Sibling Assignment #171: Autumn in Kellogg: A Teacher's Magical Approach to Learning.

Sister Carol gave the sibling assignment for this week:  "Write about a memory or memories of the autumn season growing up in Kellogg, sometime before you graduated from Kellogg High School."
I will link my siblings' posts when completed.

I began my elementary school years at Silver King School. In first grade I was almost across the hall from my mother's classroom. She taught second grade. We attended school with her so we didn't have to walk a long ways to our neighborhood school. I suppose it was helpful also that we were there with her before and after school.

Before second grade we moved 516 W. Cameron in Kellogg and Mom decided we would go to the school in our neighborhood. We walked each day to Sunnyside School. From the first day of school there I have vivid memories, but today I am going to write about autumn in second grade. 

My teacher was Mrs. Meyer and I felt a bit special because my great-uncle's wife was her sister. I guess I thought we were related. She was bigger than life in her instruction, her manner, her talents , and her activities. It seems very unlikely that 2nd graders at Sunnyside School would ever be allowed to leave the classroom and walk off the playground during a school day. Not when Mrs. Meyer was your teacher. One glorious, sunny autumn afternoon we went on a walking field trip.

We were studying Neighborhoods in social studies and I can still remember to this day the blocks we strolled through as a well-mannered group and how she taught us how the even and odd house numbers worked. She also pointed out how you count by twos on addresses.  I guess she tied a bit of math in there also. From that day forward I always felt smug because I knew why the houses had certain numbers. I am sure we then learned about our own addresses.

The next learning adventure on this walking field trip was a science lesson. Mrs. Meyer taught us how to observe nature by studying leaves. The sidewalks that day were covered with leaves. She let us pick them up, throw them in the air, and study them. When we were done we brought our favorites back to the classroom. 

Then the teacher performed magic. She showed us how to lay the leaves on wax paper and preserve them between two sheets by having her iron them. I loved observing all those preserved leaves in the huge classroom window that autumn. More then fifty years later I can still remember the neighborhood we walked, what the house numbers meant, the smell of the leaves, the feel of the leaves, and how important I felt being able to walk with my class away from school for a learning experience.
Mrs. Meyer was a magical teacher every day I had her in class. Whether it was poetry she recited, reading exercises about Dick and Jane and their friends, or learning to do paper mache.... it was magical. I will never forget her.


Late Autumn Surprises: Baby Steps With New Camera

Today I decided to try out my new camera around the yard.  At first I could not get it to work. Then I removed the cap from the lens. Sheesh. Baby steps. When I was looking for subjects to photograph I walked quietly and observed first what damage had been done during the wind storm. Fortunately, that was very little. Above is a strong flowering kale that may not ever give up, even during the winter months.

Next I observed what is still thriving at this late date. As always since I have moved to my new house, I found surprises. The baby burning bush decided to burn before the leaves fell off.

 The mums I bought to dress up the porch have new buds on them. I am going to bring them in to the basement greenhouse and see what happens.

 It took a few tries with my new camera, but finally I captured this vivid purple petunia, 
still showing her stuff.
 I made a quick trip inside to practice on the African violets. Look very closely. For the first time in more than thirty years, I have a bloom ready to open.

images shot with a Nikon D3300


Fall Tasks: The Rules Are Different

This has been a crazy autumn. Many people still have flowers blooming in their yards in Kellogg. There has only been one hard frost. The most damage our plants have gotten in the last few days is from the wind. I am used to in the past coming home to help Mom put her garden "to bed" now, wearing a heavy vest and cutting down numerous dead plants. I thought I should deadhead the mums. Those are the flowers above in the bottom of the garbage can. Now the plants have new buds.

This year nothing has died back yet. When I did a tour of Mom's yard the other day she still had calendulas blooming.  I bought and planted a rose about a month ago and it is still blooming. JEJ did put the winter fertilizer on the grass today. I hope it doesn't get new growth now!

I think the garden task calendars are getting a bit out of whack now. The rules are different when it comes to getting a garden and yard ready for winter. I am all for a long, lovely autumn, but I just hope five feet of snow doesn't fall tomorrow. Some time we need to put protection around the roses.

Of course, my Christmas cactus is now blooming. I don't need a fuzzy blanket, but use one anyway. I am ready to wear my mittens, hat, and scarf, but like the milder weather.
The only thing that has been consistent is the time change and darker afternoons.

So much for my plans and to-do lists. I am just going to go with the flow. Maybe it will never get cold. Maybe roses will still be blooming in December. Maybe we will have to gas up that lawn mower again. Time will tell. I will keep you posted!


Kindness: Thanks for the Words of Naomi Shihab Nye

On days like today when there is hurt around the world it makes sense to be angry, feel helpless, feel deep sadness. I always feel like the best thing I can do on days like today is focus on the positive. This poem by Naomi Shihab Nye has gotten me through many difficult times in my life. I had the privilege of hearing her speak once, and she reminded me of the ways we can look at the world with goodness, hope, and love.

Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt weakened in a broth.
What you held in your hand,
What you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.

Before your learn the tender gravity of kindness
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.

Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.

Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to mail letters and
purchase bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
It is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you everywhere
Like a shadow or a friend.
Naomi Shihab Nye


Sabbaths and A Year of Being Here

Recently I have spent time revisiting blogs that have been favorites of mine, some for a long time and some for a short time. One that I had not spent time at for awhile was A Year of Being Here. This blog showcases a poem for each day of the year including a lovely photo. If you haven't visited this blog, take a look. Here is a favorite of mine that was posted on the blog recently.

Sabbaths 1999, VII

Again I resume the long
lesson: how small a thing
can be pleasing, how little
in this hard world it takes
to satisfy the mind
and bring it to its rest. 
With the ongoing havoc
the woods this morning is
almost unnaturally still.
Through stalled air, unshadowed
light, a few leaves fall
of their own weight. 
                                 The sky
is gray. It begins in mist
almost at the ground
and rises forever. The trees
rise in silence almost
natural, but not quite,
almost eternal, but
not quite. 
What more did I
think I wanted? Here is
what has always been.
Here is what will always
be. Even in me,
the Maker of all this
returns in rest, even
to the slightest of His works,
a yellow leaf slowly
falling, and is pleased.

Wendell Berry