Speaking of Organic

When we first moved to southern Vermont, we noticed official-looking helicopters frequently flying over our town of 300 at certain times of the year. Wondering what, in the middle of nowhere, could be of interest to any officials, we asked around and learned that at least one property owner was farming 100% organic Mary Jane.

Acres of it.

I get a little giggle every time my grow lights go on, wondering if, once upon a time, the glow from my window that’s keeping my tomatoes and squash happy might have caused a helicopter to hover a little longer. If they did now, they’d discover the two masters of the house chilling in the purple glow, dreaming of the organically grown chipmunks that will soon be trying to munch my squash plants.

Got to Move it, Move it

Got to Move it, Move it

I’d love to think that my latest round of weight loss, spurred by my job change, will be the last and final victory over my belly, but I’ve bounced the yo-yo enough times to know to hang on but not to hold my breath. What I find has really changed, however, is not the success rate or the method, but the motivation.

Twenty-five years ago, any goal weight centered around staying in a size 6 jean and being able to (almost) carry off a bikini. For most of this fall, my ‘fashion’ size goal has been squarely aimed at being able to fit a nice, heavy pair of fleece-lined jeans comfortably over my long johns, reminding me that weight loss and fitness are increasingly about function.

For me, function is about moving it at fifty so that I can still move it when I’m sixty-five. It’s about being able to keep up with my boys when we’re stacking firewood or taking that hike to the top of the Equinox. It’s about being keeping the life in a lifestyle.

Function, though, is also about fit. Anyone who’s plus-size can commiserate at how difficult it can be to find even practical items that actually fit. Stores will offer to special order sizes, but until recently, they’ve rarely carried anything over an XL.

Today is the first time I’ve tried on something fashion-wise that I really wanted to fit. I’m used to items looking like they may work and then being too small, so, even though my friends at Hiz ‘n’ Herz swore that the strings of my new Teacher Tool Apron would be long enough, until I tried it on, I wasn’t sure if I was still too big for an off-the-rack find.

When it did fit, I did a one-footed happy dance (one foot is bound for surgery in February, but that’s another story). It has pockets for my safety scissors and post-it’s and everything else you need in class. You can see their products and patterns on Etsy and on Facebook.

I tied the strings in back, and I laughed, remembering how hard I once worked to tie a swimsuit string. Being able to fit this apron was much more fun, and it gave me a new goal to lose just enough to be able to tie the strings in front so they’re easier to undo at the end of the day.

Right now, every little extra bit of function is just the right motivation to keep things moving, and, hopefully, this time that will be the recipe for success.

For Pulpy Mountain Majesties

For Pulpy Mountain Majesties

The first wave of firewood arrived shortly before the heatwave. Conquering Mt. Cordwood is a family affair, and it has to happen quickly, as more is on the way.

It takes a little over 4 cords of wood to heat our earth-sheltered house. We don’t use any other heating source. Some years we cut more than others, but the Big Guy and I mind paying to have it delivered far less than we minded paying for oil in our old house. We know the woodcutters, and it’s nice to have the bulk of the money coming into the community.

Widgets and Wonders

Widgets and Wonders

The senior class graduates Saturday. The fifth grade, the elementary school’s senior class, celebrated their ‘moving up’ to middle school a few days earlier. Thing2’s graduation to the next step of his education was a huge milestone for us. It’s the first time in twelve years that we won’t have a child in elementary school. But it’s not only our perspective that made the afternoon unique.

The Big Guy and I each went to schools with thousands of kids. Graduation at mine lasted almost two hours because we had to wait for hundreds of kids to accept their diplomas. I knew the principal’s name, but I doubt he knew mine before he read it on the slip attached to my diploma. We were widgets, school was a factory.

At Thing2’s ceremony, there were songs. The music teacher handed out awards to the kids who had done chorus and band. The teachers from each 13-kid section handed out academic awards, and then, at the fifteen-minute mark, it was time to hand out the ‘diplomas’.

The principal started with a gentle reminder of the rehearsal instructions the kids had received earlier, producing a chorus of giggles from the risers behind her. She started to read out a name and the first boy climbed down to accept his certificate, but then she stopped.

“Wait a minute Mr. Smith,” she said, holding up her hand and seeming to wipe a speck of dust from her eye. The grinning boy froze, watching her as she stopped to tell the parents a story about his first day at preschool. It took less than thirty seconds, and the entire diploma handoff took less than thirty minutes for all thirty kids, even though, for most of them, the principal paused to recount a special moment or running joke.

Even for a small state like Vermont, we know our school system is on the very small side. It’s small enough that, despite ranking second in the state, there’s been a push from above for improved efficiency and lower costs by consolidating with other districts. Our district has strenuously resisted that push, and much of the resistance has focused on the school’s academic achievements. The district has also conducted more than one study to justify its existence financially.

It was Thing2’s commencement that reminded me that, in education, value can’t be determined solely by efficiency, or even scores.

The principal and teacher to student ratio won’t be any different on Saturday when Thing1 is climbing the risers. The high school principal has taught each of the kids, has coached many of them in little league, has been a presence in most of their lives for the last thirteen years. The teachers have been coaches, are parents of their classmates.

The whole ceremony, if history is any judge, will take 30-45 minutes. In those 45 minutes, however, will be packed thirteen years of phone calls and parent-teacher conferences, of field-trips and spur-of-the-moment meetings to talk over a parent’s concern, of newsletters and community service days, of nurses calling to make sure everything’s still alright, of teachers saying ‘he can do better’ because they absolutely believe that their students can. Those 45 minutes will be the result of thirteen years of creating young adults invested in a community that they know has invested in them. They will be the results of a community saw something more important than widgets.

It saw the future.