I had the privilege of spending some time at home with really nothing to do for once…except taxes. No longer living at home, I have drastically missed some of my old Guys Mills swamp haunts. These are places where I only go alone.
It was raining lightly so I grabbed a hood, a mug of hot drink and set out for one of my favorite haunts where I have amassed hours of solitude in years past. This place is sheltered by huge pine trees and over looks a sizeable beaver pond. When I got there, it was picturesque…the pond water was dancing a robust tango with the rain droplets (they were getting a bit intimate in my humble opinion), while numerous geese provided accompaniment via the French horn and several woodpeckers threw in a sporadic drum roll here and there.
As I was crossing an open area to get under the low hanging boughs of some big pines, a brash young gosling, too big for his own pants, spotted me and began to put up a terrible racket. Knowing that I could not let the other geese discover me, if I wanted peace to reign in the place again before sunset, I froze.
Now, being a child of the woods and a hunter, I used to be able to stand, sit, hunker, or kneel motionless for long periods of time in order to lull wildlife into believing I was a nonliving object. I have lately cultivated a more motion filled life since motion seems to captivate sleepy students when all else fails. Just when I thought I would break, the gosling lost interest and went back to harassing his comrades.
Proudly satisfied that my patience was still better than that of the wild animal, whose life depends on it, I slunk under the low hanging boughs of the pine, settling in for some relaxation. The pond water kept up the tango while the scene before me literally crawled with every manner of fowl and several rodents. The nearest rodent had apparently gotten his tail mashed in a door at one point, for it was pancake flat and he was using it for a rudder.
I just sat there and thought about all the books I had read at that place, all the things I had thought about there, and all the times I had come there when I was discouraged or angry. It suddenly struck me that, I can’t really be me outside of the places that made me who I am. I can never be the dry sandy plateaus of
As a teacher I MUST teach out of the person I just described. Sadly it has become very acceptable for schools to hire teachers from all over the creation. Rarely do we find schools full of teachers who have been rooted for years in the community in which they are teaching. We need more teachers that are made of the same mud, rocks, trees, hills, weather, and events that their students are made of. This is why community, relationships, and longevity in these areas are so vital to education. Our community(s) needs more teachers to rise out of her own soil…her own mud….and lead her young seedlings buried in this same soil to push their own sprouts up into the same fresh air that they breath.
“IT IS ARROGANT TO BELIEVE I AM MORE THAN THE PLACES AND PEOPLE I HAVE COME FROM”
