Our garden is full of surprises these days. Yesterday I was trimming dead growth from the underside of a lavender bush and discovered an abandoned nest of quail eggs. It looked like it had been there awhile. I pondered what must have happened to the parent birds to desert their future offspring. It wasn’t the . . . Read More
The day of the cancer call I knew we wouldn’t be going to India. For years India has been on my list of places I must go and the trip was the one and only request for my upcoming 60th birthday. I thought perhaps this year I finally might use my new passport for the first . . . Read More
One morning last week I noticed a burst of red glaring out of the green foliage. Looking closer, I saw the first tomato of the season. Tomatoes have been elusive members of our garden for most years, last year being an exception. They can be so temperamental, requiring just the right amount of sunlight, shade, . . . Read More
What I love about hollyhocks is how much they give and how little they ask in return. Right now they’re in their prime and when I’m working in my study it’s hard to get much done because I just want to stare at them. Each spring they take over the southwest corner of our garden . . . Read More
In the rural Nebraska town where I grew up, May 1st was always a memorable day. We called it May Basket Day because we made little baskets out of paper and doilies, stuffed them with flowers, popcorn, and candy, then delivered them to the doorsteps of our friends. We’d set the basket on the doorstep, . . . Read More
On Thursday morning beneath sunny blue skies, our whole school gathered, most children donning their favorite costumes, to remember and say goodbye to Gwen Van Kirk. Gwen was one of our beloved preschoolers who unexpectedly passed away in her sleep at home on June 11, 2010. She was four years old, full of life, and . . . Read More
Like a garden in spring, the hallway at the Seed is always full of surprises. Some weeks it might be the 3rd/4th graders’ latest fundraising project, including an interface with several budding entrepeneurs practicing their sales techniques. At other times, posters with everything from medieval studies to dinosaurs might be on display in celebration of . . . Read More
I don’t make it out to the playground as much as I used to, thanks to my office job. I don’t miss the dirt and sand that gets kicked into my shoes, but I do try to spend some time each week on our school yard so I won’t miss all of the cool and . . . Read More
Early this afternoon I dropped off some art work for the annual Seed Art Silent Auction. It was the first time I’d been in the building in over a week. The art pieces I carried with me were inspired by my art journal, which I began the day I was diagnosed. Each piece represents an . . . Read More
It’s been nearly two weeks that I’ve lived with a cancer diagnosis and other than a few procedures involving large needles that I’d rather forget, the time has been quite extraordinary. The outpouring of well wishes and prayers has touched my heart in ways I never imagined. I’ve said, “I love you,” and received the . . . Read More
Last weekend I learned to fly. I signed up for a Circus Yoga workshop and it delivered me to the brink of my comfort zone on more than one occasion. We learned how to free fall forward or backward, trusting that the people encircling us would be there for the catch. With a partner we . . . Read More
I used to think time flew when my girls were young. Now that I have grandchildren, it’s moved into warp speed. On Saturday I had another glimpse of this phenomenon. Generally, it’s rare for us to have all five of them at our house at the same time. They usually come alone or in pairs . . . Read More
On Friday afternoon I gathered up the prayer flags we decorated at Erma’s celebration of life and hung them between two trees at the far end of the playground. As I climbed the ladder to string them in the trees, two of the first grade girls wandered up and asked about the flags and what . . . Read More
Between 7:30 a.m. when the school opens, and 8:00 when it’s time to go out to the playground, there is serious block building going on in the Seed’s multipurpose room. It’s just a few children, the early birds, and they usually end up in a spot on the floor where the morning sun lights up . . . Read More
What I love about the Seed is the way the teachers and children go after problems when they arise. While we strive to create a community of inclusion and kindness, from time to time we need to remind ourselves of what that looks like at school. Last week our three older classes took on bullying . . . Read More
My spiritual teacher of 38 years passed away on Saturday morning. Her physical body was worn out and it was her time to go. I sit here writing without sadness, although in the past week I’ve had my share of tears. It’s been a week of reflection on my life since I moved to . . . Read More
As a classroom teacher, I always made sure that writing maintained a place at the heart of our work. We wrote memoirs, crafted poetry, and reflected on the growth of our gardens. Writing helped us make sense of the world when the World Trade Center was hit in 2001. We wrote to pen pals in . . . Read More
The presence of mud and sand at the Seed is one of the residual influences of my childhood days. As children we flooded a backyard ditch on summer days, calling it The Stream. Around our stream an imaginary community flourished, created and sustained by neighborhood kids. It was one of the most profound and everlasting . . . Read More
Who would have known that the story of a little black girl and a little white girl holding hands in a rural Virginia store would have such an impact on generations of children? Each time I hear her story, as I did again this morning, my commitment to helping children make sense of the world . . . Read More
Most people in my everyday life have never heard of Hebron, Nebraska. It’s a quiet little town on Highway 81, the road that runs right up the middle of the United States, originating in Fort Worth, Texas and ending at the Canadian border. It’s an even quieter town, now that 81 is a four-lane highway. . . . Read More
All week long I thought I’d be writing about the holiday visits with each of our grandchildren, one at a time, for twenty-four hours. The time with them deepened my appreciation for their unique qualities as human beings, each at his or her stage of development, and also my feeling of gratitude for what they . . . Read More
On the Sunday afternoon nearly two years ago that the Arizona Cardinals miraculously played for their chance of a lifetime to appear in the Super Bowl, I let my grandchildren loose in the garden with packets of seeds. For the next month, all sorts of sprouts shot up in random locations. I thoroughly enjoyed seeing . . . Read More
When I recall childhood Christmases, my grandmother was a main character in those memories. She was my father’s mother and lived just a few blocks down the street from our house. Several years ago my mother sent me two ornaments that belonged to Grandmother Kenner. Each December as I unpack them from their protective tissue . . . Read More
Basic goodness is on my mind every single day. I practice being conscious of my own intentions, in both actions and words. When I do slip up and veer away from my highest intentions, I appreciate any reminders to step back onto the path of basic goodness. It’s a constant process, like breathing. Sometimes it’s . . . Read More