Still waiting...

...for summer break to begin.

Friday: Last day of school
Saturday: All day writer's workshop
Sunday: Clean house for company.  They arrive and we have a wonderful time.
Monday: Guests leave in mid-afternoon.  Mary and I go riding towards evening
Tuesday: Go into classroom to clean, throw away and organize
Wednesday: See above
Thursday: Quick ride on Corny in early morning.  Stockton in afternoon for errands and lunch with Mama.
Friday: Will be same as Tuesday and Wednesday

And so ends the first week.  We do have some small visitors who've taken up temporary residence in the laundry room for the summer.  On Tuesday I lugged home the 20 gallon fishtanks from the two 4th grade classrooms along with the bagged up assorted guppies, danios, algae eaters, tetras, etc  and all their fish paraphernalia.  I shouldn't be surprised by how many hours it took to get everything hauled home and set up, but I was.  However, we now have the two side-by-side tanks on a bench along the wall and the fish seem pleased by the change of view.

 When I was all finished, I dried my hands and stood and watched the fish glide about the tanks.  I was satisfied for about three minutes.  Then, at the three minute mark, it occurred to me that I'd be doing this all over again, in reverse, in a month and a half when school starts again.  I need a break.

Break?

It's only two days into my summer break and I've already attended one Saturday workshop for one day and spent another cleaning out my classroom.  Alright, I'll admit it -- I'm feeling sorry for myself.  I need some time away from school, but that can't happen quite yet.  I have weaving projects waiting in the wings, a horse that needs riding, several gardens in need of tender loving care, and kitchen cupboards waiting to be reorganized.  But not quite yet.

We did have two wonderful houseguests for several days:  Andrew and Maria.  They are both artists and their visit brought two days of wonderful conversations.  Andrew went on such interesting tangents on topics that I know next to nothing about that I took to listing them on a pad of paper so I could Google them later:
1. Movie: The Train (with Burt Lancaster)
2. Richard Scully (a contemporary painter)
3. David Hockney (artist)
4. Fibernocci Numbers (probably spelled wrong)
5. Giclee ( a printing technique from a photograph)

By the time they left yesterday afternoon, I felt as though my brain had grown several sizes larger.  Seriously.

Maria also helped me in the garden.  With her help, we harvested all of the potatoes and had a rollicking good time digging them out of the dirt together.

I also worked Cornelius in the arena on a lunge line and she sketched him as he trotted and cantered around me in a circle.


                                                                                   

Oh, I'll just come right out and say it -- Corny looks stunning as a quick sketch.

 











She also sketched the geese when they gathered around her as she sat on the porch.  She captured them perfectly, big mouths and all.





Today I was back in the classroom, putting order into chaos.  It feels like an almost hopeless task (hence my sour frame of mind), but I'm just setting my mind to doing what I can.  I plan to be finished tomorrow (whether I'm finished or not).
                                                                    

First day of summer break

Yesterday was the last day of school.  I survived.  Today was the first day of my summer Great Valley Writer's Institute.  I thrived.  I love the mix of teachers (most half my age) and the general spunkiness of the cast of characters.  Today was just the coaching day to prep us for how we'll be presenting for the other teachers.  We now get two weeks off and then will be meeting every day for the following four weeks.  I can hardly wait -- I've been ready for this for years.

The workshop in Turlock started at 8:30 this morning and the drive from Frogpond took a little under an hour.  I decided to notice things along the way.  Here they are:

1. Right at the Calaveras County line, there was a highway patrol officer with a radar gun clocking car speeds.  I was a little over the limit, but not so much so that he noticed me.  I was infinitely grateful.

2. On the small highway between here and Oakdale, I passed three people wearing neon green vests.  Two were riding a horse by the side of the rode -- a woman with a child hanging on to her waist behind.  Walking beside them was a man.  They looked happy.

3. In Oakdale itself, while stopped for a light, I watch an older man smoking a pipe cross the street.  It's been many years since I saw a pipe smoker.  Where does one even buy a pipe these days?''

4.  A dead dairy cow lying right next to the fence by the road caught my eye on the way to my workshop and again on the way home.

An interesting day in many ways.

Another School Year Ends...

...and not a moment too soon.  A body can only take so much gearing up for a big event.  By today, all we were fit for was watching a movie to pass the time between the morning awards assembly and the last bell for the march to the buses at 12:10.

The movie I chose to show was called Second Hand Lions -- a perfect movie for young people (funny, bittersweet, uplifting, a bit mystical with just enough romance to keep the girls happy and sword fighting to entertain the boys, all capped with a message of hope and courage that puts a lump in the throat and a good feeling in your heart.  That kind of movie) .  The only downside is that it stars two sweet, crusty old gentlemen who regularly swear like sailors.  Nothing that the children haven't heard before, but not exactly the kind of thing you'd want the superintendent to walk in and hear.  No matter.  The children loved it.  I was sorting books while the children watched and whenever the old men got on a potty-mouthed jag, I'd call out, "Don't listen, children," and they'd respond with, "We're covering our ears."  We had it all worked out.  Really.

When I got home this afternoon I looked at the notes and gifts the students had given me.  One of my favorites was this:

A drawing of me, Poom (and his shaved tail), Arby (with catnip banana) and my little orange car.  This is boy who listened carefully to all of my silly stories.

Another favorite:

It's a photograph taken of my teaching sister, Sue, and I talking while looking for whales on our ocean field trip.  The student's father took our picture and it came to me in a silver frame.

Tonight I'm feeling a bit wrung out and tomorrow I must be up early to be at a writing workshop that begins at 8:30.  Not feeling the most enthusiastic about the timing of this, but I'm determined to carry on with a positive attitude.  This is what comes from watching an inspirational movie today with a message of hope and courage.

Snake in the Grass

Rattlesnakes call this place home.  The warning for all people who move to this area is to never put your hands in places where something might be hiding.  I remember and heed this warning most of the time -- but after many months of seeing no snakes I lapse into complacency.  Until, that is, I'm tearing up thick mats of daffodil stalks in the front garden and can't be bothered to think of anything except that the sun is warm and it's wonderful to be outside.  And then I pull up a mass of dead growth and underneath is coiled an exquisite Celtic brooch of a baby rattler.  It looked up at me, utterly silent, while I stared down at it thinking how close I'd been to grabbing it in my hand.  Then I hollered, "Snake! Snake!" until Bruce came out.  The day was cool enough that the snake was torpid, so gently grasping him with the snake tongs and depositing him in a lard bucket was quick work.


It was such a small snake.  Very quiet and docile, hoping to be left alone.  Sweet though it was, such a venomous creature could not live its small life in my garden.  It was moving day.

We placed a pot on top of the bucket in case the snake decided to go places and then put the whole thing in the back of the car.

Murphy wanted to come along for the ride.  Once he was sitting in the back seat, though, I think he had second thoughts.  I think that he could smell our little reptile friend behind him.

Is this not the face of a worried dog?  He was resolute, though, and never flinched from guarding us from the menace in the back of the car.

We drove the quarter of a mile to the end of our road and stopped at the rock wall there.  The gate is the entrance to a cattle ranch -- no houses or people.  A perfect place for a young snake to start a new life.

 Bruce tipped the bucket...

...and the snake stretched out motionlessly on the lichen covered rock.  The three of us watched each other for a few minutes (Murphy made himself scarce).

I'll say it again -- such a pretty little snake.  He never moved and seemed perfectly content to stretch his small self along the rock.  He blended in beautifully.

So we left him to begin his new life as a rock wall snake.

I do love a happy ending.

Mommy's Boy

High hopes of posting last night about my exciting Memorial Day were dashed when I turned into a pumpkin and was in bed before ten.  The last Tuesday of the school year is upon me, so I'll just have wait until tonight to post about my adventure with the rattlesnake.

Instead, I'll share these pix of my big boy, Cornelius. In addition to playing with snakes, I got in an afternoon ride -- walk, trot, canter in the arena.  Afterwards we ambled along the winding path through the oaks next door.

Corny, once again, has gained back his fat tummy.  Evidence in the first photo not withstanding, we're working on that (he does love his vittles).  Tummy or not, he's still one of the most gloriously beautiful animals I've ever owned -- and this opinion has nothing to do with the fact that I'm the darling boy's Mommy.

Report Card Weekend

The hallmark of an effective teacher is the organized way in which she addresses all aspects of her profession...Hah!

I spent most of the Saturday before the last week of school inside the house averaging and posting grades for report cards.  Great fun.  I'd had every intention of chipping away at this during the evenings last week so I wouldn't be stuck doing it on a beautiful day in May with the garden screaming at me to come outside and play.  The garden, alas, had to play without me.  

In the late afternoon, though, things began looking up.  Mama arrived to spend the night and we went down to the orchard garden with a bottle of wine, an assortment of cats and dogs and the plant clippers.  After watering, she deadheaded roses while I began work on the stone wall project that's been waiting in the wings since last summer (pictures of this to come).  Meanwhile, Bruce loaded up in the trailer the mountain of dry weeds and brought them to the upper pad for burning.  

Mama and I came inside as it grew dark, where she read and I once again worked on my report cards. About an hour later, the phone rang and it was Bruce calling from the upper pad to invite us to a hotdog/marshmallow roast at his bonfire.  We bundled up (nights are still chilly) and set off for our dinner date on the hill.  

Bruce had set up chairs around the fire and laid out on the back of the trailer everything needed to roast/eat a hotdog -- from condiments to whittled willow sticks.  So we sat by a warm fire, cooked our dinner like people of old and told stories in the dark.






Mama, true to form, eventually gently asked, "Are you ready for the story about the apparition?"  Me, nervous but eager to be scared, told her to carry on.  And so she proceeded to tell us about a recent "cleansing" she'd been on at a friend's daughter's house.  It seems a spirit had taken up residence there and was causing consternation.  Mama doesn't take any guff from ghosts and was at the ready.  No spirit actually appeared (perhaps it left when it heard she was coming), but I know for certain that this roll-up-the-sleeves-and-tell-that-wispy-thing-"Be gone!" trait wasn't passed down to me.  I would never go into a house to kick out a ghost.  Ever.

It was a marvelous evening.  The just-past the full moon rose through the oaks as we got to the marshmallow course.  Afterwards, Mama, I and Max the Cat pulled ourselves from the fire and wended our way back to the house, the road lit by moonlight.  Bruce stayed up top to finish burning.  I found out this morning that he wasn't finished until after 2:00.  He's sleeping in this morning.

Now it's back to report cards for me and Mama is reading her book across the table.  There is the faint smell of smoke in the house to remind us of last night.  And so, to work.

Friday

Last evening, I startled this turkey family gathered around the grain pan

They didn't bother fleeing; just ambled down to the pond to wash down the grain

I woke up this morning and thought, "Oh, it's Saturday -- what a relief."


I wiggled my toes and stretched out in bed, enjoying taking a few extra minutes before getting up.









Several seconds later I realized that the weekend hadn't quite started yet and thought, "Oh, it's only Friday -- crap."

I hauled out of bed, and thus my day started.







In these last days before the end school, I'm consumed by this job.  At this point in time, I'm wearing my teacher hat 24 hours a day, thanks to the wonders of the internet and the fact that I even dream school when I'm asleep.  My world is just a wee bit out of balance right now.

But, even as I rush about, I'm strong and strangely happy.  And look -- I've become wise enough to take time to observe the Frogpond turkeys at their leisure and then blog to you about it.

Pity about that whole Saturday thing, though...

And I'm off.

Almost over...

It's the second-to-last week of the school year and the events are flying thick and fast.  I decided that, with testing behind us, I'd launch both of my classes into using iPads for researching an ocean animal and presenting their report in a slideshow.  As the learning curve of my students ranges from never having used a touchpad screen to having used the latest technology from toddlerhood, this has been an interesting, exhausting and fulfilling experience.  However, it is truly amazing how quickly children catch on to technology if just given the opportunity.  In three days, they've mastered navigating, uploading, downloading, passwords, saving images, deleting information, and creating slides with transitions.

The hardest part is that few but the most skilled among them can type worth squat, and hunting for each correct letter to tap is an agonizingly slow process.  I'll say this though; they are persistent and are putting in every ounce of effort in creating their ocean animal masterpieces.  Next week they'll be presenting their slideshows for their classmates and we'll all become experts on giant siphonophores and upside-down jellies.

Next year, though, we're learning how to type.

Before Summer

Quince

 It's that time of year when everything seems possible. It's before the heat of summer blasts the earth with day after day of plus 100 degree days.

Before the deer have a chance to ravage any plants growing outside the ten foot garden fence.

Before the hungry gophers gnaw down the juicy stalks and roots of trees and vegetables.

Before the chomping bugs decimate the grape leaves.

Before tomato hornworms.

Before wildfires.

Before summer.

Plum

Nectarine

Apple

Potato

Boysenberry

Every year starts with such hope of fruitfulness. In the four months that constitute our summer,  a lot is lost.  But every year I'm once again ready to do it all over again.

Olive

Gardeners are, at heart, eternal optimists.