Category Archives: Uncategorized

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Spring Visitors

This past week was our April break and with time at home, I was able to see all of the spring visitors stopping by. Our feeders were buzzing nonstop with birds, all sporting their finest breeding plumage. The bright yellows of goldfinches, raspberry-hues of purple finches, brilliant blues of bluebirds and bluejays, scarlets of cardinals and other assorted hues spotted the branches of nearby trees like colorful buds. Beneath the feeders, the newly arrived white-throated sparrows scratched at the leaf litter and periodically sang out their distinctive song: “Oh Sam Peabody Peabody Peabody!” An eastern towhee unexpectedly stopped by to do the same. I’ve spotted yellow-rumped and palm warblers flitting by as well. The air is filled with song!

It’s such a spectacular time of year, and having time off to enjoy it is such a bonus. I was able to visit local marshes and ponds and was thrilled to see great egrets, snowy egrets, glossy ibises and more! The turtles are back and the tadpoles are growing. Every day the grass gets greener and the landscape is clearly shifting to technicolor. It’s such a dynamic time of year.

Each day seems to bring new visitors. This past Sunday morning a turkey wandered into our garden to join in the fun and later in the day a pileated woodpecker stopped by to feed on the suet. (They are regulars in the surrounding area, but not often in the house zone.) The osprey are back in the neighborhood and we’ve seen several nesting pair around town. Our neighbors have seen a Baltimore oriole already, so I’ve put up some orange slices to lure them in, and my hummingbird feeders are filled and placed in anticipation of the ruby throat’s imminent arrival. I never know who’s going to be visiting when I look out my window!

Yesterday, the warmest of the year’s weather came to visit–light breeze, 70 degrees, blue skies and sunshine! After school, I took a detour to the hammock with an apple and a book. Within moments, I was swaying beneath the trees, slipping into relaxation. Ah, bliss!

I hadn’t been there long when I was interrupted.

“Hey, Molly!” Kurt yelled from the front yard.

“Yeah?”

“Did you by any chance bring a fish home today?”

“What?”

“There’s a fish in the yard. Right next to my truck.”

I sat up quickly, careful not to spill out of the hammock.

“A fish. In the yard? A big one?”

“It’s pretty big. I think it’s a blue gill. How in the heck did it get here?”

I had to see this! I I struggled to stand up, discarding my bowl of apple slices and book.

“I’ve heard of people finding fish in their yards before.” I called out while grabbing my phone, knowing I’d want to document the moment with a picture. “Do you think an osprey dropped it?”

“I don’t know…maybe?”

“Are there any talon marks or punctures?”

I kept up a steady stream of questions until I made it out to the front yard, and could check it out for myself. Sure enough, there it was… a good sized fish in the grass.

Kurt nudged it over with his foot. There were no noticeable talon marks or any indication that it had been carried by an osprey or eagle. We looked at each other, perplexed, and then both looked up at the clear blue sky above us.

What in the world?!

We have no answers to this mystery. Like I said, at this time of year, each day brings new visitors.

I wonder who’ll stop by tomorrow!

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PF: Double Dactyl

I went off script with a double dactyl prompt today and veered into politics. Sadly, it’s never far from mind. Happily, double dactyls are a fun challenge. (If you’re interested in learning about the parameters of the form, you can click here.)

Vomitous gromitous
President Donald Trump
thrives on autocracy,
bombast and lies.

Resist, Americans!
He is the ultimate
anticoagulant–
bleeding us dry!

©Molly Hogan

This week’s Poetry Friday Roundup is hosted by Heidi Mordhorst at her blog, My Juicy Little Universe. In addition to hosting, she’ll be adding her line to this year’s Progressive Poem.

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The First Day of April Break

The alarm trills with bird song at 4:15 am. I can’t say I spring out of bed, but I’m somewhat closer to grin than groan. Today, I’m going to welcome the day at the marsh. I’m in happy anticipation of seeing egrets and herons, glossy ibis and who knows what else. I’ve been feeling the pull of the marsh for weeks now, but rainy (and snowy) and busy weekends have kept me away. Even as I rub the sleep away from my eyes, I feel my spirits lifting.

The sun rises well before 6 am these days, and the marsh is about 45 minutes away. It’s in the 30s now, but headed up toward 60 later. I’m uncertain what to wear, but eventually opt for layers, and dress hurriedly. I pour my coffee in a to-go cup, detour to tuck a hand warmer in my coat pocket, and grab my camera. Before too much time has passed, I’m in the car, driving southward. The moon glows overhead, an oddly shaped egg bright in the sky. Soon dawn will chase the dark away over the horizon.

Yesterday I mentioned to Kurt that my shoulders have been living up by my ears these days. No matter how often I consciously relax them, the unrelenting tension of these days pulls them up again. Even now, at the beginning of break, driving to where I want to go, I realize my shoulders are taut with tension. Consciously I pull them down, breathe. I remind myself that my most pressing decision right now is where I will go after the marsh. Will I also go to the beach? Will I take myself out to breakfast? It’s early for warblers, but I could visit some likely spots. The morning is lightening around me and options abound. I settle my shoulders lower, loosen my grip on the steering wheel, and drive toward the new day.

Later I find a surprise message at the bottom of my coffee cup:

It feels like the perfect way to end my morning, and the perfect message to keep in mind as I unwrap the gift of this week.

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Art in Bloom!

Every April the Portland Museum of Art dazzles spring-craving senses with “Art in Bloom”. They invite local florists to interpret works of art with floral designs. Each arrangement has a placard that lists the inspiring art work and includes a written statement from the florist. There’s also a list of materials used to create the piece: flowers, vines, bark, stone, etc. Ekphrastic floral design!

This past Friday afternoon while a solo violinist played in the background, I wandered through the museum with my friend and one of my daughters. I had debated attending, as doing anything on a Friday night feels challenging to me. After making plans a couple of weeks ago, I’d been looking forward to the event, but I’d also second guessed myself time and again. And again! The lure of an early evening at home is always strong. Still, I’d made it!

We meandered along with no particular plan, following the flow of our random footsteps, enjoying each piece as we came upon it. As we walked along, sometimes tendrils of scent would beckon us forward, and sometimes it was a splash of color. The hum of other voices filled the galleries, along with the sweet strains of music from the violinist.

As we approached each piece, we’d examine it, trying to figure out from shape, color, materials, etc. what piece of art work inspired it. Sometimes it was quite obvious, and at other times it was tricky to determine. One piece was inspired by a brooch! It felt sort of like a treasure hunt, and I found myself stepping faster as I approached each gallery, wondering what we’d find there.

To be honest, even without special exhibits, museums can overwhelm me. There’s so much to see and absorb! Sometimes I began to wander through a bit superficially, floating on the sea of sensory input, enjoying myself, but not fully connecting with each piece. Sometimes I found myself distracted by watching the people, or listening in to snippets of conversation. As we moved along, at one point I overheard a woman exclaim:

“No, stop! Don’t educate me. I don’t want to be educated!”

I had to laugh, but I could actually relate to that sentiment. It was tempting to immerse myself in the pool of creative energy around me and simply revel in the energy and buzz of color, scent, sound, shape, etc.

At one point, though, my daughter drew my attention to the artist’s statement for the sculpture below, The Dead Pearl Diver. Reading about the florist’s process drew me in to study the duo more carefully, and it quickly became one of my favorites. The florist talked about how they were drawn to the white marble and wanted to focus on playing with texture in this piece, rather than color– “…each flower gives the eye another dimension to look through.” They deliberately chose smooth larger blossoms to evoke the draped limbs of the pearl diver, and rougher petalled flowers to evoke the stone upon which he lies. The more I looked, the more I appreciated the nuance of this pairing.

Here are a few more pairings for you to enjoy.

There were 20 pieces overall, scattered throughout the museum, and we’re pretty sure we saw all of them. It was a wonderful chance to escape the chilly April weather (more snow was forecast for Saturday morning!) and enjoy a hint of spring. The evening was a feast for the senses and an immersion in creativity. I’ve been thinking about it ever since, and I’m so glad I went!

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In the Hallway

My class tends to walk in casual straight line. I know they’re supposed to be super straight, (I see a few (or at least one) intense judgy looks). The problem is that I always think of a Georgia Heard poem I once read. The poem, titled Straight Line, begins like this:
All the kindergarteners
walk to recess and back
in a perfectly straight line
no words between them.
They must stifle their small voices,
their laughter, they must
stop the little skip in their walk,
they must not dance or hop
or run or exclaim.
They must line up
at the water fountain
straight, and in perfect form,
like the brick wall behind them...

See what I mean? Ever since reading that poem, I’ve cared a little less about how straight my classroom line is. I more suggest a straight line than require one. I mean it’s a goal, because it’s technically a school expectation, but it’s not one I’m too fussed about. I do want the kids to be quiet, because there’s other learning going on around them, but I don’t require military precision in our formation.

Unfortunately, lately we have become a large, amorphous mass, taking up more than our fair amount of hallway space. Reminders haven’t been working. It was time to straighten up our act, so to speak.

So, as we headed out to recess one day last week, I reminded the class that our goal was to walk out to recess in a single file today and to be quiet while doing so. We lined up in the room, and after another reminder, we headed out of the room and into the hallway. The class was doing pretty well. I gave them a thumbs up. One student edged out of line.

“Get back in line, G.” shouted N, another one of my students, who consistently vies for my job. It was not even 10 am and this was the 178th time he’d redirected classmates. Or was it the 179th? It should be noted that he doesn’t mind attempting to redirect me, too, if he thinks I’ve gotten out of line.

I pushed repeat on my regular refrain, “N, you’re responsible for you.” Then in a bid to change things up and maybe add a bit of humor to the mix, added, “That’s my job. That’s why they pay me every two weeks.”

Several of the students looked up at me quizzically. Especially O. He opened his mouth to speak, but I put a finger to my lips as a silent reminder. We kept moving forward, down the hallway and around the corner. Our line was looking pretty good, and it was quiet, too!

“Wait!” O. suddenly burst out, a few steps later, apparently unable to do so any longer. “Do you pay to come here or do they pay you?”

I stopped in my tracks and looked down at him. My brain struggled to make sense of what he’d just said. Clearly, I needed to clarify. “O., are you asking if I pay to come to school and teach or if I get paid?”

O. looked at me earnestly and nodded. A few kids near him nodded, too.

After a speechless moment or two, I asked, “Well, what do you think?”

There was a pause and then C. spoke up. “I think you pay,” he said. A few other students nodded in agreement.

Replay that speechless moment or two.

“Well,” I finally said, as I started to move forward again, “This is my job, and most people get paid to do their jobs, right?”

“Yeah,” O. said somewhat doubtfully, “But you had to pay to apply, right?”

“No, actually I didn’t.”

They looked at me like they didn’t believe me, or like I was the confused one. We’d already clearly lost the battle on a silent walk, and to be honest, I’d contributed to the conversation as much as they had. As I gathered up my spinning thoughts (Are they that confused or do they think they’re that cute?), we continued moving forward.

We were out the door to recess before I could clear my head enough to determine if our line was straight or not. I’m pretty sure we were in a clump again, my straight line ambitions blown to the wind.

This all reminded me of an anecdote my colleague shared last year. She was drinking an iced coffee at recess duty. One of her second grade students approached. “What’s that?” he asked.

“It’s an iced coffee,” she answered. “I picked it up on the way to work.”

“Oh,” he said. Then, after a brief pause, he asked politely, “So, where do you work?”

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PF: Shadorma

This month Margaret Simon set our challenge. She invited us to write a shadorma, “a Spanish 6-line syllabic poem of 3/5/3/3/7/5 syllable lines respectively.” It’s a fun form to play around with, and I’m sure I’ll be revisiting it.

Illuminated Manuscript

Distant trees
inscribe the full moon
Their branches
cast shadows
as mysterious to me
as hieroglyphics

©Molly Hogan

Then I saw that there’s more snow in the forecast for next week. Sigh. So I wrote another shadorma, trying to spark some optimism.

April Patience

Flakes drift down
All is white again
Tender green
bides its time
beneath the snow, knowing soon
it will take the field.

©Molly Hogan

If you’re interested in seeing some more shadormas, check out the links below to see what the other Inklings did with the challenge:
Catherine Flynn
Mary Lee Hahn
Heidi Mordhorst
Margaret Simon
Linda Mitchell

Poetry Friday is hosted today by Matt at Radio, Rhythm, and Rhyme.

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SOLC Day 31: With Thanks

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March 2025 SOLC–Day 31
A huge thank you to Two Writing Teachers for all that they do to create an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write, learn, share and grow.
http://www.twowritingteachers.org

I just finished reading “The Comfort of Crows: A Backyard Year” by Margaret Renkl. It’s been my companion for weeks and weeks now. It was my “breakfast book”–the one I read every day before school while I’m eating my cereal. Knowing I could turn to Margaret Renkl’s eloquent words each morning was a gift, and I turned the last page with thanks and sorrow. I will miss it.

Finishing Renkl’s book on the last day of the challenge feels particularly appropriate, as participating in the challenge has been a gift as well. This has been a year when being a part of a supportive community has felt more necessary than ever. At times, it’s been like putting on an oxygen mask. I know I can come here and breathe.

This was my eleventh year participating, and I always have such mixed feelings when the month ends. To be honest, first there’s a rush of relief. Oh, no slice to ponder over today! But then there’s regret–I wish I’d read more, commented more, had time to linger and learn. Each post I’ve read has enriched me in some way or another. Sometimes it’s a turn of phrase, or a new perspective. Sometimes it’s a shared feeling or a new connection. And I know, even as I celebrate its end, that I will miss it, too.

As I read “The Comfort of Crows”, I highlighted and underlined along the way. Sometimes I simply wrote “Yes! This whole chapter!” (It really is fabulous, and I can’t recommend it highly enough.) Renkl ends her book with these words: “I am far from feeling any confidence in the future, but when I look at the busy tableau before me, something flutters inside — something that feels just a little bit like hope.”

Obviously, she was not referring to writing in the Slice of Life Challenge, but those words sum it up for me quite nicely. Looking at this tablueau–at all of you, at all of us, sharing our lives, our highs, our lows, our dreams and our sorrows in this community– is, ultimately, hopeful. In a time of division and schism, we’ve opted to take the time to make connections. Right now, that truly is priceless.

Margaret Renkl also wrote, “If you never close your thumb around your fingers, you will make of your hand a sanctuary. You will make of your hand safe passage to the world.” Her reference was the natural world, but it occurs to me, that as we type or write with pen or pencil, our hands are cupped or open. There are no fists here.

So, thanks to all of you for building this community and a heartfelt thanks to TWT for the opportunity to do so. It’s been a privilege to write alongside all of you this month. I hope I’ll see you on some upcoming Tuesdays (although maybe not tomorrow! lol). Be well and thank you.

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SOLC Day 30: Every Drop Counts

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March 2025 SOLC–Day 30
A huge thank you to Two Writing Teachers for all that they do to create an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write, learn, share and grow.
http://www.twowritingteachers.org

The first drop, the one that started the whole thing, was a slice.

Earlier this month Mary Lee Hahn wrote about a book, The Little Hummingbird. Based on her recommendation, I ordered it for my classroom. When it arrived, I texted her and here’s what happened next (read left column and then right):

Then, late one afternoon, after conferring with the art teacher and gathering supplies, I settled down on the rug, book in hand, students gathered around me, and started reading. They were rapt.

After I closed the book, talk bubbled up.

“I liked that,” one kid volunteered.

“It’s kinda like a cliffhanger,” J said, a bit disgruntled by the ending. “I kinda want to write the author and ask him to write another one.” She frowned.

“It’s not gonna work,” said V., referring to the hummingbird’s actions.

“Well, maybe if the other animals see the hummingbird getting water, they will, too, and then it will make a difference,” H. volunteered.

“Maybe the author can write a series,” J. persisted. “I don’t like cliffhangers.”

M. added her two cents, “I think it’s saying that you should just always do what you can do.”

“Well, there was a lot of emotion,” another student said, “and that made me interested in it.”

After our conversation died off, I explained that, inspired by the book, Mary Lee had made some prints and she had sent some to us so that we could paint them. The kids cheered. I showed them the prints and pointed out the small words under the design, “Every drop counts.”

They were practically delirious with excitement.

“What!? We get to paint!”

Soon enough painting was underway, and the room was a hum of happy voices and activity. It reminded me, painfully, how rarely I incorporate art or any type of extension activity into the classroom. I get so caught up in the demands of the curriculum, that there’s no bandwidth left to plan and organize these type of enriching activities. This one only happened because Mary Lee dropped it neatly into my lap. I was simultaneously delighted by the interactions and activity around me, and slightly depressed.

The principal happened to be in my room later that afternoon, and saw all the prints drying. He asked about it and I gave him the Cliff Notes version. “These are great!” he said. I agreed and said something about how I wish we could do more things like this.

The next day he stopped back to touch base about a student before heading into a meeting. He gestured to the prints. “There isn’t time to talk about it now, but I want to circle back to what you said about not having time to do these kinds of things,” he said. “They really are important in elementary education, and I’d like to talk about what’s getting in the way. Let’s have a conversation about this later.”

We’ll see what happens, but I love that it all started with a slice.

Thanks again, Mary Lee, for so generously sharing your recommendation and your creativity.

Every drop counts.

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SOLC Day 29: Uninvited Guests

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March 2025 SOLC–Day 29
A huge thank you to Two Writing Teachers for all that they do to create an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write, learn, share and grow.
http://www.twowritingteachers.org

I like winter, really I do, but I’ve been having to remind myself of that lately. I haven’t been too convincing either, so this weekend’s Winter Weather Advisory was uninvited and unwelcome. Sort of like when someone announces they’re stopping by your house to visit. There’s no graceful way to bow out. No escape. Ready or not, here they come! (This, of course, is a purely hypothetical example.)

So, I grumbled and complained more than once on Friday, along with most of my colleagues (except for one, who offered to send me happy photos of her skiing with her family. I declined). But as I left work, chatting with a different colleague, she made a good point. She noted that it was probably one of the last weekends of enforced down time –which is one of my favorite things about winter. Any pressing yard work that had been uncovered during the recent thaw would just have to wait, she said. That thought stuck.

This morning, when I woke up around 4 am, I knew I couldn’t go out and about sunrise-wandering, so I rolled over and fell back asleep. At 5 am, I did it again. And then again at 5:30. Ultimately, I finally slid out of bed around 6 am (crazy late for me!) and meandered downstairs to start the day.

In my pre-storm grumpiness, I’d forgotten that the birds always make a showing at the feeders during snowstorms: During spring-ish snow storms, there’s even a wider variety of visitors. By the time I’d had a couple of cups of coffee and filled the feeders, the birds were out in full force in a constant flutter and flash outside the windows. There were juncos, nuthatches, titmice, mourning doves, cardinals, my beloved Carolina wren, blue jays, house finches, goldfinches, chickadees, and downy woodpeckers. There were fox sparrows, song sparrows and other sparrows I can’t even begin to identify. (My husband and I call them LBJs, or little brown jobs.) Then a flock of red-winged blackbirds flew in, and a few starlings came by as well. Oh! The male and female bluebirds kept stopping by, too. Every time I started to get something done (like writing a slice!), the avian show enticed me away from productivity and into presence.

Here are a few photos from this morning. Most of them were taken through the windows. The birds don’t love it when I linger outside, and, for some reason, my husband doesn’t love it when I open the windows in winter to take pictures. Go figure! (I try to wait until he leaves the room, but he’s been annoyingly present this morning. lol )

All in all, It’s been a lovely, leisurely morning. Sometimes, I guess, uninvited guests (of any variety) can turn out to be exactly what you need. The show is still going on here, and my attention keeps getting pulled outside. What was that? What was that? What was that? lol Soon I’ll make some lunch and brew up a cappuccino, and then I’ll settle in with a book. I’m sure the birds will continue to entertain me throughout the day.

Ahhhhh….Why was I even complaining?

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SOLC Day 28: The Weather is NOT cooperating!

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March 2025 SOLC–Day 28
A huge thank you to Two Writing Teachers for all that they do to create an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write, learn, share and grow.
http://www.twowritingteachers.org

After practically sleepwalking through yesterday (sleepless from 2 am on), I woke feeling refreshed and upbeat this morning. Woot! It’s Friday!!!

It’s been a doozy of a week! Several times I’ve almost used the 6 word memoir format for my posts–something along the lines of :

Conference week. Moving slower every day.

(Or some other grim alternatives that came to mind, but I hesitated to share here due to concerns with who might be reading my blog and what might skirt into the personally identifiable information zone. It’s such a balancing act of creation and curation, isn’t it?)

But it’s Friday now, and no matter that next week is already looking equally challenging (rescheduled conferences from our snowstorm last Monday, several after school meetings, etc.), I’m excited for the weekend. I’m yearning to get down to the marsh or the beach for some sunrise wandering, photography and general rejuvenation. The past few weekends it’s either been dicey driving (ice, snow), free-falling feels-like temps with howling winds, or just an overwhelming volume of work. I am so ready to get out there!

I pick up my phone and see the headline, “Accumulating snow in Maine Saturday with more wintry mix behind it…”

What!? Oh, no! My spirits fall. I try to rally. Well, maybe the snow will arrive later in the day and I can still get out in the morning?

I click on the link and scan the forecast rapidly. My spirits sink. Ugh…


Clearly I need to recalibrate my weekend plans. Sigh…

Well, at least it’s still Friday!