The battle's not over yet. But under pressure from Bomber Command veterans' groups and sympathetic politicians, the Canadian War Museum in Ottawa will adjust the wording on a panel dealing with the 1945 firebombing of Dresden.Or in the words of Paul McCartney, "Open the door, and let 'em in, oh yeah..."
"The final wording has not come out," Fredrik Eaton, chair of the museum board, told The Globe and Mail yesterday. "But we expect to have it installed by October."
Many observers warn of the precedent of a public museum adapting its texts in response to political pressure. "I am very disturbed," said Margaret MacMillan, warden of St. Antony's College at Oxford, author of Paris 1919, and a consultant to the museum on the controversy. "This exhibit was a fair one."
The fight over the 67-word panel, titled An Enduring Controversy, erupted shortly after the Canadian War Museum opened in May, 2005. A group of veterans objected to its saying that "the value and morality of the strategic bomber offensive against Germany remains bitterly contested," and to its contrasting 600,000 dead with the statement that "the raids resulted in only small reductions of German war production until late in the war."
For two years, the museum defended its independence. So did two of a panel of four independent historians, one of them Ms. MacMillan, hired earlier this year to investigate. (All historians found the panel factually accurate, but two questioned the tone.)
The veterans weren't satisfied. One in four Canadians who served in Bomber Command during the Second World War were killed, and the survivors insist on honouring those comrades' memory. Art Smith, a former Bomber Command captain and former Conservative MP, explained: "The words said that we were responsible for 600,000 dead. I took offence that we were just helter-skelter bombers. We always had justified targets."
The veterans threatened a boycott, attempted to have a private member's bill introduced, and finally got a senate subcommittee to look into their complaints. In June, the subcommittee urged the museum to compromise.
Then, Mr. Eaton volunteered to chair the board. "I thought the museum was taking the wrong slant," he said. "It wasn't right that the museum should fight with the vets. I determined to effect a solution."
Two weeks after Mr. Eaton became chair, museum CEO Joe Geurts - a dogged defender of his institution's curatorial independence - departed.
Ever since, board members, former board member and retired General Paul Manson, and the vets have been negotiating a new text. They'll continue into September.
"The museum staff and professional historians will write the text but will be guided by feelings of respect," said Victor Rabinovitch, president of the Canadian Museum of Civilization and the Canadian War Museum. "We'll find a way to incorporate the respect while remaining faithful to the historical record."
In fact, the veterans have given the museum a version they want substituted for the existing panel. But at nearly 300 words, it is far too long. Besides, one point the vets object to is true: The strategic value and morality of the Dresden bombing are contested.
No one questions the veterans' bravery, Ms. MacMillan insists. "But a museum is not a war memorial. It should allow the public to make up their own minds." She warned that the decision to alter an exhibition to satisfy the veterans could mean "whoever screams loudest can have their view made known."
Indeed, several groups are in the midst of doing just that. One, the National Association of Japanese Canadians, says that the war museum's version of the internment of Japanese Canadians underplays the racist and economic forces behind the internment; the NAJC also wants the museum to recognize that despite the treatment of Japanese Canadians, 150 volunteered to don uniforms and fight for Canada. NAJC president Grace Eiko Thomson met with Mr. Guerts four weeks before his departure.
Yesterday, Mr. Eaton said that the museum had been in touch with the Japanese Canadians. (Not recently, according to Ms. Thomson). "Everyone's knocking on the door," Mr. Eaton said.
August 30, 2007
Rewriting history? Or at least museum exhibits
at the Canadian War Museum in Ottawa (via The Globe & Mail; emphasis in bold mine):
August 28, 2007
Further thoughts on self-esteem and self-confidence
In one of my own comments to my post the other week on children, responsibility, and hard work, I mentioned "the whole self-esteem vs. self-confidence business (I consider the former nonsense, the latter vital)", and my good friend hornblower at HMS Indefatigable replied,
I see self-esteem and self-confidence as two sides of the same coin. Or rather, self-esteem as self-confidence's evil twin, especially as self-esteem has been co-opted by North American school systems to consist of a great deal of the curriculum.
Esteem I understand as (blame my high school Latin teacher...) as value, regard, worth, standing, and rank, and I think that inner core of a person, especially a child, should be more virtue (in the classical sense) than value, if that makes any sense, especially the virtue of belief in oneself regardless, as hornblower says, of looks or abilities. Self-esteem, particularly as it's promoted in North American schools, I understand as a little more than an obsession with feeling good about oneself, and it tends to be a concept imposed from without, rarely a successful method of effecting change.
My main experience with self-esteem and its promotion as an educational tool has come from the local school system, especially Laura's early years, first with play school, then kindergarten (part of the year here and the remainder in the West Indies, with two very different results, in part because the former promoted self-esteem and the latter self-confidence), and then several months of first grade, before we began home schooling. And yes, there was a shameful big-deal graduation from play school and one from kindergarten -- the latter of which, darn it all, we missed by leaving partway through the year. All of her Canadian schools, but interestingly not the West Indian one, saw, in the words of Charles J. Sykes in his Dumbing Down Our Kids: Why American Children Feel Good About Themselves But Can't Read, Write, or Add, their "ultimate product as the well-adjusted teamworker with a healthy sense of self-esteem". Sykes goes on to say that such schools are "unlikely to adopt the same means as a school whose goal is individualists", which is part of the reason we abandoned public school for home school when we discovered Laura to be a year ahead of her classmates and the school interested only in "age appropriate" curriculum, most of it centered around boosting self-esteem and patting little backs for no good reason. But that's another story and another post...
Because self-esteem tends to be a top-down affair, it's hard to pass along just the right dose. It either doesn't stick, because it gets stuck in the trickling down, from adult to child; and kids in general are smart enough to know when something is hollow or has been trowelled on thickly. Or, kids get an overdose, veering dangerously from self-esteem into self-absorption and self-gratification. This is one of the reasons I like The Well-Trained Mind's approach to teaching and learning history. When I first read the chapter on teaching history to young children, Laura was in first grade at the local public school, where the social studies curriculum that year was the ungrammatical and self-centered "Me, My Family, and Other Families". The provincial education ministry in all its certificated wisdom sees fit to arrange the the world around first graders, whereas the authors of WTM see things rather differently:
Self-confidence, on the other hand, develops from within a child and as it takes root within becomes increasingly difficult to dislodge. It's the result of good, thoughtful parenting as well as of a child's efforts and achievements, though these needn't amount to much at all in the early years. Self-confidence can easily apply to the idea that, as hornblower wrote, "kids need to be loved, cherished, accepted for being themselves. Not because they did something well, know something, contribute something, look good or make the family look good. But just because they are. That is the primary gift of a great parent & from there comes an unshakeable core of self." But I don't know how much time a great, or even good, parent really needs to devote to establishing, or later maintaining, a confident core of self in a child, as long as you let your children know, well and often -- and that doesn't mean with workbooks, activities, programs, and curricula -- that you love them as they are.
I do think that even more important than just "being", or being a wonderful you, is the vital necessity to a child of belonging to a family (however it is comprised) and being needed. I'm no psychologist, and maybe Robert Epstein would disagree, but it seems that some of the general footlooseness I see in the teenagers I know is the result of their realization, however unconscious, that they aren't particularly needed in the family, that they can go about their daily activities with friends or alone and not be missed outside of school hours, even under the same roof, with everyone microwaving his or her separate meal at different hours, sitting in front of the computer or television in private bedrooms, everyone in the backyard but plugged into an individual iPod, or taking separate vacations (sometimes even at the same destination or resort). The very youngest children can help the family with needed tasks such as folding towels, feeding the cat, making a card for a sibling's birthday, holding the map in the car, and they soon learn the importance not just of being loved just because, but of being trusted, being able, and being needed.
I'll leave the last words to Charles Sykes, from Dumbing Down Our Kids [links and aside added by me]:
One other thing though - in your comments Becky, where you talk about self confidence coming from doing things well. Yes, I agree with that. But I'm actually a big fan of self-esteem & quite like the term. IMO, it comes from something so basic, so simple, and yet something many parents fail at: kids need to be loved, cherished, accepted for being themselves. Not because they did something well, know something, contribute something, look good or make the family look good. But just because they are. That is the primary gift of a great parent & from there comes an unshakeable core of self.Since I threw out my comments very briefly and parenthetically, I think I owe it especially to hornblower to expand on my thoughts.
Not implying you disagree (though feel free to!) but I sometimes get a little overwhelmed by the emphasis on doing, as opposed to being.....
I see self-esteem and self-confidence as two sides of the same coin. Or rather, self-esteem as self-confidence's evil twin, especially as self-esteem has been co-opted by North American school systems to consist of a great deal of the curriculum.
Esteem I understand as (blame my high school Latin teacher...) as value, regard, worth, standing, and rank, and I think that inner core of a person, especially a child, should be more virtue (in the classical sense) than value, if that makes any sense, especially the virtue of belief in oneself regardless, as hornblower says, of looks or abilities. Self-esteem, particularly as it's promoted in North American schools, I understand as a little more than an obsession with feeling good about oneself, and it tends to be a concept imposed from without, rarely a successful method of effecting change.
My main experience with self-esteem and its promotion as an educational tool has come from the local school system, especially Laura's early years, first with play school, then kindergarten (part of the year here and the remainder in the West Indies, with two very different results, in part because the former promoted self-esteem and the latter self-confidence), and then several months of first grade, before we began home schooling. And yes, there was a shameful big-deal graduation from play school and one from kindergarten -- the latter of which, darn it all, we missed by leaving partway through the year. All of her Canadian schools, but interestingly not the West Indian one, saw, in the words of Charles J. Sykes in his Dumbing Down Our Kids: Why American Children Feel Good About Themselves But Can't Read, Write, or Add, their "ultimate product as the well-adjusted teamworker with a healthy sense of self-esteem". Sykes goes on to say that such schools are "unlikely to adopt the same means as a school whose goal is individualists", which is part of the reason we abandoned public school for home school when we discovered Laura to be a year ahead of her classmates and the school interested only in "age appropriate" curriculum, most of it centered around boosting self-esteem and patting little backs for no good reason. But that's another story and another post...
Because self-esteem tends to be a top-down affair, it's hard to pass along just the right dose. It either doesn't stick, because it gets stuck in the trickling down, from adult to child; and kids in general are smart enough to know when something is hollow or has been trowelled on thickly. Or, kids get an overdose, veering dangerously from self-esteem into self-absorption and self-gratification. This is one of the reasons I like The Well-Trained Mind's approach to teaching and learning history. When I first read the chapter on teaching history to young children, Laura was in first grade at the local public school, where the social studies curriculum that year was the ungrammatical and self-centered "Me, My Family, and Other Families". The provincial education ministry in all its certificated wisdom sees fit to arrange the the world around first graders, whereas the authors of WTM see things rather differently:
A common assumption found in history curricula seems to be that children can't comprehend (or be interested in) people and events distant from their own experience. So the first-grade history is renamed Social Studies and begins with what the child knows: first, himself and his family, followed by his community, his state, his country, and only then the rest of the world.Or as Miss Manners says in her Guide to Rearing Perfect Children,
This intensely self-focused pattern of study encourages the student of history to relate everything he studies to himself, to measure the cultures and customs of other peoples against his own experience. And that's exactly what the classical education fights against -- a self-absorbed, self-referential approach to knowledge. History learned this way makes our needs and wants the center of the human endeavor. This attitude is destructive at any time, but it is especially destructive in the present global civilization.
The goal of the classical curriculum is multicultural in the best sense of the word: the student learns the proper place of his community, his state [or province], and his country by seeing the broad sweep of history from its beginning and then fitting his own time and place into that great landscape.
Schools first started doing parental tasks because they thought parents were neglecting them; and now there are parents desperately trying to make up for the neglect of academic subjects on the part of teachers. The neglect, on both parts, is rarely mere callousness. On the contrary, it is often connected with the idealistic belief that the object of anyone entrusted with a child is to make that child happy, and that the happiest child is one free of constraint. Miss Manners loathes that theory, and doesn't notice that it has much of a record of success. It is her belief that happiness is a by-product, and that the happy child is one who has been carefully trained to use his abilities to take on challenges and overcome them.I'd hazard a guess that an overdeveloped sense of self-esteem, not to mention "a self-absorbed, self-referential approach to knowledge" may well play a part in the infantilization of young adults.
The happiness theory is full of self-defeating characteristics. It directs the child's attention back into himself, instead of taking the natural self-absorption with which we were all born, and which we are in no danger of losing, and turning it outward, so that the ability to take delight in a varied and curious world may be developed. It also coddles our natural laziness, so that energies that could be put into growth are put into finding excuses and examining reasons for the lack of it.
Self-confidence, on the other hand, develops from within a child and as it takes root within becomes increasingly difficult to dislodge. It's the result of good, thoughtful parenting as well as of a child's efforts and achievements, though these needn't amount to much at all in the early years. Self-confidence can easily apply to the idea that, as hornblower wrote, "kids need to be loved, cherished, accepted for being themselves. Not because they did something well, know something, contribute something, look good or make the family look good. But just because they are. That is the primary gift of a great parent & from there comes an unshakeable core of self." But I don't know how much time a great, or even good, parent really needs to devote to establishing, or later maintaining, a confident core of self in a child, as long as you let your children know, well and often -- and that doesn't mean with workbooks, activities, programs, and curricula -- that you love them as they are.
I do think that even more important than just "being", or being a wonderful you, is the vital necessity to a child of belonging to a family (however it is comprised) and being needed. I'm no psychologist, and maybe Robert Epstein would disagree, but it seems that some of the general footlooseness I see in the teenagers I know is the result of their realization, however unconscious, that they aren't particularly needed in the family, that they can go about their daily activities with friends or alone and not be missed outside of school hours, even under the same roof, with everyone microwaving his or her separate meal at different hours, sitting in front of the computer or television in private bedrooms, everyone in the backyard but plugged into an individual iPod, or taking separate vacations (sometimes even at the same destination or resort). The very youngest children can help the family with needed tasks such as folding towels, feeding the cat, making a card for a sibling's birthday, holding the map in the car, and they soon learn the importance not just of being loved just because, but of being trusted, being able, and being needed.
I'll leave the last words to Charles Sykes, from Dumbing Down Our Kids [links and aside added by me]:
Whether the programs of self-esteem are motivated by a romantic view of childhood, by adult guilt, or simply by a desire to spare children pain, it is increasingly obvious that these eminently well-intentioned efforts often have unintended consequences. Members of the generation that braved the Depression and World War II were so anxious to spare their own children the deprivations of their youth that they created the pampered generation of the baby boomers. The boomers (and Generation X), in turn, seem determined to spare their children the emotional and psychological privations they imagined that they might have suffered in their own youth. While the Depression generation hastened to make sure the boomers would never lack material possessions, today's parents seem anxious to spare their children the stress, anxiety, and pressures of their youth. Neither of the elder generations seem to have foreseen what such indulgence might mean for the younger generations which not only have been deprived of the adversity of the previous generation, but also of the opportunities to test themselves against those challenges. [My own theory is that Mildred Armstrong Kalish's very contrary opinion, in Little Heathens, is what has made the book sparkle so and touch such a nerve in so many readers.]Just as I was finishing this post, I came across Poppins' recent post, Shine On,
Trying to understand the courage and character of the English miners of the 1930s, whose lives he had been observing, George Orwell speculated about the source of their strength and dignity in the face of adversity. "The truth is," he wrote in The Road to Wigan Pier, "that many of the qualities we admire in human beings can only function in opposition to some kind of disaster, pain or difficulty; but the tendency of mechanical progress is to eliminate disaster, pain and difficulty." While no one would argue that every effort should not be made to reduce disasters and pain, Orwell's point about the moral consequences of dealing with difficulties is a crucial insight into the way the human soul develops and grows.
"Born to Shine" by Joshua Kadison. It has an uplifting message that boils down to: you were born to shine; everything is fine. Baldly stated it loses all of its poetry. Do yourself a favour and listen to the song or I'll get hate mail from Kadison for misrepresenting his artistry. ...It occurs to me that another reason that much of the self-esteem business in schools doesn't stick is because rather than fostering high self-esteem in children, it can introduce instead a nasty, niggling kernel of self-doubt. Which is probably as good a way as any of undermining any self-esteem or self-confidence a child already has.
..."Aha!" came the thought, "I should play this for [daughter] Sandra." And then the visceral realization slammed into me: she doesn't need it. No one is squashing her. No one is making her feel wrong. She is shining. It's her own light that I see in her eyes and hear in her laugh and marvel at in her conversation. She isn't wounded.
Why safer isn't always better
Listening to CBC Radio's "Sounds Like Canada" show last week (podcast here; let me know if the link doesn't work), I heard summer host Kevin Sylvester interview Matt Hern about the new U.S. edition of his book, Watch Yourself: Why Safer Isn't Always Better, out last month in paperback; it was published in Canada last summer, but both Amazon.ca and Chapters list it with 4-6 week and 3-5 week availability, never a good sign, I've found.
The radio conversation, which was continued on today's "Sounds Like Canada" show, and subject of the book, are right in line with my own thoughts about childhood fun, danger, acceptable risk, responsibility, and independence. From the publisher's website:
Looking up the book and author online, I was interested to learn that six years ago Matt Hern founded the Purple Thistle Centre for Youth Arts & Activism, a "deschool" in Vancouver, BC with "alternative ways of taking in information or learning skills". Hern has written more about his thoughts of learning and deschooling in two books, the out-of-print Deschooling Our Lives (shades of Ivan Illich) and Field Day: Getting Society Out of School.
On a more lighthearted note on the subject of danger, I ran across this post, The Borderline Sociopathic Book for Boys, at the new-to-me and very enjoyable blog Sippican Cottage. The post has inspired Sippican's new blog, The Borderline Sociopathic Blog for Boys, guided by the words of Mark Twain, "Now and then we had a hope that if we lived and were good, God would permit us to be pirates." And, just in time for back-to-school season, don't miss Sippican's post last week on schools and education.
The radio conversation, which was continued on today's "Sounds Like Canada" show, and subject of the book, are right in line with my own thoughts about childhood fun, danger, acceptable risk, responsibility, and independence. From the publisher's website:
From warnings on coffee cups to colour–coded terrorist gauges to ubiquitous security cameras, our culture is obsessed with safety.Much more conversation on the radio than the website about the effect of all this caution on our children.
Some of this is drive by lawyers and insurance, and some by over–zealous public officials, but much is indicative of a cultural conversation that has lost its bearings. The result is not just a neurotically restrictive society, but one which actively undermines individual and community self–reliance. More importantly, we are creating a world of officious administration, management by statistics, absurd regulations, rampaging lawsuits, and hygenically cleansed public spaces. We are trying to render the human and natural worlds predictable and calculated. In doing so, we are trampling common discourse about politics and ethics.
Hern asserts that safer just isn’t always better. Throughout Watch Yourself, he emphasizes the need to rethink our approach to risk, reconsider our fixation with safety, and reassert individual decision–making.
Looking up the book and author online, I was interested to learn that six years ago Matt Hern founded the Purple Thistle Centre for Youth Arts & Activism, a "deschool" in Vancouver, BC with "alternative ways of taking in information or learning skills". Hern has written more about his thoughts of learning and deschooling in two books, the out-of-print Deschooling Our Lives (shades of Ivan Illich) and Field Day: Getting Society Out of School.
On a more lighthearted note on the subject of danger, I ran across this post, The Borderline Sociopathic Book for Boys, at the new-to-me and very enjoyable blog Sippican Cottage. The post has inspired Sippican's new blog, The Borderline Sociopathic Blog for Boys, guided by the words of Mark Twain, "Now and then we had a hope that if we lived and were good, God would permit us to be pirates." And, just in time for back-to-school season, don't miss Sippican's post last week on schools and education.
August 27, 2007
Our late summer visitor
I noticed this morning while feeding the chickens that all eight roosters were outside in the pen. This is unusual because the four at the top of the pecking order generally stroll around the pen, lording and swanning around, while the four at the bottom of the pecking order quake and cower on the roosts in their little coop. But they were all outdoors this morning. I neared the door, to fill the feeder and peer into the semi-darkness.
And there I saw a bird on the roost. It didn't look roosterlike, though. It was much more straight up and down, with its head tucked in its shoulder. I whistled, and it raised its head. It was a hawk. In my chicken coop. I quickly and quietly closed the door, and when we got back to the house, instead of proceeding with the chokecherry syrup odyssey, phoned the Fish & Wildlife office in town. I've learned to do a lot of things since moving to the farm, but catching raptors isn't one, and I have a healthy respect for their talons.
An officer turned up on our doorstop before too long, and the kids were all excitement to tumble into the truck and show him our visitor. (I grabbed the digital camera so Tom wouldn't think I'd been hitting the sauce, chokecherry or otherwise, in his absence.) The officer headed toward the coop with a net,
and quickly and easily netted the hawk. Then the untangling,
and identifying. I had thought from my brief glimpse in the partial dark that it might be a young red-tailed hawk but it was a ferruginous hawk (Buteo regalis), and regal the young male was. Ferruginous hawks aren't quite as common around here, since their range is a bit further south, usually the southeastern corner of the province. The ferruginous hawk dives for prey from high soaring flights, which is probably how our visitor got between the squares of the page wire over the chicken pen.
And then the best part, when the Fish & Wildlife officer asked the kids if they'd each like to hold the hawk. Davy kept his distance and said no, thanks, but Daniel and Laura were eager. The officer helped them grab the bird's legs (thank goodness for kids who keep work gloves at the ready) and then let each child hold the bird alone. Daniel got to go first,
Laura went next
and later got to release the hawk, I tried to snap pictures as quickly as possible, and then the cautious Davy got to ride partway home in the officer's truck and sound the siren and the lights (needless to say, more than one of the kids has added "Fish & Wildlife officer" -- or junior falconer -- to the list of possible desirable occupations). After Laura released the hawk, throwing her arm up high and steadily as instructed, our young friend took off for the trees at the edge of our corrals to rest and recuperate from his adventure,
It's almost enough to make me sorry that the kids aren't headed toward a regular classroom next week, so they could answer the old question: What did you do on your summer vacation?!
And there I saw a bird on the roost. It didn't look roosterlike, though. It was much more straight up and down, with its head tucked in its shoulder. I whistled, and it raised its head. It was a hawk. In my chicken coop. I quickly and quietly closed the door, and when we got back to the house, instead of proceeding with the chokecherry syrup odyssey, phoned the Fish & Wildlife office in town. I've learned to do a lot of things since moving to the farm, but catching raptors isn't one, and I have a healthy respect for their talons.
An officer turned up on our doorstop before too long, and the kids were all excitement to tumble into the truck and show him our visitor. (I grabbed the digital camera so Tom wouldn't think I'd been hitting the sauce, chokecherry or otherwise, in his absence.) The officer headed toward the coop with a net,
and quickly and easily netted the hawk. Then the untangling,
and identifying. I had thought from my brief glimpse in the partial dark that it might be a young red-tailed hawk but it was a ferruginous hawk (Buteo regalis), and regal the young male was. Ferruginous hawks aren't quite as common around here, since their range is a bit further south, usually the southeastern corner of the province. The ferruginous hawk dives for prey from high soaring flights, which is probably how our visitor got between the squares of the page wire over the chicken pen.
And then the best part, when the Fish & Wildlife officer asked the kids if they'd each like to hold the hawk. Davy kept his distance and said no, thanks, but Daniel and Laura were eager. The officer helped them grab the bird's legs (thank goodness for kids who keep work gloves at the ready) and then let each child hold the bird alone. Daniel got to go first,
Laura went next
and later got to release the hawk, I tried to snap pictures as quickly as possible, and then the cautious Davy got to ride partway home in the officer's truck and sound the siren and the lights (needless to say, more than one of the kids has added "Fish & Wildlife officer" -- or junior falconer -- to the list of possible desirable occupations). After Laura released the hawk, throwing her arm up high and steadily as instructed, our young friend took off for the trees at the edge of our corrals to rest and recuperate from his adventure,
It's almost enough to make me sorry that the kids aren't headed toward a regular classroom next week, so they could answer the old question: What did you do on your summer vacation?!
August 24, 2007
Poetry Friday: "that time when you played outside all day"
Some of the leaves are beginning to turn, fuzzy brown and black caterpillars are out in full force, the meadowlarks have made their usual brief return before their eventual departure, the hummingbirds have already buzzed away, and a few geese have been spotted overhead. The nights are cooler -- downright cold sometimes -- and at least one neighbor has had frost on the pumpkins. The apples are looking ready, very ready, to pick, which means cider pressing time is on the way too.
These are the days when we begin to look forward to afternoons spent indoors, circled around a book of stories; when the kids are more than content to remain in the kitchen at the table after breakfast with a math book instead of racing outside, the screen door banging behind them, in search of frogs or birds or kittens. And I'm happy to spend afternoons in the kitchen, with a vat of bubbling berries or an oven full of pies, lazily looking through the Sears catalogue, in search of a few more pairs of pants that will come down past Laura's ankles. Back to school shopping isn't particularly frenzied around here -- in fact, it's more like a treasure hunt than anything else, for new and amazing stationery supplies and longer and warmer clothing, some of which aren't even new, just new to us (the boys tend to get a fair amount of nifty hand-me-downs from friends, including the fancy t-shirts and sweatshirts with NHL logos I won't shell out for).
To me That Was Summer by Marci Ridlon (1969) is the perfect end-of-the season poem. We have, at best, only a few more weeks of playing outside all day left. Because the copyright is still in force, I've omitted the middle two stanzas. You can find the entire poem in Joanna Cole's New Treasury of Children's Poetry: Old Favorites and New Discoveries (1984).
That Was Summer
by Marci Ridlon
Have you ever smelled summer?
Sure you have.
Remember that time
when you were tired of running
or doing nothing much
and you were hot
and you flopped right down on the ground?
Remember how the warm soil smelled
and the grass?
That was summer.
. . .
. . .
If you try very hard
you can remember that time
when you played outside all day
and you came home for dinner
and had to take a bath right away,
right away?
It took you a long time to pull
your shirt over your head.
Do you remember smelling the sunshine?
That was summer.
* * *
Head over (maybe that should be up, as in Up North) to John Mutford's The Book Mine Set for today's Poetry Friday round-up, not to mention more poems on the end of summer.
(Great minds: I see that Literacy Teacher at Mentor Texts & More picked the very same poem. Far from having the urge to pick another poem, I'll just chalk it up to That Was Summer being the perfect poem for this week in August, whether you're on the prairies up north or in New York City. Cheers!)
August 20, 2007
I Meant to Do My Work Today...
I missed Poetry Friday last week because the kids had their last day of performing arts camp with a show for the parents followed by lunch. Great fun for all, especially watching my two youngest dance (not together...) the samba and the tango.
The round-up for last week is at Kelly Fineman's Writing and Ruminating. (By the way, don't miss Kelly's post today, where she writes and ruminates about castles and castle plans.)
This poem has been on my mind for the past few weeks.
I Meant to Do My Work Today
by Richard Le Gallienne (1866-1947)
I meant to do my work today --
But a brown bird sang in the apple tree,
And a butterfly flitted across the field,
And all the leaves were calling me.
And the wind went sighing over the land
Tossing the grasses to and fro,
And a rainbow held out its shining hand --
So what could I do but laugh and go?
* * *
Richard Thomas Le Gallienne was an English poet and critic, born in Liverpool in 1866. His circle of romanticists and Aubrey Beardsley and Oscar Wilde. He was also a member of the informal Rhymers Club of Fleet Street, established in 1890 by W.B. Yeats and Ernest Rhys, along with poets Ernest Dowson, Lionel Johnson, Arthur Symmons, John Davidson, T.W. Rolleston, Selwyn Image, and Edwin Ellis.
Widowed with a young daughter after not quite three years of marriage, in 1894 Le Gallienne married a second time, to Danish journalist Julie Norregard. They had a daughter, the noted actress, director, and producer Eva Le Gallienne, who was born in 1899. The couple divorced in 1902 and the following year Richard Le Gallienne moved to the United States, stating, "An American writer! Yes! there was my new flag waving over the doorway -- the flag under which henceforward . . . I am to write my books." Of Le Gallienne's new enthusiasm, English critic Max Beerbohm wrote,
O witched by American bars,
Pan whistles you home on his pipes.
We love you for loving the stars,
But what can you see in the stripes?
Le Gallienne lived in the U.S. for 24 years, where he published the book of reminiscences, The Romantic ‘90’s (1925). But he was not as successful as he had hoped. According to The Dictionary of Literary Biography,
In 1935 he moved to the town of Menton on the French Riviera, home of a long established English colony; Le Gallienne's old friend Aubrey Beardsley is buried in Menton's hilltop cemetery, so too William Webb Ellis, said by some to be the inventor of Rugby (Yeats was buried in Menton as well, after his 1939 death there, but his remains were later removed to Ireland). Leaving only to spend the war years* in the safety of neutral Monte Carlo, Le Gallienne died in Menton in 1947 at the age of 81.
* According to Le Gallienne's biographer Richard Whittington-Egan, during World War II, Le Gallienne and his third wife, "both now old and frail and frequently hungry, were offered tempting easements if he would only agree to broadcast for the Germans. Though exiled for nearly half a century, he steadfastly refused."
The round-up for last week is at Kelly Fineman's Writing and Ruminating. (By the way, don't miss Kelly's post today, where she writes and ruminates about castles and castle plans.)
This poem has been on my mind for the past few weeks.
I Meant to Do My Work Today
by Richard Le Gallienne (1866-1947)
I meant to do my work today --
But a brown bird sang in the apple tree,
And a butterfly flitted across the field,
And all the leaves were calling me.
And the wind went sighing over the land
Tossing the grasses to and fro,
And a rainbow held out its shining hand --
So what could I do but laugh and go?
* * *
Richard Thomas Le Gallienne was an English poet and critic, born in Liverpool in 1866. His circle of romanticists and Aubrey Beardsley and Oscar Wilde. He was also a member of the informal Rhymers Club of Fleet Street, established in 1890 by W.B. Yeats and Ernest Rhys, along with poets Ernest Dowson, Lionel Johnson, Arthur Symmons, John Davidson, T.W. Rolleston, Selwyn Image, and Edwin Ellis.
Widowed with a young daughter after not quite three years of marriage, in 1894 Le Gallienne married a second time, to Danish journalist Julie Norregard. They had a daughter, the noted actress, director, and producer Eva Le Gallienne, who was born in 1899. The couple divorced in 1902 and the following year Richard Le Gallienne moved to the United States, stating, "An American writer! Yes! there was my new flag waving over the doorway -- the flag under which henceforward . . . I am to write my books." Of Le Gallienne's new enthusiasm, English critic Max Beerbohm wrote,
O witched by American bars,
Pan whistles you home on his pipes.
We love you for loving the stars,
But what can you see in the stripes?
Le Gallienne lived in the U.S. for 24 years, where he published the book of reminiscences, The Romantic ‘90’s (1925). But he was not as successful as he had hoped. According to The Dictionary of Literary Biography,
Although he made his home in the United States until 1927, his relationship to America, and to the twentieth century, was ambivalent. Having no affinity with either, he clung to old world values which, though still marketable in fashionable publications such as Cosmopolitan or Harper's, were being left behind by writers disdainful of his sort of sentimental meditations upon daintily veiled sensuality. In 1922, the year of The Waste Land, the traditional lyrics of Le Gallienne's A Jongleur Strayed were criticized for evading the problems of modern life. After spending over twenty-three years in New York struggling to support himself at journalism, book publishing, and lecturing, Le Gallienne became disenchanted with his adopted home where he had expected to make his literary fortune.Le Gallienne moved to the romantic city of Paris, where he lived until 1935 and continued to avoid modernity. He wrote a weekly column, "From a Paris Garret," for The New York Sun newspaper. These columns were collected in two volumes, From a Paris Garret (1936) and From a Paris Scrapbook (1938), Le Gallienne's last book, which won the Commissariat General du Tourisme prize for the best book about France by a foreigner.
In 1935 he moved to the town of Menton on the French Riviera, home of a long established English colony; Le Gallienne's old friend Aubrey Beardsley is buried in Menton's hilltop cemetery, so too William Webb Ellis, said by some to be the inventor of Rugby (Yeats was buried in Menton as well, after his 1939 death there, but his remains were later removed to Ireland). Leaving only to spend the war years* in the safety of neutral Monte Carlo, Le Gallienne died in Menton in 1947 at the age of 81.
* According to Le Gallienne's biographer Richard Whittington-Egan, during World War II, Le Gallienne and his third wife, "both now old and frail and frequently hungry, were offered tempting easements if he would only agree to broadcast for the Germans. Though exiled for nearly half a century, he steadfastly refused."
August 18, 2007
All roads lead to home and hard work
"Too many parents make life hard for their children by trying, too zealously, to make it easy for them."
German poet Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749-1832), quoted in "The Case Against Adolescence" by Robert Epstein
I started Farm School two years ago in part because I blathered on for much too long on the subject of children and independence at L's blog Schola. Independence, self-reliance, and responsibility are among the values Tom and I talked about teaching children when we thought about getting married. And these values are a good part of the reason I decided that it would probably be better to raise children on the Canadian prairie than Manhattan's Upper West Side; I'm not saying it's impossible (I think my parents did a fabulous job), but 40 years on it seems rather easier in this neck of the woods.
While we didn't start homeschooling with the idea that it would be a good way of further inculcating those values, it didn't take Tom and me long to realize that this educational experiment is as ideal for our child-rearing purposes as it is for our academic ones. And I'm always keen to read anything that supports our rather old-fashioned notions when it comes to raising kids.
So I was more than interested to learn a couple of months ago, at Susan's blog Corn & Oil, about the new book, The Case Against Adolescence: Rediscovering the Adult in Every Teen (Quill Driver Books, 2007) by Robert Epstein, a psychologist and former editor-in-chief of Pyschology Today magazine. The idea behind the book is that (from the front flap)
But I've already found, just partway through chapter three, mention of the two home education gurus, former New York public school teacher John Taylor Gatto and the late John Holt; a peek at the index shows three mentions of "Home Schooling" toward the end of the book. Dr. Epstein notes that Gatto addresses "quite explicitly, ... the artificial extension of childhood" in his latest book, The Underground History of American Education (an excerpt of which was published in Harper's Magazine in September 2003, and which I saw the very week I hit upon the alternative of home schooling for Laura. Yes, I took it as a good omen).
The Case Against Adolescence owes a considerable debt to Jean Liedloff's 1977 classic, The Continuum Concept: In Search of Lost Happiness, which I read while pregnant with Laura, after coming across a secondhand copy at a library book sale. Indeed, the CC website's main page features glowing quotes about the book from both Dr. Epstein ("This book is the work of a genius" in Psychology Today) and John Holt ("I don't know whether the world can be saved by a book, but if it could be, this might just be the book.")
Just last night, I read Dr. Epstein's handy summary of Liedloff's two years with the Yequana Indians of Venezuela:
(Very likely more thoughts to come on The Case Against Adolescence, and Little Heathens, in upcoming posts.)
German poet Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749-1832), quoted in "The Case Against Adolescence" by Robert Epstein
I started Farm School two years ago in part because I blathered on for much too long on the subject of children and independence at L's blog Schola. Independence, self-reliance, and responsibility are among the values Tom and I talked about teaching children when we thought about getting married. And these values are a good part of the reason I decided that it would probably be better to raise children on the Canadian prairie than Manhattan's Upper West Side; I'm not saying it's impossible (I think my parents did a fabulous job), but 40 years on it seems rather easier in this neck of the woods.
While we didn't start homeschooling with the idea that it would be a good way of further inculcating those values, it didn't take Tom and me long to realize that this educational experiment is as ideal for our child-rearing purposes as it is for our academic ones. And I'm always keen to read anything that supports our rather old-fashioned notions when it comes to raising kids.
So I was more than interested to learn a couple of months ago, at Susan's blog Corn & Oil, about the new book, The Case Against Adolescence: Rediscovering the Adult in Every Teen (Quill Driver Books, 2007) by Robert Epstein, a psychologist and former editor-in-chief of Pyschology Today magazine. The idea behind the book is that (from the front flap)
teen turmoil is caused by outmoded systems put in place a century ago which destroyed the continuum between childhood and adulthood.Which, in my case at least, means the good doctor is preaching to the converted. While I tend to think that part of the problem with the way kids are being raised is that they are being raised by advice from books rather than from parents' hearts or instincts or the way they themselves were raised by their own parents (somehow that all seems too easy...), at least there seem to be some better parenting books to choose from nowadays, including Dr. Epstein's. And as you can see from the bit above, The Case Against Adolescence contains echoes of Hold On to Your Kids by Dr. Gordon Neufeld and Dr. Gabor Mate, another book I like, though I don't find mention of the title or authors in the index.
Where this continuum still exists in other countries, there is no adolescence. Isolated from adults, American teens learn everything they know from their media-dominated peers -- "the last people on earth they should be learning from," says Epstein.
But I've already found, just partway through chapter three, mention of the two home education gurus, former New York public school teacher John Taylor Gatto and the late John Holt; a peek at the index shows three mentions of "Home Schooling" toward the end of the book. Dr. Epstein notes that Gatto addresses "quite explicitly, ... the artificial extension of childhood" in his latest book, The Underground History of American Education (an excerpt of which was published in Harper's Magazine in September 2003, and which I saw the very week I hit upon the alternative of home schooling for Laura. Yes, I took it as a good omen).
The Case Against Adolescence owes a considerable debt to Jean Liedloff's 1977 classic, The Continuum Concept: In Search of Lost Happiness, which I read while pregnant with Laura, after coming across a secondhand copy at a library book sale. Indeed, the CC website's main page features glowing quotes about the book from both Dr. Epstein ("This book is the work of a genius" in Psychology Today) and John Holt ("I don't know whether the world can be saved by a book, but if it could be, this might just be the book.")
Just last night, I read Dr. Epstein's handy summary of Liedloff's two years with the Yequana Indians of Venezuela:
There is no distinct separation between childhood and adulthood in the tribe; instead, there is a continuum of activities, behaviors, and expectations. Expectations are modest when children are young and increase gradually and smoothly over the years, but the goals are always clear: the development of self-reliance and the full integration of the child into the world of responsible adulthood. Responsibility and authority are never forced on anyone, but they're given freely as soon as a child shows an interest in taking them on. Independent decision making is encouraged, because "leaving the choice to the child from the earliest age keeps his judgment at peak efficiency," and the child's "self protecting ability" is trusted to keep him or her from serious harm.And then, still mulling over the development of this "self-protecting ability" this morning, I happened upon today's New York Times article on claims of possible child abuse in connection with Kid Nation, a new show to air in September:
In contrast, she says, we weaken and damage our children by overprotecting them; we even impair their ability to make reasonable decisions and to protect themselves.
The ads promoting “Kid Nation,” a new reality show coming to CBS next month, extol the incredible experience of a group of 40 children, ages 8 to 15, who built a sort of idealistic society in a New Mexico ghost town, free of adults. For 40 days the children cooked their own meals, cleaned their own outhouses, formed a government and ran their own businesses, all without adult intervention or participation.I also came across a Los Angeles Times article from last week, "Kid Nation" parents: What were they thinking?, where three women were interviewed to "respond to the critics condemning them for allowing their children to participate in the CBS show". Said one mother, about her 10-year-old, an only child,
To at least one parent of a participant, who wrote a letter of complaint to New Mexico state officials after the show had completed production, the experience bordered on abuse and neglect. Several children required medical attention after drinking bleach that had been left in an unmarked soda bottle, according to both the parent and CBS. One 11-year-old girl burned her face with splattered grease while cooking.
The children were made to haul wagons loaded with supplies for more than a mile through the New Mexico countryside, and they worked long hours — “from the crack of dawn when the rooster started crowing” until at least 9:30 p.m., according to Taylor, a 10-year-old from Sylvester, Ga., who was made available by CBS to respond to questions about conditions on the set.
He does live in what I call a sheltered environment. He goes to a small school. Most of the schoolmates and friends that he knows he's known almost his entire life. I thought that this was a good opportunity for Zachary to experience some independence and learn some self-reliance. And if he was able to do this, I thought that was a very good way for him to build confidence in himself.All this of course after I've spent the past few weeks on and off delightedly wallowing in Mildred Armstrong Kalish's charming memoir, Little Heathens: Hard Times and High Spirits on an Iowa Farm During the Great Depression. Unvarnished and homespun, these are the stories, words, and advice of a real grandmother eager to share her own part of a disappearing world, and to let later generations know the lasting value of pulling up your socks and putting your nose to the grindstone. As I read through each of the chapters, from her earliest reminiscences to the recipes to her later life as detailed in Epilogue, I realized that Mrs. Kalish has written about a happiness and freedom in childhood, and a contentment in adulthood, that today are sadly rare. From Little Heathens,
I worry that in today's world kids don't realize things they might have to face in life that might be difficult because, I think, as baby boomers we tend to be very protective of them. And I want him to know that he has the capability to be out in the world and be independent and self-reliant.
The summer after I graduated from eighth grade I ... was delighted to go to work as a hired girl on a large farm south of [the town of] Garrison. The family consisted of Cecil, Anna, and their two girls and four boys, ranging in age from one and a half to eleven. Cecil hired one or two extra men in the summer. That meant that Ann and I cooked, set the table, and did the dishes for at least ten people, three times a day.Or, as The New York Times article on alleged child abuse concluded,
Anna paid me four dollars a week for my work on the farm, and I was especially proud of that for my closest girlfriends and all of my other friends were being paid only three and a half dollars. Of course, we all received room and board, too.
Here I should report that we were also accepted as full-fledged members of the family, for hired girls were not treated as maids. In fact, I was the only one in this family who had a private room. Located at the top of the crooked stairs, it was about five feet wide by ten feet long, and it had a window overlooking the huge vegetable garden. To me it was a palace.
During those summer months we rose at five-thirty A.M., unless it was haying or threshing time on the farm; then we got up at four-thirty. Anna and I timed it so that we got up just after the men, who immediately disappeared to the barns to do the morning chores. Anna built a fire in the iron kitchen range, while I put the copper teakettle on along with the gray, graniteware coffee boiler and got the bacon started. As the kitchen filled with the delicious fragrance of the bacon crisping and browning, I carried jam, a whole pound of butter, sliced bread, a large pitcher of milk, and a smaller pitcher of heavy cream to the table, which was already set for ten people. Then I carefully broke twenty eggs into a mixing bowl and waited for one of the boys to report that the men were ready for breakfast. At that point I poured the blow of eggs into the gigantic iron skillet and fried them to perfection in bacon fat, sunny-side up.
If there was a delay, or if the men had an especially busy day before them, I might make an applesauce cake -- the very one I described in an earlier chapter. Here again, the family training in thinking ahead and always doing more than was required stood me in good stead. I could whip up that cake in just a few minutes since I kept a ready supply of homemade applesauce in the pantry; it would bake while we were eating breakfast and would be ready to eat with our second cups of coffee.
I could handle almost every task in Anna's household; I could even make gravy without lumps, for heaven's sake. There was always something to do on that farm: cakes, cookies, and pies to bake; potatoes, radishes, beets, carrots, peas, lettuce, tomatoes, and beans to pick, wash, clean, and peel; chickens to kill, scald, pluck, singe, draw, and disjoint; dishes to wash and dry; clothing to wash; laundry to be hung on the line, then taken down from the line, folded, and ironed. And every day, we made beds for ten people. Everything I had learned in my early years [up until eighth grade] I put to use as a hired girl for this family.
The children all helped in as many ways as they could. They would make their own beds, wash vegetables, carry wood and water, set the table, dry dishes, and gather eggs and apples. Like the children I grew up with, they understood that hey played a part in making the family work.
We had fun with one another. There was a lot of joking, laughing, and good-natured teasing. And often in the evening, on those occasions when we had somehow managed to finish our chores as well as our supper before dark, the kids would hep me with the dishes if I would agree to come outside afterward and play with them. We played hide-and-go-seek, touched-you-last, and may-I. Some evenings we would have water fights, tossing pails of water on one another. Or we might just sit out on the front porch and sing.
“Everyone usually had a job,” said Mike, an 11-year-old from Bellevue, Wash., who participated in the show. Among them were cooking, cleaning, hauling water and running the stores, where, he said: “It was hard work, but it was really good. It taught us all that life is not all play and no work.”I'm sure both Mrs. Kalish and Dr. Epstein would approve. Pass the applesauce cake, please.
Taylor, from Georgia, agreed. “I learned I have to work for what I want,” she said.
(Very likely more thoughts to come on The Case Against Adolescence, and Little Heathens, in upcoming posts.)
August 13, 2007
Thinking, thanking, rocking, and procrastinating
Now that we're into the second half of the year and school is looming (I'm fairly certain the next month will zip by, especially with the kids at performing arts day camp and Laura's birthday celebrations this week, not to mention the ongoing garden harvest, and farm harvest in the forseeable future), I think I had better acknowledge all of the tags and incredibly kind words of the last while. I think it was Lissa in her Lilting House, Karen Edmisten, and Red Molly at The Picayune-Democrat -- thank you, each of you, very kindly -- who each tapped me as a Thinking Blogger, though I think Procrastinating Blogger is more apt. And part of that procrastination, I think, has been because I find the TB logo just a wee bit creepy (is it just me?).
And thanks to Rebecca at IPSA DIXIT who tagged me as a blogger girl who rocks, and now, after you've all made me blush deeply with your very kind words, it's my turn to return the favor.
I'm not going to tag so much as list (in part because at least one of these women has no idea who I am). So, aside from the entire blogroll at right, all of whom rock, swing, bop, and make me think, here are some blogging, thoughtful hepcats I've discovered recently, all of whom are clever, creative, warm, giving, funny, sensible:
Reluctant Memsahib
Carol at You're Not Lost, You're Here
Miranda at Nurtured by Love
Red Molly at the Picayune-Democrat
Rebecca at IPSA DIXIT
as well as two old blogging friends, each on a hiatus of sorts:
La Maitresse, whose blog came to an end as the home school journey did; she promises a new blog next month, so stay tuned
and Karen at lightingthefires, whose blog is private at the moment.
I've got brass in pocket and will be walking on sunshine for the rest of the summer -- thanks to everyone!
And thanks to Rebecca at IPSA DIXIT who tagged me as a blogger girl who rocks, and now, after you've all made me blush deeply with your very kind words, it's my turn to return the favor.
I'm not going to tag so much as list (in part because at least one of these women has no idea who I am). So, aside from the entire blogroll at right, all of whom rock, swing, bop, and make me think, here are some blogging, thoughtful hepcats I've discovered recently, all of whom are clever, creative, warm, giving, funny, sensible:
Reluctant Memsahib
Carol at You're Not Lost, You're Here
Miranda at Nurtured by Love
Red Molly at the Picayune-Democrat
Rebecca at IPSA DIXIT
as well as two old blogging friends, each on a hiatus of sorts:
La Maitresse, whose blog came to an end as the home school journey did; she promises a new blog next month, so stay tuned
and Karen at lightingthefires, whose blog is private at the moment.
I've got brass in pocket and will be walking on sunshine for the rest of the summer -- thanks to everyone!
August 10, 2007
Poetry Friday: Not for vegetarians
A little oddity I ran across in the library's copy of A New Treasury of Children's Poetry: Old Favorites and New Discoveries, selected and introduced by Joanna Cole. It rather reminds of Alfred Noyes's poem, Daddy Fell into the Pond,
When Father Carves the Duck
by E.V. Wright (1872-1939)
We all look on with anxious eyes
When Father carves the duck,
And Mother almost always sighs
When Father carves the duck;
Then all of us prepare to rise,
And hold our bibs before our eyes,
And be prepared for some surprise,
When Father carves the duck.
He braces up and grabs a fork
Whene'er he carves a duck,
And won't allow a soul to talk
Until he's carved the duck.
The fork is jabbed into the sides,
Across the breast the knife he slides,
While every careful person hides
From flying chips of duck.
The platter's always sure to slip
When Father carves a duck,
And how it makes the dishes skip!
Potatoes fly amuck!
The squash and cabbage leap in space,
We get some gravy in our face,
And Father mutters Hindoo grace
Whene'er he carves a duck.
We then have learned to walk around
The dining room and pluck
From off the window sills and walls
Our share of Father's duck,
While Father growls and blows and jaws
And swears the knife was full of flaws,
And Mother laughs at him because
He couldn't carve a duck.
* * *
Ernest Vincent Wright Wotton (1872–1939) was an American writer. The poem was, perhaps originally, a song, with music by J.B. Herbert, published in 1891 when Wright was 19. He also wrote the books The Wonderful Fairies of the Sun (1896), The Fairies That Run the World and How They Do It (1903), and Thoughts and Reveries of an American Bluejacket (1918).
But his most famous work is the lipogram Gadsby: A Story of Over 50,000 Words, not one of which, with the exception of the introduction and a note at the end, included the letter e. Sadly, Wright died at the age of 66 on the day of Gadsby's publication.
Today's Poetry Friday round-up is hosted by Kelly at Big A little a. Thanks, Kelly!
When Father Carves the Duck
by E.V. Wright (1872-1939)
We all look on with anxious eyes
When Father carves the duck,
And Mother almost always sighs
When Father carves the duck;
Then all of us prepare to rise,
And hold our bibs before our eyes,
And be prepared for some surprise,
When Father carves the duck.
He braces up and grabs a fork
Whene'er he carves a duck,
And won't allow a soul to talk
Until he's carved the duck.
The fork is jabbed into the sides,
Across the breast the knife he slides,
While every careful person hides
From flying chips of duck.
The platter's always sure to slip
When Father carves a duck,
And how it makes the dishes skip!
Potatoes fly amuck!
The squash and cabbage leap in space,
We get some gravy in our face,
And Father mutters Hindoo grace
Whene'er he carves a duck.
We then have learned to walk around
The dining room and pluck
From off the window sills and walls
Our share of Father's duck,
While Father growls and blows and jaws
And swears the knife was full of flaws,
And Mother laughs at him because
He couldn't carve a duck.
* * *
Ernest Vincent Wright Wotton (1872–1939) was an American writer. The poem was, perhaps originally, a song, with music by J.B. Herbert, published in 1891 when Wright was 19. He also wrote the books The Wonderful Fairies of the Sun (1896), The Fairies That Run the World and How They Do It (1903), and Thoughts and Reveries of an American Bluejacket (1918).
But his most famous work is the lipogram Gadsby: A Story of Over 50,000 Words, not one of which, with the exception of the introduction and a note at the end, included the letter e. Sadly, Wright died at the age of 66 on the day of Gadsby's publication.
Today's Poetry Friday round-up is hosted by Kelly at Big A little a. Thanks, Kelly!
August 09, 2007
Teacher meme
Another day, another meme, but this time I was tagged and some time ago, too. Literacy Teacher at Mentor Texts & More tagged me for a teacher's meme, and I very much appreciate the fact that a NYC public school teacher thought of me for this one, which I find both nifty and generous. (Do I mention here that I grew up down the street from P.S. 75 in Manhattan?)
And since I've spent the past couple of days ordering books and curriculum -- more books and other fun stuff (list to come in a future post) than curriculum (a few Explode the Code workbooks for the boys and the next level of Singapore Math for everyone) -- I am getting more in a teaching mode if not mood.
1. I am a good teacher because... I try to incorporate each of the kids' interests and passions in our studies. Because I try not to answer Davy's questions -- "How fast do clouds move?" [variation: "How fast do the blades in the blender turn?"], "What weighs more, the bull or the truck?" -- with "Ask your father." And because learning and reading are among my own greatest passions, which makes it easier than not to pass both along to my children.
2. If I weren't a teacher, I would... still buy as many books and other goodies for the kids. But it's nice to have an official excuse, er, reason. As for a different profession, after the kids are up and out, the weekly newspaper always seems to need reporters, not to mention editors with a good supply of sharp red pencils.
3. My teaching style is... more guiding than teaching. And following the Yeats quote beloved by so many, "Education is not the filling of a pail, but the lighting of a fire." Oh, and an offshoot from my mothering: the ever-trusty method of reverse psychology. "Do you really think you could possibly read a Nancy Drew book in one short day?" said with a very worried, doubting expression on motherly face. (And guess what? Laura is now reading her way through Nancy Drew books -- is there a better way to spend the last few weeks of summer vacation? -- at the rate of one a day.)
4. My classroom is... everywhere from the kitchen table, where the kids do their seatwork (math, writing, penmanship, grammar, and so on); to the boys' bedroom, where I sit cross-legged on the floor and read aloud while all three play with Lego or Tinker Toys, or draw; to the stage at the local college theater for drama; to our corrals and fields for nature study and animal husbandry; the little village down the road, where the kids have art lessons; and everywhere in between and beyond.
5. My lesson plans... are minimal, in part because the kids will be in second, third, and fifth grades. Some of our programs and texts -- math (Singapore), spelling (Avko Sequential Spelling), grammar (Growing with Grammar), composition (Write with the Best) -- incorporate lessons, minimizing the planning for me. Other subjects, such as history, where we mostly read books and discuss them; and science, which this year will be more experimenting and observing and (gasp!) less reading and writing, are very light on the lesson plans.
I've also found -- surprise, surprise -- that the more I plan, the more life gets in the way. Such as the all-planned-out October several years ago, when we suddenly and delightedly found ourselves in NYC with my parents for several weeks. No plan, but great fun and tremendous amounts of learning.
6. One of my teaching goals is... for the kids to learn to think for themselves and to work more independently each year.
7. The toughest part of teaching is... not passing on my own biases and prejudices to the kids, especially when it comes to math and science, which were my least favorite, and least successful, subjects from about fifth grade. Mostly, it was the way the subjects were taught, from the philosophy and structure (New Math, anyone? Even my parents didn't understand my homework) to the methods, such as textbooks and dry delivery for the most part.
The revelation of home schooling has been that science and math taught properly can be engaging and exciting, for the kids and for me. I revel in this lucky second chance to learn more about both subjects, in many cases to understand a good number of concepts properly for the first time.
8. The thing I love most about teaching is... watching my kids make connections, and come up with ideas, thoughts, and questions I've never considered (how fast are those blades in the blender turning?).
9. A common misconception about teaching is... that Tom and I aren't teaching when school is officially out for the summer. Instead, it's when we enter one of our unschooling, low tide phases of the year. Again, not so much planning, but an awful lot of learning.
10. The most important thing I've learned since I started teaching... is never to underestimate a child's abilities and interests.
This is a busy time of year for teachers of all stripes, so I'll leave the tag open for anyone who wants to play. Leave me a note in the comments if you do. And thanks again to Literacy Teacher, with all best wishes for the upcoming school year.
* * *
Just a quick reminder that Literacy Teacher hosted the very first Picture Book Carnival earlier this month. If, as I did, you missed it, you have another chance -- the second Picture Book Carnival will be up no later than Saturday, September 1; deadline for submissions is Wednesday, August 29, and the suggested theme is picture books good for readalouds.
And since I've spent the past couple of days ordering books and curriculum -- more books and other fun stuff (list to come in a future post) than curriculum (a few Explode the Code workbooks for the boys and the next level of Singapore Math for everyone) -- I am getting more in a teaching mode if not mood.
1. I am a good teacher because... I try to incorporate each of the kids' interests and passions in our studies. Because I try not to answer Davy's questions -- "How fast do clouds move?" [variation: "How fast do the blades in the blender turn?"], "What weighs more, the bull or the truck?" -- with "Ask your father." And because learning and reading are among my own greatest passions, which makes it easier than not to pass both along to my children.
2. If I weren't a teacher, I would... still buy as many books and other goodies for the kids. But it's nice to have an official excuse, er, reason. As for a different profession, after the kids are up and out, the weekly newspaper always seems to need reporters, not to mention editors with a good supply of sharp red pencils.
3. My teaching style is... more guiding than teaching. And following the Yeats quote beloved by so many, "Education is not the filling of a pail, but the lighting of a fire." Oh, and an offshoot from my mothering: the ever-trusty method of reverse psychology. "Do you really think you could possibly read a Nancy Drew book in one short day?" said with a very worried, doubting expression on motherly face. (And guess what? Laura is now reading her way through Nancy Drew books -- is there a better way to spend the last few weeks of summer vacation? -- at the rate of one a day.)
4. My classroom is... everywhere from the kitchen table, where the kids do their seatwork (math, writing, penmanship, grammar, and so on); to the boys' bedroom, where I sit cross-legged on the floor and read aloud while all three play with Lego or Tinker Toys, or draw; to the stage at the local college theater for drama; to our corrals and fields for nature study and animal husbandry; the little village down the road, where the kids have art lessons; and everywhere in between and beyond.
5. My lesson plans... are minimal, in part because the kids will be in second, third, and fifth grades. Some of our programs and texts -- math (Singapore), spelling (Avko Sequential Spelling), grammar (Growing with Grammar), composition (Write with the Best) -- incorporate lessons, minimizing the planning for me. Other subjects, such as history, where we mostly read books and discuss them; and science, which this year will be more experimenting and observing and (gasp!) less reading and writing, are very light on the lesson plans.
I've also found -- surprise, surprise -- that the more I plan, the more life gets in the way. Such as the all-planned-out October several years ago, when we suddenly and delightedly found ourselves in NYC with my parents for several weeks. No plan, but great fun and tremendous amounts of learning.
6. One of my teaching goals is... for the kids to learn to think for themselves and to work more independently each year.
7. The toughest part of teaching is... not passing on my own biases and prejudices to the kids, especially when it comes to math and science, which were my least favorite, and least successful, subjects from about fifth grade. Mostly, it was the way the subjects were taught, from the philosophy and structure (New Math, anyone? Even my parents didn't understand my homework) to the methods, such as textbooks and dry delivery for the most part.
The revelation of home schooling has been that science and math taught properly can be engaging and exciting, for the kids and for me. I revel in this lucky second chance to learn more about both subjects, in many cases to understand a good number of concepts properly for the first time.
8. The thing I love most about teaching is... watching my kids make connections, and come up with ideas, thoughts, and questions I've never considered (how fast are those blades in the blender turning?).
9. A common misconception about teaching is... that Tom and I aren't teaching when school is officially out for the summer. Instead, it's when we enter one of our unschooling, low tide phases of the year. Again, not so much planning, but an awful lot of learning.
10. The most important thing I've learned since I started teaching... is never to underestimate a child's abilities and interests.
This is a busy time of year for teachers of all stripes, so I'll leave the tag open for anyone who wants to play. Leave me a note in the comments if you do. And thanks again to Literacy Teacher, with all best wishes for the upcoming school year.
* * *
Just a quick reminder that Literacy Teacher hosted the very first Picture Book Carnival earlier this month. If, as I did, you missed it, you have another chance -- the second Picture Book Carnival will be up no later than Saturday, September 1; deadline for submissions is Wednesday, August 29, and the suggested theme is picture books good for readalouds.
Rescued from the sump pit
One of the kids' jobs in the spring and summer is to keep an eye on the sump pit in the garage, to fish out anything or anyone that's not supposed to be in there. This morning Laura discovered a tiger salamander (Ambystoma tigrinum var. melanostictum), which is quite common in these parts of the province; we're at the northern edge of their range. Tiger salamanders are part of the "mole salamander" family, because they stay underground most of the time, often in the burrows of other animals.
Very handsome little beasties, and fast.
August 08, 2007
Homemade gift exchange
Via JoVE at Tricotomania, via Kim at Relaxed Homeskool, a homemade gift exchange meme, because I can't possibly resist the promise of a homemade gift from the self-styled Tricotomaniac.
Here are the slightly abbreviated rules from Kim's blog:
If you are one of the first three commenters on this post, then you are in. I send you a homemade gift sometime, er, soon. When inspiration and time collide for me (usually 2am). In return, you go to your blog and make the same offer. So, you’ll be making 3 things and receiving one.
FAQs here at Kim's post.
I willwarn you mention that I am decidedly not a home schooling knitting mother, or even a knitting home school mother. I don't sew, either, and unlike JoVE I'm not particularly inclined to mail anyone homemade pickles; I'm still scarred from a childhood vacation involving a leaky bottle of Croatian olive oil, a suitcase, a transatlantic flight, and a surprised customs officer. In fact, I reserve the right to press my artistic and crafty children into service, and to turn the homemade gift project into a back-to-home school project once we get going next month.
Here are the slightly abbreviated rules from Kim's blog:
If you are one of the first three commenters on this post, then you are in. I send you a homemade gift sometime, er, soon. When inspiration and time collide for me (usually 2am). In return, you go to your blog and make the same offer. So, you’ll be making 3 things and receiving one.
FAQs here at Kim's post.
I will
Artists in residence
I had to take some of the kids' artwork out of frames to exhibit at the fair, so thought I'd take the opportunity to photograph a few of the paintings to send to my parents and post here.
The two watercolors -- Daniel's rabbit and Laura's hummingbird -- were in the same category, and were the only entries in the youth section to tie for first place. I thought they were beautiful when I received them for Mother's Day, and now I'm even more delighted and proud of the kids.
Hummingbird and fuschia, watercolor with pen and ink, by Laura (age nine and a half); the background is watercolor paint blown with a drinking straw
Resting rabbit, watercolor, by Daniel (age eight); background done in the same way as hummingbird painting
Bluebird on a fence, acrylic on canvas, by Daniel (earlier in the Spring, before he turned eight)
The two watercolors -- Daniel's rabbit and Laura's hummingbird -- were in the same category, and were the only entries in the youth section to tie for first place. I thought they were beautiful when I received them for Mother's Day, and now I'm even more delighted and proud of the kids.
Hummingbird and fuschia, watercolor with pen and ink, by Laura (age nine and a half); the background is watercolor paint blown with a drinking straw
Resting rabbit, watercolor, by Daniel (age eight); background done in the same way as hummingbird painting
Bluebird on a fence, acrylic on canvas, by Daniel (earlier in the Spring, before he turned eight)
August 06, 2007
Big sky country
On of the only benefits of the sun setting earlier is that I'm still up and about with the camera. I took this the other night, while Tom and the boys were hauling bales, and Laura outside in the garden with me.
The tree tops at the bottom are our "Hundred Acre Wood", really more like 30-40 acres, north and west of the house, filled with deer, woodpeckers, and, in the spring, morel mushrooms.
The tree tops at the bottom are our "Hundred Acre Wood", really more like 30-40 acres, north and west of the house, filled with deer, woodpeckers, and, in the spring, morel mushrooms.
Erm, no thank you
Dangerous Book for Boys to Hit Screen: "Disney has snapped up the rights to the bestseller after a fierce bidding war." It will be more than interesting to see how the folks at Disney plan to make a movie of a politically incorrect how-to-book that includes instructions on skinning a rabbit.
We'll stick to the print version. And the UK edition at that.
We'll stick to the print version. And the UK edition at that.
August 03, 2007
Poetry Friday: Go and play till the light fades away
We are all of us, especially the kids, aware of the shortening days (dark comes around nine now, instead of eleven), and that the first day of school is just about one month away. I'm trying to make the most of what's left of the summer, which is why I haven't been online much, except to order some school supplies and things for Laura's birthday later this month.
The country fair is always a natural marker for folks around here. It means the end of summer and also, usually, the warm weather. But this year, though autumn is fast approaching, the heat remains. We've had an unusual four weeks now in the high eighties/low nineties and no rain, and the gardens and especially crops are beginning to burn and shrivel. The barley is turning white, and many farmers are considering swathing and baling it for cattle feed instead of combining it, since the grain heads won't amount to much. Though I have to admit that all the extra watering I have to do in the garden gives me that much more time to spend in it. The peas are ready and the beans are coming, and I'm about to pull up all the spinach, which has bolted, and seed some Swiss chard in its place.
And though we all roasted at the fair, it was a wonderful three days, a mini holiday for the five of us, as well as a chance for the kids to shine -- all three did exceptionally well in the exhibit hall, with lots of prizes (including firsts for Lego [a fire engine and fire, Monet's garden, and army fort], art work, handwriting, handmade greeting cards, wooden bird houses and tool boxes, grain and sheaves; and also at the chicken show (what's a country fair without chickens?); and, for Laura, in the show ring again with her heifer. On the midway, the boys were excited to discover they had grown tall enough for some of the previously off-limits rides with dangerous-sounding names -- the Zipper and the Scrambler. Friends -- other mothers -- and I camped out in the shade, with folding chairs and iced coffee, while our kids raced from the Tilt-a-Whirl to the bumper cars with ride-all-day bracelets on each slim wrist. And of course, the once-a-year binge of cotton candy, candy apples, homemade pie from the church booth,
The hot weather had an unexpected bonus; tidying up around the beef barn, the kids started gathering up recyclable cans and bottles. And there were lots of cans and bottles, especially water bottles. By the time the kids were done, after three days of the fair and the two clean-up days following, they had collected 12 garbage bags full -- worth much too much, it turns out, at the recycling station. It's all gone into our empty glass Mr. Peanut jar, pooled with the exhibit hall winnings, as part of the new collective horse fund. And the kids have been busy with living math, sharpening pencils and totting up the numbers to see just how much of a horse they might be able to afford at the moment. A surprisingly large percentage, it turns out.
And so, for Laura, Daniel, and David, in the waning days of summer -- leap and shout and laugh in the warm sunshine while you can:
Nurse's Song
by William Blake (1757-1827)
When the voices of children are heard on the green
And laughing is heard on the hill,
My heart is at rest within my breast,
And everything else is still.
"Then come home, my children, the sun is gone down,
And the dews of the night arise;
Come, come, leave off play, and let us away
Till the morning appears in the skies."
"No, no, let us play, for it is yet day,
And we cannot go to sleep;
Besides in the sky the little birds fly,
And the hills are all covered with sheep."
"Well, well, go and play till the light fades away,
And then go home to bed."
The little ones leaped and shouted and laughed;
And all the hills echoéd.
* * *
More William Blake, from the Tate Online.
And more Poetry Friday, with lovely lupines and the round-up at The Miss Rumphius Effect today. Thank you, Tricia!
The country fair is always a natural marker for folks around here. It means the end of summer and also, usually, the warm weather. But this year, though autumn is fast approaching, the heat remains. We've had an unusual four weeks now in the high eighties/low nineties and no rain, and the gardens and especially crops are beginning to burn and shrivel. The barley is turning white, and many farmers are considering swathing and baling it for cattle feed instead of combining it, since the grain heads won't amount to much. Though I have to admit that all the extra watering I have to do in the garden gives me that much more time to spend in it. The peas are ready and the beans are coming, and I'm about to pull up all the spinach, which has bolted, and seed some Swiss chard in its place.
And though we all roasted at the fair, it was a wonderful three days, a mini holiday for the five of us, as well as a chance for the kids to shine -- all three did exceptionally well in the exhibit hall, with lots of prizes (including firsts for Lego [a fire engine and fire, Monet's garden, and army fort], art work, handwriting, handmade greeting cards, wooden bird houses and tool boxes, grain and sheaves; and also at the chicken show (what's a country fair without chickens?); and, for Laura, in the show ring again with her heifer. On the midway, the boys were excited to discover they had grown tall enough for some of the previously off-limits rides with dangerous-sounding names -- the Zipper and the Scrambler. Friends -- other mothers -- and I camped out in the shade, with folding chairs and iced coffee, while our kids raced from the Tilt-a-Whirl to the bumper cars with ride-all-day bracelets on each slim wrist. And of course, the once-a-year binge of cotton candy, candy apples, homemade pie from the church booth,
The hot weather had an unexpected bonus; tidying up around the beef barn, the kids started gathering up recyclable cans and bottles. And there were lots of cans and bottles, especially water bottles. By the time the kids were done, after three days of the fair and the two clean-up days following, they had collected 12 garbage bags full -- worth much too much, it turns out, at the recycling station. It's all gone into our empty glass Mr. Peanut jar, pooled with the exhibit hall winnings, as part of the new collective horse fund. And the kids have been busy with living math, sharpening pencils and totting up the numbers to see just how much of a horse they might be able to afford at the moment. A surprisingly large percentage, it turns out.
And so, for Laura, Daniel, and David, in the waning days of summer -- leap and shout and laugh in the warm sunshine while you can:
Nurse's Song
by William Blake (1757-1827)
When the voices of children are heard on the green
And laughing is heard on the hill,
My heart is at rest within my breast,
And everything else is still.
"Then come home, my children, the sun is gone down,
And the dews of the night arise;
Come, come, leave off play, and let us away
Till the morning appears in the skies."
"No, no, let us play, for it is yet day,
And we cannot go to sleep;
Besides in the sky the little birds fly,
And the hills are all covered with sheep."
"Well, well, go and play till the light fades away,
And then go home to bed."
The little ones leaped and shouted and laughed;
And all the hills echoéd.
* * *
More William Blake, from the Tate Online.
And more Poetry Friday, with lovely lupines and the round-up at The Miss Rumphius Effect today. Thank you, Tricia!
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