The Root Tooter

This is too delicious to not share….

Yesterday’s writing assignment (we’ve been studying the life cycle of a plant):  

 “Write a first person account as if you are a seed”

One creative student came up with this gem…

I am a seed. 

I toot roots then my neck starts to grow. 

Then my arms start to grow.

Then my head pops out from my neck.

(I took the liberty of translating the spelling errors for ease of reading.  I speak fluent First Grader, you know).

I LOVE the way their brains work!!!

Down to One Layer

Today first grade played outside.  We played outside without coats.  Do you understand how significant that is in North Dakota?  It’s right up there with Independence Day, Christmas, the beginning of a new millennium, and other celebrations of epic proportions.  It is the end of a long winter and the beginning of a short summer.  And we will revel in each and every glorious moment.

Now I’ll back up.  The air temperature has very little to do with whether or not we spend our recess outside.  These are hardy North Dakotans.  WE PLAY OUTSIDE, doggonit!  We don’t care what the thermometer says.  Twenty below?  We laugh at such balmy temperatures.  The thickness of our life-giving blood could clog the Boston subway system.  We tally-ho and sally forth without a thought as to what the air feels like on our tender, freeze-dried skin. 

Our To Play or Not To Play Outdoors rule is, if its colder that -15 wind chill, we herd our lads and lasses into the gymnasium.  Here’s the part that just cracks me up.  On those days, the kids are desperately disappointed.  They WANT to be outside even in brutally cold winter temperatures.  I may have mentioned at some point in my rambling that I grew up in Missouri.  Missouri does not see below zero temperatures, or at least rarely does.  We always felt that anything below 20 was life threatening.  Better stock up on the essentials and stay inside until the mercury is flirting with thirty again.

But here on the steppes of the frozen north, it is a much different story.  When I took courses this last year, I would get out of my very uncool Soccer Mom minivan, and would find myself staring at the bare legs of my young and hardy classmates, complete with flip flops.  We’re talking on below zero days!!

My youngest son, Cody, is an exception to the Stay-Outside-Till-You-Drop rule.  He has humorously portrayed his elementary grade teachers as nothing less than unsympathetic when it came to finding shelter from the bitter cold on the playground.  With a humorous flair for hyperbole, he claims he would complain about being cold to the on-duty recess teacher, who would take a drag from her Marlboro cigarette, blow the smoke in his face, and grunt, “You think you’re cold, kid?  Here... take a swig of my whiskey…”

Obviously an over-the-top portrayal (but on the other hand, how DID they stay warm out there??  Hmmmmm....)  Here’s the best part about my recess tale.  This year for the very first time in our school’s history, the teachers DO NOT HAVE RECESS DUTY.  That job has been relegated to other ancillary staff (sorry ladies, I know you feel gyped.  The whole time I’m gloating in my good fortune, I’m feeling your pain.  OK, I lied.  Not really).  The hard, “cold” truth is, I really hate to be cold.  Yeah, I know, wrong state to live in for year-round comfort.  I manage it all fine if I don’t have to be outside for long.  If I work it right, the only time I have to actually feel outdoor temperatures is the short walk from my vehicle to the front doors of the school, and then back again at the end of the day.  THAT I can take (barely). 

So why do I live here?  Well….that is a really good question.  The big answer is because this is where family is.  Family is everything.  But the minor answer is, North Dakota is the absolute greatest place to live during our summer months.  Warm days, LOTS of sunshine, low humidity, and endless daylight hours.  No lie, you can still see light on the western horizon at 11 pm.  When my kids were small, I would realize with shock that they were still up and running around waaaay too late.  Those long summer days lull you into thinking it’s early yet.  I LOVE that. 

And so…..

I joyously welcome the maiden arrival of spring with its temperate days, and the beginnings of my favorite time of the year.  And when we get that last blast of winter in May and I snap my annual photo of snow on ground when I should be putting in my garden, and clearing debris from my flower beds, I’ll stay brave and try not to complain (much).  I’ve lived here long enough now to not be knocked off-kilter by Jack Frost's last taunt.  The garden always gets planted in time, and my flowers will be breathtaking by some time in June.  And I will pretend that my summer will be an endless year-round mix of shorts and tank tops, iced tea, and unwinding at the end of the day in a porch rocking chair.

Today we played outside without coats.  Let the celebration begin….

Cinderella for a Day

Last week was an incredible affirmation of my hard work in reaching my teaching goals.  The university that was blind enough (OOPS, I meant to say, FORWARD THINKING enough) to award a diploma to this 49 year-old chick, has been generous in its praise of my accomplishments.  Last week I attended not one, but two awards dinners recognizing my efforts.  I didn’t make Who’s Who my first time around the college block, but I got ‘er done this time!  But the award that really punches my accelerator to the floor is my award as the Outstanding Elementary Education Student.  Each North Dakota teacher’s college picks one, and unbelievably, this middle-aged, mother of four got the nod.  I am so honored, proud, humbled and amazed simultaneously.

Those accolades are heady stuff, to be sure.  But I had a different sort of goal-reaching moment this week as well.  One that I think was even more rewarding than the first.  Thursday afternoon we were busy with the usual stuff – phonics, grammar, Daily 5 activities, etc., when I suddenly had a moment of brilliant clarity.  It was like I was standing back observing my classroom as a third party observer, and I nearly burst with happiness.  I became acutely aware of my classroom environment and the low hum of activity that buzzed and swirled around me.  My students were busy with their assigned tasks.  There was a certain amount of verbal exchange happening in small groups around the room, but it was controlled and centered around guided discovery.  I noticed the life that our classroom was host to.  Up on a shelf by my desk (set up high so that seven rambunctious first graders don’t send them into cardiac arrest) are ten Painted Lady caterpillars gorging themselves in preparation for The Magnificent Event. 

Just to the left of our class critters is a window shelf  with an assortment of containers housing a variety of plants.  In salvaged gallon milk jugs and pop bottles we are growing lettuce, radishes, and carrots for our coming Salad Celebration.  We also have a 2 liter bottle cut in half that is simply titled, “Mattie’s Orange Seed,” the seed scavenged from a lunch by its owner, begging if we could grow our own orange tree.  Well, why not?  There is definitely something growing in that container, whether it is an actual orange tree seedling, I have my doubts.  But we are junior scientist and we learn by doing.  So my young charges are convinced we will be picking fresh oranges right in our classroom within weeks.  Whenever we plant anything, we always hypothesize how long it will take for the seeds to sprout.  We have guessed anywhere from 2 days to 2000 days.  I never let on if they are on the mark or not.  They will learn by observing.  I LOVE it that they are interested enough to ask questions and try things in the name of science.  This morning’s snack of watermelon wedges left behind dozens of seeds for future planting.  They don’t ask if we can anymore.  They know I’m game.  I may have to find a grant for a school green house.  My little window shelf is getting crowded.

On the shelf below my window garden is a plastic container with holes punched in the lid.  It houses yet another caterpillar.  This poor sap was found in the yard of one of my darlings and stuck in her pocket to bring to me.  Unbelievably, the hardy soul was still alive!  We quickly created a home for it, stuck a leftover banana peel in there for nourishment (which it seemed to enjoy immensely), and very democratically voted on a name.  He is simply “junior” in honor of his rescuer.

After my watershed moment, I went back through my files and found my teaching philosophy that I had penned near the beginning of my education courses.  I read my own words with a satisfied smile:

Somewhere, in the course of my educational journey, I found a quote that said something like, “the classroom should be a place of discovery, where the air is filled with the hum of students in quiet discovery, and science experiments mix with art projects on every available surface.”  This is the type of classroom I want to foster.  I want my students to wake up on school mornings with a sense of expectancy and excitement for what their day will hold.  I want them to feel challenged and capable simultaneously. 

The plaque will grow dusty and the certificates will yellow with age, but knowing I am successfully creating the classroom environment I had envisioned will have farther-reaching consequences than anything else.  My kids care about my awards about as much as how much the school electric bill costs each month.  “You got an award???  No offense, but who really cares, Mrs. Dahl?  Oh, and by the way, we’re about out of potting soil…”

Our Gallon Garden

Boomerang

My private Facebook message was ominously titled, “Blackmail.”  That put a smile on my face.  Very intriguing.  I had just posted my latest blog entry about my missing report cards.  Eaten with curiosity, I eagerly clicked on my message box.  Its simple message confessed to being the recipient of seven freshly recorded first grade report cards.  They had come to be in this parent’s possession via a homework folder sent by me.  The parent thought maybe I had wanted them to see their child’s progress compared to the rest of the class. They never gave it a second thought until they read my post. Did I want them back? 

Images flashed through my memory of that fateful afternoon.  Yes, I was SURE I had remembered setting them on my desk.  Hallelujah, I’m not losing my mind after all! (Well, not entirely).  I must have also stacked a pile of send-home papers on top of them and inadvertently threw the whole kit and kaboodle into said folder.  Such an idiot!!  Sigh…..

In my defense, have you ever spent the last few minutes of a school day in a first grade classroom?  No? It is unparalleled mania spelled C-H-A-O-S.  “Mrs. Dahl, I can’t find my other sock!”  (Why aren’t you wearing socks)?  “Mrs. Dahl, Sammy is wearing my boots!”  (They don’t look anything like your boots and they’re two sizes to small).  “Mrs. Dahl, Johnny just wiped a booger on my homework!”  (Well, I guess its better than eating it).   “Mrs. Dahl, I THINK I’m supposed to ride to my friend’s house today.  Can you go call my mom to make sure?”   “Mrs. Dahl, I have to go to the bathroom!”  Mrs. Dahl, Steven just tripped me!  (Steven says) “He fell on my foot!  And now it really hurts!  Can you go get an ice pack for me?”  “Mrs. Dahl, I forgot to tell you that I’m going to be gone for the next week and my mom wants you to send all my homework with me tonight.  Oh, and I have to go the bathroom.”  It’s a bona fide miracle I didn’t throw half the contents of my desk and our new pet caterpillars in there as well. 

Well, mystery solved.  Too late, of course to do any good.  The “fake” report cards were mailed out last week.  Seven sets of parents asked the same question, probably simultaneously,  “Does this chick know what she’s doing???”  (Survey says……)

And so it ends.  I’m a little wiser and for sure a heap more humbled.  Word of advice to those considering teaching as a career….learn to laugh at yourself (and hire a personal assistant).

To Report a Lost or Stolen Card.....

 “Hello?  Yes, this is Vonda Dahl.  I’d like to report a lost card.  Well, seven of them to be exact.  No, not a credit card.  No, these are cards of a different sort.  These are REPORT cards.  Yes, you heard me correctly.  I LOST ALL OF MY STUDENTS’ REPORT CARDS.  Yes, ma’am.  That would be correct.  I am indeed, a LOSER teacher.  I mean, what kind of teacher loses report cards, for crying out loud!?!  I’m sorry, what?  Yes, as a matter of fact I am brushing up my resume.  Thanks for asking…”

Yeah, that’s right.  I really did lose all my student report cards.  Well, not really LOSE.  They are in the building somewhere.  I had them at lunch.  I set them in my mailbox so that I could hand them to the principle for perusal.  When I went to grab them later to carry to his office, I-COULD-NOT-FIND-THEM-ANYWHERE!  Can you sense the panic in my words????!!  I was frantic.  Well, not right at first.  I mean, I misplace things all the time.  I have left my car keys in every imaginable spot on earth.  I have tucked my credit card in my jacket pocket and forgot about it on many occasions.  I have found odd items in the freezer (you do this stuff too, right??).  But how could I have misplaced something so important as my precious lambs’ report cards my first time out of the gate??  Let me assure you, I felt like a complete idiot!

I didn’t really want to share my blond moment right away, so I just kept going back to the same places and looking vainly for the vanishing papers to pop out at me and yell BOO.  The science teacher finally said to me, “Why do I keep finding you here?”  Uhhhhh…… was my articulate answer.  When the bell rang at the end of the day, I kicked Operation Tear School Apart into high gear.  Shelves, piles of papers, and books were gone through 47 times (roughly).  Nothing.  I tried closing my eyes and relaxing (hard to do when your blood pressure in nearing stroke level).  I pleaded with the Lord Almighty to send Gabriel himself to give me a divine revelation.  Nothing. 

The janitor walked in to grab my trash and very perceptively asked, “Have you lost your mind?”  YES!!  OK, time to pull someone into my circle of trust.  “I can’t find my report cards,” I nearly sobbed.  She was instant take-charge.  “OK, do not panic!”  Too late.  She was at my side in an instant poking, moving, prodding, looking, looking, looking.  Nothing.  She disappeared and then reappeared like The Man of Steel during a wardrobe change.  “I just went through your garbage.  It’s not there.”  Sigh….

Time to face my colleagues.  This was bigger than the janitor and me.  With heavy heart and concrete legs I headed to the workroom.  There I confessed my first year teacher sins like the chastised newbie I was.  Sympathy and looks of understanding all around.  “We’ve all done it,” I was reassured over and over. I think they were just trying to be kind, but it helped (a little). Some even came immediately to my room to help search.  Nothing.

Now to face the real test of my embryonic career.  I had to tell the principle.  I had to really pep talk myself into that one.  “Well, I got hired once.  Maybe some other school will hire me as well.  No wait, you’re forgetting that schools check criminal backgrounds AND whether or not you can hold onto your report cards.  Well, teaching was fun while it lasted….”

He just stared at me.  “You lost your report cards?”  Gulp.  “Yes.”  More staring.  “Would it help to know that I lost only the top copies?  I still have the originals.”  Relief came like a melting glacier. “Well, that is no big deal then.  We’ll simply make photocopies and mail those out.  TRY to find your copies, but if you can’t, it’s not the end of the world.”  Really?  I shaved 2.4 years off my life and it’s not a big deal?  Such unspeakable relief!!!

I still haven’t found those crazy things.  I’m beginning to think one of my more enterprising students picked them up and is holding them for blackmailing purposes.  I just can’t believe I haven’t stumbled across them yet. 

In the course of one day I felt panic, humiliation, frustration, self-reproach, warmth from my coworker’s understanding, and blessed, blessed relief. It was quite a day.  I really hope I don’t experience another one of those for …… well, forever. But I will.  You and I both know that it won’t be the last time I do something stupid and have to face consequences of some sort.

But in the end, it will be OK, and I will have learned something valuable from it.  What I learned from this experience was, nothing is ever as terrible as it seems at the time.  Life goes on.  And I learned that during report card time I should staple them to my head.  It would be less painful than what I went through.

Maybe I should go check the freezer…..

Hope Comes V-Shaped

Saturday mornings are lovely, aren’t they?  The Dahl house has what we affectionately call Law and Order Saturdays.  One or the other of us gets up, makes coffee, whips up some pancake batter, and turns on Law and Order, which I’m pretty sure is on 24/7.

This morning was no different.  A little sleepin’ in, a cup of good strong coffee, waffles today with some of our real Vermont maple syrup stash (We lived in Vermont for 14 years and are absolutely addicted to the stuff).  Mmmmmmm…

After a leisurely breakfast and a favorable jury verdict, I was ready to start my day.  As I was getting dressed, I heard a vaguely familiar sound coming from outside.  Initially I wasn’t sure what it was, but I instinctively froze and listened carefully.  Still too muffled to be discerned, I waited, somehow knowing that I WANTED to discover its source.  It quickly grew in intensity until I could label it.  Geese!!  Beautiful honking, noisy geese.  I ran to the window.  They were coming in wave after wave of V-shaped platoons. 

Migration is a fascinating thing to me.  How DO they know when its time to leave and arrive?  I honestly believe that our house sits in the middle of a major flight path, because the spectacle is breathtaking twice every year without fail.  For days at a time, it will be a near constant sight of those awe inspiring V shapes casting shadows over my house and yard.

The sight is wonderful and the symbolism is just as powerful.  It means spring is really and truly here!  No more longing and wondering.  It is now confirmed by God’s creatures.  They KNOW. They wouldn’t leave warmer climates prematurely.  So it must be true.

I think my annual rite is a powerful symbol of hope.  Faith is trusting that everything will be alright, even when you have absolutely no evidence to support that belief.  It is clinging to hope when every instinct tells you to panic.  Today we are waiting for yet another winter storm.  Dire predictions have been forecast all week, and now it looks like the worst will pass north of us, but the day is dreary and overcast and you can feel and sense the moisture that will descend within hours.  And yet…

I heard geese today.  

My soul now scoffs at a last attempt by Mother Nature to dampen my spirit and cause dismay at winter’s refusal to leave quietly.  Even sitting here now I can hear them honking above me.  I went to school today to get some work done (you knew that teachers work six days a week, right?)  I stepped out of my vehicle and reveled in the sight of yet more geese.  They are coming in droves to their summer home.  Welcome, Beautiful Promise of balmy days and vibrant sunshine!

So when life just feels too big... and too hard...and darkly hopeless, remember that all of creation is cyclical.  Night comes before daybreak.  Winter after fall harvest.  Children grow up to have children of their own.  And spring comes after the long night of winter.  Do not despair.  Cling to hope and the promise of life sustaining rains and warming sunshine.  Then take your cue from those glorious geese and follow your heart to a new day.

Dungeons and Draggins'

A bit about my home away from home (I have actually spent the night in that classroom ‘cause of The Blizzard so that statement is more true than ever!).  It is a lovely space, blue sky and puffy clouds painted on the walls, 3-D tree in the corner, bright, cheery colors, and organized just the way I want it (well, the organized part is ITP – In The Process).  Its only drawback is, it is tucked away in the lower level of the old wing of the building (by old, I mean the inscription on the outside says 1938 – pretty darn old). 

Don’t get me wrong. I love old buildings.  I am a fanatic about beautiful older homes with their sturdy structures and beautiful interior hardwood touches.  But you and I know that with old comes drawbacks like outdated wiring and plumbing and roof and furnace issues. 

So when I was awarded the first grade room last December, I immediately began planning “my room” and all that I wanted to do in there.  I have completely enjoyed that process and truly feel as though the room reflects my personality.  But my hovel on the prairie has its shortcomings too.  

This is the dungeon part.  In terms of cell phone reception, its like the thing is wrapped in kryptonite.  I just can’t figure out what the deal is down there.  Sometimes a stray sound wave will lose its way and accidently wander into my room causing one bar to appear on my phone.  (Joy!  Quick…who can I call)?  But then that same signal will realize its has entered Forbidden Territory and will skeedaddle back to the neighboring town where it knows its supposed to be. 

If I want to shoot a text off to someone, I have to play tag with a signal until I find the sweet spot of reception.  I walk around the room holding my phone out in front of me like it’s a Geiger counter and I’m doing a sweep for radiation.  Oooh, I found a bar!  Don’t move, Vonda.  Don’t move…..don’t breathe, don’t even let your heart beat until this message gets sent…. doggonit, I lost the signal!  Sigh….. Ok, try again, drop your left shoulder a little, yeah, that’s it.  Now raise your right knee 3.2 inches off the floor and sing Yankee Doodle seven times….YES, I have a bar back!  Message sent.  Whew! It only took four minutes to find a signal this time.  OK, I’m plotting coordinates for the next time so that I can find the EXACT spot.  Maybe I can shave a few seconds off my best time and get it down to 3 ½ minutes.  Gotta’ love the “convenience” of cell phones!  Really, I sometimes think in my situation I should just keep carrier pigeons handy.

In case you think I am exaggerating, sadly, not really all that much.  Just ask the locals.  Our town really is the Death Valley of cell phone reception.  My husband and I recently went to our nearest Verizon store to update our plan and the nice salesman showed us a map of their cell reception in the state of North Dakota.  “The red areas are continuous coverage areas in the state,” he crowed proudly.   John and I obediently stared at the map.  Red all over the place.  “What’s that tiny spot in the middle?  Looks like a mustard drip.”  “THAT,” he declared dramatically, “is little or no reception.”  We both dropped our heads closer to the drip.  “That’s our town,” my husband said incredulously.  It was the only place on the map that didn’t get reception, and our town sits smack-dab in the middle.  The nice salesman nodded solemnly.  “Yes, I know,” he confirmed somberly, like he was at a wake for a favorite aunt.  He felt our pain.  Unbelievable hardship.

The draggin’ part of this rant is the set of stairs that I descend and ascend 738 times a day.  Up four steps to the first landing, then down ten to my room.  Back up ten to make a copy.  Down again with said copy.  What happens when I add a few years and rheumatism sets in?  Well, maybe it will keep me young and spry to run up and down steps all day. 

It only really gets interesting on the mornings when I have a bunch of stuff to haul in from the van (OK, that’s EVERY morning).  So now my 4 + 10 trek includes 16 pounds of “essential” gear for the day.  It’s not so bad going down, but coming back up with it at the end of the day takes a certain amount of endurance training.  I must have the biceps of a female body builder by now.

So that’s my space.  It’s my spot in an old building, in a prairie town, in a wind-swept state, in the greatest nation on Earth.  Our little school will never be famous or become a household word, but to those of us who live and work and show up for social gatherings and even funerals in that old building, it’s a piece of Americana that is precious and quickly fading from the American landscape.  Neighboring towns whose families move away and are not replaced with new blood, eventually shrivel up and die.  It’s more than a little heart wrenching to drive by a shuttered school that used to be the heartbeat of the community. 

We will fight to stay open and teach our children until there just are no other options.  Once the school closes, the heart of the community just seems to slowly stop beating.  The best nights in a small town include a basketball game with a rival town, or a spring concert complete with “lunch.”  It’s less about the activity du jour, and more about the gathering of people who need a break from field planting or calving.  Just sharing the commonality of life is refreshing and therapeutic.  When that is gone, it changes the unity that all small towns thrive on.  It causes a loss of identity that generations have taken pride in.

I love that old building.  It houses my heart.