Rescue Me!

It was a crazy schedule today and a rainy Friday to boot. As part of the extra homeroom time we had because of the drama assembly, the sixth grade showed the first episode of a mini-series dramatization of the Thai soccer team that got stuck in the cave a few years ago. Students had recently read an article about the incident, so there was a curriculum connection, but the day was kind of shot after all that novelty of scheduling.

There was also some foul language and mature themes in the video, so at lunch, we teachers debated the wisdom of following the plan to show more episodes next week when we have another irregular schedule.

"I hate to be a dick," I said, "but I thought it was kind of shitty. I might have to stab myself in the neck if we watch any more." My colleagues laughed because I was citing some of the inappropriate parts of the show.

Later in the afternoon, I sat with the same group looking out at the rain. "I don't know about you guys," I started, "but if I were planning to visit a cave, I would think twice. You know there's got to be an intern out there begging her bosses to issue a weather advisory!"

"Wow!" one of the other teachers remarked. "That show really did make an impression on you!"

Don't Tread on Me

I'm having a hard time seeing the bright side of being a part of a bureaucratic community this week. After working so hard to make my garden compliant because of the new compost rules (Read all about it here! Or don't.) I spent a lot of time this week jumping through the hoops that comprise our teacher-evaluation system. 

As such, I have read a book I'm not particularly interested in and rushed through a webinar that I was, just to meet an arbitrary deadline for "floating" professional learning hours. I will also spend a large chunk of my weekend documenting my own competence, because it's up to teachers to not only do everything we should in the classroom, but prove it, too.

Even so, that's a battle that I'm tired of complaining about, and I was doing pretty well in spite of that old irritant until I looked out our window yesterday evening. "Where's the other car?" I asked Heidi, but the question was rhetorical, for it was clearly missing and I knew she had no idea where it was. We had to assume it had been towed for some violation of our hoa's parking policy. 

Thirty minutes later, after searching around, first for the new portal and then for my login info and finally for the towing company contact number, I was connected to a gruff voice who informed me that, yes, our car was there and had been since 3:09 am. It would cost 250.00 to retrieve and another 50 bucks a day until we picked it up.

"I'm pretty sure there's a hang tag on it," I said with an edge in my own voice, but she assured me that there was not.

"Maybe I knocked it off when I put the phone hanger up," Heidi mused, but I was enraged by yet another stupid policy that would cost me time and money and which benefits me not at all. 

I think it's time for me to move to a farm in Maine where I can make my own damn rules.

Cause or Effect?

Today was one of the few "anchor days" we have actually had this year. These are the Wednesday of a five-day week, so called because they balance block scheduling by slotting in every class in a single day. "I don't know how I ever did it," is a common sentiment heard around the lunch table about this compressed schedule, because for years, this was our default.

Now, because of holidays and other disruptions, we really have anchor days very infrequently. Perhaps it's the compression of the schedule that throws us off, or it could be that it's so novel to the students and so they behave in unexpected ways.

That was certainly true for me today. The kids seemed more boisterous and a lot less focused than usual. That situation, coupled with the abridged class times made the day a bit challenging. Even so, I got very little sympathy from my colleagues at lunch.

"The kids are nuts today!" I reported as I took my seat.

"Pretty sure they are nuts every day," my colleague laughed. "It is fourth quarter!"

Oh, These Old Things?

I turned around yesterday to find a pair of sneakers on one of my classroom tables. Next to them, their owner worked diligently on his writing piece. "Hey," I haled him, "it's okay if you want to take off your shoes, but let's keep them on the floor, okay?"

He looked up with a smile, and it was then I noticed that, far from any ordinary sneakers, these were black and yellow Air Jordan 4 Retro Thunder 2023, which not only retail for over 200 dollars, aren't even supposed to be in stores until May.

"New shoes?" I asked.

He nodded proudly.

"Well," I said, "as sweet as they are, they still can't be on the table."

He pulled out the chair next to him and carefully placed them there, well within view of any who cared to admire them.

That Sounds Good

As the warm up for a lesson on onomatopoeia I asked students what some of their favorite sounds are. I wondered if it would be too vague a question, but I was charmed by the responses they gave. 

Many were sports related: the thump of a perfectly kicked soccer ball, the crack of a bat, the grind of a skateboard's powerslide, the pop of a pickleball on the court, the swish of a basketball, the cry of "Gooooooaaaaaaaaallllll!" on the Telemundo soccer play-by-play.

Some were nature-related; lots of kids love to hear rain falling, waves crashing, snow crunching, and wind in the trees. 

Several mentioned the sounds of pets: a purring cat, a snorting frenchie; others named some noises of cooking: popcorn popping, bacon sizzling, a knife being sharpened; and some noted the joy of music: a Taylor Swift concert, Christmas carols. 

And a few kids? just enjoy the sound of silence. "Too bad we don't have much of that around here!" I joked.

"Yeah," a student agreed, "and I don't get much at home either, at least until my little brother goes to bed." Her eyes brightened a bit. "In fact," she laughed, "I want to change my answer. My favorite sound is actually the click of his bedroom door!"

I Saw

No lumber associate was available at the big box home improvement store, so, after waiting for 10 minutes, I decided to use my circular saw and cut the boards for my raised garden beds myself. It was getting late in the day when Treat and I dropped off our soil and other purchases at the garden, so we left all the boards there. 

After I dug around in the attic and retrieved my saw from at least a decade of storage, Heidi and I headed up to the garden this morning to fetch the two planks that needed cutting. Back at home, I scoured the house for an extension cord to reach out to the front stoop, returning at last to the attic where I borrowed one from the Christmas lights bin. 

At last ready to measure twice and cut once, my pencil broke. When I finally pulled the trigger on the saw and ran it smoothly across the board, I realized that after a ten year hiatus from sawing, I had forgotten to adjust the blade depth, and so I had made a channel rather than a cut. I twisted the nut to make the adjustment, but then the plank kicked because the blade was too deep. I marked off the remaining two cuts I had to make, and did my best, which was still kind of sloppy, but definitely serviceable for garden beds. 

After running the saw for a grand total of 16 inches, I unplugged it and carried it back to the attic. Then I loaded the wood into the back of the station wagon, still a little chapped about the lack of a lumber associate situation.

Those Dirty Rats

Over the years I have naturally made some improvements in the infrastructure of my community garden, even though the plot is really only rented from year to year. A few seasons ago I invested in a cedar compost bin, the modular type that can be assembled and reassembled to turn and use the compost. A year or so later, I added a wire mesh companion to hold the clippings, vines, and spent vegetable and flower plants at the end of the season. My compost was always slow to cook, mostly because I didn't have any table scraps or other moisture-rich organics, but I figured I had plenty of time to allow the plants from my garden to decompose so that their nutrients might be returned to the soil. 

Unfortunately, time ran out for me and my open composting system last fall, when in response to a rat problem, bins such as mine were disallowed. To say I was dismayed would be an understatement. I have never seen any rats in my garden, and as I reported above, I don't usually put anything in my compost that they might find attractive. Completely banning extant composters seemed like an over-reaction, and although I said as much to the steering committee, my perspective was overruled at the annual meeting.

The deadline to remove them was set to May 1, of this season, and I stewed a bit about it all winter. But as the warm days of spring have brought us ever-closer to that date and the threat of an unsatisfactory rating which could lead to loss of the garden plot, I have resigned myself to disassembling the bins, bagging their contents, and moving forward. 

Fortunately, I had my nephew Treat to help me earlier this week and yesterday. As we pitchforked and raked the rich compost at the bottom of the first bin, he suggested leaving it in place and planting something there. I looked at the pile of three foot cedar boards and the grooved corner pieces behind us, and it occured to me that we could reassemble them into a raised bed. Likewise, the sides of the wire bin could be repurposed as squash trellises. 

So yesterday, we pulled out the trusty bow saw that I purchased for 5 bucks at a thrift shop in Dewey Beach a couple of Thanksgivings ago, and sawed the corner posts in half. Then Treat dug some post holes, and we pounded six of them in where the bins were. Instead of using the spacer pegs, we fitted the slats flush, and built ourselves a 3x6x1 raised bed in no time. It was very satisfying, and it almost-- almost! took the sting out of having to remove my composters at all. 

It sure is going to hurt to have to throw all that organic matter away, though.