprouting strong, the blackberries are spreading faithfully and well, and that lovely cloud of periwinkle? It was some fragrant phlox that I put in last year and promptly forgot.

It's time to get to it.

Ask an Expert

A farmers market recently opened within walking distance of our home, and so the past couple of Sunday mornings we've enjoyed the luxury of heading over there to see what treasures they are vending. True to the season, there was local asparagus and wild ramps today, and I happily bought a bunch of both.

"Have you ever cooked with ramps before?" the young cashier asked me as he weighed my purchase.

I admitted I had not. "What's your advice?" I asked, for I can certainly recognize a kid who is dying to share what he knows.

He shrugged. "Oh, Google is the way to go to find a recipe," he began modestly, "and many will tell you that the greens are good, but I've never tried them."

He paused.

I nodded.

"So if you ask me? I like them sauteed. Add them to eggs and they're very good, but with asparagus?" He lifted my bundle and placed it in the bag. "They're heaven!"

Yes they are.

Every Other Day of the Week is Fine

Personally? I hate acrostic poems. I agree with my friend Mary who just the other day called them, "the lowest form of poetry." To me they should be relegated to the same recycling bin as word searches.

And yet... kids love them! Perhaps it is because for years they have been given the so-called "interdisciplinary" assignment of writing an acrostic poem about some science or social studies concept. Or maybe they like them because they are easy, and often thoughtless. In any regard, equally out of respect for my students' affection and the difficulty of coming up with a month's worth of fresh daily poetry challenges, each year I include some sort of acrostic.

Today it was write about a day of the week, and as I expected, S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y is leading its brethren in this popularity contest. I specifically left the door open for students to write about days they did not care for, though, kind of as a measure of creativity. Fortunately, one student stepped through and posted the following:

Morning seems more tiring than usual.
Onerous is the word to describe getting out of bed.
Nothing seems to matter except sadness.
Death, the sole thing that is sadder.
An adder's bite would be less painful.
You sooooo wish it was Friday.

I am On It, On It, On It

My students wrote Praise Poems today. This was the third year for the assignment, and as always, I explained that Praise Poems come from Western Africa and celebrate an individual's identity. They are often call and response, with the audience chanting a chorus between lines.

The formula I give my students is to write six lines and a chorus. The first line is your name, the second about your place of birth or ethnicity, the third about your family, the fourth and fifth compare you to natural elements or entities, and the last chooses a positive, defining quality about you and repeats it three times. The chorus is an expression of what they hope might be said of them by their community, and so it is written in third person.

When teachers of other disciplines talk about teaching English they often express relief and envy– they are glad that they don't have to read all that student writing, but sorry that they don't get the insight into our students that you get from reading all that writing. I was reminded of that this evening when I read the following:

I am D
Life is so messed up
Police have more power than laws.
Life is so messed up
Dad's on the road my mom is at home.
Life is so messed up
I am the strength of an erupting volcano,
Life is so messed up
The speed of a trash bags in the air,
Life is so messed up
But I'm super super bored

To teach this boy every day, you would never have an inkling of any such turmoil and dismay; he seems soooo steady and studious. But since he went ahead and published his feelings, we have a place to start a conversation.

And we will.

The Food of Love

"Can you really play anything on your ukulele?" a friend asked skeptically a few months ago.

I shrugged. "A few things... mostly chords so you can sing the melody." But she had a point; I really could not yet play any recognizable songs. I got my ukulele for Christmas two years ago, and I wanted it so that I could play Happy Birthday to my homeroom students when we had their cakes. Determined at first to teach myself, even that simple song seemed out of reach to begin with.

But this year Heidi arranged for lessons for me, and I have been plugging away and making some progress for sure. Still, that question of "really playing anything" has been a sort of a mental benchmark for me. In my last few lessons we have been focusing on Christmas songs, at my request. I figure if I start now? By December I may be ready. My teacher is so gracious that he even agreed it was a good idea for him to start sharpening his catalog-- "Every year the holidays sneak up on me, and I'm not quite ready for those gigs," he laughed as we labored away on a duet of Holly Jolly Christmas.

It was late last week when it occurred to me to revisit Happy Birthday. I think it was my brother's birthday party on Saturday that reminded me of my original goal, and so I searched up an easy version. To my surprise? I could play it! And while I was not ready for Bill's celebration, I have been diligently practicing for my public debut.

Today was Shakespeare's birthday, and along with mini-cupcakes and sonnets, we celebrated by singing, too. Yep-- I played my first gig for a combined audience of 75 sixth graders.

I think I rocked it. 

Inspiring Poetry

Today the students shared some of the riddle poems they wrote yesterday so that their classmates might guess the answers.

There were some easy ones,

I look like a lion.
I speak like a human.
You can find me in Egypt.
Speaking in riddles
To those who wish to pass me by.
What am I?

(xnihpS)

some very clever ones,

First think of the sound from an animal with a lot of wool,
That would make a basket very full.
Then think of something you say that scares,
And when you hear it you always glare.
Last think of the start of never,
The middle of Denver,
And is nowhere in lover.

Then string them together and wonder this,
What mammal would you never miss

(noobaB)

some lovely ones,

You can never touch me,
but you can see me.
I am in every classroom.
I am at the head of an arrow.
I am in the crust of pizza.
You could say very little without me.
I come in the afternoon of every day,
in the center of every place.
I am the beginning of all things.
I am on every planet.
I am in space.
What am I?

('A' rettel ehT)

and some confusing ones, too.

I wear glasses
I sound very sweet,
but I think of myself as evil, I dont know why.
You'll find me in one of your classes.
I have short hair,
I am very sweet,
i feel as human skin.

Who am i?

That last one had us stumped, and when we asked the poet for the answer, she gave me an exasperated look.

"It's you!"