Kinder Garden

12 06 2013

School’s out and my garden is blooming.  I, of course, am reflecting on the past year while looking at the various blooms from my back porch when that tired old metaphor pops in my mind.  You know the one: children grow like flowers, blooming in the fertile soil of…blehhh.  Let’s not even go there.

Yet, looking at the flowers with the dazed numbness left behind from a crazy two weeks, I start to see personalities emerge.  One by one, former students populate my garden.

Bee balm: the flower pops with personality and a student begins to take root in my mind (hang on, this is fertile ground for puns).  Here we have the most noticeable one of the bunch.  You can’t miss him: not only does he stand tall, the bright red color draws your attention. The fiery petals stick out from the top like a Mohawk, screaming “Look at me, I revel in my craziness.”  Bees, hummingbirds, and butterflies compete to befriend this wild character, who would be glad to take over the entire plot if allowed.bee balm

Easter lily.  So white, so free of blemishes that it almost hurts your eyes.  Clean.  Innocent. Perfect in every way. I almost feel the need to bow down before her.  Give her a halo and she’d be set.  Yet I don’t know if I’d want a garden full of these.  I rather like the variety pack, the wild flowers sown haphazardly.easter lily

Here then is the zinnia.  I didn’t plant her: she just grew where her mama dropped her seeds.  Playful, bright, and cheerful, she doesn’t take herself too seriously.  Accessories?  She’s got them and knows how to use them.  She adds color to the garden, but if I’m not careful, she’ll grow where she shouldn’t.  Yes, a little guidance is needed to keep her on the right track.  By the end of the season, her leaves becomes a bit jaded with a grey ash; the hot humid conditions of a crowded garden get to her.  Not to worry, she’ll be ready to go the next season, putting forth her best face as she makes the best of her situation.garden experiments 130

Gladiolus.  Their very name screams at their awesomeness: “I’m the one, aren’t you GLAD I’m here?”  They were planted for a purpose, and that purpose is to wow everyone with their color and delicate structure.  “Show and tell? It’s all about me, so forget the rest.”  For all their showiness, they need support or they will crash.garden experiments 126

Cosmos.  Year after year, my garden glows with these bright orange blooms.  Spindly, they haven’t quite grown into their bodies.  Like the zinnias, they grew from last year’s seeds, underfoot and in the way at times.  Until they bloom, I’m not quite sure if they are flower or weed, but when I see their familiar orange smiles, I know I’ve made the right decision to let them grow.  By August, my garden is ablaze with these golden beauties, and when all the other flowers have dropped their petals, even up until the first frost, my eyes are still rewarded with their brilliance.cosmos

There are weeds in my garden.  I try my best to keep them under control, with varying degrees of success.  Then I remember it was Emerson who said  a weed is just “a plant whose virtues have never been discovered.”

It’s summer, and I’m seeing students in my garden. Yep.  I must be a blooming idiot.





The Times They Are A-Changing

24 08 2011

I once had a college professor who said he could sum up all of history in two words: Things change. That really didn’t help me pass the final, but the truth of his words did stick with me. There are very few constants in this life, other than the proverbial “death and taxes.”

The beginning of a school year is chock full of change, but this year more than ever. We were starting the year off with a brand new bunch of students, which doesn’t sound too surprising, but after two years of looping with the same students we had forgotten how much of the routine had to be taught and rehearsed. The number of students in our grade level shrank, causing one of our group to have to teach at another grade level. Another challenge presented itself to us when a new student came to our door that first day who spoke not a lick of English: we’d have to change our way of teaching just to communicate with him.

Yet these were ordinary, to-be-expected changes common to the first of school year. A more momentous change was a “changing of the guard” in our school administration. In 22 years of teaching, I had only ever taught under two principals. Two days before school started, the first of these principals died after a long illness.

Mrs. Rinehart (I never could call her “Lynette”) had hired me for my first teaching job out of college. Somehow, she saw something in me that no one else did, and because of her belief in me I was able to persevere and grow as a teacher. She expected the best out of everyone, and that is what she got.

Far before anyone else, she realized the value of computers and technology in education. I remember, way back at Laurens St. Elementary, how she got a computer for every class, a TI-50. None of us knew what to do with them at first, but it was a start. She made sure from then on that we all had the latest technology and knew how to use them effectively. Today I am reminded of her legacy every time I pass the C.A.I. Lab at our school, her name by the door.

Mrs. Rinehart knew the value of motivation and learning from each other. After all of us had gone home, she would sometimes walk through the classrooms to see what was going on. I know this because several times she left notes on my desk, complimenting me on what she had seen. I kept every one of those notes and still have them to this day. We would often have faculty meetings in a different classroom each week, just so we could get ideas from each other.

Several people spoke at her funeral about how she always called them “sugar,” or “sugar-foot.” I don’t remember her using this expression, but I do remember something else she often called people: “nit wits”! She was one smart lady, and she knew her stuff. She had no patience for people in administration telling her what was best for the students in her school, when she knew quite well they were wrong. I remember her vividly calling them “nit wits.” She was quite willing to stand her ground for what she believed in, and everybody knew not to get in her way.

If Mrs. Rinehart taught me nothing else, she taught me the value of reading. Every day she told the students at our school to “read, read, read.” I took her advice to heart with my own two girls, and read to them constantly. I attribute much of their success in school to having read to them so much. So often we get caught up with complex methods, when all we really need to do is teach students the love of books and then stand back.

After staying home for eight years with my children, I came back to teach under Sharon Cagle. Trained under Mrs. Rinehart, Sharon had the same drive, setting high standards for her teachers and students in her school, and she too achieved at an extremely high level. She also continued the legacy of cutting edge technology, ensuring that we each had Smartboards and other new technology that would help us teach more effectively. She worked us hard but fairly, shot straight, and always had the students’ best interests at heart. By the end we had all been thoroughly “Cagled,” transformed into a lean, keen, teaching machine. Now she was retired and a great change was upon us as we learned the ways of a new principal.

The Sunday before school started found me out in my garden, pulling up the massive expanse of cucumber vines that had engulfed my garden during the summer months and now were wilting with an infestation of pests. The tiny seedling had looked so cute when I planted it, perky little leaves popping out of the ground with so much empty space around it. Having never had any luck with cucumbers in the past, I really didn’t expect much, but year after year of putting “Kricket Krap” compost on my garden must have made a difference. That one plant grew and grew and grew and produced so many cucumbers that I had to learn how to make pickles just to keep up. Yet when I began pulling up the plant, I quickly found that it was not just one long vine: a spider’s web of vines confronted me, with one vine branching off of another and other vines likewise branching off of it. Each new branch had put out tendrils that gripped anything in its path so that I had to pull just one at a time, unsnarling the tangles of vines. By the time I was done, there was a mountain of vines ready to be hauled off, and a wide open space in the garden, ready for the next crop to grow in the fertile soil made by the castings of oh-so-many crickets.  I doubt there will ever be another cucumber plant like that one.  Every year is a new adventure in this garden.

I’m not a big fan of change. I like routine, knowing what to expect. Yet change is inevitable, so I guess I’ll just have pull up my Big Girl Panties and get on with it. Or else I’ll really be in a pickle.