From June, 2011.
Last night we had clams from the flats, rosemary and snow peas from the garden.
If I have anything worthwhile to pass onto they young ones, it is this--the world belongs to you, it is you. Not the human world of images and egos, but this vast, incomprehensible, and terrifying and loving ball of energy and stuff that surrounds us and the billions (billions) of living critters within arm's length.
It's June. Tonight we feasted on pesto made from basil from the garden, basil that was mere specks of black seeds just a couple of months ago. We ate snowpeas, now climbing to the sky. We ate radishes--pink ones, purple ones, white ones, red ones--riotous rainbows resting in the earth.
Our battle with the Arnes of the world matter, and I am not ceding anything tonight. But I am enjoying a soft June dusk, honeysuckle in the air, belly full of food that erupted from the earth because I spent a few moments putting seeds in the ground.
I'll watch the sun set. I'll play a wooden flute. I'll sing. I might dance, I might not. The lightning bugs will be here any day now. It's June.
Light drives us. Light is finite. We are mortal. A lightning bug blinks in the dusk.
Light, and dirt, and water, and air keep us alive. None of my students need Arne Duncan's nonsense. They need a piece of land, unadulterated air and water, and enough vision to know what they do today will affect their yet unborn children.
If our children can pass tests better than they can plant peas, we have failed as parents, as teachers, as humans. If Arne and Bill and Mike and Eli represent the pinnacle of our culture, then I don't want a part of it.
I believe those of us who dance to what's true will prevail. But if we don't, at least we had a reason to dance. And so we do.
Pictures from the front yard.
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5 comments:
I'm a geo/astro kind of teacher and have always been weak in the bio arena. However, this year, after seeing the interest of my 5 year-old grandson in growing things, I have a renewed interest in growing things for the purpose of eating them. I had a short period of veggie gardening when I was in high school and am interested in regaining that interest.
It's going to be raised beds for some veggies and herbs and fruits (I at least know tomatoes are fruits) and I hope my grandson can participate enough in the process (he lives 100 miles away and is an infrequent visitor to our home) that it imprints on him the value/pleasure/benefit of growing one's own.
I'm not a biology teacher, but I agree activities like this are indispensable for education. The real world is the best classroom.
Dear cope,
It's all we can do. If nothing else, grow some basil--it is ridiculously resilient and forgiving, a lesson there somewhere.
Oh, and a carrot or two. Nothing like pulling a carrot from the earth.
Dear lonbiy,
Plenty of days when question whether I am a bio teacher. The world is all that matters.
We sat on the porch and watched the bats dance overhead. The garden is up, (the bindweed is fierce) and we will have greens tonight.
June is about hope.
Dear Kate,
Hope is all we got in the end.
And bindweed is beautiful, despite its aggressiveness.
Same might be said about humans....
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