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
The zinnias are gone. Last week’s cold nights literally turned their brilliant pink hearts to solid, dried up brown in a matter of hours. Nature can be so ruthless. I know it’s the life cycle, and an end of one thing is the beginning of another. But there are times when I wonder if what’s . . . Read More
I always have a soft spot in my heart for the zinnias this time of year. Most of the other summer flowers are long gone by now, but it’s nearly December, and the zinnias are still blooming. Being a summer girl, I’ve grown to appreciate their willingness to hang around when the days and . . . Read More
I’ve never known nine-year old hands to reach out with such tenderness. Last week when I enlisted the assistance of our third and fourth grade students to help me find new homes for surplus sunflower sprouts, several sets of hands came forth in surprising, tender ways. First we dug receiving holes in the soil, in . . . Read More
Along the 40th Street wall there is a small forest of Shoestring Acacias that has altered the course of Seed history. Or at least the lives of a few children who have come and gone from the Seed, as well as my own. The trees, described in a recent newspaper article as “low debris” trees, . . . Read More
My husband of thirty-four years turned 65 today. For more than half of my life I’ve had the privilege of living alongside this man who is a continual expression of kindness, humility, and compassion. In addition to being my husband, he is my best friend and teacher. One of his greatest teachings has been how . . . Read More
As kids growing up in a rural Nebraska town, Halloween was a highlight of the year. Once we were old enough to go trick or treating, our parents let us loose to spend hours going from house to house on a mission for “the goods.” Word spread quickly which houses gave out popcorn balls and . . . Read More