Moments, Not Milestones

We have long had a CSA farm share, but if you asked me how long, I'd be hard-pressed to say. It's been more than a few seasons of greens, sweet potatoes, radishes, turnips, tomatoes, peppers, and wonderful eggs, but the exact number? Not sure.

Tonight at the grocery store I saw some pussy willow branches in the floral department, and they reminded me, as they always do, of Josh. He couldn't have been more than 7 or 8 when visiting us one spring. It was early in the morning of his first day here and I was in the kitchen making breakfast when he came downstairs. He had been sleepy the night before when he arrived with his mom, and she had put him right to bed. Now he was sitting on the couch waiting for some waffles when I heard him softly say, "What are those things?" his nasal drawl filled with wonder. 

I thought a moment about what he might be talking about, and I remembered the pussy willow branches that had come with our farm share a couple of days before. As I stepped into the room to explain, I saw Josh reaching out to touch the velvety flowers, which were standing in all their fuzzy glory in a pewter pitcher by the fireplace, amid a few curly willow and slim forsythia cuttings. I'll never forget the look of enchantment on his face.

I know that had to be 20 years ago, although it sure doesn't feel that long. And that means that we've been getting that farm share for at least 20 years, which also seems impossible. Oh, Time! You are such a trickster.

Double Dipping

In case you were wondering what type of stuff I'm writing with the kids, here's what I wrote for my school writing challenge today:

This morning I read in the paper that Flaco, the Eurasian eagle-owl that escaped from the Central Park Zoo last year, died when he flew into a building. I remember when he escaped last year, a vandal tore open the screen on his enclosure in the middle of the night, but I hadn't followed his adventures very closely after that. 

Evidently, he became somewhat of a celebrity in New York City, and there are hundreds of photographs of him all over the city. Everyone was hoping he would find a way to survive while he was free, and he did! Even though he had been hatched and raised in captivity for all of his 12 years of life, Flaco was able to hunt and catch rats and pigeons to feed himself. Eventually, zoo officials decided to "monitor" him instead of actually trying to recapture him. They always knew that his biggest dangers would be cars and tall buildings. Hundreds of thousands of birds are killed every year in NYC by those things, and last night Flaco, who had beaten the odds for over a year, joined those other poor birds. 

Reading about his life made me sad that I hadn't paid closer attention when he was alive. He was only 13 when he died, and his species can live up to 40 years in captivity. I wonder if Flaco would have chosen his shorter life of freedom, even if he knew how it would end. 

What do you think?

If the Shoe Fits

I was near my wits end this afternoon with my last class of the day. 

Despite 4 adults and short, well-defined activities with clearly scheduled, generous breaks, there were a few students whose behavior was derailing the whole class of 22. One student in particular was being openly defiant. He shouted over me and other kids, was out of his seat posturing and dancing, and refused to comply with any redirection until we were forced to remove him from the group.

After the lunch break, we allowed him to return, but I reassigned his seat to a place that I thought would be less distracting for him and the rest of the class. "You're sitting over there," I pointed when he entered the room.

"You mean with the weird kids?" he asked.

I raised my eyebrows and bit my tongue.

Expanding the Fanbase

The other day, as our 100-Day Writing Challenge officially began, a student asked me if I would post my writing every day, too. "Since you already write every day, I mean," she shrugged.

"Maybe," I told her, but to be honest, I have long resisted doing just that. For one thing, I don't really want to share everything I write here with my students. Many pieces offer my own private adult perspective on our days spent together, and kind of like teachers talking at lunch, are not always appropriate for kids to overhear. 

Likewise, what I might write for a sixth-grade audience may not be of interest to my adult readers, (as few of them as there are!), so I've chosen just to continue on here, rather than write twice. But there was something about the request that made me think again, and so I decided to give posting with those young writers a chance this year.

It's only been three days, but already I've seen some benefits. For one thing, I can model the type of writing we're looking for. Many students write what we call bed-to-bed posts, basically listing everything they do on any given day, rather than focusing on a single thing, or at least a single theme, for each slice of life. Another advantage was when I wrote about the mouse in my classroom the other day. As I was composing I worked to find good "mousy" verbs, and then I was able to use my writing as an example the next day for a mini-lesson on vivid verbs.

But maybe the greatest upside of publishing a couple of hundred words every day on our class site is that my readership has skyrocketed: I've gone from 3-5 daily readers to 50-100! Maybe it's not viral, but it sure is kind of gratifying.

Just Hang Up

I had a sinking feeling when I reached for my phone at school this morning. Scanning my desk, I saw no sign of it, and when I checked the pockets of my down vest, they were empty, too. My phone was at home.

But? Believe it or not, the day went quite well without it. There were only a couple of times I wished I had it-- once to check a password I couldn't remember and then again when I set out for my walk home; I had planned to listen to an audiobook as I hiked the 2+ miles.

I didn't miss any calls, or texts, or news alerts, or social media posts. The world was fine when I found my phone just where I left it, on the dining room table.

State of the Union

In honor of Presidents Day, I asked kids to name their favorite president. I can't say I was surprised when Barack Obama came out on top. Besides his historic election, he was in office when they were born, and they think he's "nice" and "cool". Plus, they like his daughters.

In second place was Lincoln. Most who chose him had a vague notion about slavery, although one liked that he didn't want to be too hard on the Confederates, and someone else appreciated that he was rumored to keep letters and other things in his stovepipe hat.

Washington was a distant third, because, according to more than a few students, he "created" the country and the office of president. A couple of kids liked that he was a general, too.

Jefferson had a few votes, more because our school is named for him than the Declaration of Independence. Teddy Roosevelt was also mentioned twice because of national parks and hunting. Finally, FDR and Reagan had one supporter each. The first because he led the country through WWII and the second because the student's grandfather was a general who worked for him.

Oh, and President Biden had one mention, too, because he beat Donald Trump and he seems like a nice guy, even though he's old.

Holiday Gratitude

We started our 100 Day Writing Challenge a little earlier this year to give ourselves a bit more time to wrap things up at the end. 

Officially, the event starts tomorrow and ends on May 31, but I gave my students a soft opening by providing them the chance to post from last Wednesday when we introduced the challenge, and I was impressed by the 31 kids who made time to write over the long Presidents Day weekend. It seems like we're going to have a good year.

And as always, I was amused and charmed by some of the content. Today we didn't have school, wrote one student. I'm not sure why we didn't, but I'm happy since I got to sleep late.

Today I thank the presidents for letting every person who goes to school have the day off, wrote another.

At least they are grateful!