Putting Play in Its Place

Inspired by our neighbor’s suggestion, last night my husband suggested we make pasta sauce for dinner. Our neighbor had an abundance of cherry tomatoes and sent us a picture of her one pan tomato roasting sauce ingredients — Olive oil, salt, pepper, onions, garlic, feta cheese, and tomatoes. Instructions: roast, pulverize, and voila — you have sauce. We piggybacked on her idea and made more of a puttanesca style.

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When my own children ask why I am so obsessed with gardening, I explain that it’s really just an excuse to play and experiment. I get to learn what grows and under what circumstances and environments. I get to eat what I grow which encourages more creativity and playing even if it’s a small dish or snack. So it makes sense that I want to instill (or perhaps invoke) that spirit of curiosity in the girls who come to Maple Key no matter what “skill level” they come in with. That’s the joy of being imaginative — there is an endless supply of creativity available!

Perhaps because right now my children don’t have bills to pay or places to drive or multiple schedules to organize, they don’t see what the big deal is for an adult to make space for play even if it’s for 5 minutes of checking on and watering your okra and bush beans. It often just looks like a chore or a huge investment of time to them. But I assure them that for most adults play is, sadly, the first thing to go when you prioritize all the daily things you must juggle.

My college roommate (who is a new tutor for Maple Key this year!) doesn’t garden, but finds her play in singing and being in actual plays. She has spent her summer in community theater. An incredible ensemble of professional players!

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Fiddler on the Roof!

There are so many places we can find our play.

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Legos at the local library!

So I say, here’s to bringing back play as a part of a healthy balance in life. Now back to more pickling 🙂

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A Little Closer to Eden

It’s been a very hot summer here in Chattanooga, Tennessee. Little rain and temps in the upper 90’s. I am convinced the only way people are keeping their plants alive is through drip irrigation. And yet despite the drought, I see a lot of people still finding ways to keep the gardening spirit alive around here.

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Ripening in the windowsill…


I recently visited my city’s local high school with my neighbor who teaches environmental science there. She acquired some local grants to get a garden going for her students. She has sturdy raised beds and a ground melon patch going. While I was there, some students came to help us prune the very abundant tomato plants. I asked one of them how they got into gardening, as a lot of people her age aren’t spending their summers oohing and ahhing over tomatoes. She said she worked at the local Dollar Tree and earlier they had some grow kits come in around February. She got curious and the rest is history — she has a thriving tomato plant at her house and is using some of the dirt from the kit to try other things.

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Bush beans, tomatoes, squash, cucumbers!

I was really encouraged by her answer because let’s be honest, there is a start up cost to gardening. Containers, potting soil, plants, seeds, water, tools. It adds up so quickly every year. This rising senior started small, kept costs low, saw success, and now wanted to know more and expand her own garden. Inspiration comes from so many unexpected places!

In a similar vein, this local headline caught my eye last week about one more place in our area that is recognizing that children and their communities need gardens.

They built a garden from scratch and then found out they had to move the whole operation somewhere else on campus due to needing a portable classroom in that area (I would die if someone told me that I had to do that much labor over!). But they rallied again and are rebuilding their garden so the children can be involved and eat fresh produce snacks once more during recess time. What memories those teachers are instilling in their students just by letting them be a part of growing their own community’s food (particularly in an area that is considered a food desert).

Similarly, a local high school is helping provide healthier options in the school cafeterias through hydroponics!

The school my older girls go to also focus heavily on being outdoors and having a horticultural presence in the area. This spring, they raised money through a big plant sale. All plants were grown from seed in their greenhouse by students and the teacher. I purchased a Cherokee purple tomato plant and it is continuing to do really well in the front yard.

In addition, the community center in our city has improved its community garden this year. I dropped by and noticed all the cherry tomatoes and basil ready for any child or adult hanging out at the playground to pluck and eat.

Stories like this give me hope. Having lived in this area almost my whole life, I can say that school gardening was not going on in the 1990’s and if community gardens existed as I am seeing them now, I was completely unaware. Thanks to the internet and social media, I see churches, schools, and city governments pushing for revitalization through various gardening opportunities. I am thankful to be a part of this process and excited to see what decades of gardening exposure — literally just being around gardens on the regular — normalizes for my children’s generation.

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Time for picklin’…

Guest Post: Editor’s Note by Justin Lonas

Here is a guest blog post on the writing and editing process from my husband. Reprinted from his Substack with obvious permission. This is why we like working together on projects 🙂


I’ve often said that I’m a better editor than I am a writer.

Whether that’s the whole truth or not is for others to judge, but what I know is this: both crafts bring me joy, but one comes much easier than the other. Writing for me is slow, tedious work.

This is likely because I’m always editing. I’m rejigging every thought before it finishes hitting the page. It’s a combination of tasks that layers poorly—both the writing and the editing going slower and being less effective together than they would be separately. Perfectionism is the enemy of creativity. This nervous habit seems worst in Microsoft Word, where the work “feels” finished from the baseline format, and every minor mistake is flagged with squiggles. Typing on a blog or social platform brings a bit more freedom, given the need for speed and hope for immediate engagement from readers. If I really want to get into a flow, I have to have a pen (Pilot G2 extra fine blue, thank you) and a legal pad.

When I edit others, though, my fingers fly through a document with surgical precision, correcting typos, smoothing syntax, tweaking word choices, shortening sentences, rearranging paragraphs, synthesizing ideas in comments, asking clarifying questions, etc. I’m a veritable machine of reader empathy.

At various points in my life, I’ve done this full-time (editing my student newspaper in college; operating a monthly print magazine; trying to get a digital monthly off the ground), and it’s always been part of my various jobs. For professional copy (marketing materials, blogs, newsletters, magazines, etc.) my skills and fervor for crafting the best possible finished work is usually a welcome—even unnoticed—part of the process.

When editing more personal projects, the process is a bit less welcome. It’s one thing to tell yourself to “kill your darlings” altruistically, and quite another to have someone else do it with dispassionate deftness. Part of this is no doubt due to the fact that most of us don’t ever give our work to a good editor until we submit it for publication, and the process of getting feedback after acceptance can be jarring. Someone who hasn’t been in conversation with you about your idea, someone you don’t know well, is coming for your hard-won creation.

Editing as Collaborative Creation
But this is precisely where editing is most beneficial. It’s difficult to do this part remotely, or in a mere exchange of documents. You have to get your hands dirty, so to speak, till the soil of relational capital to grow something together with a writer that neither of you would have come up with independently.

This is part of what Elliot Ritzema has called “editing as fellow-feeling,” helping someone sound more like themselves and saying what they really mean to say and coming to a place of sympathy with them. But it goes deeper. Good editing isn’t merely an essential part of refining an author’s ideas and voice, but a process of mutual discovery of the “thing” under the words written. It’s a dialogue to add necessary context and trim down any details that will get in the way of communing with readers on that elusive shared wavelength of recognition.

This cultivation of a work is also part of what a good writers’ collective or workshop group should do—carefully inviting others into the process of bringing something closer to completion. A group that’s built trust and collective knowledge of each other doesn’t take submitted material as the end of something, but only the beginning, calling forth more of someone’s essence than they initially put forward.

Sometimes, the one-on-one of editing gets a little more nosy, though, pressing into the unfinished corners of thought with ruthless curiosity. It can get a bit messy before it gets better.

Case in point: as we’ve slowly moved out of the never-ending demands of the little-kid phase of parenting (our youngest is finishing kindergarten), both my wife and I have spent a lot more time writing. We also edit each other’s work, somehow managing to be both each other’s biggest fan and firmest critic in a growing symbiotic “cottage industry” of putting words into the world.

Neither of us really enjoys the first go-round of edits—holding on to concepts and words a bit like a dog guarding a bone. Eventually there’s always a turn, a pivot toward reciprocal creation once we both begin to see what could be, that pushes something through to the finish.

When I say I’m a better editor than writer, this is what I mean. I find it so much easier to create from something that’s there, and with someone who is delighted through the making. It’s true that you can’t edit a blank page, but I sometimes can’t even begin to do my best writing until I’m on someone else’s page. Helping another writer discover their best work within the ideas they’re chipping away at energizes me and usually overflows into remembering how to do my own work better.

At its finest, good editing sparks a virtuous cycle, bringing life to words and to the world. Anything worth making is worth making together.

Composting as a Spiritual Habit

In certain educational circles you might hear about the classroom environment being the “3rd teacher” (the other two being adults and other children). It’s a concept that is only more recently being recovered in the classrooms accustomed to tidy front-facing desks and bright motivational posters instead of a more curious place for discovery of both self and others.

Obviously for Maple Key, the farm is doing a lot of work as the third teacher — the year round blooms (yes, we even see camellias in January!), the various animals, the winding creek, the structures like the various barns and MiMi’s house. Those things influence our art, our sense of belonging and stewardship, regional connections. But as we all know, life has many classrooms beyond just the ones we are required or choose to attend. That got me thinking about our first classrooms — our homes. What things do we absorb from those places? I zeroed in my thoughts and remembered a part of my home environment was compost.

Meet Benjamin, one of the baby goats on the farm!

My mom didn’t always have a compost tumbler (they weren’t as prolific as they are now), but certainly for the last 20 years. We were a thoroughly suburban family, but my guess is that she got that habit from her mom and dad whose families grew up on or around a lot of farm land in Dickson, TN. In the early 90’s my grandparents had a farmhouse built for them with a beautiful wrap around porch. They would have acres to grow things, my grandfather could ride his tractor around and they were set to enjoy their retirement years among friends and family. Unfortunately, Alzheimer’s had other plans for them as my grandfather was diagnosed with the debilitating disease only a few years into their wonderful rest. They had to make the difficult decision to sell their home and move to Soddy-Daisy to be closer to us, my aunt, and the nursing home facilities he would eventually need.

They moved to a ranch style home in a brand new subdivision and my grandmother wasted no time in carving out some little beds in their tiny yard for her zinnias, beans, cucumbers, and squash. It was such a small plot compared to what they had envisioned flourishing in Dickson, but my grandmother did it faithfully and we snapped beans on her screened in porch each year for her to can and put away.

As for our family, we had been settled in Chattanooga after bouncing around in Texas for a few years for my dad’s job, and my mom got into gardening, mainly daffodills and irises. Somewhere along the line she started saving her kitchen scraps which turned into compost tumblers which turned into feeding her beds rich, black compost for vegetable growing every year.

Both my new and old compost methods. Still using both.

As my mom would tell you, I would always put my scraps in the red Folgers jug she kept under the sink, but never really took any interest in gardening until after I got married and had a house of my own. Thanks to a steel compost pail and compost hut gifted from my in-laws, somehow I started the habit just like my mom if for nothing else than to keep food waste out of the trash can. Now it’s just like second nature for everyone in our house to recycle and compost. It’s just a way of life on our shady quarter acre lot. This year I am hoping to increase our compost yield by having bought a tumbler of my own and being more diligent to spin it (which takes the place of turning it in the swimming pool we had used exclusively) and process more so I can experiment with what can grow decently in the shade after some failed attempts in years’ past.

I tell this story just to say that it’s amazing how much we absorb from our “3rd teachers”. Those places we call home truly do shape us even if we can’t see it until decades later. My mom and grandmother never pressured me to continue on in their gardening footsteps, but whether I realized it or not there was always something noticeably peaceful and rewarding for them in the act of gardening and composting. To them, why would you not invest in these simple acts of beauty and stewardship in your daily life? The environment they prepared for me, even in very suburban settings, helped prepare me to desire a space like the farm that I could learn from as I teach alongside it. It helped me catch a vision for how the library and community center I work for can practice interdependence through our community gardening.

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Many of the girls in Maple Key are light years from where I was at at their age. Several compost and play in their own gardens or help their family plant things each year. They take me around their property before tutoring time and tell me stories about what grows where or what new plant they are trying out. They harvest basil for pesto and grow okra in the summer. They give me free plants. Of course some of them don’t garden but enjoy getting to indulge in it and work hard during our time on Tuesdays. They, like me, may never own a farm, but their many classrooms are teaching them valuable lessons on what it means to help something grow and tend it faithfully. This is a spiritual habit if there ever was one.

Have you ever stopped to consider what “environments” were your 3rd teachers? Particularly those things or spaces you perhaps unintentionally neglected but you can see with more clarity as you get older? I’d love to hear about it in the comments.

HopeWords Conference 2024

When you own your own tutoring business, you have to research and pay for professional development for yourself. HopeWords has been a writing conference that is an easy place to say yes to every year. It’s located in the beautiful state of West Virginia which is actually a reasonable driving distance from us in Chattanooga, Tennessee. All the speakers sit out among the audience and eat at the same tiny restaurants as everyone else. Everyone just chats like it’s the most normal thing to do with strangers who write from all over the U.S.

This is my third year and I want to emphasize that one of the blessings of HopeWords is that they are making space for all ages at the conference. My oldest daughter, age 14, came this year and last year and Travis (the host), the other attendees, and the authors have welcomed, embraced, and challenged her. In her everyday life she is used to people mispronouncing and misspelling her biblical name. Many of the conference attendees when they met her said, “What a beautiful name” because they understood its biblical significance. Daniel Nayeri, the keynote speaker, signed her book and when I said offhandedly that she has 3 other sisters with Bible place names he said enthusiastically, “Ooh. Tell me all of them!” as we proceeded to have a short and lively conversation. The next day when he came in the restaurant where we were eating he boisterously (and so jolly-like!), pointed at all of us saying he knew us and we just laughed and waved right back at him going back to our conversation, like it was not odd to give a friendly wave to a Newbery award winner at dinner.

Our college friend, Amanda Opelt, sings and writes and was invited to welcome guests back into the afternoon sessions with her guitar. She asked our daughter a week before the conference if she would be willing to sing the high harmony with her on an Appalachian tune covered by the Wailin’ Jennys. When our daughter joined her on stage she introduced her as her friend, not my “college friends’ daughter” but a young woman worthy of her identity and relationship in her own right. Amanda even paid for appetizers at the local restaurant saying she owed her a portion of her honorarium.

Photographs by Cheryl Eichman

At the “after party” on Saturday we sat at a table with the men responsible for a lot of the revitalization projects going on in Bluefield, West Virginia. We had a riveting discussion on community development practices for 30 minutes. The undertone was about not giving up hope in hard places. My daughter said later it was a fascinating conversation and not at all what she thought we’d end up talking about with so many writers around!

It’s the little things like that that remind me why HopeWords is special. There is a deep respect for children and young adults within this Christian community of writers and community movers and shakers. The attendees treated my daughter like an adult. The speakers did the same in their speeches and in how they are truly the same humble people on and off the stage. Anyone involved with HopeWords welcomes and invites all into a life of writing, creativity, community, and curiosity. As an educator, I cannot think of a better mission for a conference.

This year I noticed there were many more young people than had come in the past and I hope the number of teens keeps rising as this conference continues to flourish. Our youngest daughter is in Kindergarten and she says she has “poem words” in her mind. She illustrates stories about pirates, animals, and princesses constantly. Maybe some day she will want to come, too?


Until next year,

Rachel

Featured Student Work: Book Review by Maryellen 


Whispering Trees: Book Review of The Singing Tree

The Newbery Medal once, the Newbery Honor Twice, and the Caldecott Honor all went to author and illustrator Kate Seredy. Seredy was born in Budapest, Hungary, in 1899. She grew up with a scattered family heritage, having grandparents from so many different places, and hearing all sorts of opinions and stories. She graduated from college with an art degree and moved to the U.S. soon after in 1922. She illustrated things to provide for herself while learning the English language. Her first book was The Good Master, a book based in Hungary with her as the main character. Four years later, when she wrote the sequel, The Singing Tree, she knew what war was like, having been a nurse in World War I, and was able to write about the hardships that came with it. She continued illustrating and writing books, many of which got notable honors and awards. She always considered herself more of an illustrator than a writer, creating until 1962, thirteen years before her death at age 75 (Young).

A website titled “A Tribute to Kate Seredy” claimed, “…the best of Seredy’s writing has auditory and visual qualities which draw readers in and carry them along” (Young). This is the first time I have read one of her books and I agree with this statement. In The Singing Tree, at the beginning of each chapter, there is a little traditional Hungarian picture which gives a sense of anticipation and motivation to help the reader continue. The artistry featured pictures at the end of each chapter that are less traditional but they go with the storyline, typically portraying something that happened in the chapter as a little reminder which for me, helped break up the text well.

The target audience for this book is probably early teens to young adults. The book isn’t too thick and loaded with information, yet it isn’t something that you can fly through and not miss anything. I liked that the chapters were easy to manage, taking about 10 to 15 minutes to read about a chapter and a half. The vocabulary and story line are good for teens about 12 up to maybe age 20.

I was surprised by The Singing Tree because I typically don’t prefer books that are historical facts and information. This one was historical fiction and I really enjoyed both the history as well as the style of writing. I knew that Seredy based some characters and settings on her experiences, but it made me wonder how much of the book was fiction and how much she actually experienced. Given her background, I wish Seredy told a little bit more about the war.  I understand why she refrained from talking about it, but I felt like if she was going to put a war in her story, there needed to be more context.  Every time Jansci’s father shared about his experiences in the war, it was about something important to the story but didn’t give too much context outside of that.

Seredy introduced many characters in The Singing Tree but one of the more important ones is Jansci, a Hungarian boy in his middle teens who values growing up and being a man. He is very thorough and tries to do the best that he can to be like his father, working on the farm and tending all the animals. Village life is all Jansci has known, caring for everything and others recognizing him for being hardworking and helpful. When his father gets called to the war, Jansci knows what to do on the farm because of community, tradition, and how his father has modeled it. Throughout the book he grows up during the worst parts of the war and continues to learn how to do these things without his father, enjoying more responsibilities and learning what he needs to know to be a Hungarian man. 

As Jansci is growing up in the village, with him is his cousin, Kate. She is a young teen girl who is very passionate about things, like her chickens. She will not let anyone harm the things that she loves. She struggles to accept all of the restrictions that come with growing up and the things she has to learn. She is in that transition stage between being childish and being a young woman. She still has to learn what the women in the village are called to do which means she has to put certain things aside. For instance, riding horses with Jansci is not how ladies ride horses and the way she dresses now cannot be like men.

I relate with both Kate and Jansci but in different ways. Kate’s determinedness is a lot like me in that she doesn’t give up and is almost always optimistic. Jansci has a sort of sturdiness and quietness to him that I also see a lot in myself. He is an observer of people and that is something that helps us both know a little about what to expect so as not to be caught off guard.

As well as Jansci and Kate, there are other kids in the village who are learning to see life differently. Lily is first seen as a spoiled young girl, having been badly influenced from a fancy school in Paris. She stays with Kate and Jansci while her father is in the war. She slowly gets to know the village and family better, beginning to love and appreciate the animals and farm life. She learns that tradition is supposed to be a cherished ritual, and should be treated with respect, as well as that each animal on the farm is necessary, just as much as each person has value. She has changed from her false “Paris identity” to appreciating the farm as where she belongs.

Seredy shows us how wars change the way people live, and how sometimes, well known truths change in ways that are devastating. Near the beginning of the book, during the war, Jansci is returning home and is required to pick up 6 Russian prisoners. They get stopped by a Hungarian soldier who is looking for one of the men from the village who ran from his duties in the war. He had received a letter that his wife, who had just had a baby, was sick. The soldier doesn’t know that within his load of prisoners Jansci is smuggling the man to their house. The soldier pities the man’s wife saying to Jansci, ”Son, it’s a crazy world when it’s a man’s duty to kill, and a sin to comfort his wife” (Seredy 156). He knows that traditionally it was a man’s job to comfort his wife and a sin to kill, but at the current time, it was the other way around. This was something completely different from their lives before the war. Just as also at the beginning of the book, they count the time by the things that are happening — when the maple turns red, then it’s time to pull the potatoes, etc., but near the end of the book, everybody is counting the time by different things, letters from fathers, nights until a holiday, days since the war started, and more all because of the war’s disruption. These things strengthen one of Seredy’s main themes, change (because of the war) vs tradition (the way of life before the war).

There were a few characters in The Singing Tree who were in denial about  the war and they had to accept that there would be some troubles ahead of them. The people have to accept that there will be change and that the traditional ways still remain, they are just altered. A large part of the book is about who the main people are, as well as who the village sees them being. Jansci, Kate and Lily find out what makes them unique and how they can use their special talents to help while the men are away at war. They have to find their identities and roles as young men and women. In a time of war, the farm animals gave the family at home a purpose and a reason to get up in the morning. They were a very subtle way to keep up hope while loved ones were away fighting. The animals provided a source of comfort and healing to families in the community.

No matter what nationality people are, they understand without speaking, the chores that need to be done and the way to do household things. The barrier of language doesn’t matter; the plow will look the same. When people from different areas come in, they help around the farm without asking what to do or how to do it. In the war, both sides are fighting, but they know that this is not the way to settle disagreements. Jansci’s mother realized that the Russian prisoners she took in did not want to fight. They wanted to be at home with their families just like she was. She knew that the country’s leaders were to blame, not the men. She says, ”Why should I mind? They are men, like ours. Maybe… if we are good to them… they’ll write home too, like Sandor, and say that we are kind and maybe some Russian woman will say to her husband or son: ‘Don’t aim your gun too well; they are just simple people like we are’” (Seredy 142-145). It is such a good quote to describe how life during the war affected people on both sides.

The war from Seredy’s Hungarian childhood had a really hard impact on her life and she based this book on her experiences growing up and what she gathered from that. She saw war and suffering and greatly disliked it. She saw how it tore families apart and disrupted daily life. She put a lot of great lessons into her writing that can still apply today – the truth of coming of age and the theme of love without barriers helps the book into a deeper meaning that you have to dig for. She reminds us that we don’t have to speak the same language or fully understand, to help and work together to get the work done. Seredy wanted to teach us there are deep lessons in tradition. As Jansci’s father said, “‘Whispering trees,’ he went on gently as if speaking to them,’they have weathered many storms. Some of them are broken and almost dead, but new shoots are springing up from their roots every year. Those roots grow deep in the soil, deeper than the trees are tall. No one could kill them without destroying the very soil they grow in; what they stand for lives in the hearts of all Hungarians. Nothing could kill that without destroying the country.’” (Seredy 39).




Works Cited

Seredy, Kate.The Singing Tree. New York, Penguin Group,1990.

Young, Linda M. “A Tribute to Kate Seredy, Author and Illustrator.” Flying Dreams, http://home.flyingdreams.org/seredy.htm. Accessed 18 November 2023.


From time to time I will feature student work here on the blog (always with their permission). Maryellen wrote this over a few months in 2023/2024 during our one hour tutoring time each week after reading The Singing Tree. Maryellen is a big reader who is very methodical and observant. I love her keen sense of literary analysis and ability to make textual connections with the world around her as well as other texts. She worked diligently and patiently on this project from drafting to revising to editing!

The Journey of Reading

Sometimes I want to pinch myself — I have two dream jobs that involve people and books!

I get to work at the library where I can engage people during events, have co-workers, be creative and visionary, and sometimes listen to audiobooks while I do other non-creative tasks.

I also have this job where I get to walk alongside students who are discovering who’s already inside them. To see what the literature and nature provoke in them during the week.

Despite what some people assume, I was not a bookworm growing up. I loved hanging out with people but mostly enjoyed read alouds from the teacher and the occasional trip to the school library. I went to daycare after school where I mostly played on the huge playgrounds or tried to be friends with the staff instead of the students (on-brand me…). I was off the charts in reading and writing abilities, but my taste in books didn’t start to form until I started hitting high school. Even then, I read few books outside of assigned readings. If it weren’t for some really faithful and gifted English teachers, I honestly don’t know if I would be doing what I am right now. Through literature, they showed me the power of someone’s story and that fire has never left. I can easily say that desire to seek others’ perspectives has been indispensable in every area of my life.


I think my own “reading journey” can help other parents feel at ease if their student doesn’t seek out all the goodness that’s available to them right now. I don’t promise that their child will become a literature major (and that’s not what they want anyway!), but I do believe that reading, discussing, and asking good questions together helps push that needle forward toward seeking out better writing and inspiration for themselves. Students need to discover how to think about what they think! Their personal connections create fond memories of literature and remind them of many others who they can ask for rich books along their own journey.

In addition, I hope reading more widely gives them the freedom to decide for themselves what makes a good book and what doesn’t. I am almost 40 and still can feel bad about having wildly different views than my friends or critics on certain well-acclaimed books. However, I know I might gain some different perspectives hearing from them just as I should be willing to explain my position if asked. Learning to be settled in who you are as a reader is a gift that requires patience and cultivation.

P.S. Look at this copy of The Giver I found at my library. It was published in 1997, only 4 years after the novel came out. The related readings are an incredible resource (see poem below). Part of why I love my tiny library is that a bigger library might have culled this one out decades ago for a newer copy of just the novel. Little libraries can keep gems if you know where to look!

Snowflake Bentley


One of my favorite books I read with my girls when they were younger was Snowflake Bentley, a true story about the history of snowflake photography. In the late 1800’s Wilson Bentley was a Vermont farmer-scientist whose love for snow crystals started very young. His parents donated their savings to support his dreams to photograph snow! His book Snow Crystals is the “source text” for the modern day scientists who are continuing his enormous efforts in understanding the structure of snowflakes.

I brought Snowflake Bentley in today so the Maple Key girls could learn some natural history and more about drawing snow crystals.

We worked on how to draw basic snowflakes. I showed them how to form the 6 branches of a crystal by drawing 3 lines and then adding any oiLs (look at the shapes in the letters of oiLs — circles, straight lines, dots, angled lines, curved lines) to make a snowflakes.

I told them they could make them as simple or complex as they wanted. I told them that if they thought they were JUST doodling that they ought to compare what they were doing to real photos of snowflakes.

“Ice Queen” by Nathan Myhrvold Nathan Myhrvold / Modernist Cuisine Gallery, LLC

The oiLs pop out at you and the snowflake becomes less intimidating to draw because you see the shapes!

I hope that the next time we get even the least little bit of snow they will grab a black tray and a microscope and head outside to look at the flakes just a little bit closer.

Poetry Power

I generally have 3 categories for books I pick up.

1. Classics I have never read

2. Books friends have written or recommended

3. Accidental finds

The book I just finished is in the 3rd category.


How to Say Babylon is a memoir from a Jamaican poet, Safiya Sinclair, who, like me, is 39. Her story is an incredible journey of poetry and the long memory of self-discovery. She shares about the constant hostility and abuse in her home due to her father’s strict Rastafarian beliefs, juxtaposing them with the discipline of poetry, writing, and reading that helped her see her calling as a poet and author. The book just came out in October, but I imagine it will be named one of the best works of creative non-fiction of 2023. I am so grateful she chose to share her story with the world. It’s a reminder that there are many young poets out there pursuing words and how to string them together with their heart. It means I have an obligation to help nurture that with my students. Because I have always felt like poetry was my weakest link in my education, I have had to work hard to understand the ear qualities and brevity it often requires. It would be so easy for me to just double down on novels, but if I did I would have no sense of language’s beauty and form which is essential for excellent writing and understanding yourself. So I continue to look for ways to incorporate it into our days at Maple Key and the local writing group I am in. One of the ways is through poetry prompts.

This one is from Joseph Fasano’s to-be-released, Magic Words.

Here is what I wrote:

The fox cannot help being clever.
The bleeding heart cannot help being ephemeral.
The star cannot help being luminous.
And I cannot help being Rach.
Even in my sleep, I dream of words.
Even in my sadness, I love my compassion.
I swim in the rivers of my unsureness.
I climb through mountains of my fatigue.
I travel for years and years.
And on the other side
is Rachel, beautiful Rachel,
her unruly curls cascading in the breeze.


It was good to dig deeper and not write it like a Mad Lib where you just put the first thing that comes to your mind. I encourage you to surprise yourself and give this prompt a try. Feel free to leave your work in the comments here or on the Maple Key Facebook page.

A friend from writer’s group gave us this prompt for this month from The Poet’s Companion by Kim Addonizio and Dorianne Laux. She said the repetitive form lends itself to writing about a common dream experience (whether true or made up). It is called a pantoum and you write lines that weave back through the poem (hence the numbers that guide it). Here’s my example based on the anxiety people have about being unprepared for a class:

1 Today’s Lesson
2 Written in thick, black letters
3 Teacher wants us to know
4 But I cannot write

2 Written in thick, black letters
5 Her misplaced enthusiasm.
4 But I cannot write.
6 I cannot speak.

5 Her misplaced enthusiasm
7 Smashes against the teenage clamor.
6 I cannot speak.
8 I will suffer for this.

7 Smashing against the the teenage clamor,
9 My muteness a target.
8 I will suffer for this.
10 I close my eyes.

9 My muteness a target.
11 I cannot be the dependable one today.
10 I close my eyes.
12 No paper. No pencil. No notebook.

11 I cannot be the dependable one today.
13 A test I will not pass.
12 No paper. No pencil. No notebook.
14 Everything a swirl of noise.

13 A test I will not pass.
1 Today’s Lesson:
14 Everything a swirl of noise.
3 Teacher wants us to know.


Give this one a go and discover what comes up for you even if no one sees it but you! Play with the punctuation. However, you can also feel free to put your completed poem in the comments here or on the Maple Key Facebook page if you want to share.

I believe poetry has immense power, so challenge yourself to dip your toes in — the water is fine!

The Local Library

Last month I got a new job. I didn’t quit my old one, but added to my repertoire as they say.

I was a library assistant my senior year of high school and considered for a while becoming a librarian, but it didn’t really fit with my college choice and I wasn’t sure if I was up for grad work right away in order to get the job I wanted. So I let that dream go and life has swept me along thinking about it every now and again…

I guess the Lord didn’t want me to forget about that pursuit when we realized our house was within walking distance of the local library (also a 3 minute drive). It’s located in the city hall complex on the backside with no flashy sign, so many people don’t know it’s there. Near the building is a newly redone playground and splash pad and dog park that helps draw people in. My family has been going there for over 12 years and having 4 kids meant racking up a lot of stroller miles over that time.

Fast forward to now… a longtime library employee, who we loved dearly, recently moved. All the employees shifted up in positions which left the 8 hour a week spot open. They asked me if I wanted to join on and doing some creative support, event help, and behinds the scenes grunt work. They said this position has no set hours and my kids are always welcome to come with me. How could I say no?

My co-worker (who is an incredible artist!) made a stencil and I chalked this outside the library for Dino-vember

So I have run Bingo for the older crowd, wrapped boxes for movie time photo ops, shelved books, taped and stamped books, chalked dinosaur feet, helped people locate graphic novels, cut out crafts for storytime, organized craft items. Ironically, through doing this varied work it confirmed my choice to not become a full-fledged librarian who acquires books and labels things, etc. I have to have a lot of variety in my jobs, so being behind a desk all the time isn’t what I am built for. I have to move which is probably why I became a teacher instead.

I am excited about giving back in a small way to a place that has given so much to my children and so many others over the years — a community area that really is like a second home and a safe space to them. When I work (now as an official employee of my city) I see all the many faces of my community and even my own literal neighbors. That was the part I didn’t consider when I was dreaming about books as an 18 year old, but I see it so clearly now. These “3rd spaces” (places that are not home or work) are vital for populations to flourish.