Plantin' and Pullin'

Last Saturday morning I worked my first shift at a local, organic community farm near Belmont. The payment for this work is a reduction on the price of my family's box of vegetables we receive every other week. The first one comes Friday. Yum!

Six other people were there to work, five from Madison and one from Platteville. We dressed as told: old clothes and shoes, hats, sunscreen and bug spray. My husband and I used to farm, so I had been looking forward to this activity. I am no horticulturalist, but there's nothing I like better than fooling around in the garden.

Our first task of the day was to plant seeds, onion and fennel, into tiny cubes of soil with holes in the middle. We sat on chairs with trays of dirt on out laps, poured some seeds onto an index card, and used a nail file to push them into their respective holes. The fennel was easy, one per hole, but, the onion, ten little black seeds per hole. Tedious!

Next we went out to the field to weed. Chris, the owner, and our taskmaster for the morning, held up an implement and said, "This is what you'll use to weed the eggplants," and he showed us how to scratch along side of the plants without damaging them. I thought he was being a bit patronizing, until---

"What is that called," one of the women from Madison asked, pointing to the implement.

Big pause. We looked at her. I thought she was kidding. I laughed out loud. Turns out she wasn't kidding.

"This? This is called a ho," Chris said, holding it up again.

I never should have laughed and I'm sorry for it. Here she was, brave enough to come out and dig in the dirt and find out where her food comes from, and I laughed. Like I said, I'm sorry.

Later, we were on our hands and knees weeding the broccoli, and the same woman says, "Hey,what's this weird looking plant? It's fuzzy and prickley and looks kind of like a cactus.

Because I was in the row next to her, I answered: "It's a thistle."

I want you to know I didn't laugh this time. The teacher in me surfaced, and I was patient and understanding. Later, I pointed out a pea plant to her, and a tomato plant, too.

Like I said, I am no horticulturalist or master gardener, but that day I felt like one. If only my back hadn't hurt so much the next day.

Summer, ahhh!

Long days, moderate temps, blossoms and birds---it doesn't get any better than this! Thoreau had it right camping out near the pond. Wonder what he did about the damned gnats, though? No Absorbine Jr. then; must've used garlic rub or something.

Eight students in summer school for two and a half hours---not bad. Squirrelly students, though. Can tell they were in eighth grade last year. Laugh at nothing and poke each other, thinking it's a hoot. Glad I'm past thirteen. Wouldn't mind being nine or ten again, though. No worries and not a care. Ahhhhhh! Blissful.

Wheee-Awww!

Last day of school for the year. Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Oh, that's right. I start teaching summer school on Monday. Awwwwwwwwww!

Guided twirling?

Every day we have a 20-minute guided study so students can do homework and see teachers if they have questions. During the 1st and 4th quarters, guided study is at the end of the day so student who are in fall and spring sports and activities won't miss as much class time.

For those who are left, it usually amounts to talk time, 'cause what high school junior (my guided study consists of 17 juniors) wants to study at the end of a long day of school? Tuesdays is silent reading day, and they are to quietly read a book or magazine for the 20 minutes.

Last Tuesday my advisees were talking, and I kept shushing them.

"Get something to read from the shelf and be quiet," I kept telling them in various ways, some of which got a bit snippy.

Until, one girl asked me what my first job was---and I stupidly took the bait and told them: "I gave baton-twirling lessons."

"Really?" they asked.

Well, the next thing you know it, I'm in front of the class teaching two of the girls how to twirl a wooden dowel, showing them my old tricks, as the others look on.

"Uh oh," they said.

In the doorway stood Dr. J, the principal. He looked at us, shook his head, smiled half a smile, shut the door and walked on. Why couldn't he have walked by when I was telling them to be quiet?

No Blarney

My white board collects a lot of stuff throughout the year, besides the invaluable stuff that I carefully post for the good of all students on a regular basis. Last week my white board became adorned with stuff that twenty, or even ten, years ago would never have been possible.

It began when I posted a quote by Ralph Waldo Emerson, as we are studying transcendentalism. I told students that while watching the local news, I saw Mayor Dave C give his consolation speech after being defeated by Paul Soglin during which he quoted Emerson: "What lies before us and what lies behind us are small matters compared to what lies within us." We talked about what the quote meant and why the loser of an election would use it as he was leaving office.

After we got our work finished, Ramona, an exchange student from Switzerland, translated the quote into German. Next hour, Hyeon wrote it in Koren; then, Mindy in Chinese, Cagla in Turkish, Firas in Arabic, etc., Now, we have Thoreau's quote in eleven languages, not counting the one that Matt tried to pass as Gaelic as he is from Ireland---for upon checking Google translate, I found it to be blarney and erased it.

What a cool place to

a poem

Yesterday, 80-degrees in Wisconsin after a long, long winter sent me into closets and corners of the yard tossing and tidying, and inspiring a poem of sorts.

mornings, spring and being 10

anything is possible then

my hours unspent,

my seeds just sewn,

my life imagined

and nothing to regret, yet

Is that a chunk of moron in your teeth?

Today I attended a writing conference in Madison. In one of the sessions we were advised to observe and even listen in on conversations. So, I did. Not that I had much choice with this one.

A number of us wannabes were sitting around talking and waiting for our turn to pitch our work to the agents, when this guy, Joey, pulls out a container of dental floss, tears off a serving, and starts flossing. Right there in front of us.

And I thought high-schoolers could be uncouth.

If that wasn't gross enough, the lady next to him asked for some, like most people ask for a piece of gum, and there they sat, the two of them contorting their faces and digging that thread into their gums, while the rest of us tried not to look, which, by the way, didn't help because, guess what? They had to have a conversation about it, too:

"Did you know that Dr. Oz says you're supposed to floss four times a day?" says Joey.

"No, I didn't," says Ann.

"Yup, it can cause cancer."

"Wow. I didn't know that. I'm just glad I could get that piece of apple out of my front tooth."

"Yeah. But, nobody would have noticed," Joey says. "It's the same color as your teeth---unless the peel was still on it."

They laugh as they work the food bits outta those back molars.

"Gee, that sure is refreshing," says Ann.

"No kidding. That minty taste is invigorating! I feel so much better."

I'm glad he did. I don't know what they did with the used floss; I looked the other way and another woman got up and walked out.