Ready to be picked

By hands of those who love the taste of blackberry cobbler.

Starting at the bottom of a monster bush, arms clothed in white with gloved covered hands

Carefully pick the juicy black pearls hanging from the intertwining vines laced with thorns.

Deeper and deeper go those hands as the berries, one by one, are plucked from the vines.

Venturing deeper into the twisting creeper, a picker is caught off guard.

In a split second, a runaway vine snaps back and catches the picker’s face.

The sharp thorns are now firmly attached to the  unexpected gatherer.

Dreading the release, the picker quickly pulls, leaving parts of the thorns planted in her skin.

Blood trickles from the wounds and mixes with the sweat formed from the sultry heat.

The white sleeve of protection now decorated with spots of bright red blood.

As she makes her way to the house to pluck the remainder of the thorns,

She eyes the buckets and buckets of freshly picked berries.

Suddenly, her mind is no longer on the pain caused by the prickly vines,

But on the warm sweet prize soon to be had from a day of picking blackberries.

The past hour was a blur, and now I was driving down the interstate heading towards Denver to be with my sister Linda.  The day I was dreading had arrived, and even though I had told myself on several occasions I was ready, the news that David was close to death hit me harder than I had ever imagined. 

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It was Friday.   I had just returned from Christmas break, and I welcomed the 3:30 bell.  I couldn’t wait to get home, throw off my work clothes, and jump into my comfy sweats that were two sizes too big. 

After eating a light supper with Mom and Dad, the three of us settled in to a night of television.  “Ghost Whisperer” and “Numbers” were my Friday night obsessions.  I was always glued to the television when they were on and not much could pull me away from the ghosts and murders which made these two shows so intriguing. 

As I crawled into bed, I looked forward to a long peaceful sleep that would linger into the late hours of the morning. 

The incessant ringing woke me with such a start that I almost landed flat on my face as I jumped up to grab the phone.   By the time I reached it, my mother had answered and was talking to my sister Linda.  Patiently, I listened to their conversation and heard that she had taken David to the hospital.  I interrupted letting her know that I would be there within the hour.

That night would be the first of many spent at the hospital or at a doctor’s office.  David had been diagnosised with Stage 4 Melanoma.  They first found the cancer in his stomach and then it quickly moved to his brain.  With the removal of a brain tumor, radiation and chemo were the next stages of his treatment.    It was amazing how well he reacted to all the treatments.   Now, he would just have to play the waiting game to see if the treatments had slowed the cancer or by some miracle removed it completely.

The year following the diagnosis showed just how strong the love was between David and Linda.  Their lives became one.  On the days Linda had to work, she spent her lunch hour running home to make sure David had everything he needed.  The cancer had left him unable to work and it pained her to leave him every morning.

As the year grew to a close, it was apparent that David could no longer take care of himself.  The cancer had left him paralyzed on the left side and he was confined to a wheelchair.  They say the Lord works in mysterious ways, and I firmly believe what happened next proved that saying. 

One late afternoon, Linda called to inform us she had lost her job.  Because she had been with the firm more than fifteen years, she would be getting a nice going away package which would help them financially for at least four months. 

Linda’s new found freedom allowed her to spend all her time taking care of David.  At least once or twice a week, this five foot two inch woman would wheel her two hundred pound husband outside and help him into the passenger side of their four door car.  Then she would place the heavy wheelchair into the trunk.  Upon arriving at the scheduled appointment, she would pull the wheelchair out and help David into the chair knowing she would repeat this same action again and again.  She never complained, but anyone watching could see the toll it took on her.

When she wasn’t taking care of David, she was taking care of their home.  Due to David’s brain tumor, he had become obsessed with order, so Linda had to keep the house immaculate.  Clothes had to be washed daily, the vacuuming done at least twice a week, and after each meal, the kitchen had to be cleaned immediately. 

In the past, David had kept up with most of the financial dealings, but now Linda had taken over this duty as well because David’s disability check and her unemployment check were their only form of income, and now she had to learn to balance the regular monthly bills with the now increasing doctor bills. 

Once the inside of the house was in order, Linda headed outside.  The snow that year in Denver was heavy so the sidewalk and the driveway had to be kept clear.  When David took his daily naps, she took the opportunity to take care of the constantly falling snow.   She had purchased a set of two way radios in the event he woke up while she was outside.

In the spring, David prided himself on his yard and Linda didn’t want to disappoint him by letting it go.    On Saturday mornings when a family member could sit with David, she would march outside with her working gloves and hoe in hand and tend to the flowers first.  She loved this time outside.  The fresh air and the time alone gave her the opportunity to think more clearly.  Once the flowers were tended to, she proceeded to the riding lawn mower which Dad had given her after he noticed her back was giving her trouble.

As the summer months slipped by, Linda noticed that David’s health was declining.  Her ability to help him get in and out of the bed or go to the bathroom was becoming more difficult.  Fearing the worse, a PET scan was scheduled for the last week in July.  They would still have to wait a week before getting the results.

The week of waiting was miserable for both of them.  Most days, David would not even get out of bed.  Linda tried to make him as comfortable as possible, but found with each passing day this was becoming more difficult. 

The news from the doctor’s office was what they feared.  His cancer had come back and had spread throughout his body including the liver.  He was given the option of chemo again, but at best it would only add a few more months to his life.  The other option would be to spend his last days using medication which would alleviate the pain and make his last couple of months comfortable.

Alone in the room now, they both cried silently in each other’s arms.  The last year and a half had been filled with ups and downs, leaving them on an emotional roller coaster.  Today, however, the roller coast had come home, and their time together was coming to a close.

Choosing to live his last months with only pain medication, David and Linda were given the opportunity to enjoy each other without the affects of chemo.  On David’s good days, they would take a ride down to the local park, stroll by the small creek and sit on the park bench, arms around each other, as they watch the ducks.  On the days the side effects of the cancer were at their worse, they would lie in bed holding hands while listening to soft music. 

Just a short month later David was taken to a hospice that was near their home.  The facility allowed family members the opportunity to stay with their loved ones day and night, and this was where Linda stayed until that fateful morning when I received the phone call.

………………………………………………………………………………………

Seeing me pull into the parking lot of the hospice, David’s brother met me.  David’s condition had taken a final turn, and he only had hours to live. 

The emotion I had first felt as I heard Linda’s voice this morning began to grow inside me.  I prayed silently for the strength to keep myself together for Linda as I walked into David’s room.  However, seeing her sitting there with her hand intertwined with the man who would always hold her heart made the lump in my throat begin to loosen, and I could feel the hot flow of tears roll down my face. 

……………………………………………………………………………………………..

My sister was at David’s bedside when he passed away.  The many months of taking care of him had left her older in looks, but wiser in so many ways. Although his death would leave her grieving, she would one day realize that it had made her stronger as a woman.

I have started off my year writing with my children.  When they write in their journal, I write in mine.  Unfortunately, it seems to be the only time I have to write for myself right now.  I’m hoping that once the beginning of the year settles down, I will take the time to write more at home.

I miss my KMWP fellows!!!!

by Pat. Muster

As I walked into my room, the shadows creeping down the side of my bedroom wall made me turn towards the closet that was looming in front of me.  The anxiety which was building began to take the shape of a man, a man with an intense look in his eyes and an angel in his hands, an angel meant for me. 

                                                           …………………………………….

My visits to southern Louisiana have always been memorable ones from the fishing trips that Dad, Uncle Albert, and I made into the grassy marshes of the bayou, to exploring of old southern homes with Mom.  Even today, as I drive down the interstate with Mom and Dad, the peace that runs through my veins begins to take effect as the first glimpse of the large Oak and the Cyprus come into view. 

La Rue is a quaint little town which sits just a few miles from the Gulf of Mexico.  As you ride down the bayou next to the serene waters of the canals, you see boats of many sizes from the small pirogue seen gliding smoothly through the water, to the larger shrimp boats making their way out to the warm waters of the gulf in anticipation of a good days catch. 

The houses seen from the road are modest.  Some sit high on stilts to keep the floods that occasional haunt this area from taking what they have worked so hard to own.  Others sit on the dark soil raised ever so slightly in hopes that the levee will help keep the rushing water from invading their homes. 

Finally arriving at Uncle Albert’s home just inside the city limits of La Rue, I barely miss a small Cajun man riding his bike near the driveway.  As I start to say sorry, he turns, looking at me with strange eyes and then disappears around the corner.

Stepping out of the car and catching the smell of the local shrimp factory, we are greeted with a big welcoming smile from Albert, Mom’s younger brother.  Since Albert lost his wife, we have stayed with him during our visits.

We spent the night catching up on each other’s lives.  Albert talked about his most recent fishing trips with Dad’s brother Jacob.  The trips out had landed them a freezer full of fish.  We discussed the effect Hurricane Gustav had on their town.  The local levee didn’t hold during the storm and flooded much of La Rue.  Fortunately, many of the homes were on stilt so the damage wasn’t as devastating as the flood in New Orleans. 

Sleep came easy after our long drive from Memphis.  I barely noticed the sound of the passing cars and a bike as I drifted off into a sound sleep.

Waking from a dream I could not shake, I jumped out of bed almost forgetting what day it was.  Everyone was up stirring, preparing for our morning of worship at the little Catholic Church up the bayou.  We would be leaving soon to meet my sister Maria and my niece Mary at the church at eight.  

Arriving at the church, I whipped the car around barely missing the grass growing along the side of the cemetery.  Mom, Dad, and I were greeted by the sweet Cajun voices of St. Ann’s Catholic Church.  Although we only visited my uncle’s church once or twice a year, we were always greeted as if we were part of their family. 

When the time for mass grew closer, I decided to walk outside and wait for Maria and Mary so they would know where we were sitting.  While waiting, I noticed a small Cajun gentleman walking amongst the foliage that decorated the grounds of the church.  Every once in a while, he would light up a cigarette and smoke it to the very end of its existence.   As I watched, he began to speak, not to me, but to the bushes directly in front of him.  I watched with curious eyes until he turned and headed in my direction.

The ringing of the church bells made me jump.  Mass would be starting and Maria and Mary had not yet arrived.  I was beginning to think  I should just go ahead and wait for them inside. 

Upon turning in the direction of the door, the Cajun gentleman spoke to me.  “This plant looks like it has seen better days,” he said as he looked at a wilting plant hanging from the wall behind me.   

Turning towards the man whose hand was now extended, I noticed a face, covered with white, with a caramel shade obviously caused by years out in the Louisiana sun.  Under his nose was a thick mustache that was stained from many years of smoking.  He was dressed casually in tan work pants and a plaid green shirt.

As we introduced ourselves, I felt like I had seen this man before, but I could not place where.  I told him I was the niece of Albert Bordeaux. Laughing, he shook his head and jokingly said “oh I’m so sorry.” 

As we continued our conversation, more parishioners filed into church.  Realizing the time and not yet seeing my sister and niece, I said my goodbyes and returned to my seat next to Mom and Dad.

Maria and Mary finally arrived at church a few minutes after the first song was completed.  Leaving my seat on the other side of the church, I went to join them in the pew at the back.  Throughout mass, I noticed familiar faces of friends that I had not seen since the last time I was in La Rue.  However, it was the man in the plaid green shirt that kept my curiosity aroused. 

After church, the morning was filled with eating, laughter, and stories.  One story in particular kept everyone’s attention.  It was the story of Eduardo, the white haired man I had met at church.  After telling Albert about my encounter at church, he explained he had known Eduardo since he was a young boy.  They had worked together at a shipping yard not far from La Rue.  Eduardo often ran errands for the men as they built the ships that flowed in and out of the New Orleans area.

As Eduardo aged it became apparent that he was a genius.  His ability to draw minor details was amazing.  He had used this skill to make drawings of his own boats he would later build himself.  He became well known in the little town of La Rue.  His picture would often be on the front page of the local paper in front of his beautiful boats.  Eduardo was happy.   He had everything he wanted including a wife and several children.   

In the years that past, something happen to Eduardo no one to this day can really understand.  Some say it was because of his obsession with perfection causing him to spend hours alone on his sketches.  Others say the genius that Eduardo had become caused him to lose touch with the reality that was around him.  Whatever the cause, the once loved Eduardo was gone.

Eduardo’s behavior began changing.  The once even tempered man would get angry over small things.  He wasn’t able to hold on to a job long because he would end up arguing with his employer.  His family suffered the most though.  His children often came home from school to rages of screaming.  Their mother, not being able to handle his mood swings any longer, left Eduardo taking the children with her. The loss of his family was probably the catalyst which sent him to his new reality, his reality of obsessions.

As Albert told us the end of this sad tale, a picture of a man on bike, a man I almost hit, came back to me.

Bright and early the next day, Dad, Albert, and I headed out for a day of red fishing.  Once at the dock, the smell of fish in the air gave us promise for a good day of fishing.  While Dad and Albert put the boat into the water, I waited patiently for the drive out to the marsh.

Whoever came up with the expression “This is God’s Country,” must have been fishing in southern Louisiana.  The serene atmosphere and the wildlife make the marsh a haven for those who just want to get away from it all. 

The tall green grass that sways in the wind is home to all kind of wildlife.  Early in the morning you can hear the cry of the marsh hen.   Occasionally, a great blue heron appears landing softly on a piece of black marsh soil.  Fish of all kinds can be seen swirling in the water or jumping high into the air because it is being chased by an unknown predator. 

Now facing the east, the sun begins to make its appearance causing the temperature to rise over the marsh around us, but the breeze coming off the gulf keeps us cool as we fish until the early afternoon.

Arriving at home that afternoon, Mom met us at the door with cool drinks and an awaiting ear to hear all about our day of fishing.  Dad and Albert were the big winners today hauling in 5 big reds each while I have only the tales of the big ones that got away to share. 

After cleaning off the day’s fun, we proceeded to the glass room at the back of Albert’s house.  Displayed on one of the walls of this manly room is a wide cabinet which holds thousands of fishing lures that Albert has collected over the years from friends and family.  Placed opposite of a welcoming fire place is a stove and sink area where delicious and mouth watering pots of boiling crab and crawfish have been cooked.

As we sat talking about the fishing trip and Mom’s day, visitors begin popping in and out with stories of their own. 

A visit to the bayou country would not be the same unless a good Cajun story was heard.  Mr. Roy, Albert’s neighbor, always had the best:

You see one hot summer afternoon two men decided to go a huntin for gators in de swamp behind Bernard’ s house.  Bernard had done warned dem about de gators they be a huntin.  He had told dem dat de gators were twice as big as de biggest gator’s dey had ever seen.  He himself had lost two cows and tree pigs to dim big o’ gators.  But ya know, dey didn’t listen and went right own huntin anyways.

Wit flashlights in one person’s hand and an ax in de oter person’s hand, de two men rowed deir pirogues into de shallow waters of de swamp that night waitin for dem bright red eyes of de prize gators. 

BUMP BUMP! Went de first pirogue.  BUMP, BUMP!! Went de second pirogue.  Before dey had de chance to raise deir flashlight or ax, two big gator done flipped bot of does pirogues upside down. 

Later dat night, as Bernard sat himself on his back porch he heard a splishing and a splashing comin up de bayou.  His eyes dey done popped right out when he saw two big o’ gators coma swimming by one wit a flashlight and a hand and one wit an ax and hand. 

As the laughter in the room subsided, we all noticed a man parking his bike and holding a large notebook in his hand.

“It’s Eduardo,” Uncle Albert said.

Joining us now in the glass room, Eduardo began showing us his drawings.  I had never seen such details. Everyone was perfectly drawn right down to the tiniest of lines in the steering wheel of one of the boats.  It was truly the most amazing artwork I had ever seen.

Feeling like we needed to leave the men to themselves, Mom and I walked into the house to prepare dinner.  Once inside the house, I briefly thought about the strange man who sat with the men outside.  I remembered the story Albert had told us after church and a feeling of sadness ran through my mind for him.

Sitting at the dinner table, Albert looked at me with a strange expression on his face.  Finishing the bite of food in his mouth he said, “Eduardo has really taken a liken to you.  He says he wants to take you out on one of his boats.” 

“What did you tell him,” I asked wondering where his fondness for me had come from.

“I told him he would have to talk to you, but I knew your visit down here wasn’t long,” Albert said with a grin on his face. 

Dinner ended with me trying not to think about what Albert had told me.  After all, he was right, we would be leaving soon, and that could be my excuse if he directly asked me.

I woke the next morning to the smell of bacon, eggs, and biscuits.  Grabbing my sweats I lived in even in the summer time, I walked towards the wonderful smell of the food and to a welcoming hand of steaming hot coffee just for me. 

“Good morning sleepy head,” Dad said as he pulled out the tray of hot biscuits from the oven. 

“While you’ve been sleeping the morning away, we’ve decided to spend the day in town,” Mom said as she walked into the kitchen.

The day was fun.  It’s always an adventure when you go shopping with Dad and Albert.  A trip to Walmart always ends up in the sporting department with the men talking about what lures are the best and how they can make their own.  If Mom and I were lucky, we can pull them away and walk down to Ross where they would wonder around for about 10 minutes and then proceed to the benches out front.

The afternoon led into evening as we arrived at Aunt Rere and Uncle Cleveland’s house.  The wonderful smell of shrimp okra gumbo filled the kitchen of this old southern home.  Uncle Cleveland was an excellent cook.  I could not wait to taste the mouth watering dinner of gumbo and potato salad sat in front of me. 

As the night drew to a close we said our goodbyes with hugs and kisses and headed back to La Rue.

The drive back was festive.  We reminisced about our week with Uncle Albert and talked about when he would be coming up to Memphis to see us.  Finally arriving back at his house, we all noticed a brown box laid strategically on the hood of my parents’ car. 

As Albert opened the box, his eyes turned to me with a grin and said, “I believe this is for you.” 

Wondering who would bring me a package, I began opening the brown heavy box.  Reaching down inside, my hands suddenly began to shake as I lifted a tall figurine of a beautiful smiling angel floating above a garden of flowers from the box.  Staring with unbelief, I noticed a note attached to the statue.  It read:

When I first saw your face, I knew that God had sent you to me.
I knew at that point in my life I could stop searching for the one I would spend the rest of my life with.  I love you!

I froze.  The fear that rose up inside of me was almost painful.  Everything that my uncle had told me about Eduardo came rushing back into my mind.  “What was I going to do now?” I said as everyone else just stared with the same shock that was apparently on my face also.

“Just tell him you cannot accept his gift,” my dad forced out. 

With worrying eyes Uncle Albert looked at me and said, “Remember what I told you about Eduardo’s anger issues?  I’m not sure what he would do if you didn’t accept the gift.”

Suddenly without any warning, the world I was standing in began to spin.  I could hear voices around me, but wasn’t able to control the slow motion taking over my body.  Moments later, I woke up realizing I was inside the house lying on the couch with a cool cloth draped across my forehead.

“It’s ok,” my mother told me as she stroked my head.  “Mr. Otto says he will keep an eye on the house for the rest of the night in case Eduardo decides to come back.”

Mr. Otto was a close family friend of Uncle Albert’s.  I knew with him being close by I was safe.  However, I still had the feeling something wasn’t right.

As night fell on La Rue, my anxiety began to ease.  We had not seen nor heard from Eduardo.  I knew we just had to make it through the night because at dawn we would be leaving for Memphis leaving Eduardo and the fear behind us.

Turning out the lights in my bedroom, shadows on the wall and memories of the day’s events brought back the uneasiness I had tried to suppress all afternoon.

My mind began to play tricks on me as I laid there in the dark thinking about the strange Cajun man.  “What if he tried to follow us back to Memphis?  Would he try to kidnap me and take me away to a place where no one could find us?  What if someone try to prevent him from taking me, would he hurt them in the process?  What if, what if….. “

“Stop it!”  I said.  “Nothing bad is going to happen as long as Mr. Otto and Albert are watching the house.”

Calming down once again I began to feel fatigue take over my body.  I knew within moments I would be asleep bringing the morning and our departure quicker.

As my eyes closed, there was a slight bump in the room.  I couldn’t decide exactly where it came from but knew it was close because the room I was sleeping in wasn’t big.

“Maybe it’s just my imagination,” I said rolling over on my side to face the opposite direction of the bump.

Moments later, I heard the same bumping sound.  My fear and curiosity got the better of me as I slid out of my bed.  I walked quietly towards the closet pausing to check for the sound again.  Very gently I opened the door peering ever so slowly in the dark space.

It happened so swiftly that I did not have time to react.  A large weathered hand came from the back corner of the closet pulling me towards the body that it was attached to.  Pulling backwards, I tried to break the hold of the hand of the white bearded man.  I knew if his other hand made it to my mouth it would muffle the sound that was rising in my throat.

“Michelle, my love,” he said pulling me closer and closer.

Finally, realizing I only had seconds, I released a screamed that could be heard for miles.

Footsteps could be heard running through the house as my screams continued.  Throwing open the closet door, Mr. Otto reacted in one swift motion.  Grabbing Eduardo by the arm attached to me, causing me to fall backwards on the floor, he swung with all his force his free hand landing a punch across Eduardo’s face knocking him cold.

Uncle Albert ripped the belt off of Eduardo’s pants and quickly wrapped it around the silent man’s hands which were now behind his back.

Mom now sat beside me trying to calm the hysterics that had taken over me.  Dad, seeing that Eduardo was taken care of, ran to the kitchen cabinet bringing back a glass of what looked like coke.  As he raised the liquid to my lips, I smelled the strong odor of whiskey which I drank barely noticing the burning sensation that ran down my throat.

The police quickly arrived after receiving a call from Albert.  Eduardo had regained consciousness calling out my name as the police loaded him into the back of the cruiser.  The whiskey had finally given me the strength to watch them pull away from the house as Eduardo with his head bent backwards was looking at me screaming, “Michelle, I love you, Michelle.”

                                                 ……………………………………………………..

I was back in my room at Albert’s house, but things had changed.  The bed I was in was smaller, in the corner of the room sat a rocker that was rocking back and forth.  Slowing turning my head I noticed a very large closet protruding from the wall.  My body was forced to walk towards the closet knowing that danger lie just inside the closed doors. 

“Why can’t I stop the motion of my legs,” I asked myself as I reached out covering the closet knob with my hand.

The anxiety that was building inside as I looked into the dark crevices of the looming room began to take shape, the shape of a man with an intense look in his eyes and an angel in his hands, an angel meant for me.

Pat. Muster
Oak Grove Elementary School

I can still hear Debbie Kelly telling me in her office how the KMWP had changed her life.  She kept telling me that it would open the door so many new ideas in writing and beyond.  Boy was she right!

 Starting the morning with Drama was the best idea ever.  “Kudos to the person who first thought of it. “ It allowed us to be “us.”  I particularly like Cindy’s puzzle activity with our names which could be used on any grade level.  I was very impressed when she linked it to her teacher demonstration a few days later.  Almost every child enjoys drawing, and I found this to be true of even us old kids when Rita presented her drama.  The activity will give the children the opportunity to tell a story verbally before actually writing it down. 

I have always loved group sharing.  I believe that children of all ages can benefit from working with their peers to achieve a common goal.  I also like the way the groups had different levels of teachings.  I think it is important for the high school teachers and the middle school teachers to know what it’s like in the elementary level and vice versa.  I feel that the people in my group helped me grow in my own writing ability because they shared such wonderful pieces which had excellent descriptive words. 

The teacher demonstration project was the biggest challenge for me because it was a new adventure.  Once I had the topic for my presentation, I began searching for the research in books I looked at in the library, books I borrowed from friends, and articles that were on countless number of websites.  It was truly exciting.  Gathering all this material made me realize how important my topic was to so many different people.

My next challenge in my demonstration was the citing and annotative bibliography.  “The WHAT!”  I said when the words were first spoken.  I had had very little experience with these two items, but because of the instructors and the wonderful KMWP fellows I learned quickly how to cite using Easy Bib and write an annotated bibliography through examples.

I will never forget the day that I presented my demonstration to my peers.  It was a first for me.  I had never taught adults before and I wasn’t sure how it was going to come across.  As I presented the last, I watched in awe of the work that was being completed in front of me.  The words that turned into snippets were amazing.  I know I had to be grinning from ear to ear upon hearing what the other fellows had written.  The participation during the Readers as Writers activity was awesome.  The collaboration of the fellows was obvious in their finished stories.

One of the highlights during my days in the KMWP was the day I received a response from a writing that I had posted on e-anthology.  Before beginning the summer institute, I was not a writer, but had always dreamed of being one.  A couple of days after I posted Haven Lane received a response.  It was one of the most awesome experiences of my life.  Someone had read my story, and it had reminded them of a writer they had had the opportunity to listen to at a seminar.  I will never forget those last two words of the response…….Nice Work!  The reason I mention this is because without the knowledge I have gained from the KMWP I would still consider myself just a teacher of writing and not a writer. 

In returning to school this August, I will have an abundance of new teaching ideas to use with my class. In the past, when I wanted the children to write in a particular genre, we would talk about the genre and then I would lead them into the graphic organizer that would help them with their thoughts.  This is great, but what I should always start with especially with my children in 3^rd grade is more modeling.  Even as an adult, I have found that modeling before writing helps in so many ways.  Activities that help the children lead up to their stories can be so very beneficial. 

Incorporating literature into my writing lessons will become a fixture in my classroom.  As I learned through my research, reading is an important component of writing.  Children who read and read with enjoyment can find so much to write about in their life.  Reading opens up a treasure chest of stories.  I have discovered this in my own writing.

One particular activity that was taught to our group that I thought produced my very first real piece of writing was the ABC activity.  It made me think about each little detail that I needed when writing.  I feel that children who have a difficult time with order and details will greatly benefit from the use of the alphabet. 

As a “want-a-be” writer I always had the most difficult time with expressing on paper what I knew I could express verbally.  I just didn’t know how to put those words in a sentence that would make others want to read what I wrote.  During the last 3 weeks a miracle has occurred for me.  I’m not sure when it happened or what one thing triggered it, but I began to write sentences that turned into stories.  My thought is that it was a combination of everything from the lead up activities, to the discussion about adding adjectives and adverb, to the shared reading of other fellows’ writings, to the many wonderful teacher demonstrations that were presented, or to just the time we sat and talked to each other sharing our life experiences.  Whatever that magic spell was, let me tell you, it work.  I have produced 2 stories that I am very proud of, and I am working on a third that could be considered my first fiction short story.  As I express in my blog, “This has been a rush.”

When I first began to think about what inquiry I would research, I had to think of how to phrase what thought was running through my mind.  Working in the school system the words “essential question” has become a common expression.  This helped me a great deal, because in all my years of school I may have only written one research paper although I could not even tell you what it was on. 

Researching in the lower grades is usually not as intense as in the upper grades.  Researching is usually a verbal collaborative activity with peers or parents. The end result is the same as it would be for upper grades just not as detailed.  However, after participating in the KMWP, I think that I will begin teaching the children to cite their written word when it involves research.  I have always believed that children given a chance can surprise you.

When discussing different strategies to use in our classrooms, my peers and I are sometimes frustrated because what we are using is not working.  To all educators, I would say research, research, research.  When what you have doesn’t work, don’t just sit back and complain, expand your horizon and search the internet because there are hundreds of educational sites that are out there just waiting for you to explore.  I would tell them check out all the books that your principal and assistant principal have on their shelves that they have offered to you so many times, because reading is a wonderful thing.   All too often we as educators get so wrapped up with what we have to teach we forget the joy of the teaching and how it makes the faces in front of us light up when they learn. 

The KMWP Summer Institute has been the best learning experience that I have been a part of in all my 27 years of teaching.  I feel that I am coming away with more knowledge that I could have ever imagined.  In thinking about how it can be improved, I only have one thought in mind.  When doing the research for my inquiry, I felt that time was often not on my side.  I did use the library at Kennesaw on a few occasions, but had difficulty finding books on my topic.  Would it be possible for the KMWP to have more educational books available for the K-12 teacher such as Strategies that Work?

What a fun way to begin our Tuesday morning.  Thank you for the fun activity and the yummy breakfast.

WOW, what a first!  Getting up in front of my peers for an hour and watching them do the activities that I planned.  I have to be honest, it was kind of a rush.   The writing that I saw and heard today was amazing!  I’m so glad to be a part of this summer institute. 

Margaret and Shaun did an excellent job on their presentations.  They are 2 awesome chicks! 

While sitting at the table at the Dean’s Luncheon, I believe it was Tuqui that said how great it would be if we all taught at the same school.  DITTO!!!!

Tomorrow is my day for presentation.  Thanks to all that have helped me in my journey.  Your help was greatly appreciated.

We had two great presentations today.  Because I teach third grade, I could totally relate to Fer and Tuqui.  I plan on using the descriptive paragraph activity.  That was cool! 

Renee and Kathryn’s presentation had us using our creative side.  I thought this was an especially good idea because so many children are more hands on.   

I’m spending the weekend getting all my notes that I have taken down in order.  I don’t want to forget a thing that I’ve learned this summer.

The Flower Lady                       

Spring is a welcomed sight on our quaint little road each year.   Bright green leafs begin to decorate the winter barren trees.  The yellow color of the Jonquil can be seen dotting the grassy areas of our surrounding.  Darting baby bunnies run swiftly across the yards of the seven houses that line our road.  And then, there is the flower lady who comes out of her house on the hill to begin her yearly routine of planting her beautiful flower garden.

Over the years, she has prepared her gardens on various locations in her yard.  Even at the ripe age of 92, you can still see her pulling weeds from the hill that sits next to the road.    With her hoe in hand and her wheelbarrow close by, she begins digging up the last remains of the winter months.  Watching in amazement I wonder what colors will adorn the country side of her welcoming home. 

By summer’s end, her hard work had paid off. Lining the hillside are beautiful bundles of long purple flowers.  Colors of red, yellow, and orange decorate the top of the landscape just above the hill, and in the midst of all of this beauty, reaping the harvest of a bountiful bouquet is the warm loving face of the flower lady.

The Vegetable Men

On a daily basis you can see them, those men of Haven Lane working in their gardens, wearing their blue jeans pants, long sleeve shirts, and wide brim hats.  Rising at the break of day, the men are up and ready to weed, water, and harvest the abundant fruits of their labor. 

Various vegetables are being tended by these hard working men.  Cucumbers climb the fence of the little white house at the top of the road with an old folding chair set strategically for when it’s picking time.  Amongst the rows of corn in the biggest garden, you can see a tall stature of a man carefully harvesting the green husk of corn that will eventually sit in a bowl of hot butter.  Close to his house, the man with the John Deer Gator hauls plants to pots that will eventually grow into luscious tomatoes for the many sandwiches that will be consumed. 

Ingenuity in their planting is always a site to behold.  Beans of different varieties are draped like a blanket along a fence, with little purple flowers intermingled along the way.  At one time, a circle of better boy tomato plants replace the green grass of a front yard because sunshine could not penetrate the growing of the trees above the once vibrant garden that laid near the old chicken house. 

Who are these vegetable men of Haven Lane?  They are husbands, fathers, grandfathers, and friends.  They are seasoned gardeners that love to share what they have produced in their well cultivated fields. 

The Fisherman and His Daughter

Sitting at the end of this road is a peaceful lake that for years has provided many hours of quiet for the fisherman and his daughter.  Heading down to the lake with worms, fishing poles, and stringer in hand, you can see the how they are so much alike.  The closeness of father and child is apparent in their laughter as they walk towards the unsuspecting fish.  With each passing hour, you can hear the excitement of the daughter as she or her father brings in fish of many sizes.  To watch their interaction is a feeling of want.  What a special relationship these two have, and how lucky they are to have the lake at the end of Haven Lane!

The Heart of a Mother

In the earlier days in our quaint little neighborhood, always in arms reach, were the special women of Haven Lane whom we called our mothers.  Each one always had a caring way of reaching out to all the children that intermingled throughout their home each day.    

These women were the backbone of our neighborhood the ones who wiped our noses when we cried and fed us when we were hungry.  They knew when a hug would make you feel better or an ice cream would make you smile.  They were our mothers, and we love them better than candy itself.

Best Friends

They had become best friends without even knowing it.  It took years for their time together to blossom into a friendship that would last forever, even though their love for each other had been since birth.  For the one, it started out as a protector and then a teacher and for the other, a watcher and a pupil.

 As years passed, there would be glimpses into their future friendship.  On cold December Saturdays with excitement in the air, the two could be found in the kitchen making their yearly Christmas cookies.  You could hear them talking and laughing between the tasting of each delicious batch that came out of the oven.  When they weren’t cooking together, you could see them climbing into the family car driving up the once gravel road for a late night adventure to a local store. 

Years have passed now and the relationship that started way back has blossomed into something very special.  There is still the protector, the teacher, the watcher, and the pupil, but now they are more.  They are mother and daughter; they are “Best Friends.”

The Family

The truly special thing about Haven Lane is that we are all a part of “The Family.”  Even when we have left the nest to venture out on our own, the feeling that we are a part of something wonderful never leaves us.  We will always remember the backyard ball games with baseballs flying high in the air and landing in the water of the two acre lake.  Long hot summer days that were filled with cowboy and Indians and cops and robbers in the kudzu covered woods behind our houses.  The neighborhood parties with fried fish, hush puppies, and homemade cakes and pies, were never long enough, even though at times they ventured into the night. 

Oh, how we miss those simpler carefree days on our little road know as Haven Lane.

  
Special Thanks

I want to thank the flower lady who inspired this story.  If she had not been outside working so diligently in her garden, I would not have thought to write my memories.

Dad and Mom, thank you for the helpful details that made this story come to life.  I love you.