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Week 15: October 12, 2001
Continued from previous page.
From the first moment I stooped down to enter through
the low-cut doors and nearly knocked my prim, special
first-day hat off, I knew it was perfect. Then came
the best part of all. As I sat on my bench, looking
out the window towards the creek, I saw the children
arrive, along with one horse, one cow, and several
dogs. Some splashed through the creek, others crossed
on a plank set a bit upstream; but they were all
beautiful, scrubbed and clean. Quickly I wrote their
first names on the small slates, setting two on each
table, as they came through the doors. Then I
stepped out, hitting my head on the low door, and
began to ring my brass school bell. They all came in,
including several dogs, and we began our adventure.
It didn't feel at all strange.
There were afternoons in that sheep shed that were so
hot we would nearly drain the entire crock of drinking
water, and we would retreat to a shady grove to
continue our studies. There were days so cold and wet
that we hardly left the tin square around the wood
stove. One day it was too dark to read, so we had
to work on everything orally; slices of raw potatoes
browned on top of the stove as we told
stories, recited poems, and made up songs.
Every day the sawdust floor burned my eyes, nose, and
throat, but that was a small price to pay for the joy
of working with those children. It was a magical
experience. We all became something different, and
some part of that difference will always stay with us,
even as we return to the twenty-first century. |
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