On a recent, spontaneous trip to Boston, I spied this jack-o’-lantern on a city street. I’m used to seeing pumpkins and jack-o’-lanterns in more rural settings, and something about this one, isolated on concrete, really stuck with me. I’ve been thinking about him ever since.
Jack-o’-lantern’s Lament
Once a plump and healthy pumpkin, I was sundered from my vine, cruelly disemboweled and mangled, carved to some perverse design.
How I long for golden fields now, yearn for trees and endless sky, as I molder on this concrete and amuse you passers-by.
I’ve become a foul-mouthed fruit now overripe with mold and spores. Do you wonder that I glower while you rush about your chores?
I was delighted to have a chance to share Laura Purdie Salas’s upcoming “Flurry, Float and Fly! The Story of a Snowstorm” with my second grade students recently. As Maine residents, we’re all well-versed in snow, so would they be the perfect audience for a snowy book or a snow-jaded lot?
As we settled in to read, the book quickly grabbed their attention. It is a gorgeous match between words and images. The rhyming was so well-crafted, that it took them a while to notice it, and they were delighted when they did. It really is masterfully done! Here’s the jet stream described oh-so-efficiently and oh-so-poetically: “From the north, a polar freeze…
from the south, a humid breeze…
All winds advance. The mix and dance. “
The kids oohed and aahed over several of the spreads, including this one:
illustration by Chiara Fedele
“The words go down, down, down….Just like snow!” one student gushed. On another spread, they loved how Laura spaced her words across the page and greatly admired her use of ellipses ( a favorite second grade form of punctuation!). On other pages students noticed how Laura used larger font and capitals to make words pop out. By the end of the book, my students were chanting along with the refrain, “flurry, float and fly.”
As we discussed the book, they asked me to turn back to this next page again and again. It captures the magic of early morning snow and the arrangement of words and those lovely ellipses invite you to linger…to slow down and just take it all in.
As a bonus, there are several pages of back matter to dig into. In them, the science of snow is beautifully and clearly articulated, with explanations of the jet stream and snowflake formation and well-chosen illustrations. We didn’t have a chance to dig into these pages yet, but I’m already thinking how I will use them to model some powerful non-fiction reading and thinking.
Most of all, my students fell into the wonder of the book and its snowstorm. As Laura noted, “I know that science underpins its beauty, but it’s still magic, falling silently, gracefully, from the sky.” My students agreed, and there wasn’t a jaded one among them! Laura’s words and Chiara’s illustrations wove a spell of a beautiful snowfall on a very warm fall day. My active semi-chaotic class was lulled by Laura and Chiara’s collaboration into a temporarily peaceful state.
Perhaps I’ll read it again tomorrow!
Note: It’s due for release on November 11th, so you will also have the chance to enjoy it soon!
An additional side note: If you haven’t ever had a chance to read Laura’s book, Finding Family: The Duckling Raised by Loons, I highly recommend that you do! Published in 2023, it’s already become a a must read in my classroom. Kids are fascinated by the story and it sparks some wonderful discussions about family.
On a sunlit chilly afternoon last week, the fire department came to visit. This is an annual event, and one that second graders greet with enthusiasm. They are always enthralled by the equipment and excited to share what they already know about fire safety. They also anticipate being able to clamber in and out of the fire truck and ambulance and maybe even try on a helmet. What’s not to love?
After touring the ambulance, we sat on the pavement in front of the fire truck, listening to the fireman talk. Suddenly, a radio squawked to life. In between static, we could hear blips of the incoming transmission, including something about “medical call” and “a four year old.” Everyone started shuffling and whispering, eyes wide, watching the professionals confer and click into gear. Within moments the ambulance crew had quickly departed in response, and the fireman had resumed his presentation. After a few more murmurs of “What’s going on?” and “Did you hear that?”, the kids settled back in to listen.
Except for one of them.
J. was slouched within his hooded sweatshirt, and I could see that he was still talking to his neighboring classmates, though they were mostly ignoring him, intent on answering the fireman’s questions about “Stop, Drop, and Roll!” J’s a big kid who vacillates between maintaining a tough guy veneer (second grade swagger?) and indulging his penchant for silliness. He can struggle with meeting expectations. I went over to check in.
“What’s up, J.?” I asked him.
“They said it was a four year old,” he said.
I reassured him that it was a medical call and that the ambulance left quickly so that they could help whoever it was who needed them.
“But I’m scared,” he said.
“It’s okay,” I reiterated. “Help is on the way for them.”
“But I thought it was a shooter. Was it a shooter?” he asked in a tremulous voice.
“No, J, it isn’t a shooter,” I said, suddenly struggling to form words. “It was a family who needed help, and help is on the way. You’re okay. We’re all safe.”
“So it’s not a shooter?” he asked.
I rubbed his back and reassured him some more. “No. There’s no shooter, J. That family is getting the help they need, and we’re safe. We’re all okay.”
“Oh, okay” he murmured, “I just thought it was a shooter.”
I sat beside him for the rest of the presentation, stunned and heartbroken, wondering if my words were even true, because in our country, firearms are the leading cause of death in children and adolescents. Our national priorities are horrendously skewed, and I’m really not so sure that we’re all safe and we’re all okay.
This week has been a doozy. I’m chiming in with a little poem in praise of Autumn, and with thanks to Georgia Heard‘s October prompt calendar for inspiration.
Autumn
If I chose words to hang upon an autumn tree I’d write dazzle tremble release and flutterfall
This month Margaret posed our Inklings challenge. She matched us up with partners and instructed us to send images to each other and write a poem sparked by the image we received. Catherine Flynn was my partner and she sent me three photos to choose between. I struggled to chose which picture to use, but kept coming back to this one:
Hope is a cluster of eggs nestled together. Exquisite promise cradled in the terrifying fragility of three thin shells.
I’m struggling with what to write this morning. My early-morning brain is bouncing around like a pinball between bumpers. For years now I’ve deliberately carved morning time out of each day for myself. I’ve gotten up an hour before I need to just so that I have a little space. A quiet space. A breathing space. Just for me. For writing. For pondering and wondering. For word games. For whatever I want.
But these days, school spills in. It’s a bit sneaky. I don’t even realize it’s made inroads until suddenly I discover myself thinking about how to manage rug time, what I should do about so-and-so, and how to manage five behavior charts in a room of 16 students…when I started by wondering if there was a poem to midwife out of my thoughts about fall mornings. Or how I might respond to a poetry photo prompt. Sometimes thinking about school is a mental exercise in curiosity and at other times it feels a bit like a spreading stain. An invasive species of thought.
One of my favorite things about my mornings has always been my commute to school. I get to drive along back country roads through farmland and across a scenic river. It never fails to both settle and lift me. This year, unfortunately, there is a massive construction project underway. Four miles of it. I discovered this when driving to school for our first PD days late in August. After sitting for long, long minutes in traffic repeatedly stopped for one-way travel, I quickly realized that I would have to drive the alternative route to school. The one I take when driving conditions are treacherous. The one that takes me onto 75 mph freeway traffic and then over less-than-scenic roads. I still cross the bridge, but somehow I’m not as primed to appreciate its beautiful view.
I didn’t realize was how much I would miss this commute. How much I needed it.
Early this past Saturday morning, I decided to check out how much progress had been made on the road and also visit my beloved scenery. I was surprised to find that even close to sunrise and on a Saturday, there was a flagger in place and the road was reduced to one-way travel for part of my journey. Still, there wasn’t much traffic, and once I was through that, I was able to settle in and enjoy the views.
The scenery did not disappoint.
After considering the pros and cons, I decided I’ll be driving that way again this morning. Even with the potential for delays, it’s 100% worth it.
There once was a woman whose house was home to far more than one mouse Though she bade them to leave they ignored heartfelt pleas, so she had no choice but to de-louse
Bold husband concocted his snares tightly wired and placed with great care Snap! Snap! went the traps and that ended that. New mousies had best be bewares!!
We turned the corner and the activity unfolded before us. Buffed and beautified tractors, decorated trailers and a variety of vehicles lined the street. Costumed people gathered in clusters and one woman practiced pulling a freshly painted metal pig.
“Careful!” someone called out, “It’s still wet under the loins!”
Everyone was getting ready for the annual Bowdoinham Days parade. As we walked past, we waved and called out compliments and greetings. As we passed one festooned “float”, a woman noticed us walking by and said to a nearby child, “Hey, Chase, why don’t you practice throwing them some candy!”
“You want to practice throwing candy at us!? Yes!” I enthused, stopping in my tracks.
Chase leapt into action. He dug his hands into a bucket of candies, then turned and threw a fistful in our direction. I kept my eyes on the trajectory of a golden package of peanut M&Ms and was rewarded as it fell right into my outstretched hand. Yes! I pumped my fist and Chase jumped up and down in delight.
“Thanks!” we called as we continued on our way, heading toward the official parade route.
As we walked, we saw more and more people lining up along the streets. Kids squealed and ran along the sidewalks, jumping up and down in excitement as they greeted their friends. Adults stopped to talk, share their news, and maybe buy a piece of prize-winning pie to support our local school. Everywhere there was such a nice buzz of positive community energy.
Finally, there was a whoop and wail from the escorting police cars, and the parade began. This parade is my favorite thing ever! It’s simply the best. Our town of slightly over 3,000 people has deep agrarian roots and a rich network of active farms. As the tractors trundled down the parade route, they threw some candy, but lots and lots of veggies. This year the choice options were red peppers, carrots and, maybe not so wisely, cherry tomatoes. They also throw marigolds and soon the route was paved with orange petals and flower heads. This year the library stepped up their game and handed out picture books to children. One local farm deviated from the veggie plan and handed out huge glowing sunflowers to spectators. (If you look carefully in the tractor pictures you’ll see flying tomatoes and red peppers!)
And then there are the beloved zucchini races. We weren’t able to stay and see them this year, but stopped by to check out the contestants.
There’s plenty more to do: a chicken run, food trucks, arts and crafts, a fundraising yard sale, lobster crate races, rubber duck racing, live music and fireworks. They were even selling jars of honey harvested from the hives installed outside the local library! It was small town unity and heart on full display, and a most welcome antidote to these divisive times.
Eventually, we walked back up to our home, smiling the whole way, picking up a few lost carrots, and enthusing about what a great morning it had been.
The next evening I made soup with our veggie prizes while the sunflower glowed in my kitchen window.
These days, as our country mutates into something foul and ignoble, I turn to Nature again and again to find solace. Sometimes I feel almost desperate in my search for a peaceful distraction. It reminds me of the fledglings I see at our feeders in the spring, fluttering their wings insistently in a drumbeat of demand. “Feed me! Feed me!” they insist, over and over again, as the adult birds patiently tend to them. Somedays, I feel like I owe Mother Nature a big apology for my ongoing neediness. She definitely has my gratitude.
These days, I’ve also been rereading Wendell Berry’s well-known “The Peace of Wild Things.” It’s a poem I’ve turned to again and again over the years. It begins
When despair for the world grows in me and I wake in the night at the least sound in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be, I go and lie down where the wood drake rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds. I come into the peace of wild things…
I’m so grateful to live in a place where I’m surrounded by beauty. I’m so grateful to be a part of supportive communities.
This week’s Poetry Friday is hosted by Rose Cappelli at her blog, Imagine the Possibilities. This community is another place where you can find solace.
This month it was my turn to set the Inklings challenge. I suggested that we “write a love note to something or someone or some place.” I shared José A. Alcántara’s Love Note to Silence as a possible mentor, or alternatively, I suggested riffing off of one of Georgia Heard’s June Small Letters calendar prompts.
I recently encountered Alcántara’s poem in an on-line class. The first two stanzas establish the relationship between the poet and silence. Here are the last two stanzas:
But listening to you is like the shore listening to the ocean. I’m swept clean of my detritus, my rotting organic matter, everything tossed there by the rude and the ugly.
Here, let me grab my pen and notebook, my binoculars. Let me slip on my coat and shoes. The sandhill cranes are passing overhead. Let’s go to the fields at the edge of town and make some noise.
Inspired by Alcántara, I considered writing love notes to all sorts of things: paper, grief (really!), the great blue heron, the marsh, hummingbirds, the clock, etc. But I kept coming back to… of all things…chipmunks! They just make me happy. So I went with that.
Love note to a chipmunk
Oh, chipmunk, you harbinger of spring! You’re the racing car of rodents, sleek and striped, you scamper and scurry all rush and hurry as you zip and zoom across and through the tangled garden green or dash into cracks and crevices or scurry up a tree.
You pop up here and there and then appear in yet another spot. Always go, go, going! Until you’re not.
Then you sit in one space with your nuts or fruit or seeds and your clever hands proceed to stuff your face bit by bit by bit until your cheeks are full– stretched beyond belief. You adorable greedy rascal! You’re my dependable comic relief!
How can I not love you? Your acrobatic antics never cease to amuse. Such sassy spunk and acts of derring-do.
Ah, chipmunk, you have a gift for lightness amidst your serious pursuits. An intrepid explorer, you’re bold and brave, finding sustenance and sweetness in every day.
Now that summer’s fading fast away, you’ll soon depart to hibernate beneath the snow, all snug in some cozy cave or den, idling your engine until you can brave the first chilly days of spring.
Then once again, you’ll fling yourself into life with impressive gusto.
And now here’s a little cuteness overload for you from around my home:
As a bonus, I have to include a couple of photos from David Bird, an amazing photographer who has photographed wildlife, including chipmunks, with his own created “Becorns”.
If you’re interested in seeing what the other Inklings did with this prompt, please check on the links below:
This week’s Poetry Friday Roundup is hosted by Margaret Simon at her blog, Reflections on the Teche, where she shares her own love note.
*Please note that there’s a typo in that on line version, but I can’t find it anywhere else. It should read “sandhill cranes” in the fourth stanza, NOT “handheld cranes”!
Nix the comfort zone 