For the price of a medium used car we are now the owners of a herd of cattle: twenty commercial grade cows of various ages, a lame bull, and a tiny calf. These cows, with some substitutions over the years, have been here since we bought the place fifteen years ago. They were actually owned by a guy who ran them on our place, fixed fences, and the roads because we needed the cattle here for our agricultural tax exemption and to keep the open spaces "mowed".
This man had a stroke and became disabled. He needed to sell the cows. He was always pretty cheap with feed and fertilizer. But we didn't care, we didn't have to be concerned with anything but looking at those wonderfully pastoral creatures crunching with lowered heads,lowering the tax, smelling sweet with grass and in the distance.
With our dear neighbor, Warren, we decided to buy the herd. Warren would do the work and we'd see what profit could come of this. Warren knows cows and he knows the country so we feel secure there. I've had a few ideas about making this herd a grass fed, maybe organic operation, no hormones, no finishing the calves at feedlot. I check out library books on cattle husbandry and I avidly read "Progressive Farmer". We talk to our rancher neighbors about the price per pound of calves at market.
An article in the New York Times this week described people such as us as 'lifestyle' or 'hobby' farmers. I guess. For at least a while we will continue to deal with the cows as they have been. Warren has ideas about how to feed them more nutritiously. We talk about rotation of pastures. I think this new adventure will take time.
This morning, Andy had to make an errand run to the tractor supply company to get a new battery for the solar powered electric gate to the ranch. I went along because I love that place. He checked out the battery department (out of what we needed) and I swooned in the boots department, grooving on the sharp new leather smell of authentic boots, and then I tried on cowgirl hats. In the parking lot outside I had to stop where bands of small cub scouts were selling hot boiled (Bald) peanuts, hot dogs and popcorn to raise money for something. There were pony rides going on too, and the odors of the remembered leather boots, horse flesh, and trashy food were all mixed up.
I love this life! I love it for itself and I love it because I have other options. We had to stop at Farmers' Feed to see if they had the battery we needed. They did. I love this place too. I love the huge sign board they have up displaying the price of hay rolls, equestrian kibbles, cattle nutrition pellets, chickens, rabbit feed. I love talking to Tim, the manager about the difference between onion plants and onion sets, which kind of collards is best.
When I was in the fifth grade we took something called the Kuder Preference Test. This was supposed to indicate what we would really like to do in our future lives. I came out equally as forest ranger, artist, and social worker. This has proved to be true! Maybe not quite forest ranger, but certainly I have that deep interest in everything that lives outdoors (cows!). My days are mostly spent in artistic activities, and I have been a teacher all my life.
The herd of cows, ours, are now moving past my studio. Now that we have a fence there, they cannot come into the courtyard. I think they are looking at the cucumber vine and the tubs of chrysanthemums out of reach.
Many of you read this and e-mail me. That's great, and thank you. But it isn't really hard to sign onto a blog so you can comment and be part of a dialog. Just try it. You won't lose your soul.
Saturday, September 30, 2006
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
Late in the afternoon when the shadows were long on the meadows and we could get a whiff of some cool autumn air, we went out in the golf cart. Andy was driving, Quincy our almost-two year old grandson, and Lola the dachshund were packed in between us. It seemed like heaven.
Quincy is here for the third overnight with his grandparents. He's a very secure little guy, has his routine, loves everything. We drove up from the city this morning and he didn't say a word. I pointed out some things to him and he paid attention as I could see in his big eyes in the rear view mirror. But mostly he was busy sucking his thumb and fondling his 'lovey'.
When we arrived he immediately went about exploring his familiar places, lovey forgotten. He wanted to connect with his favorite cupbords and he wanted to climb onto our high canopied bed, check out our voice mail, see if the remotes were in order. I had been awake since very early and actually wanted to check my e-mail, be an adult. No way!
But the day passed so quickly. I just kick back and spend time under the pear tree watching our youngest grandson look at the fish and the snails in the water lily pond. I gave him a spray bottle of water so he could spray the fish, good for at least a half hour while I weeded out the spent water lilies and the abundant anacharis,and watered the garden beds.
With kids, everything is new and slow. Everything needs attention. I see this even in the local primary class where I volunteer one day a week. These kids are somewhat older, but they are still little. I am coming to understand the terrible disconnect between what we know about child development and what is expected from those wonderful public school teachers.
In the various permutations of the no child left behind act, it plays out that almost every child will be left behind because they are always being pulled out of class to be tested or tutored or tweaked in some way. I have never been in a class that didn't have several children pulled out in the middle of an activity. This week, for the first time, we took all the kids outside (Yikes!) to plant seeds for a garden. So, when the 'pull out' people came for the kids, they were nowhere to be found. They were outdoors planting bean seeds and scattering wildflowers.
Quincy is here for the third overnight with his grandparents. He's a very secure little guy, has his routine, loves everything. We drove up from the city this morning and he didn't say a word. I pointed out some things to him and he paid attention as I could see in his big eyes in the rear view mirror. But mostly he was busy sucking his thumb and fondling his 'lovey'.
When we arrived he immediately went about exploring his familiar places, lovey forgotten. He wanted to connect with his favorite cupbords and he wanted to climb onto our high canopied bed, check out our voice mail, see if the remotes were in order. I had been awake since very early and actually wanted to check my e-mail, be an adult. No way!
But the day passed so quickly. I just kick back and spend time under the pear tree watching our youngest grandson look at the fish and the snails in the water lily pond. I gave him a spray bottle of water so he could spray the fish, good for at least a half hour while I weeded out the spent water lilies and the abundant anacharis,and watered the garden beds.
With kids, everything is new and slow. Everything needs attention. I see this even in the local primary class where I volunteer one day a week. These kids are somewhat older, but they are still little. I am coming to understand the terrible disconnect between what we know about child development and what is expected from those wonderful public school teachers.
In the various permutations of the no child left behind act, it plays out that almost every child will be left behind because they are always being pulled out of class to be tested or tutored or tweaked in some way. I have never been in a class that didn't have several children pulled out in the middle of an activity. This week, for the first time, we took all the kids outside (Yikes!) to plant seeds for a garden. So, when the 'pull out' people came for the kids, they were nowhere to be found. They were outdoors planting bean seeds and scattering wildflowers.
Monday, September 25, 2006
Our grown up kids
A lot of us retirees and older workers have grown children. Some of us are fortunate to have them living in the near-by community so we get to see them often. Two of my three children live thousands of miles away. We get together several times a year.
Adult children often have no idea what their parents are thinking or feeling. It was a seamless thing to segue into adulthood; the parents will always be the same. But we aren't! We are changing, maybe even more radically than they are.
A few years ago, my husband had major surgery for prostate cancer in a city far away from here. I had no idea at the time how hard this would be for me to do alone. On the day after the surgery I knew I needed help. Two of my kids were unavailable, but our middle son dropped his work and family obligations, not easy, and came down to help me. He was wonderfully supportive in every way and only left to return to his work and family when it was clear that we could manage. I will always be thankful to him.
This same son came for a week to say good-bye to his dying grandmother. He sat by her bedside, heard her stories, made closure. His older brother had earlier spent many hours in the hospital with his grandmother. My daughter met me when I flew east with my mother's body, in the town where my mother wanted to be buried. My daughter had arranged the rental car, the hotel, everything. I was exhausted after hours of funeral, jet lag, grief, rain. I remember the wet autumn leaves plastered to the pavement when we attended the burial.
These children of ours (for all of us), come through when it counts. On a daily, weekly, monthly basis, I wonder what they are thinking, or do they think about us at all? Are they at all interested in us as persons with interests, talents, lives? As parents, we all tell our kids what we are about. But sometimes I wonder what it would take for an adult child to ask, very simply, "Hey, Mom or Dad, what are you doing today?"
They take it for granted that we would tell them if we about to croak. They take it for granted that we love to have their children in our space. (We do!)
I try and think back on the times when we were in the same circumstances with our parents and I can't come up with anything positive. We did talk about our parents but I am not sure we let them know how much we cared about what they were doing. Maybe we didn't.
Having a daughter is certainly a corrective. We speak on the phone most days. We know what each other is doing. I rejoice in knowing her small son. But, like my sons, she never does ask me or her father what we found important to do this day.
I wish I could be a young adult again, knowing what I now do, so I could really truly ask my parents and my husband's parents, because I really cared, "Tell me, what are you dong now? What interests you?"
Adult children often have no idea what their parents are thinking or feeling. It was a seamless thing to segue into adulthood; the parents will always be the same. But we aren't! We are changing, maybe even more radically than they are.
A few years ago, my husband had major surgery for prostate cancer in a city far away from here. I had no idea at the time how hard this would be for me to do alone. On the day after the surgery I knew I needed help. Two of my kids were unavailable, but our middle son dropped his work and family obligations, not easy, and came down to help me. He was wonderfully supportive in every way and only left to return to his work and family when it was clear that we could manage. I will always be thankful to him.
This same son came for a week to say good-bye to his dying grandmother. He sat by her bedside, heard her stories, made closure. His older brother had earlier spent many hours in the hospital with his grandmother. My daughter met me when I flew east with my mother's body, in the town where my mother wanted to be buried. My daughter had arranged the rental car, the hotel, everything. I was exhausted after hours of funeral, jet lag, grief, rain. I remember the wet autumn leaves plastered to the pavement when we attended the burial.
These children of ours (for all of us), come through when it counts. On a daily, weekly, monthly basis, I wonder what they are thinking, or do they think about us at all? Are they at all interested in us as persons with interests, talents, lives? As parents, we all tell our kids what we are about. But sometimes I wonder what it would take for an adult child to ask, very simply, "Hey, Mom or Dad, what are you doing today?"
They take it for granted that we would tell them if we about to croak. They take it for granted that we love to have their children in our space. (We do!)
I try and think back on the times when we were in the same circumstances with our parents and I can't come up with anything positive. We did talk about our parents but I am not sure we let them know how much we cared about what they were doing. Maybe we didn't.
Having a daughter is certainly a corrective. We speak on the phone most days. We know what each other is doing. I rejoice in knowing her small son. But, like my sons, she never does ask me or her father what we found important to do this day.
I wish I could be a young adult again, knowing what I now do, so I could really truly ask my parents and my husband's parents, because I really cared, "Tell me, what are you dong now? What interests you?"
Thursday, September 21, 2006
Mulch
My newly planted vegetable garden is thriving under its bed of mulch. For several years I have only put mulch on this garden. I use old rotted hay, sawdust, compost, vegetable parings, grass clippings, spanish moss, dried cow pies, leaves and whatever else comes to hand. When the time comes for planting, I make rows or holes and plant the seeds or seedlings. This way, I have very few weeds, and I get wonderful crops. Mulch!
A wonderful teacher in my school a number of years ago described her teaching as "mulch". This teacher, Ann, said that she introduced such a number of things to her kids, took them on field trips, had so many wonderful projects going in her classroom because she looked at it as mulch. "They won't remember everything, but they'll have it as mulch for their brains."
Intellectual mulch is having had many many experiences, opportunities to ask and wonder and get competent. Mulch is being read to on a daily basis, going out to look at the natural world, listening to experts, feeling free to ask any question, going on field trips, dropping everything to go and see something wonderful happening such as a pod of manatees in the bay or interesting birds in the trees.
When I went in to visit my old school I could see the tracks of mulch. Last week we had an earthquake in Florida, an amazing event! Immediately, the teachers perceived this as a teachable moment, not to be dismissed. They got in some experts, put up maps of plate techtonics, got a unit going about this and volcanoes! Kids were doing projects on volcanoes and the movement of plates. The kids were excited and wanted to tell me about this.
At the public school where I volunteer, my day was wonderful too. There was some breakthrough on reading (I think.) But in this place of no windows to the outside in any way, no one brought up the topic of the earthquake or anything else that was happening in the outside world. The theme of the week was "teeth", not to be trifled with. The mulch was so thin! (In the teachers' lounge there is no newspaper, no periodical, nothing!)
In the beginning of the day these kids look at the t.v. monitor, pledge allegiance to the flag, sing an off-tune rendition of "My Country 'Tis of thee", and get down to business. And the business is FCAT, nevermind that they are developmentally really too young to be readers.
These kids need to be mulched! They need to play, to paint, sing, dance, play with blocks, to create their own games. They need to get outside and exercise their bodies. They need to look at the natural world, wonder at ant lions and butterflies.
But there isn't time. Jeb and his bro say that no child should be left behind.
A wonderful teacher in my school a number of years ago described her teaching as "mulch". This teacher, Ann, said that she introduced such a number of things to her kids, took them on field trips, had so many wonderful projects going in her classroom because she looked at it as mulch. "They won't remember everything, but they'll have it as mulch for their brains."
Intellectual mulch is having had many many experiences, opportunities to ask and wonder and get competent. Mulch is being read to on a daily basis, going out to look at the natural world, listening to experts, feeling free to ask any question, going on field trips, dropping everything to go and see something wonderful happening such as a pod of manatees in the bay or interesting birds in the trees.
When I went in to visit my old school I could see the tracks of mulch. Last week we had an earthquake in Florida, an amazing event! Immediately, the teachers perceived this as a teachable moment, not to be dismissed. They got in some experts, put up maps of plate techtonics, got a unit going about this and volcanoes! Kids were doing projects on volcanoes and the movement of plates. The kids were excited and wanted to tell me about this.
At the public school where I volunteer, my day was wonderful too. There was some breakthrough on reading (I think.) But in this place of no windows to the outside in any way, no one brought up the topic of the earthquake or anything else that was happening in the outside world. The theme of the week was "teeth", not to be trifled with. The mulch was so thin! (In the teachers' lounge there is no newspaper, no periodical, nothing!)
In the beginning of the day these kids look at the t.v. monitor, pledge allegiance to the flag, sing an off-tune rendition of "My Country 'Tis of thee", and get down to business. And the business is FCAT, nevermind that they are developmentally really too young to be readers.
These kids need to be mulched! They need to play, to paint, sing, dance, play with blocks, to create their own games. They need to get outside and exercise their bodies. They need to look at the natural world, wonder at ant lions and butterflies.
But there isn't time. Jeb and his bro say that no child should be left behind.
Monday, September 18, 2006
The Tribe
When my mother was growing older, going from the old-elderly to the old-old, we wanted her to leave her house and move to a continued care facility where she would be looked after in the daily details of life. We looked at a number of attractive places (I thought!) She looked carefully and always said, "This is too much like boarding school" and she wouldn't go. At the time I didn't really understand what she was getting at. I think she was reacting to the prospect of living only with people her age, seeing only one small slice of life on a daily basis.
A few months ago we went to a 65th birthday party for a beloved friend. It was a lovely gathering, a wonderful dinner, good conversation. But as we drove home it dawned on me that what was missing at this wonderful party was the harmony of people of different ages. Everyone at this party was the same age! All of us, the Q-tips in a certain stage of life, talking about our retirement plans, the trips we want to do, the community presence we all are, had a certain complaisance about being the age we are.
We, family and friends are a tribe, and a tribe includes people of all ages. I feel really comfortable when the people surrounding me range from small babies to the very elderly. Babies and small kids, especially teenagers, are messy and needy. They get in my space and they require a lot of tending, physical and emotional. This is what makes me alive!
I'm glad when they come, and I'm glad when they leave. Each summer we have several groups of 'not related' kids, as well as our grandsons, come to stay on the ranch. And from time to time, college age kids come for a weekend. I love this tribal feeling of people connecting who love each other. They stay in the main house, or if they're older, in the guest house. We congregate for good meals, we talk our heads off, we spend time making things in the studios and they help in the garden or in the pastures.
It's quantity time, not quality time. The kids just hang out. They help with the cooking, feel free to use anything we have. (Just put it back!) Andy and I are somewhat oblivious so we're not uptight about swimming towels or taking out the garbage. Eventually, everything gets done.
This summer when Katie, Maddy, and Alex came, they did a fantastic job helping me in the garden - weeding, mulching and preparing for the new fall planting. Stephan and Phil can always be counted upon to collect cow pies for the asparagus bed. Diego and Pablo cooked and made many items in the studios. I look forward to seeing Ariel and her brother Michael. The college students are so tired that all they want to do is veg out! Our tribe keeps in touch! I love hearing how they're doing in college. I'll be meeting Julie in Paris this October. (I've known her since birth)
When we celebrate birthdays and holidays we have all ages here! My sisters, Irene and Maria, and my brother Brooks, are sometimes here for festivities, sometimes not. Sometimes our sons, Chris and Ben, and nephew Dan and daughters, Elizabeth and Gina, celebrate holidays with us. But I am not counting. We are a tribe, family and friends of all ages. Whoever is here, we'll have a party!
A few months ago we went to a 65th birthday party for a beloved friend. It was a lovely gathering, a wonderful dinner, good conversation. But as we drove home it dawned on me that what was missing at this wonderful party was the harmony of people of different ages. Everyone at this party was the same age! All of us, the Q-tips in a certain stage of life, talking about our retirement plans, the trips we want to do, the community presence we all are, had a certain complaisance about being the age we are.
We, family and friends are a tribe, and a tribe includes people of all ages. I feel really comfortable when the people surrounding me range from small babies to the very elderly. Babies and small kids, especially teenagers, are messy and needy. They get in my space and they require a lot of tending, physical and emotional. This is what makes me alive!
I'm glad when they come, and I'm glad when they leave. Each summer we have several groups of 'not related' kids, as well as our grandsons, come to stay on the ranch. And from time to time, college age kids come for a weekend. I love this tribal feeling of people connecting who love each other. They stay in the main house, or if they're older, in the guest house. We congregate for good meals, we talk our heads off, we spend time making things in the studios and they help in the garden or in the pastures.
It's quantity time, not quality time. The kids just hang out. They help with the cooking, feel free to use anything we have. (Just put it back!) Andy and I are somewhat oblivious so we're not uptight about swimming towels or taking out the garbage. Eventually, everything gets done.
This summer when Katie, Maddy, and Alex came, they did a fantastic job helping me in the garden - weeding, mulching and preparing for the new fall planting. Stephan and Phil can always be counted upon to collect cow pies for the asparagus bed. Diego and Pablo cooked and made many items in the studios. I look forward to seeing Ariel and her brother Michael. The college students are so tired that all they want to do is veg out! Our tribe keeps in touch! I love hearing how they're doing in college. I'll be meeting Julie in Paris this October. (I've known her since birth)
When we celebrate birthdays and holidays we have all ages here! My sisters, Irene and Maria, and my brother Brooks, are sometimes here for festivities, sometimes not. Sometimes our sons, Chris and Ben, and nephew Dan and daughters, Elizabeth and Gina, celebrate holidays with us. But I am not counting. We are a tribe, family and friends of all ages. Whoever is here, we'll have a party!
Sunday, September 17, 2006
Bugs!
Driving the twenty-five miles to Lakeland today I could hear the constant raindrop splatter on my windshield, not of rain, but of the love bugs. The windshield washer won't clean them off so I drove peering through a smear. Every September and every April we have to endure these pests. They don't sting or carry any diseases I know of. They are just there in such numbers, insinuating themselves into any open door or window, flying slowly in tandem, intent on their inner karma. Then they die in piles on the windowsills and floors, and of course on our cars. So we all become love bug undertakers for a few weeks twice a year.
But when the love bugs come it is also the glorious peak season of the spiders and the butterflies. The hummingbirds left right on schedule for their flight back to Mexico on September 4th. I haven't seen any monarchs lately. Perhaps they drafted a ride back to Mexico with the ruby throats.
The late summer wildflowers and the butterfly attractors I've planted are covered with a moving mist of colors. Yellow sulphers seem to love the native red sage and the Mexican petunias are covered with white peacocks and giant swallowtails. Zebra longwings love the passionflower vines. I spend time meandering around the yard, delighted with this late summer extravaganza. Occasionally, I'll see a caterpillar. I'm finding the Audubon butterfly handbook pretty good at helping me identify them.
By far the very best of the September wildlife around here is the spider population. I find these creatures so beautiful and fascinating. Those HUGE golden orb weavers are strong women! It has been a bountiful summer for them and they are very large, and getting bigger with each love bug they ingest. They have amazing fluffy leggings on their legs. There are at least six of them in near proximity to my daily routes. There is the one we have to duck under who has made her web across the walkway from the porch door. Her spouse, a tiny skinny guy, waits patiently (and warily) in the periphery of her web. He's hoping for a gig some night.
This morning I saw a huge owl take off and I wanted a closer look. Striding down the lane into the woods, I ran into a huge mess of sticky golden web. I did the Florida Flap, a kind of whole body dance step we all do when we unexpectedly get into too close contact with the insect fauna. These golden orb weavers, at maturity, must have a leg span of about four or five inches. They make a two layer web; the orb is backed up with a layer of untidy silk. They sit at the center, very much in charge.
I also like the yellow garden orbweavers, the argiopes,who adorn their webs with amazing zig-zags. These spiders seem more polite somehow, not so showy, and not so in your face as the golden silk spiders.
When my grandchildren or other kids come, if the evening is clear, we go out and do "spider eyes". We walk in the grass and hold flashlights on our heads between our eyes. We look at the ground. I tell them to look for lights sparkling like diamonds, keep it in view and zero in with the flashlight. They are charmed that every single time they can find a spider on the ground. I think these are some sort of wolf spider.
I have lived in the northeast for many years so I know about the bugs they have there. No roaches! They do have those horrid black flies, gnats that stay all summer and make any outside activity an endurance contest, and the prevalence of disease-bearing ticks to scare any normal person who just wants to hike in the woods. Give me Florida any day or season. Our bugs are huge, and with the exception of love bugs, they are interesting if you want to get aquainted, and avoidable if you don't. Yes, I am considering the mosquito population. I do live on the edge of the Green Swamp. We keep our old tires drained, pay attention to any standing water, and use mosquito dunks. We have no problem.
Folks, it won't take your soul to make an online comment. You're anonymous (as am I). Just click on the comments line at the bottom.
But when the love bugs come it is also the glorious peak season of the spiders and the butterflies. The hummingbirds left right on schedule for their flight back to Mexico on September 4th. I haven't seen any monarchs lately. Perhaps they drafted a ride back to Mexico with the ruby throats.
The late summer wildflowers and the butterfly attractors I've planted are covered with a moving mist of colors. Yellow sulphers seem to love the native red sage and the Mexican petunias are covered with white peacocks and giant swallowtails. Zebra longwings love the passionflower vines. I spend time meandering around the yard, delighted with this late summer extravaganza. Occasionally, I'll see a caterpillar. I'm finding the Audubon butterfly handbook pretty good at helping me identify them.
By far the very best of the September wildlife around here is the spider population. I find these creatures so beautiful and fascinating. Those HUGE golden orb weavers are strong women! It has been a bountiful summer for them and they are very large, and getting bigger with each love bug they ingest. They have amazing fluffy leggings on their legs. There are at least six of them in near proximity to my daily routes. There is the one we have to duck under who has made her web across the walkway from the porch door. Her spouse, a tiny skinny guy, waits patiently (and warily) in the periphery of her web. He's hoping for a gig some night.
This morning I saw a huge owl take off and I wanted a closer look. Striding down the lane into the woods, I ran into a huge mess of sticky golden web. I did the Florida Flap, a kind of whole body dance step we all do when we unexpectedly get into too close contact with the insect fauna. These golden orb weavers, at maturity, must have a leg span of about four or five inches. They make a two layer web; the orb is backed up with a layer of untidy silk. They sit at the center, very much in charge.
I also like the yellow garden orbweavers, the argiopes,who adorn their webs with amazing zig-zags. These spiders seem more polite somehow, not so showy, and not so in your face as the golden silk spiders.
When my grandchildren or other kids come, if the evening is clear, we go out and do "spider eyes". We walk in the grass and hold flashlights on our heads between our eyes. We look at the ground. I tell them to look for lights sparkling like diamonds, keep it in view and zero in with the flashlight. They are charmed that every single time they can find a spider on the ground. I think these are some sort of wolf spider.
I have lived in the northeast for many years so I know about the bugs they have there. No roaches! They do have those horrid black flies, gnats that stay all summer and make any outside activity an endurance contest, and the prevalence of disease-bearing ticks to scare any normal person who just wants to hike in the woods. Give me Florida any day or season. Our bugs are huge, and with the exception of love bugs, they are interesting if you want to get aquainted, and avoidable if you don't. Yes, I am considering the mosquito population. I do live on the edge of the Green Swamp. We keep our old tires drained, pay attention to any standing water, and use mosquito dunks. We have no problem.
Folks, it won't take your soul to make an online comment. You're anonymous (as am I). Just click on the comments line at the bottom.
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Killing Our Children's Minds and Souls
There were a few moments today while I volunteered in my primary age classroom in the local public school when I considered quitting, or at least changing my station to something mindless. I could put up bulletin boards - but there aren't any. I could tend the school garden- but no one has any time to plant and water and wonder. All time is devoted to the FCAT, the no child left behind act.
I appeared on schedule with my bulging sacks; I had paints and brushes and styrofoam plates to decorate with this week's theme of "teeth". (I have to bring absolutely everything.) I had a sack of bleached skulls with teeth I had collected on the farm. There were skulls of alligators and boars and smaller ones I could not identify. And lots of teeth. I had a mountain of fresh fruits and vegetables for the kids to chomp with their own teeth. I had twenty lovely picture books from the library. I had a new bookshelf for the classroom which Andy made in an afternoon.
Here's what happens in a typical classroom: the kids come in after breakfast in the cafeteria. They have been trained to go immediately and quietly to work. They spend all week on a certain book, 'teeth' this week. It is probably the most unappealing book I have ever seen, no color, printed on cheap paper. It's identical to the huge colored book that resides each week on the easel at the front of the class. The prose, simple for primary kids, is unbelievably boring. Obviously there is a controlled vocabulary of fewer than twenty words. By Tuesday, most of the kids know it by heart, but these patient and good kids know that they will have to struggle with it all week like a gray used towel on the floor, appearing in front of them for days. They are interupted by the required Pledge of Allegiance, coming from a large TV, and everyone sings "My Country Tis of Thee".
Now it's back to the book of the week and the various canned worksheets before them on the tables. The kids seem dispirited and resigned. There is no spark of interest anywhere to be found. They look expectantly at my bulging sacks. In every available free second the teacher goes to her computer to tend to the endless paperwork involved in the program so that no child will be left behind.
I go around and whisper encouragement from kid to kid. Justin wants to know if I brought food today. Kelbie, eyes shining, tells me that she brought the promised Florida pear from her very own tree. Tommy, the only capable reader, tells me he wants me to read one of my books. I tell him he can help me choose it. Adrian, so bright and bored, the bad boy, must know he's such a favorite with me. I'm looking forward to seeing what Felix, a wonderful artist, will do with the painting project I have in mind. Melissa follows me around.
There are no windows in this room, no toys or blocks, no art center, no science center, few inviting books on a child's level, no pets. There is no time for anything but those horrid weekly books. The teaching is completely scripted. This is so disrespectful to a teacher, I think, reducing the job to technician.
'My' teacher is the same age as my oldest child. She's obviously really good. She's patient and good like her students. She's driven to have her students up to the high mark, and if anyone ever could, she does everything to make them succeed by the program. I love it when I see a few glimpses of her individuality, when she extends the lesson, drops the script, and talks to them, sometimes in German, about some fact or other that might come up.
But she hews to the program. Doggedly, she makes these pre-literate kids write their daily output just as FCAT requires in five steps, nevermind that most of the kids can't read yet, much less write anything. And certainly, who would want to write about that boring stuff that isn't what your heart wants to write? (My Dad got drunk and drove off last night) They love their teacher, and clearly, they know she loves them.
Most kids really do not learn to read until they are at least seven years old. (Why are we teaching a dog to talk?) Kids need to have many experiences, lots of them physical. FCAT has no emotional content, important for someone who is five or fifteen! At this school the kids get only two half hour recesses each week! They never see the light of day. Aargh!
Back to today:
I am patiently waiting for my opportunity to grab a bit of time for our art activity. But, to my dismay, the teacher says that only the kids who have done a good job on their homework (Homework??! for seven year olds?) can participate. I am devastated. I was so eager to see what Felix, or Adrian, or Marisol or Justin would do. I had no input about homework, of course, so this was a great blow. I signal the 'bad' kids with my eyebrows that I understand, get back to you later, buddy. Later, I told the teacher that this wasn't a part of my deal. I volunteer to teach all the kids. I am not into punitive actions, FCAT be damned.
What I know is that the reason a third of our children do not graduate from high school is that the public school system has killed their minds and souls. We need to rethink this. FCAT is not the answer.
I appeared on schedule with my bulging sacks; I had paints and brushes and styrofoam plates to decorate with this week's theme of "teeth". (I have to bring absolutely everything.) I had a sack of bleached skulls with teeth I had collected on the farm. There were skulls of alligators and boars and smaller ones I could not identify. And lots of teeth. I had a mountain of fresh fruits and vegetables for the kids to chomp with their own teeth. I had twenty lovely picture books from the library. I had a new bookshelf for the classroom which Andy made in an afternoon.
Here's what happens in a typical classroom: the kids come in after breakfast in the cafeteria. They have been trained to go immediately and quietly to work. They spend all week on a certain book, 'teeth' this week. It is probably the most unappealing book I have ever seen, no color, printed on cheap paper. It's identical to the huge colored book that resides each week on the easel at the front of the class. The prose, simple for primary kids, is unbelievably boring. Obviously there is a controlled vocabulary of fewer than twenty words. By Tuesday, most of the kids know it by heart, but these patient and good kids know that they will have to struggle with it all week like a gray used towel on the floor, appearing in front of them for days. They are interupted by the required Pledge of Allegiance, coming from a large TV, and everyone sings "My Country Tis of Thee".
Now it's back to the book of the week and the various canned worksheets before them on the tables. The kids seem dispirited and resigned. There is no spark of interest anywhere to be found. They look expectantly at my bulging sacks. In every available free second the teacher goes to her computer to tend to the endless paperwork involved in the program so that no child will be left behind.
I go around and whisper encouragement from kid to kid. Justin wants to know if I brought food today. Kelbie, eyes shining, tells me that she brought the promised Florida pear from her very own tree. Tommy, the only capable reader, tells me he wants me to read one of my books. I tell him he can help me choose it. Adrian, so bright and bored, the bad boy, must know he's such a favorite with me. I'm looking forward to seeing what Felix, a wonderful artist, will do with the painting project I have in mind. Melissa follows me around.
There are no windows in this room, no toys or blocks, no art center, no science center, few inviting books on a child's level, no pets. There is no time for anything but those horrid weekly books. The teaching is completely scripted. This is so disrespectful to a teacher, I think, reducing the job to technician.
'My' teacher is the same age as my oldest child. She's obviously really good. She's patient and good like her students. She's driven to have her students up to the high mark, and if anyone ever could, she does everything to make them succeed by the program. I love it when I see a few glimpses of her individuality, when she extends the lesson, drops the script, and talks to them, sometimes in German, about some fact or other that might come up.
But she hews to the program. Doggedly, she makes these pre-literate kids write their daily output just as FCAT requires in five steps, nevermind that most of the kids can't read yet, much less write anything. And certainly, who would want to write about that boring stuff that isn't what your heart wants to write? (My Dad got drunk and drove off last night) They love their teacher, and clearly, they know she loves them.
Most kids really do not learn to read until they are at least seven years old. (Why are we teaching a dog to talk?) Kids need to have many experiences, lots of them physical. FCAT has no emotional content, important for someone who is five or fifteen! At this school the kids get only two half hour recesses each week! They never see the light of day. Aargh!
Back to today:
I am patiently waiting for my opportunity to grab a bit of time for our art activity. But, to my dismay, the teacher says that only the kids who have done a good job on their homework (Homework??! for seven year olds?) can participate. I am devastated. I was so eager to see what Felix, or Adrian, or Marisol or Justin would do. I had no input about homework, of course, so this was a great blow. I signal the 'bad' kids with my eyebrows that I understand, get back to you later, buddy. Later, I told the teacher that this wasn't a part of my deal. I volunteer to teach all the kids. I am not into punitive actions, FCAT be damned.
What I know is that the reason a third of our children do not graduate from high school is that the public school system has killed their minds and souls. We need to rethink this. FCAT is not the answer.
Monday, September 11, 2006
New Fence
Bruce, the handyman who knows how to do everything, came over today and installed a lovely fence with two gates between the studios. I have never been so enthusiastic about anything. This encloses the space between Andy's woodshop and my studio so that the cows can't come in and wreak havoc by night. Now I can think about planting some shrubs and flowers (deer-proof) and being able to walk barefoot in this new space. What gardening potential!
It happened just in time. After Bruce finished with the new fence, the cowboys came with their dogs and horses to round up the calves who were to be sold. They had two long trailers to take away the eighteen calves. Right now the cows are bellowing and screaming for their young (now each more than six hundred pounds!) Tonight I hear the cows enraged, crying for their young- and, no doubt, wanting to drop many non-verbal negative messages between the studios. But they can't! Thanks to Bruce.
I always knew from the time I was a small child that I wanted very much to be connected to the natural world. I love being here on a farm where all I can see in any direction is my own land. I love showing my grandson Quincy the enormous golden orb weaver spiders, doodle bugs in the sand, wild pigs, tortoise holes.
I look forward to the times when we can walk out in the full moon, as we have done with our older grandchildren and many other kids. There are no fences or gates, no flashlights, as we walk through the round field and over the culvert and to the lane that leads to the last field. The full moon makes everything bright. You can see fireflies blinking in the palmettos and you believe, as you hold a small hand tightly in yours, that anything is possible even in this impossible world.
It happened just in time. After Bruce finished with the new fence, the cowboys came with their dogs and horses to round up the calves who were to be sold. They had two long trailers to take away the eighteen calves. Right now the cows are bellowing and screaming for their young (now each more than six hundred pounds!) Tonight I hear the cows enraged, crying for their young- and, no doubt, wanting to drop many non-verbal negative messages between the studios. But they can't! Thanks to Bruce.
I always knew from the time I was a small child that I wanted very much to be connected to the natural world. I love being here on a farm where all I can see in any direction is my own land. I love showing my grandson Quincy the enormous golden orb weaver spiders, doodle bugs in the sand, wild pigs, tortoise holes.
I look forward to the times when we can walk out in the full moon, as we have done with our older grandchildren and many other kids. There are no fences or gates, no flashlights, as we walk through the round field and over the culvert and to the lane that leads to the last field. The full moon makes everything bright. You can see fireflies blinking in the palmettos and you believe, as you hold a small hand tightly in yours, that anything is possible even in this impossible world.
Sunday, September 10, 2006
Remembering 9/11
September 10, 2006
Every American will mark in some way this fifth aniversary of that terrible day. We all have the memories of where we were, what we did and thought. I went back to look at my journal of that sad and alarming time. Andy and I came up to the ranch the weekend following the disaster. There was a tropical storm, constant rain and the power was out. We were so agitated that all we could do was walk about in the rain- sodden fields, criss-crossing through the grass as the skies wept and we cried. I very much wanted to have my entire family huddled close and never go away again. On that terrible day we watched the towers go over and over again on television as if by watching we might somehow expunge the images. We had spent anxious hours trying to connect with our daughter who lived in Washington and worked downtown. Finally we did and she was o.k. Everyone has these stories.
Five years later the world seems so much more complicated, really so much more threatening. We've gotten over anthrax powder, wrapping our homes in vinyl, colored security alerts. We're getting used to taking off our shoes in airports. But lots of us will never get used to having our citizen rights curtailed. Some of us still revere our Constitution.
After 9/11 I think that many people became better consumers of information. We learned what we could about Islam, the geography of the Middle East, global warming and oil. We learned a lot of disgusting things about the venality of our present administration (both parties!).
I can feel so depressed about our country five years after 9/11. I do know that three of my six grandchildren have been born since that fateful day. Should this give me hope?
Every American will mark in some way this fifth aniversary of that terrible day. We all have the memories of where we were, what we did and thought. I went back to look at my journal of that sad and alarming time. Andy and I came up to the ranch the weekend following the disaster. There was a tropical storm, constant rain and the power was out. We were so agitated that all we could do was walk about in the rain- sodden fields, criss-crossing through the grass as the skies wept and we cried. I very much wanted to have my entire family huddled close and never go away again. On that terrible day we watched the towers go over and over again on television as if by watching we might somehow expunge the images. We had spent anxious hours trying to connect with our daughter who lived in Washington and worked downtown. Finally we did and she was o.k. Everyone has these stories.
Five years later the world seems so much more complicated, really so much more threatening. We've gotten over anthrax powder, wrapping our homes in vinyl, colored security alerts. We're getting used to taking off our shoes in airports. But lots of us will never get used to having our citizen rights curtailed. Some of us still revere our Constitution.
After 9/11 I think that many people became better consumers of information. We learned what we could about Islam, the geography of the Middle East, global warming and oil. We learned a lot of disgusting things about the venality of our present administration (both parties!).
I can feel so depressed about our country five years after 9/11. I do know that three of my six grandchildren have been born since that fateful day. Should this give me hope?
Thursday, September 07, 2006
Personal Space
When Andy and I were working all the time there was a definite schedule to our comings and goings. I left the house before seven and he had a couple of hours to read the paper and do whatever he did before he left for work. I returned to the house between four and five and it gave me time to read the paper, catch up on things, shed my shoes, walk the dog.
Andy came home after six in time to cook dinner and chat. After cleaning up the kitchen I went to my office on the bottom floor to finish the day's work, and he went to his lair on the top floor to do whatever he needed to do. Many weeks Andy had to travel to other cities for work. Rarely, I would accompany him. Mostly, when I was here and he was there, we spoke a lot on the phone. But both of us had a certain amount of autonomy.
I am not a foodie. I love the usual evening dinners Andy cooks for me, never a repeat, always something interesting and appealing. But when he is not home, I just eat to live. Baked potatoes, cottage cheese, a whole tomato,a peach, nuts, lots of fruit- and all of it at strange times when my stomach tells me it is time to feed it.
Now that we are here together much of the time I think about what it means to have personal space. We have this huge farm! It's always possible to go somewhere by oneself. I have my studio and Andy has his woodshop. For the first time in many years we do not have multitudes of kids in our space.
But yet, we share the bathroom off the master bedroom. I think I have to be quick with the shower because someone else is waiting. I could take my potions and lotions and dentle floss up to the guest bathroom. But so far I haven't.
We are arranging our new personal space. I know he thinks of the same issues. It's just that for so many years we had our own space and times. Now, it has to be renegotiated. We are tender about each other's needs for having privacy, but it isn't easy.
Andy came home after six in time to cook dinner and chat. After cleaning up the kitchen I went to my office on the bottom floor to finish the day's work, and he went to his lair on the top floor to do whatever he needed to do. Many weeks Andy had to travel to other cities for work. Rarely, I would accompany him. Mostly, when I was here and he was there, we spoke a lot on the phone. But both of us had a certain amount of autonomy.
I am not a foodie. I love the usual evening dinners Andy cooks for me, never a repeat, always something interesting and appealing. But when he is not home, I just eat to live. Baked potatoes, cottage cheese, a whole tomato,a peach, nuts, lots of fruit- and all of it at strange times when my stomach tells me it is time to feed it.
Now that we are here together much of the time I think about what it means to have personal space. We have this huge farm! It's always possible to go somewhere by oneself. I have my studio and Andy has his woodshop. For the first time in many years we do not have multitudes of kids in our space.
But yet, we share the bathroom off the master bedroom. I think I have to be quick with the shower because someone else is waiting. I could take my potions and lotions and dentle floss up to the guest bathroom. But so far I haven't.
We are arranging our new personal space. I know he thinks of the same issues. It's just that for so many years we had our own space and times. Now, it has to be renegotiated. We are tender about each other's needs for having privacy, but it isn't easy.
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
Community Affairs
When I was working full tilt I didn't have time to be a thoughtful board member of community organizations. Yes, I did a few, but the meetings happened when I had already put in nine or more hours of work as a teacher/director of our school. I left the hard work to 'others' who were retired or didn't work at a 'real' job. I didn't really pay attention to the financial spread sheets and I let it slide onto others (the elderly and retired!) to attend to the nuts and bolts of whichever non-profit I was supposed to be helping.
As a very young person working in an art museum and in charge of docents, I spurned those well-meaning community volunteers as people who could not be counted upon. They came in on uncertain schedules, and I, working for pay, could not understand where they were coming from. I dismissed them as ladies in white gloves with money, Junior Leaguers, and men who didn't have anything else to do.
And now, I am them! I don't belong to the Junior League, my fingernails are gritty with Florida sand, but now is the time when I am a comitted volunteer. I have been so arrogant! Our American life counts upon the legions of volunteers in all aspects of our culture! I think about the people who build homes for low income people, the folks who are still working in the New Orleans area to restore a liveable life, the people who go to foreign lands because they believe that people should be free of AIDS, or malaria or cleft palates.
I am a believer in giving people tools to help themselves. It was important to me to construct a school program to fund a Heifer International project.
So now I am excited to be a community volunteer. I work one day a week in a local public school ( one of the poorest in the nation and state). I am an activist on several community boards. I believe that one needs to give back to the world. The people who do this are the ones who make our country what it tries to be. It may sound naive, but I think that to do this is to be a good American.
As a very young person working in an art museum and in charge of docents, I spurned those well-meaning community volunteers as people who could not be counted upon. They came in on uncertain schedules, and I, working for pay, could not understand where they were coming from. I dismissed them as ladies in white gloves with money, Junior Leaguers, and men who didn't have anything else to do.
And now, I am them! I don't belong to the Junior League, my fingernails are gritty with Florida sand, but now is the time when I am a comitted volunteer. I have been so arrogant! Our American life counts upon the legions of volunteers in all aspects of our culture! I think about the people who build homes for low income people, the folks who are still working in the New Orleans area to restore a liveable life, the people who go to foreign lands because they believe that people should be free of AIDS, or malaria or cleft palates.
I am a believer in giving people tools to help themselves. It was important to me to construct a school program to fund a Heifer International project.
So now I am excited to be a community volunteer. I work one day a week in a local public school ( one of the poorest in the nation and state). I am an activist on several community boards. I believe that one needs to give back to the world. The people who do this are the ones who make our country what it tries to be. It may sound naive, but I think that to do this is to be a good American.
Saturday, September 02, 2006
Living on the land
September 2, 2006
Whenever I visit anywhere else I am pleased that my feet and fingernails are smooth and clean. It is quite different here; it rains intermittently and we are both out for several hours each day. In the pasture Andy tracks down the soda apples, an invasive weed. He fixes the fences and takes his chain saw to trim back fallen wood. He mows the pastures and the verges of our mile long driveway.
Beginning of September, and it is time to get the vegetable garden in. Even though I have been attending to the garden all summer, mulching, weeding and anticipating, the hard work is now before me. It is tropical heat and humidity so I try and get in three hours of work early in the morning.
We are so dirty all the time! This is Florida muck- black, sandy, clingy. I have to bleach just about everything and each of us uses at least three changes of clothing each day. And it is a major time burner to pick the 'hitch hikers' off our clothing.
Today I finished the work of getting everything out of the vegetable garden to be ready for the new arrivals. The beautiful, but marred with mildew, zinias had to go. There were several eggplants still producing, as well as peppers, so I left those. I put in three new tomato plants and some very hot peppers. By this time I was definitely wilting in the sun so I spent the next couple of hours pruning the plants by the swimming pool, adding compost to the containers,attending to the mealy bugs on the key lime tree, cleaning the pool deck. By now it was time to shuck off my clothes and go for a long cooling swim.
Going back to the house I noticed so many areas needing pruning back. Living here in the near tropics one needs to beat back the wild growth every single day. Showering on the back porch, I noticed the grape vines all over the place- little shop of horrors! Wasp nests over the shower head, barking tree frogs right here, some shoes left over from a few weeks ago, now enclosed by grape tendrils.
I love living here where the air is sweet, the stars are vivid, the creatures make room for me. I love doing the hard physical labor it takes to make this my home. I think I may even be able to come to term with the cows!
Whenever I visit anywhere else I am pleased that my feet and fingernails are smooth and clean. It is quite different here; it rains intermittently and we are both out for several hours each day. In the pasture Andy tracks down the soda apples, an invasive weed. He fixes the fences and takes his chain saw to trim back fallen wood. He mows the pastures and the verges of our mile long driveway.
Beginning of September, and it is time to get the vegetable garden in. Even though I have been attending to the garden all summer, mulching, weeding and anticipating, the hard work is now before me. It is tropical heat and humidity so I try and get in three hours of work early in the morning.
We are so dirty all the time! This is Florida muck- black, sandy, clingy. I have to bleach just about everything and each of us uses at least three changes of clothing each day. And it is a major time burner to pick the 'hitch hikers' off our clothing.
Today I finished the work of getting everything out of the vegetable garden to be ready for the new arrivals. The beautiful, but marred with mildew, zinias had to go. There were several eggplants still producing, as well as peppers, so I left those. I put in three new tomato plants and some very hot peppers. By this time I was definitely wilting in the sun so I spent the next couple of hours pruning the plants by the swimming pool, adding compost to the containers,attending to the mealy bugs on the key lime tree, cleaning the pool deck. By now it was time to shuck off my clothes and go for a long cooling swim.
Going back to the house I noticed so many areas needing pruning back. Living here in the near tropics one needs to beat back the wild growth every single day. Showering on the back porch, I noticed the grape vines all over the place- little shop of horrors! Wasp nests over the shower head, barking tree frogs right here, some shoes left over from a few weeks ago, now enclosed by grape tendrils.
I love living here where the air is sweet, the stars are vivid, the creatures make room for me. I love doing the hard physical labor it takes to make this my home. I think I may even be able to come to term with the cows!
Friday, September 01, 2006
Celebrations, September 1, 2006
Night before last we had a celebration of the birthdays of two of my dearest friends. Jay and Susie share a birthday so they came with their spouses for a celebratory dinner cooked by Andy. Also present were my daughter, Elizabeth, her partner, Gina, and their almost two year old, Quincy. We gathered in St. Pete this time, not at our usual home at the ranch. The whole evening was raucous and fun. Wonderful food, begun with Maria's hors d'oeuvres, Peter's champagne, many toasts, good talk. Then Andy's dinner of pork tenderloin, two kinds of salad, wild rice, and I forget what else. Elizabeth made an incredible chocolate cake which was adorned with many candles. Quincy ran around after the balloons. We had many totally tasteless birthday cards and blowouts with the horns.
After they all left there was a mountain if dishes. Strangely enough, I do not mind cleaning up after these celebrations. I think about all the wonderful people in my life, some of them here tonight. While the first load was going through the dishwasher I called Susie to tell her what I had not mentioned when she was here; I am so glad that she is now free of breast cancer and that she goes forth so enthusiastically about her own daughters.
I celebrate every day that I am here in this wonderful place, my dream home.
After they all left there was a mountain if dishes. Strangely enough, I do not mind cleaning up after these celebrations. I think about all the wonderful people in my life, some of them here tonight. While the first load was going through the dishwasher I called Susie to tell her what I had not mentioned when she was here; I am so glad that she is now free of breast cancer and that she goes forth so enthusiastically about her own daughters.
I celebrate every day that I am here in this wonderful place, my dream home.
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