Loss

Its the last day of school today. Last day for our school forever. Lot of tears, lot of anger seeping through- frustration.

I'm not sure what it is precisely, but there is a level of mistrust between the town that ate our school and our little village. It may not be personal but it feels that way when we overhear them complaining about the 35 extra mouths they have to feed with their taxes...which is odd, considering all of us pay into the same system and have been for years. I suppose I have to wonder where that kind of vitriol comes from? When is it okay to complain about children who've lost their school through no fault of their own. We weren't over here cheering on the decision, after all.

And then there was the guy taking pictures of the building the other night. Furtively standing on the corner with his nervous wife. What was that about anyway? We feel- in this issue- that we just simply aren't being told anything- on purpose. Feeling this way becomes the norm when previous experiences- including the decision to close the school- are done in similar fashion- as quietly and quickly as possible, with intent to disclose as little as possible, and mesmerize people with double talk. Sometimes it works- with some people it works. With others, it does not.

The children are encouraged that this change will be better somehow. It was just a few words in the principles speech today- but it struck me as false on a certain level. How is this change better for our community? How is it better that our little kids will be on buses for much longer times everyday now- away from home that much longer. How is it better that the classrooms will be larger, with fewer teachers to students? No, there IS a downside to this- just not for the people whose lives are tied to the larger place, and whose thoughts don't often remember what those of us here, feel and know.

Mostly I'm just sad and angry. I don't like people with abusive proclivities to power. They suck. And I like to be told when changes are in the works. We're grownups, and taxpayers, and parents- and we have the right to a say in what happens. We have a right to say what happens with our children's education. We have a right to say what happens in our community. Those taxes the Milford parents were complaining about are there for the taking- diverted from our community and given now entirely to theirs. Why do they believe they're shouldering this on their own? Simple minds, I suppose.

But anyway. That's that. Meh.

Goodbye to the Village School

Three weeks back I received a message on facebook (remember that for later on) telling me that our local school board would most likely vote to close down our village school.

A little history. Our town had its own school at one time. With the population dwindling over the years, we joined forces with the larger district to our west. Our school was something like a satellite of the elementary school there- we shared a principal, and decisions were made by one school board. Some of the older members of our community refer back to long-lost agreements about a representative on the board and a promise that we would never be closed. But as years went by, grades were pulled to Milford, and our little school grew smaller and smaller.

The threat of closure came up every few years it seemed. The last time had something to do with Milford- the larger town- wanting to build on to their building, and funding that with the closure of ours. This didn't go over well- we were told by a board member who lived... sort of close to Pleasant Dale that they had discussed this option in a meeting. When we confronted them, they were resistant to answer questions, and even openly mocked our concern. Eyes were rolled. Board members wondered aloud if we were allowed to ask "these questions" during "their" meeting. In the end, it came to nought- they didn't have the room, nor the complete funds to build on at the time, I expect.

So, the facebook message came along, and I wasn't surprised to get that message on a social networking site, rather than by, I don't know, a letter maybe? From the Board? To the townspeople and parents concerned? Is that too much to ask?

Guess so, because once again, we hear after the fact, and just before the vote. The way it went down was, the superintendent showed up at a PTO meeting without any warning and gave them the news.

A meeting was called- by us, by the way- requesting members of the school board to come speak to the parents. They came, and thanked us for coming to their meeting. Someone reminded them that they were asked to come- that they had called no meeting. The superintendent decided to read aloud the letter he had finally gotten around to sending out after receiving several phone calls and emails, just in case we weren't able to read it ourselves? And then they opened the floor for questions.

This was where it began to get a little heated. Concerns were brought up. Concerns for our children, concerns for our little town, concerns that we were being taxed without representation- which was really more of a reality than a concern. These concerns were met with clueless shrugging by the board chair and members.

Thing is, this isn't their town. None of them live close to Pleasant Dale- I imagine most had not set foot in Pleasant Dale for quite some time until that meeting. None of them had bothered to attend our programs- which differ from their own elementary school. Our school is at the center of our community. Nothing really brings us together like it does, and nothing will unless some significant planning and changes take place after this school year. We will lose Nature at Nightfall, the yearly Bedtime Story night, the Christmas play. All of it gone. Milford does not have these institutions, and the school board members- while assuring us that they "always mean to represent Pleasant Dale along with Milford"- never bother to show up for any of them.

We are not the first or last village that will lose our school, but it is important to acknowledge the importance of the village school to small towns. Without them, towns have a hard time attracting new, younger families, and they eventually die.

Over these weeks, I've wondered what we could have done differently. Should we have participated more fully? Should we have been louder and more obnoxious? I've had visions of throwing grapes at the board ala some mother in Detroit a few years back. (Which, by the way, I would never do, but it was fun to think about..) All this time, we were secure in the knowledge that we had our little school here- while the Milford school board always saw our school as a waste of money that had to be dealt with. We just didn't share a common reality.

This story feels familiar to me, most likely because it was foretold by Ted Kooser- Nebraska resident, writer, and the thirteenth poet laureate of the United States. From his book of essays, Local Wonders: Seasons in the Bohemian Alps~

"On the other hand, you can put just about anything over on a small community if you go about it so slowly that you do not alert the wolf in the people who live there. Want to dump some hazardous chemicals in the local landfill? Just bring it a bucket at a time, casually, as if you were carrying water to the chickens. Want to dam up a river? String out the process for so many years that the debate itself becomes a kind of stability. Want to shut down a local school in favor of busing the students to a central place? Just do it a grade at a time.
Our consolidated school district, centered in our county seat, Seward, was successful in slowly closing down services in the schools of the small outlying communities like Garland. The board, recognizing the natural wolf sight of rural people, drew out the pace of this dismemberment for so long that most of the parents in the little towns grew accustomed to the process. The school officials lopped off a few grades at a time, starting with the high school, then the junior high, then sixth grade, then fifth, and so on, not every year, but every few years. It became a matter of course. The students who lost their classrooms were picked up and bused to the big town. The process of attrition reduced the enrollment in the outlying schools, and the school board then noted with mock surprise that, because of decreased enrollment, more of the local schools' services should be cut back. One of my neighbors who still has good wolf sight observed that this was like having the school board members hold open the gate to the corral while they remarked upon how many of the horses were getting away. And so it went, just a bucket or two of this hazardous waste at a time. Sure, there was a shock of disappointment whenever another grade got shorn away, but the parents were so worn down by the inexorable patience of the board that most of them gave up. the wolf in them got old, and its teeth fell out. Its eyes grew clouded by cataracts from having watched this process go on for so many years. What the school board considered progress- consolidation- was to others the death of a valuable institution, the village school. But at the final meeting with the school board, only a handful of parents showed up. Those few people who attended were still alert enough to notice that the ashtray had finally been moved from one table to another."

{mini book review- for heaven's sake, if you haven't read this book, do it.}

So, there it is. Another loss for the little guy. Another gain for the bigger guy. Could we have stopped it? I don't know. Probably not. The economy is terrible, the money not there. But what would the picture look like if our school went past the third grade?

And what would we feel like if the discussion had happened in a more forthright manner- if we had not had to force that discussion? I, for one, would not have felt better, but I would have had more respect for the people on the Milford school board. The vision of grape pelting would probably not have occurred to me.

The Blessing of Birdseed

My desk sits in our little front room, and is surrounded on the north and east by windows that look into our front yard. This morning, as I was wrestling with a particularly difficult section of an assignment on diversity, I noticed some movement on the ground outside that north window. There were ring-necked doves, a few starlings, two jays, a cardinal and a woodpecker, a handful of sparrows, one little junco- and happiness! a robin- all pecking about hopefully on the little square of exposed earth between the two pine trees. Not seeing anything resembling food out there, I remembered the bag of seed sitting outside my front door, and went to remedy this situation.

I sprinkled birdseed liberally over the exposed earth, and came back inside. Just a few minutes later, there they all were- and are- happily pecking about under the tree, cheek by jowl, no fighting, just happy munching.

There are people out there that get angry if a starling eats out of their bird-feeder. Did you know that? Eh, not me- I'll take whoever comes along. Diversity in nature- as in society- can be enriching. We need not be afraid. We need not be selfish. Consider the birds of the air- today, anyway- they met peacefully under my pine trees.

Yarn

It seems I've always crocheted. When I was a little girl, my mother taught me the single crochet stitch, sat me down with some red yarn and had me make what turned out to be a wonky, somewhat ugly scarf. During this time, my friend Fawn, who lived outside of town on a little farm decided that she wanted to learn how to make a sweater. Being Fawn complicated things.


Myself, Shane, and Fawn on Fawn's farm circa 1985/6ish


On Fawn's farm, there was an old farm hand's house just behind her house that she used for her own personal museum, which consisted of feathers and bones, rocks and other bits of nature that she'd collected. There was one time when she'd found a dead hawk, and had attempted boiling it on the stove to remove the flesh so she could display the skeleton. So, learning to make a sweater didn't involve a trip to Kmart and the purchase of a ball of red heart yarn and some knitting needles. Oh no. She had to know the entire process, from the sheep onward. So, because my mom knew of a ranch that sold wool, spinning and knitting supplies, the four of us, mom, Fawn's mom Joyce, Fawn and I piled into the car one day to check it out.

I don't remember much about the place except for the actual store front they used to sell their wool. It was a small building that overlooked a field of sheep, with mountains jutting out of the sky on either side. The sunlight drifted easily into the little room that housed the spinning wheels, roving, and yarn. We bought little spinners like these-


and some roving and got started. Fawn produced a small ball of yarn, and that was about it. But if it didn't do much for her (or perhaps it did, and anyway, I'm forever grateful she had this idea), it did something for me. While I wasn't enamored at the time with the spinning idea, I wanted to learn to knit, but alas- no one in my family knew how. I was never sure how Fawn was going to learn- perhaps she thought she'd use a book, or maybe she knew someone who would have taught her. But with one thing and another, I never found the time to ask.

Later on in highschool, I spent hours working the front desk phone system. Before anyone is further confused, I attended a boarding school and worked part time all four years to help support myself. At night in the winter, the doors would open and cold air would blast in, and my little cold hands would get colder. I began to crochet again about this time. Instead of doing homework at the front desk, I would sit and crochet more scarves, a hat or two, a blanket- and it helped keep me warm. Another benefit was that it helped give my somewhat fidgety hands something to do, and it calmed my anxious mind. Crochet became a type of meditation.

One problem I had with crochet was that I couldn't read patterns. I say problem, but I sometimes wonder if this wasn't a little bit of a blessing. Because of this, I had to figure it out for myself, and I did. For a kid who didn't feel overly intelligent at the best of times, it gave my self-esteem a little boost. And I still wanted to learn to knit.

Years went by, and this last summer found my husband asking again and again what I wanted for my birthday in August. I honestly couldn't think of anything I really wanted or needed at the time. And then my sister mentioned that she was thinking about taking a knitting class- and this reawakened my old idea. So, my birthday present led me back to yarn. So far I've made several scarves for various people, and this time I know how to read patterns. Here are a few of the pieces I've finished since October-

sample scarf










fish hat pattern- http://www.knitty.com/ISSUEwinter08/PATTfishy.php

Two weeks ago, I lost my friend Mary. She passed away, suddenly, in her home. She was 33.

We originally met when she was four and I was nearly six. She, her sister and mom had moved in with us for awhile after her parents divorce. We became fast friends and started referring to each other as 'cousin'. This probably had something to do with the fact that neither of us had many actual cousins our own age- at least nearby- and since our mothers were good friends and often confused for sisters themselves, we claimed the title.

Mary was precious to me. As a child, she was funny, giggly, warm, kind. We hardly ever disagreed with each other- just enjoyed each other's company to the fullest. So many other girls that I grew up with were difficult to get along with, jealous, plain old mean sometimes. Not Mary. Not ever Mary. I remember our only argument that seems to pass down my own memory trail was whether Ireland or Scotland was better. I voted for Scotland at the time- she for Ireland- both of us clueless that we probably each contained about the same amount of blood from both nations as each other. But you know- there it was. Our one disagreement.

We often spent part of our weekends together. Sometimes she'd come to our house and we would attend church then drive up into the mountains and hike in the afternoon. I remember one time, when we were very young, she started asking to be carried up the hill when we were hiking. My mom looked at her and said, 'Mary, you need to work on your mountain goat feet, or I'm afraid you won't be able to come with us anymore.' The next week rolled along, and Mary fairly swept up that mountain- having discovered those mountain goat feet that she'd had all along. Sometimes we'd spend time at her house, playing outside, walking along the railway tracks and talking. I tried the other day to remember what we spoke about. Well, everything. Like I mentioned above, there were never many disagreements and I think that's why it's hard for me to come up with specifics when thinking about her. Since we were so much in agreement with one another the specifics don't stand out. I believe I have simply folded her into my own memories in a way without separation. I think of my childhood and the picture that pops up is of she and I. Never me alone.



I hadn't talked to Mary in years- when college came, we went our separate ways. I'd often asked about her, and apparently she'd asked about me, but we just never got down to the business of picking up the phone and calling one another. This is sad for many reasons, not the least of which is the 'wishing' that always occurs when these things happen. But,  as it's said, you can wish in one hand and crap in the other, and see which hand gets filled up first, and apart from the slightly off putting ideas that old saying puts into my head- it's right.  I  wish I could have talked to her once more, but the more important thing now is, what am I going to learn from this? What can I do to make sure Mary's memory is honored through my own life? For starters, I'll always tell people how I feel about them. If you've been a friend of mine- a good friend- and we haven't talked in awhile, I will track you down and tell you I love you. I'll do this for me, for you, and for Mary. It's the least I can do for a friend who seems to have possessed a big chunk of my heart. Well, she always will.

The Storm of '09

I just came back inside on this rather cool and blustery day. I'd gone out to watch Cliff and Leroy flush the sewer system. Also just to have a chat, because they're two of my favorite village experts. Cliff no longer lives here, but drives out several times a week to help with assorted town business. Leroy, I'm convinced, knows how to do everything. He probably knits, for all I know. The guy is a storehouse of handy information regarding sewer systems, water pumps, broken pipes, assorted tractors or small engine use and repair, solar panels- anything. They've been working on the town sewer system for the last several days- we've had water shut down, etc. One day, the water shut down right as I was getting ready to rinse out my hair in the shower. I called Leroy to ask how long it would be off, and explained my situation. Now, he's been updating me frequently, and kindly. We're lucky to have him.

It's been a rather quiet fall. I haven't been out as much as usual, the kids and husband have been playing a few hundred rounds of duck-duck-goose with the current virus- I'm the only non-player so far in this fun, and that relegates me to being the pharmacist- although- after dealing with this for more than a month, I'll admit to be tired and less patient than I should.

We had a HUGE storm in August. Woke the entire town up around 4 in the morning, and proceeded to cut electricity, knock 1/2 the trees over, ruin rooftops (I got a new one!), and scare the heck out of all of us. And of course- no electricity means no air conditioning, and... it was August. Pretty miserable. But, it was also one of those days when the community showed it's stuff. Most of workers took the day off- from whatever their jobs are- stayed home and cleaned up. Neighbors helping neighbors, it had the feel of a block party at times, with everyone out, talking in the sunshine- and not just about the storm.

I admit to being occasionally frustrated living in this small place. Maybe that's because I don't always go out of my way to build that community that I've talked about so heartily. Maybe I've stayed inside too much lately. Anyway, I'm going to try to right those wrongs, and begin afresh. Hence the talking to Cliff and Leroy in the street, accompanied by the sound of flushing sewer line.

A Tale of Abandonment

Here is an essay I wrote after another stray animal episode a few months back. For some odd reason, I couldn't sign into my account for awhile, and therefore- it got past me and I forgot:)

You'd think there were a sign above my door. Something to the effect of- Cat hotel and diner! Free shelter and food! Inquire within!

Over the years, we've taken in, nursed, fed and housed countless stray cats before finding them other homes, taking them ourselves, or like today, nursing them through their last illness, and making the decision to put them to sleep.

I've often wondered exactly what goes through the mind of a person who takes a cat they've raised from kittenhood- indoors- and dumps them far away from home, in a small town, thinking they'll find a good home. Well let me tell ya- 'good' homes are few and far between.

Here's what usually happens.----------

Six month old tom cat, completely reliant upon people for food and safety is dumped on the roadside, and watches while his people drive away. He looks around. What to do? He wanders for awhile. Looking around and hiding underneath bushes. He streaks across roads. Nightfall comes and it begins to rain. He finds shelter under someone's parked car. He watches the nighttime animals about their business. A raccoon approaches, and he backs away and hisses. The raccoon comes closer and swipes at him- he narrowly escapes into a storm drain. The next morning, his coat wet and his stomach grumbling, he begins once more to look for something- someone. Some food? Where to find food. He smells something in a garbage can and jumps inside. After knocking a bag out and tearing a hole in the side, a man comes outside and kicks him away. He meows at the man. Surely, he'll help? Nope. Just another kick, this time to the face. He scrambles away. The next night, he walks around a corner into an alleyway. Maybe he can find some food somewhere here. His face is still smarting from where the man kicked him. His eye is a little blurry. Maybe that's why he doesn't see the large tom cat approach from that side. A second later, he finds himself embroiled in his first real cat fight. The tom is large, and bites him in the tail- hard. He scurries away and hides. Awhile later, bleeding and exhausted, he falls asleep.

The cycle continues. He doesn't get enough to eat- most of these new people are cruel to him, and he isn't savvy enough to defend himself against seasoned street cats.

One day, he turns a corner around a house just as a woman comes out her front door. He prepares to run, but stops as he hears her call him. "Kitty, kitty. It's allright. Come here'' she says as she bends down and puts her hand out for him to smell. 'Let's get a look at you. You've not been getting enough to eat, have you? And you've got three absesses that I can see. Let's get you into the garage with some food and water, okay?' He let's her lift him up and walk him into an old, dusty garage. But there's a chair for him to lie on, and a window to look out of. She places an old towel on it, and puts him down. 'I'll be right back!' A few minutes later, she returns with some food and water. While he digs in, she leaves again, returning with an old cat pan filled with new litter. 'Let's see if you know how to use this, okay?' He does.

The next few weeks go well. She says she's keeping him there until she can afford to have him to the vet for tests. She puts him on anti-biotics for the absesses though, and he begins to heal. But, it's all too late. Just as he begins to feel better, the virus that he was given that first week on his own, in his first cat fight, begins to take hold. He loses weight. She deworms him. When that doesn't help, she knows. 'It's either FIV, FLV or FIP,' she tells her children. 'We'll know when it's time.' His last week comes, and she brings him into the garden while they work on the flower bed. He watches from under a tree, laying in the sunshine. His strength is almost gone, but it's nice here. The children are gentle, and he likes them. A big storm comes through later in the week, and he is frightened, and manages to get out of the garage. She sits with him on their front porch, feeding him boiled chicken and petting his fur until the storm passes. Then she takes her flashlight and puts him in the old dog kennel with a big horse blanket, his food water dish and litter box in the garage. He falls asleep. The next few days, he loses control of his bladder. This is embarrassing, but she doesn't get mad, just cleans him up, and continues to love him. On his last day, he can no longer walk. She comes in to check him at midnight, pets his head for several minutes and talks to him in a whisper. 'I'm sorry, Gus. I wish I could have done more. I'll come first thing in the morning.'

When she comes that morning, he can't see her any more. He is only semi-responsive. She brings a clean towel, and places him on it, talking all the while. He begins to purr. He knows her voice. He purrs at the vet clinic, until the medicine takes effect and he falls into forever sleep.

-----------------


For everyone thinking about getting a pet, but not sure if you'll be able to handle the responsibility, please think long and hard about the commitment. If the above is even a remote possibility, DON'T get the pet. If you have animals, PLEASE make sure to spay and neuter each one. If you still get the pet, and attempt to abandon your animal later on- I'll give you fair warning. You'd better HOPE you can outrun me.

I had Gus put down this morning at 8 am. I only knew him for a couple months, but I'm glad I was here for him when no one else was. Rest in peace, Gus. In the end- you were loved.