Sunday, December 31, 2017

#OneWord2018

One year ago today I happened upon a trending hashtag on Twitter that, out of the blue, became a New Year revolution for me.  The hashtag, #oneword2017, promoted a philosophy that favors choosing a single word to guide one's life through the upcoming year rather than making New Year's resolutions.  While resolutions are often easily forgotten or cast aside, a single word can be held in memory, referred back to, applied when necessary.  I detailed the arrival at my 2017 word, "evolve", in this post: #OneWord2017.  It was a quick arrival - saw the hashtag, thought for less than an hour, wrote the post.  I've been contemplating this coming year's #oneword for weeks now, hoping to make a stronger, more effective choice than the one I rushed into for 2017.

I chose evolve because I found myself sinking into a rut of same old, same old.  Life had become a routine of the same experiences at the same annual times surrounded by the same people resulting in the same emotions.  I felt more like a tree than a human - watching life go on and go by while just standing in place unchanged.  One year later I reflect on my evolution from the same place I began the journey....surrounded by the same people.....on the same date......feeling many of the same emotions.  Hang on a second while a long, exasperated "sigh" escapes my lips..........ok, done.

Scientifically speaking (as a non-scientist), evolution is believed to be a very slow process with rare occasions of rapid change.  My 2017 quest to evolve seems to fit that description.  As I study myself I recognize some of the changes I made this past year were rapid - I broke free from television and invested more time in being active in various ways - and some were slow: I have found a much better balance between my work life and personal life, causing my work to suffer a bit but, in another evolutionary jump, not worrying a whole lot about that.  According to a very analytical and thoughtful friend (who writes an analytical and, you guessed it, thoughtful blog right here) I have smiled more (inconceivable!), become more open to alternative viewpoints, and have had some of my edges soften....which may or may not have been a shot at the evolution of my waistline.  In sum, with enough introspective thinking I can confidently say I am not the same human I was one year ago.  Yet, the journey seems barely begun......

....so in 2018 I will continue the process of developing this person I like to call "me" by following the guidance of a new #oneword:

E    X    P    L    O    R    E

Minnesota is the Land of 10,000 lakes and I fish the same six over and over and over.  Our state parks system is second to none with dozens of parks available to visit - I've been to none in the last year.  I work with dozens of people whom I've barely talked to these first four months of our current school year.  I have stories to tell and books to write.  I have career options.  Recreation choices.  Relationship possibilities.  Indeed, there is much I have yet to explore in this life, this world.

Evolution does not begin and become complete in the span of one year; more accurately, this past year was but (hopefully) a small first step on my evolutionary path.  As I've searched for a word that could guide me in the coming year I've done so with further growth in mind.  I knew my word choice would have to push my evolution forward by stretching my boundaries and challenging my comfort in the status quo.  "Explore" kind of jumped out at me.  It feels stretchy but safe......it will force me to take new paths but they will be paths I choose.  The thought of exploring most often brings to mind travel and places, physical exploration; I hope it will propel me forward intellectually, emotionally, and occupationally, too.  Exploring also seems more tangible than evolving; there were no "Hey, I just evolved!" moments this past year.  However, an exploration event will lend itself to blogging opportunities, a notation on the timeline of 2018, a nice photo....or maybe all three.

There were many stretches of 2017 when I either A) didn't feel like I was evolving, or B) didn't even remember "evolve" was my word of the year.  I have much higher hopes for the #oneword I've chosen for 2018.  As the final hours of this current year tick away I feel a much greater anticipation for 2018 than I do a sadness at the end of 2017.  A year ago I wasn't sure how I would evolve; the plans I already have for "exploring" during the next 365 days give me, at the very least, the starting point for a path that will surely evolve as I do.  I hope you will follow my journey here....and maybe even take a journey of your own.

Happy New Year.  Let's hope it's a good one.


Monday, December 25, 2017

Bah Humbug

So this was Christmas.

Mother Nature's gift to us was an air temperature that never climbed higher than -14 degrees; her stocking stuffer was a wind chill anywhere from -40 to -50 depending on the gusts.  Twice I got frostbite while standing too close to a window.  With no hope of outdoor activities my parents and I settled in for a day of indoor inactivity.  The only reminder of today's label was the variety of Christmas music my mother insisted on playing.  There were no stockings, no gifts....we had leftovers for lunch.  Turn off the music, cover up the tree, and we'd have been left with an ordinary.......is it Monday today?

First thing this morning my youngest daughter informed me over the phone that after today there are only 365 days until Christmas.  Her stocking had been emptied and relatives were arriving for her mom's family's holiday gathering.  The noise in the background was incessant.  The excitement in her voice unmistakeable.  In her eyes this was Christmas:  family on the way, food prep plans discussed, presents in the morning with more in the evening, games, noise.....a party!

I prefer my version of Christmas.  The peace.  A silent afternoon leading to a silent night.  No presents. No stress.  I took a nap.  I read some Readers Digests.  I ate when I wanted with no worry of meal schedules.  It was the first completely unproductive day I've lived in months.  The sun is now gone for the day and soon the day will be gone, too.  Another Christmas survived.

Seven holiday programs.  Weeks of gift-shopping stress.  Non-stop music.  Light displays.  Family gathering logistics.  It's not a holiday - it's a quest for the serenity of December 26th.  My quest ended a day early this year, thanks to family plans and horrible weather.  Every year, when asked, I share my favorite Christmas memory being the feeling I have when I wake on December 26th and know that the entire ordeal is over for another year.  This year, for the first time in a long time, my favorite memory of this season is Christmas Day itself.  Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus, and he brought me one extra day between the nuttiness of this Christmas season and the beginning of the next.

Go tell THAT on the mountain.

Thursday, November 30, 2017

Catching Up

Oof, where to begin?

In a whirlwind of teaching days and basketball nights and hunting trips and Thanksgiving prep November's calendar page was revealed and covered again in what felt like the length of a sideways hiccup (whatever that is).  As I sit on the cusp of December's drudgery I finally force myself to stop, to write, to reflect on at least one event that took place since last I posted here.

Hunting reflections, you say?  Fine, why not?  They certainly won't take long.  A strange season of deer chasing, this was.  Snow on the ground from start to finish.  Daily deer sightings but nary a shot fired.  Hot spots from the past turned barren in the present.  Dead zones in week one became covered with sign by week two.  Twice, a week apart, I crossed bear tracks fresher than the deer tracks I was following.  Twice, two weeks apart, we found fawn carcasses left behind from predator kills.

Adding to the strangeness of the season was a commitment to changing my hunting tactics.  A life-long woods hunter, I concluded at the end of last season that a change in strategy was overdue - it was time to learn how to hunt our fields and tree plantations.  My conclusion at the end of this season: change is a process.  I did, indeed, fully commit to hunting our fields.  But the snow covered up our food plots and messed up my plans on how to hunt them.  Over-scouting a couple of spots prior to season ruined the promise of those spots.  And back problems that intensified if I stood or sat for too long forced me to hunt on foot more than intended.  So the hunting I envisioned did not end up being the hunting I actually did, but much was learned and plans have already been made for how to improve our set-up for next season's hunt.

My Deer Diary informed me that 2011 was the last time I ended a season without shooting a deer; the final sentence of the final entry for that season proclaimed it the "worst season ever".  And while I'm disappointed the most productive five-year streak of my hunting career came to a thudding halt this year, the 2017 season was anything but one of the worst.  For instance:

••My dad revisited his glory days by bagging and tagging three deer.  It's been one or none for him for quite a few years now, and even though he grumbled a bit about all the gutting he had to do I think he felt pretty good to be the main meat getter again.  We'll ignore the fact that he shot his second deer from the front porch of the house.

••I saw a lot of deer!  Only once did I hunt a day and not see a deer, and I hunted only a few hours on the deer-less day.  Saw seven on the opener, six a different day, and at least two every other day.  Nothing is worse than hunting day after day without seeing anything.....just ask hunting buddy George, who hunted for seven years before ever seeing a deer while hunting!  This year he hunted for ten days before he finally saw a deer on the last Saturday.  Not that we would ever tease him about such luck.

••I saw four different bucks.  I used to go years without seeing a single buck during season.  Even though I the bucks I see far outnumber the bucks I actually shoot I don't mind hanging my hat on the ability to at least give myself an opportunity to get a buck nearly every year.  So there.

••And in the end, a season can never be "the worst" when, on the final morning, two does walk out to where I'm standing and bring two bucks with them.  And then stand beside my stand for a while.  And then run circles around me just for fun.  All within ten minutes of arriving at the stand.  I could have easily shot any one of the four.....but the only open tag belonged to my daughter.  The one whom I let sleep in with the promise I wouldn't fill her tag so she could have one more hunt to do so herself. So yes, my streak of success ended because of a promise...and I don't regret it a bit.  But next year she gets her butt out of bed when Dad heads to the Maples.

That 2011 season probably wasn't deserving of the "worst season ever" award, even though the only thing I shot was a porcupine (it was a tree killer....I was saving the trees.....the Lorax was thankful).  I know why I wrote that, though - I still hadn't figured out how much the journey can be enjoyed and remain unchanged by the results.  I'm pretty sure, however, that season became my catalyst for figuring things out, and set me up for getting a lot more out of this season than the frustration that seemed to find me at every turn.  So with thoughts already turned towards the hopes of 2018 I put to rest the unpredictable, tiring, somewhat disappointing, but completely worthwhile hunting adventures of 2017.

Oh, and one last thought:  No season that includes a lunch log session with the hunting party can even come close to being "the worst".  Good times with good people in the Great North Woods - there's nothing better.

Daughter 2 and cousin George


George, my dad, and cousin Blue



Saturday, November 4, 2017

No Place I'd Rather Be

Another opening day of rifle season has arrived and slipped away, and once again my deer license sits unused.  I am now oh-for-my-lifetime on opening days.....I'm beginning to wonder if I should simply stay in bed on opening day in future years.

I may not have shot a deer, but at least the weather was absolutely horrible.  Snow fell nearly constantly all day.  It did stop snowing a few times, which made room for raindrops to fall.  And ice pellets.  Mixed in with more snow.  Can't forget the wind that was just strong enough to make the snow come down sideways to ice up my glasses and the lens of my rifle's scope.  So, in a nutshell, the day was wet.....windy........wintery...............and wonderful.

"Where would you rather be right now?"  I've gotten into the habit of asking myself that question almost daily over the last couple of months.  Ninety percent of the time the answer is "somewhere else".  It's exhausting to fight the constant desire to be somewhere other than where you are, so I've started adding a second question for those days when the answer is "somewhere else" - "How will you get there?"  Answering the second question keeps me focused on earning my income and keeping up with the responsibilities of life, thereby opening up opportunities to answer the first question with the location I desire.  A question that was borne out of the longing for a different life now helps me endure the many, many days between the truly enjoyable days that this life has to offer.

Like this day.  In the midst of sideways snow and cold fingers and icy water dripping down my back I asked, out loud, "Well, where else would you rather be right now?"  My answer was a smile.  A true, genuine smile.  I get accused of not smiling enough, which I don't, but if all of my friends could have been in the stand with me (which was impossible....I don't build 'em big enough for the three of us) they'd have seen that I do, indeed, possess a genuine smile of happiness.  And isn't that what we all search for every day - happiness?  We each find it in different places; mine is found in the midst of the forests and fields of the Great North Woods, regardless of season and weather.

Oh sure, my happiness was tempered a bit by the frustration of another deer-less opener....and the shock of watching a really big buck jump onto and off of the trail I was walking.  He was there and he was gone quicker than I could find him in my scope...which was caked with snow and water and ice.  I don't know exactly how many points he carried or if he was one of the bigger bucks I've seen on my cameras, but I do know he's another nice addition to the impressive wall of missed opportunity bucks I've managed to not shoot over the years.  Within that brief tale of woe lies even more happiness - he was the seventh deer I saw on the day, it was a thrill to see him, and after I saw him I predicted his behavior perfectly.  I thought he'd circle back to get downwind of me so I headed straight into the woods towards where I thought I'd have a chance to see him.  Not a minute later there he was, crossing the ash swale I was walking towards.  Thick brush and heavy snow make excellent cover, though, so all I was able to see was his legs as he headed towards a tag alder swamp that those legs could manuever much more efficiently than mine.

Ok, I'll admit it: there were at least two times today when I asked my question - Where would you rather be? - and the answer was "Under the warm, dry covers of my bed."  And that's where I'm off to.  Another opener is in the books, another batch of opening day memories has been filed away, and the dawn of day number two creeps closer with each passing minute.  No snow in the forecast for tomorrow, but colder temps and more wind mean an even more grueling day awaits.  But already I know - there's nowhere else I'd rather be.

Thursday, November 2, 2017

Hunting With Bow, Chapter Two

I tried being a bow hunter again this fall.  If you'll recall I began my bow hunting career last year with a brief and unproductive burst of hunting on one October weekend (if you don't recall, you can read about it here).  Fast forward to this year and - trumpets blaring - an entirely new hunter took to the woods....on two different weekends!  Among the highlights of this year's stick-'n-string process:

**I had to get a new string.  Shortly after beginning my shooting practice in mid-summer the bowstring broke on the release of a shot.  Unfortunately buying a new string for a recurve bow isn't quite the same as finding a new roll of dental floss.  Had to find an archery shop, had to learn how to measure a bow, had to order the string.....more then a month disappeared between the snap of the old string and the first shot with the new.  The stress of losing a month of practice was tempered by the discovery of a great archery shop in a neighboring (and nearby) town and a higher quality string than I had been using.

**I bought enough camouflage clothing to cover myself from head to, well, ankles.  And most of it was on a clearance sale!  Last fall I was somewhat visible, this fall I would be a phantom.  Unless it snowed.  Which it did.

**Even with a lost month of practice I shot much better than a year ago.  I didn't practice every day and I didn't take lots of shots when I did practice, but I shot enough to ascend to the level of "deadly" from 10 yards, "deadlyish" from 15.  I found a more consistent release point.  I learned how to aim better with my bow that doesn't have sights.  I took single shots from different distances to increase the pressure of being accurate.  Most importantly, I gained confidence.  A beautiful thing, confidence; for a condition that can't be touched or measured or exchanged it certainly is valuable.

**I chose and prepared higher quality hunting sites than a year ago.  Drawing on my lessons learned from last hunting season, detailed in the post that is linked above....the one you still haven't clicked.....I had three different spots prepared for this year's hunting.  Spots with easy access, spots with clear shooting lanes, spots with deer runways well within shooting range.  All three spots took advantage of our superb food plots.  Each spot gave me a different wind advantage.  And, according to my cameras, each spot was travelled by deer in the daylight.

**My hunting time increased by at least a couple of hours over last year.  Once again the weekends of late September and early October filled up with family or job commitments.  When I finally pulled on my new camo and strung the bow for my first hunt most hunters had been hitting the woods for over a month.  But even with my small window of time I made the most of my opportunity - I was on stand for a couple of long afternoons and one long morning and even one whole day!  And in that time.....

**I saw a deer!  With bow in hand, standing at one of my three chosen hot spots, I witnessed a live whitetail deer on the move.  Oh sure, it was 150 yards away....across a river bottom....on the neighbor's land.....running away from me......but it was the first deer sighting of my (so far lame) bow hunting career.  And it was pretty darned exciting.

And with that, my second bow hunting season is over.  I am now two days away from rifle season, the style of hunting I still have the greatest passion for.  I will trade my camo for blaze orange and my arrows for bullets.  The bow hunting season in Minnesota lasts until late December but this hunter plans to have a freezer full of venison by the time Thanksgiving gets here, so unless some dreadfully bad rifle hunting takes place over the next two weeks my bow outings are done.  I may not have arrowed a deer....again.....but I'll always have the memories.  Both of them.

Tuesday, October 31, 2017

Ode to October

Has anyone seen October?  It seems to have disappeared in an awful hurry, but not without leaving many, many traces of its being here.

I read a book once....don't remember the title, don't remember when I read it.....that described the perfect yearly calendar as having at least seven Octobers.  I concur, though I'd put at least nine Octobers on my calendar (along with two Novembers and one March).  Here in Minnesota October brings an autumnal beauty that nature cannot surpass any other time of year.  It's not just the leaves changing color, it's the smell of the cool air, the sounds of migrating birds, the disappearance of summer bugs, the bright blue of a clear October sky.  This year's October has given us eighty degrees one week, accumulating snow the next.  Thunderstorm warnings early in the month, winter storm warnings towards the end.  The most popular trick-or-treat costume this year could very well be a parka.

The desire to savor the thirty one days of such a rich and varied month never quite comes to fruition, and this year was no exception.  Volleyball season came to a close last week, but not before devouring the first three weeks of the month.  Less than a week later my basketball coaching duties started.  Two-thirds of my daughters celebrate October birthdays, as does my mother.  My parents' wedding anniversary is October 21, this year being their 50th - party time!  The last garden offerings needed to be processed, and it was a banner year for the local apple trees.  The newness of the September school days was replaced by the routine of the October school days.  Bowhunting was again in the plans for the last half of the month so target practice was squeezed in as often as possible in the first half.  The Twins made the playoffs (if you blinked you missed them) and the T-Wolves tipped off another season.  I think I went...yes, yes I did go to a choir concert at some point.  And tomorrow the month ends with the most painful holiday in a school teacher's life.  Lots of days, tons of activities, very few idle moments for savoring anything.

Perhaps you can forgive me my absence from writing new posts for this blog.  The intent has been real, the topic ideas numerous, the time limited.  The march through each day - the job, the coaching, the family commitments - has been exhausting, driving any motivation to do what I'm doing right now far, far into the recesses of my tired mind.  But when volleyball ended last Wednesday, and the anniversary party did the same on Saturday, two slices of time were returned to the pie chart of hours in each day.  So brace yourself, reader, for the possibility of a post barrage coming at you on a variety of topics, such as:

**Hunting
**A volleyball wrap-up
**Hunting with a bow
**Why being a coach is better than being a teacher
**Why being a hunter is better than both of those
**From the kitchen of.....
**Hunting with a rifle
**Where would you rather be?

Thank you, October, for showing up on time each year.  I'm sorry I got so busy these last 30 days...I wish you could hang around just a little while longer so I could take a long last look before we say goodbye.  But since you can't stay could you kindly step aside so November could get rolling?  The bucks are starting to rut and I really need Saturday, Nov. 4th to get here in a hurry.  Thanks - see you next year.

Monday, September 18, 2017

The Blog About Nothing Returns

It's been said people with real lives are too busy to blog.  I don't completely agree with that thinking, but it's certainly been proven true in the last eight days of this busy life.  From last Monday to today's Monday I've....

.....been to seven volleyball games in five different towns.

.....worked in The Grandstand one final time for the season.  In a sixth different town.

.....driven north to do some deer farming for a day.  In a seventh town.

.....survived the first full week of the school year, showing up on time almost most of the days.

In the next three days I will be at four more games and, apparently, have to work every one of those days as well.  To avoid letting my strong run of posts wither any further I come to you now with one of my desperate blogs about nothing.  Don't say I didn't warn you....

**I shake my head almost daily at the turn my life has taken in the last year with regard to volleyball.  One year ago tomorrow I wrote this post detailing my journey to becoming a volleyball junkie.  Now, a year later, I can enthusiastically admit I pretty much live and breathe the sport.  I coach our seventh grade team, Daughter One is on our varsity, and Daughter Two plays on our Junior Varsity.  On the rare nights none of us have games I'm watching the Gophers volleyball team play.  I follow a half-dozen volleyball sources on Twitter.  I know the top ten collegiate volleyball teams in the country but have no clue who the top ten college football teams are right now.  Again, I shake my head.

**Minnesota's climate - what can a feller say?  Two weeks ago my house was freezing but I refused to start the furnace in the same week school started.  Last week was so sweltering I begrudgingly turned the AC back on....but only because the bananas on my kitchen counter were melting.  Saturday morning I left the house in shorts and t-shirt and felt quite comfy; Sunday morning I nearly froze riding a four-wheeler across the field while wearing three top layers and wishing I'd have packed my long undies.  I really am thankful to live where seasons are drastically different....but having spring, summer, and fall in less than two weeks is a bit much.

**I desperately want to get cautiously enthused for a certain pro sports team from my state that plays a sport with bats, balls, and gloves and is creeping towards a playoff spot....but I'm scared my powers of jinxation will cause a typhoid outbreak on the team.  So I stay nonchalant and avoid talking about them.  Even with this short paragraph I'm terrified I've said too much.  I'm sorry everyone.

**In a moment of weakness I let some excitement creep into my being yesterday.  I checked my trail cameras first thing in the morning and found this:

And this:

And this:

And this:

And.....well, this:

The chances of seeing those bucks while hunting are slim; the chances of seeing them and getting a shot are even skinnier.  Trail cameras are a double-edged sword - it's exciting to know what we could see while hunting, but frustrating to hunt and not see what we know is there...somewhere.  So I looked at my pictures, allowed myself 45 seconds of excitement, and then forced myself back into cautiously enthused stoicism.

That's all the nothing I have for tonight.  The alarm clock will ring too soon.  Tomorrow will be another busy day.  My writing has deteriorated into simple sentences.  The end is now.

Friday, September 8, 2017

Genesis Synthesis

What a difference a week makes.

After displaying ineptitude at levels rarely seen on a volleyball court in game one, Daughter 1 and her varsity squad did the nearly unthinkable tonight in their second game - they beat the despised wealthy school to the southwest on their own floor.  Heading into the game we hoped for improvement, hoped to compete, but win?  Even the most optimistic Mustanger had few thoughts of heading home with a victory after last week's debacle.

Set one was brutal early.....again.....but our girls showed a few signs of life before the 25th point was scored by the opposition.  Set two found our crew in unfamiliar territory near the 20th point - leading!  The lead and the set slipped away, however, and when the scoreboard read 23-24 in the third set it appeared an 0-2 start to the season was inevitable.  But before the Fat Lady could belt out her first notes.....


.....a group of young women surrendered their individual identities and allowed a greater, more powerful force to emerge - the team.  The early stages of this young volleyball season have been marred with squabbles over everything from picture poses to team captain choices to warm-up songs.  Facing a second consecutive three-set loss this group of individuals looked defeat square in the eye and as a team told it to step aside.  For the first time in two seasons there was a unified desire to help each other succeed - high fives and pats on the back became crisper and quicker, a few "my fault"s replaced the accusatory looks that followed mistakes, and a genuine excitement for a teammate's quality play was shown by every player wearing a blue jersey.

The concept of "team" has great value to me; watching the birth of a team sent chills down my spine.  Well, most of my spine...the bottom third was numb from sitting on bleachers for several hours.  We see teams all over TV and highlights of victories are never hard to find.  We celebrate our athletes far too often and far too loudly and have championships for every kind of team imaginable.  But it's in high school athletics where we most often get to witness the metamorphosis from individuals to team.  It can't be shown in a highlight or on a poster and many times it happens behind the doors of the practice facility.  Tonight it happened in the last three points of a third set right before my eyes.

The beauty of high school sports shone brightly tonight in that foreign gymnasium with the goofy dog and horrendous warm-up music.  A team walked off the court where hours earlier a group of individuals had first set foot.  That team carried with it a hard fought and well earned five-set victory, and a feeling of accomplishment that, I hope, none of them will ever forget.  I'm so happy for Daughter 1 and every one of her teammates, happy that they seized an opportunity to grow together into something that will be special to them for the rest of their lives.  I'm proud of the resiliency they showed by bouncing back from that awful game last week and crawling out of the deficit they faced tonight.  And I'm thankful they got to experience the unbridled joy that comes from accomplishing something they had only ever dreamed about.  A most excellent showing, ladies!

Now get back to work.




Sunday, September 3, 2017

Deer Therapy

Twenty four hours ago I weaved my way through traffic into the heart of Minneapolis to attend a University of MN Golden Gophers Volleyball game with my daughters.  Sat amongst 5,000 people.  Watched four hours of volleyball.  Drove over an hour to and over an hour back again from the site.  Had a great time.

Less than 12 hours after returning from the game I was back in my car again, this time driving three-plus hours north to my Fortress of Solitude.  Upon arrival I spent four hours walking the edges of food plots looking for deer entry/exit paths.  Every one of the 5,000 people from last night were absent, replaced by roughly 37,000 mosquitoes and deer flies.  Had a great time.

It's funny how our experiences can take such drastic swings in such short amounts of time.  Many times I feel like I'm two completely different people (kinda like "Independent George" and "Relationship George" for you Seinfeld fans) living two completely different lives based solely on location.  Is this common?  Do we all have these different versions of ourselves that are revealed at various times and locales?  Deep thoughts brought forth by an hour-long session of deer therapy....

Scouting for deer sign (trails, tracks, droppings, rubs, scrapes, trail cam pictures) is fine and effective, but nothing beats gathering deer data by watching them on the hoof live and in person....not to mention it's really fun!  After supper tonight I grabbed the binoculars and headed west on foot, intent on getting a first-hand look at what kinds of deer were starting to devour our food plots.  Though it's not (legal) hunting season yet a deer walk like this one is a good way to practice walking and moving like a hunter, so all-in-all there's probably not a more valuable way to spend an hour of life.

Six deer on the eastern half of the north hayfield, all does and fawns.  One of the six was very grey...not quite a winter coat but close.  Didn't take them long to spot me; I wore my royal Mustang blue pullover....a deer's eyes see blue better than any color.  It's good to know my critical hunting errors occur in all seasons, not just November.  Four deer on the Hilltop food plot, again does and fawns and again one grey coat in the bunch....and again they scattered like snot in a sneeze the instant I stepped into the open.  Six more deer on the Sand Flat food plot - one buck whose coat was grey, the other five were does and fawns.  This group of deer was quite a distance away from me so I was able to watch them for several minutes before they got spooked by my mosquito-swat dance.

So yeah, the description on the screen doesn't exactly scream "good times!".  A deer walk, deer therapy, has to be experienced to be savored.  No noise.  An orange sunset under purple clouds.  No time constraints.  Immersed in nature and one with nature (except for the blue).  Watching my favorite animal.  After a stressful evening of traffic and hassles - which were well worth it, by the way,  to attend an activity that's a family favorite - it's such a relief to be able to switch personas and slide into the quiet side of life for a couple of days.  I like it here.

Friday, September 1, 2017

The Walls Of Our NEW School

On the first day of this past June I wrote a fond farewell to the school building I had called home for 19 years.  The first day of June was the final day of school for the year as well as the final day Fairview Elementary would ever host students.  Strong emotions had been building in our staff during the months leading up to this end - anxiety about an impending move, melancholy for leaving such a familiar and loved place, and, most powerfully for many, disappointment with what our new structure ended up being....namely, a double-stacked hallway to nowhere.  These were dark days for my teaching family.

Not quite three months later we are mostly settled into our new elementary school.  Boxes are unpacked, furniture arranged.  Open House has come and gone, as has teacher workshop week.  We now enter a holiday weekend and gather ourselves for the long march through another school year, and as we do I sense a major shift in the outlook towards the future in our new home.  The darkness has been pushed aside and replaced with.....with.....hope, maybe?  Possibility?  Pretty sure there's some relief in the air.  I daresay I've noticed some excitement, too....though this hombre only revs up to cautious enthusiasm.  Many of us will always have that dejected voice in the depths of our being reminding us how far reality fell from the dreams we had for what a new school could be.  I won't speak for everyone, but the disappointment I have carried for a long, long time over the way our new home was designed has diminished rapidly over the last five days.  I'm not going to shout from the rooftops....though I could by means of a nearby exit onto the school roof....but I am feeling far more optimistic about my new educational home than I ever thought I would.

For starters, our new school sits on the outskirts of town; our former school sat smack dab in the middle.  Our new school is surrounded by trees, trails, ponds, and tranquility.  I used to look out the window and see a parking lot next to a major highway - now my second-story view includes a copse of deciduous trees, a pine plantation, a nature trail, and an open yard just waiting to be gardened. 

  

Our new school sits at the end of two different bike paths, one of which meanders a good golf shot from my house giving me a terrific commute by bike anytime I want (except maybe January).  Our new school has bright lights that don't hum, air that is free from the smell of age, and water that runs through new pipes.  The family of educators that has always surrounded me still does, and together we join a whole new teaching family who waited for our arrival while the new structure was added to their school.  The list could go on 'cause these new digs ain't so bad after all.

I went back to Fairview yesterday on a reconnaissance mission, looking for items that didn't get moved.  I think it was clear in my June ode to the old school that I loved the place, so I was taken aback when I walked into my beloved former home and realized.....it was a dump.  It looked old, it smelled old, it felt old.  It felt tired.  It felt foreign.  I made my way from room to room and and with every step knew more clearly - moving out was the right thing, moving on had to be the next thing.  Thankful for one more look, and thankful for 19 great years, I left behind the only teaching home I have ever known.  And for the first time, I didn't feel sad to do so.

The walls of our new school will soon fill with students and noise and tears and laughter...and memories.  I'm ready to start my 20th year in education in a brand new setting, excited - that's right, excited - about the opportunities it presents and for the memories yet to be made.  And yes, I'm a little bit stunned to be writing such things.

Thursday, August 31, 2017

Two Stories, One Lesson

First Story:

Every Wednesday for the last 12 weeks I've been working in The Grandstand food wagon at the Summertime By George music festival in St. Cloud, MN (except for the two weeks we got rained out and the one week we rained ourselves out).  Thousands of people, great music, fantastic food....week after week we park and sell and have a great time.  Tonight was the final George of the summer with a crowd estimated between 15,000-20,000 people, every last one of them wanting cheese curds it seemed.  At the end of the night as we packed away food and tidied up our operation I made my usual trek to the garbage truck with our two weekly deposits.  At the Summertime gigs the organizers have been great to work with, our fellow vendors have been friendly and supportive of each other, and the patrons of the event have been overwhelmingly delightful to serve.  But honest to goodness, the most pleasant people I've interacted with every single week have been the garbage guys.  They often quickly come to me and take the garbage bags from me so I don't have to toss them in the truck, and they thank me as they do so.  They are always making every effort to quickly clean up the area while giving the appearance of people who are taking pride in what they do.  Each week I've been impressed with the professionalism they bring to their job, and I daresay "professional" is probably not how most of us would ever describe sanitation workers.

Second Story:

Watch this.

The Lesson:

If garbage guys and a walk-on libero at a school with "Kangaroos" as a mascot can bust their tails to do their jobs as well as possible for the benefit of those around them while treating those around them with respect, well - what's our excuse for not doing the same?

Tuesday, August 29, 2017

I Love Watching Them Play

Tonight was the highly anticipated first volleyball game of the 2017 season.  It seems odd to say "first game"; I've been going to volleyball tournaments or summer league games almost weekly since January.  But all the tourneys and league nights were offseason play - tonight was the real deal.

Daughter 2 plays on the Junior Varsity team, Daughter 1 on the Varsity.  Daughter 2 played pretty well and helped her team win all three of the sets in their game.  Daughter 1 had a tough night and watched her hopes for a strong start to the season get demolished by the competition.  The thrill of watching Daughter 2 succeed in her JV debut was equalled in sorrow at watching Daughter 1 struggle to remain composed in the midst of a complete systems failure.

I used to care about the scores, the wins, and the losses.  I used to complain about the reffing.  I used to spread too much blame and not give enough credit.  There was a time, not so long ago, that I would still be fuming about the ugliness I saw on the court tonight.  I would have let the disappointment of the varsity game completely wipe away the great things I saw in the JV game.  I was the parent who saw the game as being more about me than the people who were actually playing it.  I've begun to make a change, intent on leaving that parent in the past.

I follow "Changing The Game Project" on Twitter, an organization devoted to changing the culture of youth sports.  A month or so ago they posted this link to their blog:

http://changingthegameproject.com/i-love-watching-you-play/

I love watching you play.  Five simple words that have had a complex effect on the way I view my daughters' athletic pursuits.  I'm not stewing, I haven't complained, and there's no blame going any direction.  Do I wish our varsity would have played better?  Absolutely.  Am I mad at the team or my daughter for their poor showing?  Not at all.  Well, maybe a little bit.  My response to tonight is my choice, and I'm choosing to remember the on-target passes and the spikes that went in.  I'm proud of Daughter 2 for overcoming nerves to play well, and I'm proud of Daughter 1 for turning herself into a full-rotation player this season.  The action on the floor belonged to them - the joys and sorrows that action brings also belong to them.  I will no longer be selfish by pretending the game has anything to do with me.

When match point was whistled and the varsity beat-down was complete I stayed in my seat, wanting to leave but hoping a child would need her dad.  She did.  She made her way across the gym floor and up into the bleachers, dropping to the seat beside me with the weight of a poor performance driving her almost constant smile far from sight.  I haven't produced many great parenting moments but I think I topped them all when I put my arm around her shoulders and simply said "I love watching you play.  Not the start we hoped for, but I love watching you play."  She nodded, gathered herself, and made her way to the locker room for what was sure to be a painful team meeting.

I've sat through plenty of games and I've got plenty more ahead of me.  There will be fun wins and disappointing losses.  At times it will seem as though the games will never end, but inevitably they will.  Before that end comes, on the good nights and the bad, I'm going to enjoy the heck out of every contest...because I really do love watching them play.


Monday, August 28, 2017

One Crown, Many Hats

Went fishing this evening.  A gorgeous early fall evening that would have felt perfect for any activity but was particularly pleasant for fishing - clear sky, little to no breeze, no bugs, warm sunshine that gave way to a slight chill as darkness crept across the water.  Conditions so perfect it really didn't matter if any fish were caught (they were).  Hadn't been on the water for nearly a month...if another night like this one rolls around it will be much less than a month until I'm out again.

A few blissful hours on the lake couldn't have been attached to a less blissful day.  Today I returned to the world of full-time employment with an appearance at Day One of the back-to-school workdays for teachers.  Nothing bad happened - besides my alarm clock working perfectly - but it became one of those days that required me to fulfill multiple roles with little to no time for costume changes or line prep in between.  In the span of less than 12 hours I was a:

- student riding a school bus to a neighboring town to attend a speaking presentation.

- teacher studying changes in this year's instructional coaching procedures.

- dad checking in on his children via text and greeting them in person briefly at lunchtime.

- coworker collaborating with teammates during inservice activities.

- coach leading a junior high volleyball practice.

- fishing guide who once again lived up to his motto: "all I do is put people on fish".

I'm not complaining, mind you - I accept days like this one as the natural order of being an educator with children of his own and friends who need fishing guidance.  However, I couldn't help but consider the fishes I was chasing tonight and the roles they play every day.  Mr. Bluegill wakes up and is a fish for a while until he decides to be a fish for part of the day, after which he sticks to routine and finishes his day as. a. fish.  Deer, birds, platypuses....sure, they do different things as they live but are the creatures of the natural world ever anything but what they are?  I can't picture a bear leaving the berry bushes and shuffling off to the PTO meeting.

Again, there is no intent to complain here.  If anything I am full of wonderment at we humans' ability to seamlessly shift from one piece of our day to the next when those pieces, many times, don't exactly fit together.  The question borne of my wonderment is this: Who does life better, the creatures or the humans?  Would we be better off - happier, healthier, wiser - if we had one unchanging role from one day to the next?  Or is it the diversity of our days that defines us and actually keep us awake and alive longer than most one-act animals?  I have no answers, only questions, and all of this role playing has worn me down at the end of this varied day.  I attended an enlightening presentation, reaped the rewards of having great children, got reacquainted with teammates, guided young volleyballers, and led a successful fishing adventure.  In short, I lived.

A Slow Fade To Fall

The signs have been subtle but plentiful for those who take notice.  The lengthening of a midday shadow.  The constant whine of grasshoppers lurking in the long grasses of a road ditch.  The smell of a cornfield ripening.  Sumac leaves abandoning their summer green long before the maples or aspen do the same.  Seen alone each is nothing more than a natural phenomenon - the collective a natural symphony announcing the arrival of fall on the heels of another summer fading to memory.

Fall arrived like it always does for me with the closing of the Koochiching County Fair in my hometown of Northome, MN.  The Fair always precedes the first week of fall sports practices in Minnesota, so growing up it always felt like The Fair was summer's last hurrah.  This year was no different as my daughters headed home from The Fair on August 13 so they could be at volleyball practice at 8:00 a.m. on the 14th.  It's as if August is broken into stages for fall's arrival; the first two weeks are summery enough to fool us into believing summer won't end, the next two weeks put us on edge with earlier sunsets and busier schedules.  The end, or the beginning of the end....or the start of the beginning.....or maybe it's the end of the finish.....whatever one may call it arrives tomorrow.

In six hours my alarm clock will kill whatever life was left in summer, launching me out of my bed and back into my life as a teacher.  The first day of back-to-school teacher workshops, the first day of having to get up instead of just getting up, the first day of living life like an adult again.  It's a bipolar day - the sorrow of another long vacation ending mixed with the anticipation of the greatest months of the year just ahead.  The melancholy of being sucked back into the rigidity of a Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday cycle sweetened with the activities that will be packed into those days - the volleyball games, the hunting trips, the leaf watching.  Fall is a glorious time of year, thankfully, and is like a natural elixir for the pain of re-entering the working world.

I was surprised to see my last post was on the last day of school back in May or June or whenever that was.  I knew I hadn't written much over the summer...didn't realize I hadn't written at all.  Gonna try to write more this year - currently have a goal of writing something every day.  So as I say farewell to another summer and get ready to open up another school year I also feel like I return to something I've abandoned for many, many months - this blog.  And its readers.  I hope you've enjoyed your summer and created some memories that will keep you warm on the chilly nights ahead.  I look forward to sharing a memorable fall with you.

Thursday, June 1, 2017

The Walls Of Our School

Today is the end.

When the afternoon bells ring out and send our students towards summer vacation they will have rung for the final time.  Our school, our Fairview, has come to the last of her days.  For decades she has welcomed students in the fall and bid farewell to those students in the spring, but after this day her lights will fade, her doors will close, and her bells will ring no more.  Within those doors, inside the darkness and surrounded by silence, Fairview's walls will remain standing, held strong by all they have seen...and heard...and felt.

Those walls - those silent, sturdy walls - have watched school years slip by and carry generation after generation from student to parenthood to grandparents.  The walls of our school have stood firm against forces of turmoil from without - weather, poverty, family dysfunction - so our students could find the constants of love and care and safety within.  The walls welcomed all, held all, guided all with never a hesitation.  They never took breaks, never complained, and never failed to be that place...be in place...to help so many feel at home.

The walls of our school, though unchanging from year to year, have forgotten more changes than most of us will ever know.  They've seen education based on outcomes, graduation based on packets of performance, report cards based on standards.  The walls have seen us take Journeys and make Expressions, read with PALS and Companions, move ForWordFast while noticing who CARES.  They've watched our Daily 5, seen you Give Me 5, and probably had to listen to the Jackson 5.  The walls have helped plant Seeds Of Change (twice), seen us Think Big, and watched us Move It.  Our walls have not only held alphabets, they've heard alphabets:  PBIS, RTI, NWEA, ECFE, NCLB, IEP, AYP......OMG!

Within these walls we've shown our Mustang Pride while using our LifeSkills.  The walls watched us wear orange on one day, then show up in blue the next.  The walls hosted beach parties and pajama days, watched us jump rope for hearts and collect pennies for patients.  Our walls have seen kids walk by with a stamp on one hand while carrying an ice pack in the other.  Every brick of every wall has taken a turn holding artwork and poems and posters and banners and graphs and stories and photos and reminders and class lists and voice levels and flags and displays and rules and character traits and murals and.....did I say reminders?  Through all of these moments and duties and more our walls have kept watch, kept us safe, kept us together.

The walls of Fairview have been my home longer than any other structure in my life.  For 19 years I've walked along her walls and taught kids in her rooms alongside the most supportive family a feller could hope for.  The walls of our school suffered through my worst interview but somehow welcomed me to my first job.  When I began I knew no one in the school or the town and had no family in the area.  Two decades later I am in awe at how crazy lucky I was to have those walls create my home away from home.  Those walls bowed a little under my swelled pride the day my first child was born; a dozen years later I swear they leaned towards me a little to offer support during some much darker days.  I'm sure others could share the same stories - wedding showers, baby announcements, and retirement parties were known by all, but sometimes only the walls knew of the funerals, the diseases, the divorces, and the failures.

As these last weeks have steadily moved along and our final day approached many Fairview family members wished time would stand still. (side note:  Time quite literally has stood still for the last couple of months.  Our clocks died during the first thunderstorm of the spring and haven't been fixed since.  It's been 5:20 since late March.)  We've tried to savor our time in this old building that some say is inadequate, though in it we've managed to consistently lead kids to heights well above adequacy.  Try as we may, the days have disappeared in a flurry of testing and packing and field trips until all we are left with is a handful of hours.  So on this last day I will stop at some moment, at some spot, and gently lay my hand on a wall and connect one final time with this lifeless structure that has meant so much to so many lives.  I will thank her for giving me innumerable memories during what have been some of the best years, and worst years, of my life.  I will praise her ability to bring staff together every day and allow them to nurture so many young lives.  I will bid her a fond farewell, and ask her one last favor:  to hold all of the memories that will slowly escape me.

And then I will start looting.


Tuesday, May 30, 2017

Summer Looks Grand

Has anyone seen Cindy?  Just wanted to get you looking for her right away...

Twenty years ago my parents bought The Black Bear Drive-In in our hometown of Northome, MN.  I like to refer to The Black Bear as "the poor man's Dairy Queen" - it's a seasonal burger and soft serve ice cream joint that has been nestled on the edge of town for nearly 50 years.  Originally called The Tip Top, The Black Bear serves the closest thing to fast food you'll find anywhere near Northome.  My folks bought it from my mom's brother and his wife, who ran it for the two summers prior to the two summers we ran it.  From mid-May until the end of August the "open" sign was on seven days a week, ten hours a day.  My parents, my two sisters, my wife at the time and I, and a couple of other employees rotated shifts, with the family members taking the bulk of the hours.  It was a money-making summer-destroyer.  At the end of two exhausting summers my parents decided the money they made didn't compensate for the time they lost - no gardening, no fishing, no sleeping - so they sold the business and looked forward to the following normal, calm summer.

After getting out of the food business my folks became heavily involved in the Koochiching County Fair (try saying that three times fast with dry crackers in your mouth) and, with the help of some other local volunteers, have overseen a huge amount of growth in the community event.  As each fair passed and attendance increased my family would marvel at the money exchange that took place between attendees and food vendors.  It was hard to attract new vendors to a "small" fair, but those vendors weren't seeing what we saw - hundreds of hungry people and only two food stands.  Every year we would lament the opportunity that had once again passed, that had we taken the time to put together some kind of concession, any concession, we could have pocketed several thousand dollars in just a couple of days.  But motivation fades faster than memories, and within weeks of each fair the grand ideas for "next year" were pushed aside.  Until one of us finally acted.

Late last summer my youngest sister purchased a food wagon.  After months of dreaming, deliberating, and searching she found a great deal on a quality wagon and charged through the door of opportunity.  She spent the fall and winter customizing the exterior and interior of the wagon, booking dates, experimenting with foods, and planning menus.  She and I spent countless hours discussing food possibilities and business opportunities.  Originally we talked about being a partnership but in the end she made the purchase so now she runs the show.  And earlier this month the show debuted.

The Grandstand Concession Company opened for business on May 4 in Brainerd, MN at The Roundhouse Brewery.  She has been taking the wagon to this location every Thursday and Friday in May, being helped each week by a variety of family members including her husband, our parents, our cousin, and her mother-in-law.  I've made an appearance only at the two Saturday events we've attended but once my school year ends (three more days! three more days!) I'll become her right hand man for the summer.  My main role in these early days has been to come up with as many bad ideas as possible for food and sales tactics, thereby allowing others' good ideas to shine through.  I've done some cooking and customer relations, too, but bad-idea-guy seems to be my forte.

So far business has been slow, which has been a little disappointing but not unexpected.  Small-town festivals, like the county fair in our hometown, were our target focus for income.  We knew the brewery gig wasn't going to make us rich (again, I use "we" and "us" loosely....I'm still just bad-idea-guy, my sis is still the CEO) so we're thankful that we've pretty much broke even over the last few weeks.  What we haven't made in dollars we have made in connections; we're starting to attract more repeat customers each week, and we've secured a few future gigs from happy customers that might make up for some of these slow days we've suffered through.  And, quite frankly, slow days have allowed us to make mistakes without crippling the business while also giving us time to savor the hilarity of this adventure.  For instance:

**Our second customer last Saturday came to the window wanting to know where Cindy was.  She was dumbfounded at our lack of knowledge since we were obviously working in Cindy's wagon.  When my sister finally convinced this woman that Cindy did not own the wagon and was not hiding in the wagon the woman then wanted to know if there were any wagons selling food across the street.  Which there were.  So she left.  Without ever finding Cindy.

**Customer three didn't give a rip about Cindy but also wanted to know if there were any food vendors across the street.  Which there were.  So she left.  Came within six inches of plowing into the side of The Grandstand with her car as she did so.

**The fourth customer asked about our breaded brat bites.  After hearing what they were she exclaimed about how delicious they sounded and then walked away.  Without ordering anything.  She didn't eat cheese or peppers, two ingredients that run rampant through our menu.

**The next ten customers walked up to the wagon, stared at the menu, walked away from the wagon, and disappeared forever.  Followed by an hour of business that could only be matched if we had parked the wagon on the dark side of the moon.  Followed by our busiest day ever.  Business is funny.

Life is funny, too.  Twenty years ago my sister and I spent two summers working side by side selling food out of a hot kitchen while not finding much joy in doing so.  I followed a path into education, she chose the world of social work.  Halfway through those years we ended up living within 40 miles of each other, though rarely speaking and more rarely seeing each other.  Now she's working on her education degree so she can have summers off to run the concession business while I'm on my knees with hope that the business succeeds so I can get out of education.  And we're about to spend yet another summer working side by side selling food out of a hot "kitchen".  But this time we're excited. Well, she's excited - I only get cautiously enthused.

So now I add another topic to my blog repertoire - Grandstand adventures.  If you'd like to know a little more about the business you can visit the website here.  You can also find The Grandstand Concession Company on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.  We hope you'll like us and follow us in real life even more than you do in the Interweb world.

Oh, and let us know if you ever find Cindy.

Tuesday, May 23, 2017

I Love Track Season!

Tonight concluded the first track season of my life.  My two oldest daughters were both members of our school's track program this spring - Daughter One, a sophomore, defected to track from the softball program and threw shot put and discus on the varsity team while Daughter Two, a seventh grader, did a variety of events over the course of her junior high season.  High jump became her strongest event and lately her improved jumps have earned her a spot at some varsity meets.  This afternoon I drove to a nearby town to watch the varsity sub-section meet, and while both of my girls gave great efforts at their events neither placed high enough to advance to next week's section meet.  Thus, season over.

I never joined track in high school - I preferred to spend my springs doing cool things like drama, knowledge bowl, and band while I recovered from the rigors of a long and grueling basketball season.  I watched track athletes stagger back into the school after distance runs and thank my lucky stars I was sane enough to avoid the same torture.  But now, after seeing track through the eyes of my daughters, I suddenly feel sharp pangs of regret over the choice I made to avoid such a positive activity.

In a world full of cynicism and negativity (both of which I donate freely) the spirit of goodwill,  encouragement, sportsmanship, and positivity surrounding the track experience is almost stunning.  Track athletes cheer for other track athletes from different schools.  I've seen runners in the mile....ahem....in the 1600 meters finish a full lap behind the first placers and get as much applause as the winners.  I watch groups of kids wearing different colored uniforms stand together between events and talk about track or school or life while laughing and acting like old pals.  I've seen as many high fives for fifth place as I've seen bear hugs for first place.  A track meet is like some sort of bizarro athletic universe where winning and losing take a back seat to effort, improvement, and kindness.

Go to almost any team sports event and watch the teams on the court, field, or rink - how happy do they look, especially the losing team?  Then watch the coaches and players on the benches - any happiness there?  And then, if you dare, study the fans.  Good luck finding any happy faces in the stands.  When I go to basketball or volleyball games I almost always sit across from the team benches so I can study the people who aren't in the game.  In fact, I spend less time watching the game action than I do watching the non-participants.  Know what I've discovered?  At team sports events there ain't nobody happy.  The winning team isn't happy because they should've played better, and their bench players aren't happy because they should've played more, and the coach isn't happy because the ref made a bad call, and the fans aren't happy because of all of the above.  And the losing side isn't happy because you aren't supposed to be happy about losing.

But at a track meet?  Everyone is happy!  Nobody sits on the bench.  There are no bad calls to complain about (except one....I'll explain in a minute).  Participation in events is determined by results instead of coaching judgement (for the most part) so there's not much to grumble about if an athlete proves to be too slow or too gravitationally challenged for a desired event.  Most importantly, every single participant in an event can win because of these things called "PRs", which I've come to learn stands for "personal records".  Athletes in track compete against themselves and the clock or bar or gravity as much as they do each other, and if you lose a race but run it in your fastest time ever, well - woo-hoo, you got a PR!!

Tonight was track meet number six I've attended this spring, and while I was hooked over a month ago tonight was a great reminder of why I've come to love track.  Three things happened tonight that I just never see in any other sport:

       1.  There were at least a dozen runners in the boys 1600 meter run.  Four laps.  When the second-to-last runner crossed the finish line the last place runner was barely into his final lap and struggling.  What was going to be a long meet was about to become a couple of minutes longer because of one slow runner.....but nobody complained.  Athletes from his school were cheering for him on all sides of the track, encouraging him to hang in there and pump his arms and go for his best time.  As he (finally) hit the final straightaway to the finish line the crowd, 99% of whom were NOT from his school, clapped and yelled and cheered him on.  And the dozen or so racers who literally ran circles around him all stood at the finish line and cheered for him to finish and gave him high-fives and hugs when he did.  Chills.

       2.  My daughter stepped into the shot put circle for her last throw of the day, needing her best throw to have a chance at advancing beyond tonight's meet.  She used a slide step, which she rarely does, on advice from her coach; it was all or nothing so he thought the extra step might add an inch or two to her throw.  He was right - she uncorked her best throw of the day, probably her best throw in several meets.  Just a hair short of the 30-foot line.  She had come through with her best effort that just might put her into fourth place....until the marking judge marked the wrong divot.  Her coach, her mother, her teammates, and I at once exclaimed "That's the wrong spot!"  But we didn't say it loud, and we didn't say it twice.  That's not a part of track.  My daughter seethed, her coach shook his head, I raged inside, but we all stood silent while the judge gave her a distance two feet less than what it should have been, knocking her out of the top four and effectively ending her season.  It was a horrible mistake, and in any other sport the judge would have had an earful about it from all sides.  But not in track.  Powerful.

       3.  Our girls team won the meet by a narrow margin over our track rivals from the east.  Our team ran a victory lap (Daughter One, a non-runner, couldn't understand why they were punished for winning) and were surprised at what they found at the end of the lap.  The second place team had lined the last 30 meters of both sides of the track and stood cheering for our girls as they finished their run.  High fives and hugs and words of congratulations were exchanged.  Yes, other sports have the obligatory handshake lines after the final buzzer, but this seemed different.  Unscripted.  Unforced.  Unexpected.  The ultimate show of respect and sportsmanship in the face of a tough defeat at the end of a fun season.  Admirable.

When Daughter One made the decision to replace a softball with a shot put I was a little disappointed.  I'd been having her hit balls since she was old enough to stand and now she was going to be one of those "track kids".  I couldn't be more happy with her decision.  She and her sister loved every single minute of being a part of the track team.  They loved their teammates, their coaches, their competitions, and their events.  I'm so proud of them for the athletic improvements they made these last couple of months, but even more proud to see them choose to be a part of something positive and uplifting.  I'm already looking forward to seeing them accomplish even more next spring, because......I Love Track Season!!!

Sunday, April 16, 2017

Risen

The suckers are running.

Opinions vary on the official sign that spring has sprung.  Could be the first sighted robin.  Maybe the vernal equinox.  The opening day of baseball season, the Final Four, or The Master's golf tournament all scream spring to sports fans.  My parents cry "spring" when the maple sap begins to flow.  For me spring arrives when there are suckers in Armstrong River.

Suckers are a bottom feeding rough fish that leave lakes each spring to spawn in rivers and streams.  Obviously (hopefully) they swim on these spawning journeys, not physically run, but the term used for the event is a "spawning run".  Thus, the suckers are running.

Most years these fish don't show up in our river until the very last days of April at the earliest, and more often than not the calendar reads "May" before they arrive.  Like everything else this year, they've arrived earlier than we can ever remember.  Regardless of month or timing, their presence confirms that winter is done and spring has taken hold.  If the fish are in streams then the lakes are ice free and water temps have warmed.  If it's warm enough to vanish ice it's warm enough to thaw soil; the ground begins to green, tree buds begin to swell, gardeners begin to twitch.  Oh sure, snowflakes and frost are still on the menu in Northern MN until at least the 4th of July, but I'm telling you - if the suckers are running then spring is here.  End of discussion.

Suckers swimming on Easter Sunday seems like a powerful omen of rebirth, renewal, return.  It's time to blog again.  Three months have passed since my last post.  Three very full months.  On New Year's Eve I wrote about my OneWord2017 which was/is "evolve".  I wasn't planning to evolve away from blogging but I've made an effort to evolve away from unnecessary tasks that felt like chores.  Blogging had become a chore, so I quit.  But I've kind of missed it.  Occasionally.  So I'm back but not making promises.  I used to make an effort to blog twice a week - I'm now hoping for once.  I used to write a mix of education and nature topics - my interest in education is fading fast so I may have to rethink the title of this operation.

I write for me, but I do appreciate the requests I've received these last few months to write more.  Thank you for your patience - I hope your wait will be rewarded with some interesting observations.  I've got ideas and plans.....but the sucker run doesn't last forever, so neither does this post.

Sunday, January 8, 2017

Patiently Pushing

I spent almost all of the recent holiday break from school at my parents' farm.  Most afternoons I sat inside a fish house on Secret Lake #2 or #4 to take advantage of some really good fishing on the early ice.....well, really good on #4, pretty lousy on #2.  To break up the monotony of staring at holes in the ice and a Vexilar screen I also put in some hours wandering around the farm property in search of deer sign.  Eight to ten inches of snow on the ground made walking a chore but provided good proof of where the deer had, and had not, been moving during the previous week or two.  The deepening snow also forced me to walk a little slower than normal which gave me time to do more than look for deer tracks.....so I looked at the trees.  (Side note:  Those folks who read my posts regularly will recall the hunting day I scoured the tree tops in search of deer and almost ran into one on the ground while doing so.  I'm not hunting in this anecdote, though, so no funny stories this time.)

Days prior to the school break I had a great morning conversation with a colleague who surmised that while our Title I students don't always appear to be making academic growth they are growing in ways that can't always be measured.  I had been grumbling about Student A and Student B.....and probably Students C through L....as to the amount of input they receive to improve their reading skills compared to the output of their reading ability.  My wise colleague also pointed out that we do more than just teach reading to these students; we make them laugh, we give them structure, we listen to them - things they probably aren't getting opportunities for anywhere else in their lives.  Her words shook me out of my dour outlook towards these students' progress and led me back to the focus of teaching kids instead of reading.

The next day cosmic forces took a turn at shaking me up a little bit.  I was reminded that I had posted this Tweet to an educational chat a couple of months ago:  Push yourself and your students, but be patient with each as you do so.  Neither you nor they become great in one day.  My own words were now scolding my frustrations at our struggling readers, giving me nearly the same message I'd been given the day before:  Stay patient.  And now, back to those trees....

With snow on the ground and hunting season a distant memory our trees could be viewed differently than at other times in the year.  For starters, now I could actually study them rather than just walk among them while studying everything else.  Their growth was at a complete halt; they were what they were going to be until after the spring thaw.  The snow had pushed down and covered most of the grasses around the trees allowing them to be clearly seen from top to bottom, especially those trees who were still struggling to rise above the grass and weeds of summer.  Hang on.....struggling trees.....struggling to grow......behind the others......Holy Hannah, I was walking amongst my students!

Like students to school, these trees arrived at the farm as seedlings.  Students are planted in different classrooms, our trees in different areas of the farm.  In some spots the trees took off and grew immediately, while other sections of land have seen much slower growth from trees planted at the same time.  Same thing happens in different classrooms whether we want to admit it or not.  But even in areas where our trees have grown really well every year, there are still one or a few individual trees that have struggled to keep up....just like students in classrooms.  Unlike students in school our trees aren't receiving constant care from us, but we have applied a few interventions over the years to help growth:  spraying with deer repellent, removing pests like sapsuckers and porcupines, wrapping tree cages around younger trees, mowing down thick grass.  Even with these efforts there are still trees that just can't seem to overcome the hand they were dealt and continue to lag behind the surrounding trees that grow a foot or more every year.  However......

We planted several thousand oak trees over a decade ago.  For years these trees did nothing, and those that did would get clobbered by hungry deer every fall.  We wrote off the oaks as a failure and poured our efforts into the evergreens that were clearly thriving year after year.  But last spring, before the summer grasses had begun to rise up, my dad and I noticed something - those oaks we had given up on hadn't gone away, and were instead still reaching towards the sky.  Some were leafed out, some were even taller than the pines and spruces we had planted after calling the oaks a failure.  While walking last week I could easily find rows and rows of these persevering oaks that were now standing above the top of the snow rather than buried beneath.

We have to stay patient.  We all want what's best for ourselves and for our students, but sometimes, maybe even oftentimes, we aren't going to see that "best" right away.  I don't have any magic answers for how to balance a desire for greatness with the patience needed to let it happen.  Maybe there isn't an answer because of the complex nature of growth - each unique specimen having a unique set of needs.  Or maybe the answer is patience.  Maybe it's a serving of patience mixed with a pinch of faith.  I do know that growth won't happen if we don't expect it and nurture it and push for it.  But, like the oaks and pines and spruces......and Students A through L....the growth isn't always happening in ways we can see.  Remembering this has kept me patient and renewed my faith in the process of teaching and good grief maybe this whole thing is just one big cycle:  Patience and faith leading to growth that won't be seen without faith and patience.

I plant trees with the expectation that they will grow; I teach students with the same expectation, as do most teachers.  We would all do well to step back on occasion and look at our students through the lens of how far they've come instead of how far they still have to go.  Doing so will renew faith in ourselves, our faith in the process, and our faith in the students while also refilling our reserves of patience, the key ingredient to the growth of those students who need us the most.