It’s so wonderful to be back to the world of teaching. It’s as if education itself was hijacked for two years. Nothing felt secure or wholesome. So much was just making do to get us past the next wave of outbreak. But in that wake of intense uncertainty this year already seems particularly sweet.
I see the silver linings left behind from those dismal pandemic clouds. There’s the silver lining of nothing seeming too hard – because last year it felt that way all the time. There’s also the silver lining of knowing what truly matters – for a while it was mirky, whether it was washing down desks or giving a much needed hug. Anyway, I hope you get my point. Covid did clarify a lot of things, namely the importance of connection. Live or virtual, it was truly what held us all together.
This year feels special. We have bonded as a community and even in a way as a world. We are all survivors of something very hard. But that’s nothing new. Life itself is hard. Once you realize how important the people around you are, life becomes less hard.
So the biggest silver lining is the gift of gratitude. This year my heart is filled with it. In that expansiveness, I feel I have so much more room. I have an abundance of teaching energy left in me; it’s untapped, and I can’t wait to let it out.
To parents: thank you so much for the gift of your precious children. They make me better in every possible way.
Of all the transitions we face, the shift from summer to fall is the most bittersweet. It tugs at your heart. Summer is sublime, especially in Maine. Soaking in cool water, digging in earth, and gazing at the sky, summer brings us closer to the basics. Aside from the occasional traffic jam, summers in Maine are worth the work it takes to get there. Sadly, summers change into fall, and we just have to accept the transition, let go with grace, and be grateful for the bounty.
Transitions are worth savoring. Too often in the rush to buy back to school items, close up the camp, and put the garden to bed, the slower moments are missed. It’s worth looking back to admire the summer’s growth. Along with those amazing sunflowers, now ten feet tall, the kids are taller too. Our bodies are tanned and better nourished with fresh food. Arms that lugged the soil and pulled the weeds, are now firmer. Our phones are loaded with pictures and our hearts are full of fresh stories.
It’s time to celebrate the gifts of the season and resonate in the great connections with friends and family. It’s time to savor the waning rays of sunlight. Enjoy the crisp mornings and spontaneous heat waves. It’s time to layer up with easy to peel off clothing.
The cozy days will be here soon, but for now we can stand on the bridge between seasons, savoring the subtle changes. Daylight diminishes slowly, and so shall we slowly diminish our attachment to summer bliss.
After a long goodbye, we can begin to expel our stored energy and embrace the promise of the coming season.
This was the second week of full in-person instruction. Now that the students have adjusted, they appear to be settled in their environment and soothed by their new access to learning. We’ve been diving deeper into academics. These young humans are sponges and thirsty to learn meaningful content. The pump is primed to see them as writers.
This morning I am thinking about the writing process. If presented in a certain way, it can either open doors or slam them shut. If my years of teaching writing have taught me anything, it’s that writing is a behavior. It is a production that is constrained by a sense of worthiness. Never is a learner more vulnerable than when they put their thoughts to words for all to critique. I am mindful of this initiation process and I always try to treat it with kid gloves.
The process of creating a story begins with thoughts. These thoughts are easily accessed in pictures. The pictures create an order and offer more thoughts about the significance of the pictures. Putting words to match the pictures is a sensible process and far less intimidating if a writer feels unable to describe (or remember enough to describe) their visualization.
The need to approach formal writing with access for all learners, has lead me to use a variety of pre-writing experiences. I fully expect that few children will be comfortable enough to sit down and take to a task as ominous as “describe a time spent with friends and what you learned” and expect there to be a full display of skills that fit neatly into a spectrum which accurately advises a course of instruction. That type of screening is an okay tool, but if used too often it can reinforce the intimidation, and I find it to do more harm than good.
This year I will approach writing readiness through thoughts, images, words, and grammar.
Thoughts: I will encourage students to record themselves telling a story without writing. Story telling is an art form, and we can listen to some podcasts and videos to see how story tellers use a format to build tension.
Images: I will be using comic strip templates and story mountains so that students who struggle to capture their ideas can add details in pictures. These details serve as a memory device so the story teller can observe the cause and effect changes they are imagining.
Words: The thoughts and images can be interpreted into English and recorded to show details.
Grammar: Students can use their recordings to notice inflection points of language and listen for cues and make adjustments for clarity. Grammar will be introduced as coding of the English language that makes interpretation more of a sport than a chore. (I predict this class will love that!)
Our current situation also makes me more mindful that I need to use technology to our advantage. I’ll use our in-person time to teach these skills so that we can adjust to remote learning without having to water down quality.
With this window of time, I aim to introduce my students to the gift of the story teller in their own head and the art of putting it in print.
The Tibbetts Tribe 