Try Again?

In an attempt to "take something off our plates" our administration today proposed eliminating one of the two interdisciplinary team meetings we have each week. Mind you, none of the responsibilities or duties have changed, just the amount of time we may elect to spend on them. To put it another way, now we *get* to support 145 children and coordinate conferences, intervention placement, field trips and other activities in 42 minutes instead of 84. If we so choose.

Gee, thanks!

WIld View

The phone in my classroom rang about 4 o'clock. It was Heidi calling me from a colleague's room on the lower level of the building. Like my classroom, it faces the construction of the new elementary school, but it also looks out on a sheltered well of a space, what used to be a makeshift amphitheater for kids to play in. These days, with the construction, the area is abandoned and fortified with hay bales to assist the drainage that comes from adjoining a construction site.

"There's a fox right outside Starr's window!" Heidi reported.

"Is it okay? Should you call animal control?" I asked in some alarm.

"It seems fine," Heidi told me, "it's just hanging out in the sun and scratching its ears."

"I'll be down in a minute," I said, hanging up the phone.

And when I got down there, it was just as Heidi had said. A young fox with a dusty ginger coat and black stockings was curled up in a sunny patch of soft dirt and long grass growing from the cracked concrete. It was mesmerizing to be so close to such a wild thing, and we watched it for at least 15 minutes, speculating about its diet and habits.

I could have stayed all afternoon, but I had work to do in my own room. I do confess, though, that I went immediately to the window and craned my neck in futility for one last glimpse of the fox.

Grounded

I spent the afternoon in my garden, pretty much putting it to bed for the season. The air was brisk, but the sun was shining, and it was still warm enough for me to work in my t-shirt. I always feel a little sad to pull living plants from the ground and throw them on the compost heap, but it was time. And, in consolation, I left with 15 pounds of sweet potatoes, lots of peppers, some tomatillos, a quart of green tomatoes, and half a pound of tiny little heirloom shell beans, sun-dried in their pods.

For so many reasons, both told and untold, this was not the best season of our nine so far, but I am not unsatisfied.

Colorless

The heat and humidity finally broke earlier this week, and there was a crispness to the air and a golden angle to the sunlight that made it feel like fall. Something hasn't been quite right, though, and it wasn't until I opened the paper this morning that I realized what it was. An article in the Metro section told me what was missing: in our region, none of the leaves have changed.

As far north as Connecticut and as far west as Ohio, there is barely a hint of yellow in any of the green. Less daylight and dropping temperatures are what trigger the seasonal change in foliage, but one without the other throws the timetable off.

Such a late change in color is unprecedented, and no one is sure what it means for leaf peepers. Experts advise that is too soon to give up on this year's spectacle, but also wonder what a year like this might foretell in our era of climate change.

At least we still have pumpkins and apple cider. For now.

Communication Barrier

A few years ago the school system added American Sign Language as a language option. Since that time, it has become rather popular in our school, especially with active, kinesthetic learners.

This year, we have a new, full-time ASL teacher. Her classroom is a couple doors down; she has a homeroom on our team, and she is deaf.

As team leader and a nearby person with a lot of experience in the building, I am a prime resource and support for her. She is the type of person who doesn't hesitate to ask for help, and I like that, because it is much easier for me to answer questions than to anticipate them. The school provides an interpreter for her which makes most of our communication very easy, but there are times when we are alone, and getting a message through is more of a struggle then. Fortunately, she is gracious and patient, even writing little jokes I am too clueless to catch on the whiteboard. We make it work.

Even so, I am acutely aware that she is unable to speak my language, but I have just never taken the time to learn hers.

Don't Dis Functional

It was sixth period.

One third of the students were off in a nearby room working on their personal narrative drafts with a resource teacher, while eighteen students worked silently in the classroom on the same task. My co-teacher, Matt, and I circulated quietly among them, taking a few minutes at this table and that to check in on their progress.

About 30 minutes in, Matt made eye-contact with me and then swept his gaze over the diligently writing group and smiled. "On October 18, 2018..." he whispered.

"Stop!" I whispered back. "You'll jinx it!"

There's Always Room for Jello

I am not the only one struggling to find equilibrium with this huge new class of sixth graders. After listening to a litany of concerns from my colleagues, many of which I shared, I finally resorted to simile.

"Guys!" I said to my team, "maybe it's just like Jello!"

They looked at me quizzically.

"The more there is, the longer it takes to set," I explained. "We're still wobbling, but--"

"It's gonna gel!" finished another teacher.