This. This is why I teach. For three years she’s been in my class. She has gotten married. Had a baby. But she still can’t decode words. She still struggles with basic sentences. I know she has more going on in her mind than Bambara and Mali and motherhood, but I haven’t found a way to reach this girl. I haven’t been able to communicate with her in a way to help her understand. But “reliving” 1880s farm chores today, she said, “I got this. We do this in my country.” And today, today, today, she was the best at something. This. This is #whyiteach
dreams
Bricklaying
yesterday we learned about sod
and homesteaders’ dreams being trampled by wind and hail and no water
and how they were tricked into
settling on free land.
nothing is free.
how they built brick by sod brick–
tiny houses not much taller than themselves,
and posed in front with shovels on the roof,
no time to take them down for the picture–
for what if it rained, or a snake crept in?
yesterday i thought i was a teacher,
and they were learning from me,
my immigrant students building up their vocabulary
brick by decoded brick.
nothing is ever what it seems.
today they entered and i asked them to write:
describe challenges when you moved to a new place.
and with the new words fresh on her tongue, she told me:
just like the homesteaders,
my family had to move to a new camp
and my father had to build a sod house,
no taller than that one in the picture.
and so my student taught today’s lesson:
one hundred fifty years later,
we are still making bricks
instead of trying to break them.
Eighteen Years as Us
Numbers for our weekend: Bruce turned 39, our marriage turned 18, we hiked 25 miles, gained 4520 feet in elevation, endured 100 or more stream crossings, 4 thunderstorms, 50 fallen trees, and carried 80 pounds of food, equipment, and water. We reached our limit halfway through yesterday, but marriage is continuous–we chose the loop trail just like we chose each other 18 years ago. And we’ll keep hiking, helping each other cross streams, build shelters, cook meals, and climb mountains, till the last limit of our lives. Happy anniversary!
Backpacker’s Dream/Dilemma
we strike the trail late
met by an abundant blue
(clouds can keep secrets)

lunch is disrupted
by stream-crossing detours
(till we see our fault)

then comes rain and pain
realizing we were tricked
(the trail is longer)

camp set up quickly
dinner wolfed, shoes soaked by grass
(thunder moving in)
hours in the tent
thinking, how could it, why now?
(tests of our marriage)

but the bag is warm
and we have love and shelter
(all a marriage needs)
Day Twenty-Seven, Road Trip 2016
Day Twenty-Two, Road Trip 2016
our cycle closes
with a capital bike ride
and a pointed view
this city has won my heart
even in the heat
through a symmetrical stroll
of fallen soldiers
museums, monuments, paths
marking past; future.
remembering our lost dreams
in these reflections
Day Twenty, Road Trip 2016
in the man’s big house
they built him a three-room suite;
his children lived here:

remnants of slave life:
hard-hitting and far-reaching
(Black Lives Matter. Now?)
they dug up red clay
to lay every brick … by brick,
by breaking their backs

his famous status:
founder of freedom, writer
(declared our country)

brick by brick by brick
he laid his lies and kept his slaves
and wrote our future

and we swallow it
and throw coins at his gravestone
and try to forgive

they all shared this view–
from the big house; the slave house;
the land formed by God

and so we move on,
brick by brick by road by road
to see its beauty
Day Thirteen, Road Trip 2016 (Traveling Truths)
Day Eleven, Road Trip 2016
oldest Florida site
enthralls us like we’re in Spain
(memories abound)

coquina fortress
built on the sweat from slaves’ backs
(engineering feat)

defense of this sight:
gleaming harbor colony
(worth the protection)

a dogged day’s drive
at the end of this journey
(worth the distraction)

history, not mice:
Florida is more than Disney
(all they need to know)










































