Category Archives: Slice of Life

(This is a post for Slice of Life, hosted by Two Writing Teachers.)

We live in the suburbia of Western Massachusetts, but it is not unusual to see wild animals wandering nearby. The influx of new homes on what used to be forest lands and open space has pushed animals into contact with humans on a regular basis. We have bears regularly traipsing through our backyard. Deer often wander into our neighbor’s large side yard. I won’t get into the mice that try to set up shop in our basement, except to say it is a season-long struggle to keep them out.

But a moose? Not so often. The last time I saw a moose in our Western Massachusetts neighborhood was many years ago, when I was taking a walk with my two older sons (who were much younger than they are now) and we came upon a mother and child moose in small dingle around the corner. We were startled. They were startled. They took off. We just gawked.

Did you know moose, with its lanky legs and odd-shaped torso, can run pretty fast? I know that now.

So, the other day, as I was driving my son to his clerk job at the family-owned grocery story, we were noticing a lot of cars on the side of the main road. Uh oh. I thought it was an accident. But it turns out, a moose was standing there, in the meadow off the road, watching the people watching it (they had phones out; he didn’t). It was a fairly large moose, just staring out. A few police cars were nearby, to protect the people as much the moose.

On the way home from dropping my son off, the moose was still there, but had moved to the further side of the field, and was now munching on the leaves of a tree. More people were stopped, and traffic crawled. I got home and told my middle son to get on his bike and drive down the street to see the moose.

“And take your camera!”

He did, and he did, and the picture above is the best that he could get. The moose had moved deeper into the field, and by the time I went out again about 30 minutes later, the moose was gone, as was all of the traffic. I went to get my youngest son from baseball practice, and he would not believe me that a moose was in our neighborhood.

“It was not.”

“It was. It’s true.”

“Dad!”

“Really! A moose!”

Luckily, my other son backed me up. And he had photographic evidence.

Peace (along the moose tracks),
Kevin

(This is part of Slice of Life with Two Writing Teachers.)

Nothing happened yesterday. Nothing of note. I am sitting here, early morning with a cup of coffee, mulling over what I might write about for my Slice of Life. There’s always something. But, I can’t find a little nugget to grasp and build a single story around.

So, on the day when nothing happened, here are some small bits of a day that might fold into something:

• I wrote a blog post in the morning. No one commented.
• We began an overview of narrative story writing in class, examining and charting out some plot ideas as a way for my students to envision the structure of a story;
• We did character sketches — short pieces of writing about a character that goes beyond name and description, focusing in on motivation and the strengths/flaws that enrich a character in a story. We used my oddly weird Storyteller Cards for this. The kids loved the cards.
• It was Picture Day. The weather cooperated, so we were able to do it outside. It disrupted the day’s schedule but we rolled with it.
• I kept moving forward with Benchmark Reading Assessments in every free moment of the day, and the prospect of weeks of testing this way has me tired every time I think of it.
• A union meeting after school about stalled contract talks made me weary. I know contract talks are always negotiations, but it seems like we are pretty far apart right now.
• I was met at home by my son, who asked if I had remembered to bring home the last book in the Maze Runner series. I had. Also, the prequel. He dashed to the car, and came in, book open, already reading the first pages.
• Restaurant Week is this week in our small city, known for its arts and restaurants. My wife and I slipped out and away from the kids to enjoy a nice meal together at an upscale restaurant we normally could not afford. It was yummy.
• Confirmed meeting with the owner of a music practice space. Our band is reforming and on the roam for new space to practice in. It’s stressful to be a homeless band.
• My son decided to go for a bike ride at dusk. “A quick ride,” I said, before heading off to get another son from baseball practice. I came back, and the bike rider is still gone, and the streets are getting dark. Grabbed the dog and started looking, slightly worried (he is known not to always look at street crossings). No signs. I come home, and then see the note from him that he is with a friend and family at the neighborhood school. I go there, and they are just coming home. It’s dark now. I say, meet me at the top of the street. He cruises right home. We have a “discussion” about “listening skills.”
• Read Aloud to my son and then reading quietly to myself, and then … sleep.

Peace (in the daze),
Kevin

(This is a post for Slice of Life, a weekly writing activity hosted by Two Writing Teachers in which bloggers examine the small moments of life for larger reflection.)

Yesterday, many teachers in our state of Massachusetts wore the sticker I am showing here in the picture. It’s part of a larger week-long effort by the Massachusetts Teachers Association to push back on the demands of standardized testing. The slogan of “Less Testing/More Learning” is an indication of the push, as our MCAS and now PARCC testing takes up more and more of classroom learning time — both in preparing students and in the actual taking of the tests.

I had a lot of students ask me about it, although one of my colleagues noted that our audience of students and teachers for the stickers we were wearing was rather insular — the schools in which we teach where exasperation with high-stakes testing already runs high.

But still, it was the notion of pulling together as a teaching community with a single message about caring for our students as learners in this age of data collection. And here I am, writing about it to an even larger audience.

Peace (and making it stick),
Kevin

I love the small village in which I live. It’s part of a larger, small city, but our village has a real small-town feel to it. One of its central features is an old bridge that stretches out over the main river, connecting one neighborhood and conservation area to the main road (such as it is).

But, alas, our Hotel Bridge is closed down to even pedestrian traffic. It’s age and lack of maintenance has been an issue for the Hotel Bridge for years, and now there are worries of safety. I can remember being able to drive my car over it, and I biked over it more times than I can count. When my boys were little and sitting in the plastic child’s back seat of my bike — little legs sticking out and little fingers poking me in the back — I would often stop on the bridge, and we would gaze down at the water, searching for fish and turtles.

(photo by Nathan Holth and Rick McOmber)

There is now an effort to save the Hotel Bridge, and last night, we gathered in a community meeting to hear from an Iowa firm called Workin’ Bridges, which seeks to save and restore old bridges. The cost for our bridge runs from $1.6 million to more than $500,000 — depending on the use for the bridge. It’s a lot of money that our city does not have right now, but I am heartened by the energy of the village and the public-private partnerships that we have in our area.

It’s so interesting to think of how a bridge holds the historical fabric of a community together. This one certainly does. Not just mine, as a dad on a bike, but also, the ghosts of a hotel that once sat on one side of the river, and the mill buildings upriver in viewshot, and the dam downriver, where teenagers still swim. The bridge is a visual fixture and anchor to the community. Saving it is saving more than a structure; it’s saving a part of who we are here, here in our village, for generations to come, and who we were. I hope we can find a way to do it.

Peace (across the span),
Kevin