Of Success, Encouragement

It's been an eventful week at school. In between teaching reading, writing, and math, we've had class pictures taken, a fire drill, and a safety drill. The kids have written their letters to STARBASE, we've studied poetry all week during our reading time, learned two digit multiplication in math, and one of my 5th grade students made it to Step 4 in Wilson Reading! I am particularly happy for him because he is in a position no one else can claim in our school, ever: he is the only student to make it to Book 4 in the Wilson Reading program before moving into 6th grade. I was happy as well because I've been teaching Wilson Reading for two years, and this is the first time I've had the opportunity to teach past Book 3.

Today, although it was a Friday and not a Monday when I would normally begin a new lesson introducing a new concept, we both approached the yellow Book 4 with a little more delight than usual. He smiled as he opened it, scanning its pages to see what kind of words he'd be learning, and to see how many substeps would be needed to get to the end. Four substeps. The previous books had 5 and 6 substeps. Book 4 has only four.

I gave him a choice for today since he had completed the reading and spelling portions of the Post Test for Book 3 yesterday and passed with flying colors. I told him that today he could read a book of his choice, or we could begin with substep 4.1. He opted for Book Four substep, and so I began reviewing vowel-consonant-silent e words. He did so well on the word chart, sentences, and the paragraph, that he finished with ten minutes left before he had to go on to his next class, which was recess.

Anticipating that we'd have time, I had brought a surprise to class for him. Anyone who knows this child, knows that he likes to draw. Kids who like to draw are endearing to me, and I encourage anyone I see drawing on their notebook paper after they have completed their classswork. Certainly I don't encourage them to draw during class instructional time or when they are supposed to be working on an assignment, but I do encourage them to draw at other, more appropriate times. I've seen too many kids get put off by unintentional words of criticism and discouragement when they attempt to give expression to something in their heart. Most kids stop drawing by the time they get to high school. The ones who continue to pursue their hidden talent are the ones who received some kind of inspiration and encouragement in the way of praise, public recognition, a gift of art materials, or other positive reaction, verbal or otherwise.

I had brought to school a brand new artist sketchbook, some drafting pencils (B and H), a Mars eraser, my personal favorite, and two books that provide easy to follow instructions for drawing 3D pictures by artist Mark Kistler. When he saw the sketchbook and pencils, his eyes lit up.

I remembered when I was his age, and all my doodles and sketches and drawings were done on notebook paper or typing paper. I didn't know of anything else to draw on or with. My parents acknowledged that I liked to draw, and provided me with pencils and crayons, but things like special pencils and sketchbooks were in the category of "things not needed." When you have six siblings, you know what is needed and what is not, and you don't ask your hard working parents to buy things you don't need. I did eventually get my first sketchbook, but I was in college by then, when the whole world of art supplies and materials opened up for me. Next to a bookstore, I still love walking through an art supplies store.

I gave him a lesson on shading values using both the H and the B pencils, letting him try out the two kinds and find out for himself which type he preferred. Then we looked through Commander Kistler's illustration book together, and he pointed to one page and then another saying how he'd like to draw this and that. I let him borrow the book for the week-end so he could practice at home. The sketchbook and pencils he could keep. He was very grateful. I know what he's doing this weekend. That makes me feel good. 

Of Writing Process

I began Monday’s writing lesson with a brainstorming session, asking the kids to recall last week’s STARBASE experience, what they enjoyed the most, what they learned from it all. For many, the rocket building and launching was by far the highlight of the week, but it was quite interesting to see what else they considered most memorable.

As we created a group sized circle map on the board, many favorite sessions were called out: “Eggbert!” called one girl, and the class responded by laughing, each recalling their own experience securing an egg (not hardboiled) with materials provided by the instructor, then watching the space vehicle, carrying their precious padded and taped egg, crash into a rock. There were only a few survivors.

“Launching the rockets!” called out another student. “Do you mean building and launching the rockets or just launching them?” I asked. Several quickly added “Building and launching!”

“What else did you learn about, that you didn’t know much about before STARBASE came?” I asked.

“When he talked about gravity and lift and thrust,” suggested one boy.

“Forces of Flight,” I wrote on the board. “What else?”

“The Sooper Puppy video,” one girl said as she pointed to the picture in her flight log. “The video about drug abuse,” she added.

“Yeah, and those goggles were funny,” another called out.

Their regular teacher asked, “What was so funny about the goggles?”

“They made us feel weird,” a student answered.

“What was the purpose of wearing the goggles,” I asked.

“To learn what it was like to be on drugs,” someone answered.

“How did it make you feel?” their teacher asked.

“It was hard to walk a straight line with them on. Maybe that’s how it feels to be drunk,” one girl suggested.

Another student said, “It made me feel sick.”

“That was the Fatal Vision session,” I said as I wrote it in our brainstorm circle. Then the memories came back quickly and the kids were calling out several at once. Soon, I had Ocean of Air, and Exploring Aeronautics, and Things that Fly written on the board.

Finally, one student said, “The test clickers… I really liked the test clickers.”

The class broke into unanimous agreement. The test clickers, a remote control unit with a series of buttons, enabled students to respond to test questions projected on a screen by aiming and pressing a choice (A,B,C, or D) during the pre- and post-tests. They liked it much better than the pencil and paper multiple choice tests they are accustomed and even better than the computer benchmark tests, which are also multiple choice. The remote unit selectors are probably the closest thing to playing with a video game or making selections when watching television. The teachers liked the concept even more than the students, however, considering it’s value for replacing the time needed for grading papers, and providing immediate feedback of whole class and individual comprehension. My first thought when I saw them in use was “We’ve got to get these in the classroom! ”

“Test clickers,” I added to the cluster taking shape on the board. Soon, the circle was filled with things they enjoyed and learned from their STARBASE experience.

I asked them to consider the things we talked about, and told them to choose three of the events or experiences that they enjoyed the most. They would be writing a letter to the STARBASE people, a thank you letter, but it would be written in the five paragraph expository format they had recently learned to organize.

Their regular teacher and I then reviewed the components of the five paragraph letter: an opening, three middle paragraphs, and a closing. We reminded them that they would be writing one paragraph for each event they enjoyed, and that paragraph would have to relate examples, explanation, and/or narrative, in other words, details to support the main idea.

To help them get started, I showed an overhead of my thank you letter, and read it out loud, pausing here and there to ask a question about why I might have chosen a particular word, or to ask them about the purpose of the last sentence in the paragraph. Then, as a group, we reverse mapped the whole letter onto a pillar map drawn on chart paper. The kids did their part to find the main idea of each paragraph, and then we looked for the details to support the main idea, filling in the spaces provided on the map. Soon, the entire letter was reduced to words and phrases, main ideas and supporting details, all neatly diagrammed into little organizational rectangles.

Their next step will be to make their own pillar maps using what they had selected to write about, and then they will be ready to tackle the letter. Such a long process, but teaching writing to someone who doesn’t know how, or who doesn’t want to, is no easy task. Having something exciting to write about usually helps, and they have something exciting to write about. With daily modeling of the component parts, and group discussions along the way, the students will get their letters written, and the memory of the week with STARBASE will be forever remembered on paper.

Coming Soon: STARBASE experience

I haven't written it yet, but for those who are looking for it, the STARBASE experience is in process. I'm still gathering information that will be used in the final piece.

The excitement generated by last week's activities and observations is still clinging to me, and I don't want to lose the momentum. I don't want the kids to lose it either.

This week, I plan to tap into what they learned and how they felt last week to help them improve their friendly letter writing skills. What a great opportunity for writing a thank you letter to the STARBASE personnel.

I've just written up all my lesson plans for the week, and it is almost 10 p.m. I have clothes to iron that won't get ironed piled up on the rocking chair in my living room, and the ironing board is standing there hopefully, begging for my attention every time I walk through the room. This morning I felt more ambitious about the ironing than I do now, and I'll probably regret it tomorrow morning when I get up and have to iron a pair of pants to wear. 

 

 

Of Skinks and Miniature Schnauzers

There’s a skink in my house. Possibly in this very room. I saw it a few hours ago as it scurried across the carpet of the spare room, so called because it is neither used as a bedroom nor as an office, but as a laundry-computer-office-library-storage room. It is also the room where my dogs sleep, each in their own comfortable, padded, oval-shaped doggy beds. I mention the myriad of uses of this room because it’s important for this recounting. The skink, remember?

Another factor to keep in mind is the nature of my dogs. Both are middle-aged miniature schnauzers, one black and one salt & pepper gray. The black one, Max, is six years old. Misty, the grayish one, is ten years old. These facts have little to do with what I am about to write, but I like talking about my dogs. They are adorable.

They love to chase things that run. This fact IS important to the story. And they are both skillful mousers. As a team, when in hot pursuit of a an escaping mouse, each contributes a skill that the other does not have. Not a skill, however, that they sat around and discussed like we might do. I never heard Max grunt, “Look, I’m the better killer. You catch it, let me kill it. Quick, painless. Snap. That’s my job.” And I never heard Misty agree, saying, “Sure, Max. You are better at that than I am. I do like playing with them first, though. They are so small and cute. But you’re right, fast and painless is better for the mouse. I’ll catch them, you kill them.”

Misty, being the eldest of the two, was Max’s substitute mother when he came to us as a 6 week old puppy back in 1999. She raised him with great patience and maternal affection. She taught him his manners. She became his playmate, his disciplinarian, and his leader. But she never could teach him one thing that she is very good at, that is, running off into the woods for hours at a time, returning whenever she feels like it. Max, in that respect, never wanders far from home, preferring instead the company of his real mother. Me. I am so grateful he didn’t pick up that bad habit from Misty. He always comes home when I call him, he doesn’t stray far from home, and he doesn’t come back covered in mud, seeds, and who knows what that muck is he likes to roll in once in awhile, as much and as often as she does. He is my body guard, my companion, my chair snuggler, and my traveling companion when I drive to town.

I tell all this so that I can get to the point of this story, the skink that is still running around this house. If I don’t catch it, it will most certainly die of dehydration, like the green chameleon my son carried all the way from a Florida vacation when he was about ten or so. Despite my warnings that we had no way of keeping a chameleon, he thought he’d like to try it, and everything went well until we got home. I don’t know how it happened, but the lizard-like critter got away. Since none of us were frantically afraid of reptiles, and it was a little reptile, and since we could not easily find a creature that could change its color to match the brownish carpet, the rock-colored fireplace, or the dark- brown barn boards on our living room walls, we didn’t go out of our way looking for it. It was the master of disguise. We would find it when it died, that was my plan. Although, Steven did make a sincere effort to find the animal, feeling guilty that he had brought it home, an unfriendly place by chameleon standards, he could not find it either, and soon forgot about it.

About a week later, we found the creature. It is amazing he lasted that long, actually. It might have been dead for several days, I had no way of knowing. I remember one night we were sitting in the living room, maybe watching tv, maybe reading. It was quiet, so maybe not watching tv. Quiet enough to hear the sound of a dry paper ornament falling to the stone floor of our fireplace. Scratchy, light, empty. I turned to look at the fireplace, from where this whispery sound came, and there on the stone floor lay something brown and shriveled with dried legs and tail. By then I had forgotten about the chameleon, but when I picked up the shell of its body, I realized what it was.

This memory came back to me when I saw the blue-tailed skink, a young one judging from its size, scamper into the middle of my spare room floor, and stop for a moment. Now this room is filled with many things, but no bed. A dresser, two book shelves, a computer center, a file cabinet, a basket of laundry, several canvas bags with books and things in them, two dog beds, a lamp table, a floor lamp, a rocking chair, a swivel chair, a large basket of dog toys, and a video storage case. Too many things for a quick blue-tailed skink torun around and hide behind. Oh, and a closet, which is also filled with things from the floor to the hanging clothes, to the shelf above the clothes. Another convenient hiding place for a little four-inch long, low to the ground, four-legged speed demon. It’s only weakness is that it can’t change colors to blend in with the background, so if I see it, I can catch it. But I can’t see it when it is hiding.

This is where my trusty mouser dogs come in. I call out the alarm they are familiar with. “Skink!” I yell. “Misty, Max! Skink!”

Do they really know that I’m telling them that a skink is in the house? And do they really associate that word with the creature? Possibly. They have chased down a few. When I’m with them, as they chase it, I encourage them, calling, “Get the SKINK!” or “Good dog. SKINK!“ and “There’s the SKINK.” By now, just the word “SKINK!” is all they need to know that there is something fun to chase nearby.

Max is the first one to respond to my excited voice. By the time he arrives in the room, I am already on the floor trying to catch the skink, and it runs under the computer desk. Once it reaches the back wall, it follows to the left, behind the file cabinet, and slips under the door into the closet. I wish it hadn’t done that. I can’t go to bed knowing it’s running around in the closet. But the closet is full of too much I don’t want to go through on a Saturday night. I throw aside the two dog beds that block the closet door, which startles Max and he leaves the room. I call him back while tossing aside blankets and curtains and a bag of clothes I want to give away but haven’t. By then the skink has scurried out onto the main floor again, and this time Max sees it. He makes an attempt, God bless him, to catch the reptile, but it eludes him by running back behind the file cabinet, where dog noses can’t reach.

By this time Misty has arrived amidst the piles of mess that is now in the center of the room. A lamp has been knocked over in the process, and the skink is still running wildly in the dark corners of the room. Misty is valiant as she immediately presses her nose to the floor and heads straight for the closet. She has caught the scent, and tries to find its path, but to no avail. Skinks must not leave much scent behind for she gives up within 30 seconds and walks out of the room despite my saying the code word excitedly several times, “Skink! Misty, SKINK!”

I catch a glimpse of the lizard as it disappears into a small opening where the floor boards come together at a right angle. Max sniffs the area, but it is gone. For now. I am left with a mess in the room, and both dogs have abandoned me, disappointed that they could not find the skink.

As I type this, the skink is still loose. I have no problem with critters on the floor, or even anywhere outside. But thinking about them crawling up the side of the bed and…, no I don’t want to find it in my bed.

Still, I have no plan to catch it. I know it wants out, and it will try to find a way out. We’ve had birds, snakes, bats, mice, spiders, hamsters, and various bugs at one time or another running or flying through our house over the past 24 years, a small price to pay for living in the country, and always we were able to get them out, either in a friendly, let-them-live manner or the desperate you-are-gonna-die manner. Except for the hamsters. They were trying to get out and we had to catch them to put them back in, although my allergic husband more than once fantasied about releasing them into the woods.

It's possible I will be going to bed tonight without catching the skink. Good thing Steve is out on the coast fishing. The dogs are going to sleep with me tonight.

Of STARBASE 2005

This is a multiple choice test question.

Which of the following does not belong with the other three?

A. Star Trek

B. Star Wars

C. Star Gate

D. STARBASE

Most people my age remember the original Star Trek television show, running from 1966 through 1969, which, despite its futuristic settings and plots, portrayed characters resembling those we had come to love in our favorite television westerns of that time (think Gunsmoke 1955-1975; Wagon Train -1957-65; and Rawhide - 1959-66). I loved them all, but Rawhide (and Clint Eastwood‘s character, ramrod Rowdy Yates) was my favorite. I became a Trek fan in 9th grade.

Then there was Star Wars, a space fantasy series that began back in 1977 with episode IV, A New Hope. The adventurous story plot, classic hero/villain characters, and interstellar settings combined with military/naval and cowboy/western action to make a movie that was both entertaining and mystical, carrying a message of hope and promise in the power of the Force. I fell in love with the Star Wars series and eagerly waited for each new release.

If you are a science fiction and fantasy movie aficionado, you recognize Star Gate as a 1994 science fiction big screen movie, about a team of explorers who, after entering a massive, fluid-like interstellar transporter device, are sent to a planet in an unknown star system where they discover a human-like race with a resemblance in dress, language, and architecture to Earth’s ancient Egyptians. The movie starred Kurt Russell and James Spader and was later developed into two television series, Star Gate 1 and Star Gate Atlantis. I enjoyed the movie, but know very little about the tv series.

STARBASE, Science and Technology Academies Reinforcing Basic Aviation and Space Exploration, is a program that started 14 years ago in several states, in response to a need for more science, math, technology, and positive life choices for students in grades 4 - 6. STARBASE is funded by the Department of Defense, and in our state is sponsored by the North Carolina National Guard, based in Charlotte. (Clicking on the link above will take you to the Kansas STARBASE site. I have not been able to link with the North Carolina STARBASE website as of this time.)

Back to the multiple choice question above. Clearly, the correct answer is answer D. Whereas the first three choices are fictional movie and television series titles, the last choice is a real life effort to create more excitement in the areas of science, math, and technology, to promote teamwork, and to help kids understand the dangers of drug use and make positive life choices.

Now, for the reason that I, in a roundabout manner, have brought up the subject of STARBASE: the STARBASE people, former teachers, and active National Guard personnel, came to my school, B. Everett Jordan Elementary school, this week, and I want to write about the many fine things this program, and its instructors, has to offer. A previous entry (Sept 20) is a record of one event, when the Black Hawk helicopter and crew landed near our school the first day to kick off the program.

Because this will be a lengthy write up, with pictures, I will add the details to my next entry. This entry is what writers refer to as "the hook." I hope it does its job.

Return to the Ant Habitat

For anyone who has been visiting this blog since its origin back on August 2nd, you may be wondering what happened to the ants. After all, this originally was about my ant habitat, and the life of the ants, their tunnels, and their habits. For a couple of weeks, I wrote frequently about the progress and, sometimes, lack of progress of my Harvester Ants. I took pictures of them, daily at one point, as their tunnels seemed to grow over night, except I knew they were constantly at work to create them. I observed them taking what seemed to be naps or breaks from time to time, and was thrilled to discover that they actually had a favorite place to sleep at night in a large communal area that I named the sanctuary of safety.

After school began in the middle of August, my time spent researching and surfing the net declined as other areas of interest, namely planning, scheduling, preparing materials for lessons, and perusing resources for lesson ideas and plans, took more of my time. It's not that I lost interest in the ants, but they fell into a lower level of importance in my life, I am ashamed to admit.

I check on them every day. I open the habitat each morning and let air into it. Lately, most of the ants are to be found at the top of the habitat, hardly moving at all. Not dead or asleep, but moving without purpose. This morning when I opened the ant habitat, I kept it open for nearly a minute and not one ant tried to escape. There seemed to be no interest in escaping, unlike the ants they were when I first got them... speedily racing to the surface the moment they felt the fresh air enter their tunnels.

No, these ants are no longer lively, no longer digging tunnels, no longer interested in doing anything, it seems. Even the ants which have died in the tunnels do not receive their proper carrying to the surface as the ones which died in the earlier days. In fact, yesterday I noticed two curled up dead ants, one at the surface and one in a tunnel. Today, the one at the surface was in pieces, spread out over the blue gel mounds near the tunnel openings. I wondered if the ants had torn it up because it was something to do, or because they needed it to be in pieces for burial, or maybe they ate it? My ants are cannibals? I don't know.

I can only surmise that the life they have had in the small and limited confines of this wonderful blue gel, invented for the NASA spaceflight that took place about two years ago, is not the most desirable of habitats for a life form as sophisticated as the ant, especially a species most noted for their tunneling. The joy and excitement I felt during those first two weeks of observing the ants has most definitely plummeted, and now, each morning when I check on them, I am reminded that I kept them trapped all this time. I find no relief in knowing that they were caught and trapped prior to my picking them up, and if I hadn't bought them for my own studies and observation, someone else would have.

This I have learned about myself: although I enjoy reading about life and living things on the earth, in the sky, or beneath the sea, I would never have made a good biologist. I don't enjoy keeping the animals in confinement. I understand that it's easier to observe an animal when you can control its meanderings, keep it close by for the convenience of the observations, but here's what I know to be true:

I would rather study the ant, beetle, cicada, bee, spider, preying mantis, or whatever insect crosses under or over my path at the time it crosses my path, and at the place at which our paths cross. There will be no more capturing of living animals in my classroom, no more holding them in an unnatural environment for my own curiosity. Even if it could be used as a teaching tool. I will leave this area of studies to other teachers more inclined and less affected.

I should have known, before I even bought the ant habitat, that this was not something I could follow through to the end without feeling. Now, it is a matter of waiting for the imprisoned harvester ants to die. They can never be released. They are non-native to this area. I am reminded of a ninth grade frog dissection in which I found myself wanting to participate but unable to do the deed which was required of me. I could not pierce the brain of a living, breathing, kicking, squirming frog. Oh, I tried. But I could not bring myself to do it. I had to remain a passive, note-taking observer while another student pierced its brain. I felt sick about it afterward. Even as the frog was dissected, its heart beat. Being told it felt no pain did not lessen my guilt in the process. It seemed immoral to me.

Each day I look upon "my ants" and wonder why they continue to live. The book that came with the habitat said they would probably live a few weeks, possibly a month. It's been almost two months, and they are still living, yet not alive. Not thriving nor bustling. I ask myself if I should let them continue to live miserably in this unnatural environment until they die off one by one, or end it quickly and mercifully in the freezer?

Of Riding in a Black Hawk Helicopter

Ask me how my day was today!

Usually when someone asks me how my day went, I say what most of us say. “Pretty good,” or “Like a day at school,” or even, “It was a long day, and I‘m tired.” Depending on the kind of day I had, and who is asking, I may or may not elaborate any further.

Today I had one of those days that begs for elaboration… I want someone to ask me “How was your day today, Bea?”

Let me tell you!

The highlight of the day had to be the Black Hawk helicopter ride. Yes, I was at school, it was about 2:00, when I, and seven other teachers, our principal and assistant principal boarded the Black Hawk with its pilot and three other crewmen. For about twenty or so minutes, we flew around the Graham, Mebane, and Saxapahaw communities. It had to be the most exciting thing to happen in our school. Ever. It was absolutely the most fun ride. I took about fifty pictures while we were flying, mostly pictures of the land below us, but also pictures of the teachers smiling fearlessly across from and beside me during take-off. We all agreed that it was awesome, and as teachers who are always looking for a better word to describe an experience because “awesome” is often overused, we couldn’t come up with anything that more aptly described the total experience. It was AWESOME!

What made it so awesome? I think it was a combination of the fine National Guard pilot and his crew, the fearless teachers who flew together, and the unusual point of view.

I am certain that the National Guard pilot and crew made it especially memorable. In fact, they pretty much made the whole experience extraordinary. First of all, they had spent half the day with our students, beginning with the arrival of the Black Hawk helicopter at about noon. As soon as the announcement was made that the helicopter was in the area, all the fourth and fifth graders and their teachers ran out to the ball field next to our school to watch it land. Once the blades stopped turning, the crew waved us on, and our kids lined up to see the helicopter from a very close point of view: from inside. Two of the crew helped kids climb into the Black Hawk and buckle up their seat belts which looked more like harnesses. Eight kids at a time buckled up and smiled for their picture to be taken (by me!). This the crew did for nearly the next two hours, smiling, laughing, and talking with the kids, answering their questions with humor and understanding, and posing patiently in the relentless hot sun for class pictures. They did not stop buckling kids into their seats, helping them get back down again, and posing for whole class pictures, until all 463 students had passed through their helicopter. When I commented to one of them how many students they had worked with today in such a short time, he said “We are very efficient!” I’ll say. To these four soldiers, whom we will probably never meet again because our paths may not cross, soldiers who could as well be sent to Iraq or some other far away place and put in harm’s way, I say thank you for making this day special for our children, and God bless you and keep you safe, and may His face shine upon you!

The teachers made it awesome as well. We knew we’d be flying, but none of us knew when. In fact, we didn’t know until about an hour before the flight that we were going up. Only one teacher seemed to have any reservations, but being the stout hearted person she is, she did not back down. She told us she was terribly afraid of heights, but one of our STAR BASE commanders had promised her she would be fine in the air. During take off, we all grasped each other, more for assurance that we were in this together rather than out of fear. The smiles and grins I saw on the faces across from me proved that they were feeling like little kids again. Just like me. There were a couple of moments when the helicopter seemed to drop in altitude a little too quickly, and those butterflies shook us up a bit, but for the rest of the ride, we were just giddy with excitement and disbelief. I don’t know that any of us really had time to think about the dangers involved, and we all put those thoughts far away from our conscious thinking. Sharing the BlackHawk ride with each other like that means we will always have that memory. Four of the teachers who went up with us today are new to our school, having started just this August, placing even more value on this shared experience, of which we will certainly be talking about at the lunch table for a very long time. We’ve seen each other in the classroom teaching, at Staff meetings, Committee meetings, and teacher workshops, but I have never seen such expressions of thrill, joy, and fear all at once as I did in that Black Hawk during take off.

Finally, the view of the world below, or at least our part of the world, took our breath away. I probably speak for all of those on board, we have never seen Alamance County from the air. Some of us have flown before in airplanes, or little tourist helicopter rides, but to fly over the cities and towns in which one lives is something most people never get to do in their lifetime. We saw a bird’s eye view of our school, nestled in amongst the surrounding pine, oak, and poplar woods, and our tiny yellow school buses lined up neatly in the parking lot. When I recognized our school, our parking lot, and our buses, I thought, “That’s my school down there! That’s where I work!” I felt so proud to be part of this school and community. When the pilot flew us over Graham, I said, “There’s the Court House!” (although no one could hear me because we wore ear plugs to protect us from the sound of the whirling chopper blades). It stands quite stately in the center of Graham, directing all traffic north and south, east and west. I had become so accustomed to the small, quaint, country appeal of Graham, that I had not realized how spread out and flat everything there looks from the air. Still, it is my county and my county seat, and I smiled when I saw it. There were little doll-house sized neighborhoods lined with neat, curved streets, and water towers guarding community baseball fields. We saw the busy interstate streaming with vehicular life below us as it flowed from city to far away city. Also, there were enormous, flat-top buildings planted off the main roads that I had not known existed, and great swatches of plowed fields marked by tractor tracks and pick up truck trails. Hundreds and hundreds of acres of wooded land rolled and stretched out below us, broken here and there by a pond, or a road, or a field with one crop or another. I spied someone’s deer stand in the middle of one unplanted field. The Haw River wound this way and that, like a massive brown snake on a rocky path, marked in familiar areas by bridges and nearby golf courses. There were a few moments when we looked puzzled at each other. Where were we? The pilot flew for some time over open country, but we could not tell where we were. We shrugged our shoulders and gave in to not knowing. We simply sat back and enjoyed the spectacular view.

The ride in the Black Hawk helicopter was not the only exciting event of the day, but it is definitely going down in my memory album as the most exciting event of the past decade. How could I ever forget the patience and politeness of our young National Guard helicopter crew as they worked with our students, the laughter of my excited colleagues as we flew over our school, and the extraordinary opportunity to view our county from the air? This is one day I will talk about to my students in all the years to come.

The teachers gave me their permission to use the pictures above. You'd think we were on a ride at Disney Land or Carowinds. Look close and you can see the orange ear plugs we had to wear. Unforgettable.