Lion or Lamb

Many of you have heard the old saying "March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb."  It's always a big debate at school, making a prediction about how Old Man Winter will treat us in our last leg of the winter race in Michigan.  This winter has been easy on us compared to last year with only a few snow days but if you are from Michigan there are never any guarantees when it comes to the weather.  

You may be wondering where this old proverb originated from.   No matter how many best practices that a farmer uses to grow a bumper crop their livelihood is still at the mercy of the weather. Farmers would have to make important decisions about planting crops in the spring.  Planting too early could result in a complete crop failure with freezing temperatures.  Without weather forecasters such as Al Rouker around farmers relied on beliefs and astrology. The Leo constellation was present at the beginning of March in the night skies which then gave way to Aries the Ram at the end of the month.  People believed that their lives centered around the spirits of the gods and if March came in fierce like a lion then in order to keep a balance of power among the universe then it had to leave mild like a lamb.    

Now that I think about it ...  weather forecasting really hasn't changed a whole lot because after all we are living in Michigan where anything can happen.
So will March prove to be in like a Lion and out like a Lamb?  Only time will tell for certain but the fact remains there is a 50 - 50 chance either way.
Here are just a few other farmer's life proverbs to ponder:

Keep skunks and bankers at a distance.

Life is simpler when you plow around the stump.

Forgive your enemies; it messes up their heads.

Do not corner something that you know is meaner than you.

Every path has a few puddles.

When you wallow with pigs, expect to get dirty.

The best sermons are lived, not preached.

Most of the stuff people worry about, ain’t never gonna happen anyway.

Don’t judge folks by their relatives.

Remember that silence is sometimes the best answer.

If you find yourself in a hole, the first thing to do is stop diggin’.

Always drink upstream from the herd.

Good judgment comes from experience, and a lotta that comes from bad judgment.

Lettin’ the cat outta the bag is a whole lot easier than puttin’ it back in.

Live simply, love generously, care deeply, speak kindly, and leave the rest to God.

Don’t pick a fight with an old man. If he is too old to fight, he’ll just kill you.

Hurt

It was a beautiful spring day in Michigan. Perfect for taking a drive in the Jeep with our dog, Hoss riding happily in the back seat.  Our mission was to check on the memorial playground in our little town.  It was packed which normally puts a smile on my face to see families and their children enjoying the park but today I was not.  My heart sank.  First of all dogs are not allowed, it's clearly posted when you pull up and there was a huge German Shepard.  Though that wasn't what brought the taste of disgust to my mouth.  It was the lack of respect for the playground that is clearly for young children.  Older kids were climbing on top of the wooden structure, in through windows, on top the plastic spiral slides without regard to anyone else.  I could almost see the strain of the handcrafted wooden structure as they hung out of the windows and pulled on handles that are meant for young children.  Screaming at the top of their lungs without regards to others around them.  I recognized some as former students which was another stab. I looked for some supervision, finding two adult mothers, not concerned.  I looked for the local cops that should be driving through keeping an eye out for this sort of thing, none in the whole 20 minutes that we sat there,  I looked for the cameras that the town council assured folks were mounted in the park to catch anyone considering vandalism, but none that I could see!  As my husband and I walked through the park there was graffiti written on the inside of the slides and towers, not words that youngsters should be reading when they are having playtime.  We walked back to the Jeep knowing that we were going to have to get involved, again.

Six years ago almost to the day a crew of over hundred people from the community came together to build a playground.  Everyone pitched in putting their skills together and in one week the playground transformed from a primitive play area of a set of swings, monkey bars, rusty merry-go-round to an intricate wooden castle structure with twin towers, spiral slides, diggers in the sandpit, fireman's pole, climbing rock wall and much more.    It was amazing to watch the transformation.  Our family was there from the ground breaking to the completion.  The playground groupies as I call them were inspired to tear down the old tin pavilion and raised enough money to build a beautiful wooden pavilion with picnic tables the following fall.  The project began as a glimmer of a dream, lots and lots of fundraising.  Many hours by two wonderful people making calls, knocking on doors, and trying to raise enough money to start the playground.  It was at this time that our son passed away and we had a dream also, which was to keep his memory alive.  Trent had a fourteen year savings from his 4-H farm projects, that he had put away for college.  It didn't seem right to spend his life savings  on a funeral so we gave it to the playground project.  This became our healing therapy.  We threw ourselves into helping.  As our family struggled with the pain of our loss we began to realize that there were many other families in our small community that had loss their child and that was when the park became a memorial park for all those young lives that were taken too early.  The playground build was healing therapy for many... all of Trent's friends from school that were looking for a way to channel their hurt, our friends that were trying to support our family... others that had a loss.... community members that wanted to be part of something important.

It's hurtful when you realize "that" is gone... Trent, anyone that knew Trent, some of our friends, community members that wanted to have something special for our town, people that cared. 

My hope is that it can be repaired and I'm not just talking about the playground. 

IN MEMORY OF OUR LITTLE HEAVEN'S ANGELS

Early Spring Farm Work

Even though today was a drizzly and dreary day around the farm on spring break the ground is beginning to dry out. The winter was frigid this year which helped mellow the soil. Frost in the ground heaved the dirt up aerating it. So, my husband got the tractor and ripper out of the barn where it was stored away for the winter. The ripper has long steel shanks that push deep into the ground lifting the soil to the surface. It turns it over where the air can get to it. Sometimes the ripper digs so deep that large rocks are yanked to the top to be picked later before the planter hits them when it's time to plant. Behind the ripper a rolling basket follows. The rolling basket is the width of the ripper and has large paddles that spin fast as it fluffs up the soil.  When the tractor slowly covers the ground one round at a time it's easy to see where you have been and where you haven't. The side that is not covered yet is light colored, with dry bean stubble and hard packed from the combine running over it in the fall. The side that is covered is dark, fluffed up and moist from the winter snow.  Many people don't realize that fresh dirt has a very distinct smell. All I can say is that it smells like spring. A fresh new start and a hope for a prosperous season.

Realistic Fiction Genre

One of my third grade writing units is realistic fiction.  I tend to struggle teaching this unit because it is a not a  genre that I typically write.  Personal narratives, essays and nonfiction writing seem much more comfortable for me to model and teach.  This year I challenged myself to write along side my students using my drafts as a teaching tool.  Before we began I modeled my thinking about possible ideas emphasizing that stories begin based on events in your life.  Then I used our story summary sentence starters as an outline to begin the brainstorm process ( someone.. wanted.... but.. so ... then... ) after which we used the story mountain to layout more details of our story ideas.  We read some of Patricia Polacco books along with other realistic fiction mentor text.  Then I jumped in with them writing and revising.  I realized quickly that they have a difficult time getting started so we worked on establishing a setting and characters with lots of rich details asking the 5w questions.
 I left the end of my story off and they helped me think of different believable ways that my story could end.  We worked  a lot on elaboration - adding dialogue, action, sensory details, etc.  This seemed to be the hardest skill for them which we will continue to work on.  As I reflect on how the realistic writing unit went this year I feel that I have done a much better job teaching them fiction writing skills than in the past because I wrote along side of them thinking about what my struggles were. 


Realistic Fiction Model:

 

TIME STANDS STILL

WRITTEN BY: Mrs. Shrontz

 

It was a cold rainy day, too miserable to play outdoors.  So, Clair had an idea!  “Gordon, let’s toss the ball around inside.” Now, Clair and Gordon were brother and sister. They were only two years apart in age. Clair was the older sister they lived in and old brick houses that was at least 150 years old. The rooms were filled with many valuable and fragile antiques. Many of them were family heirlooms that had been passed down from generation to generation.  One of their mom’s favorite antiques was an old wooden chime clock that hung on the wall in the living room it had a glass front where you could see the gold pendulum swing back and forth keeping time every hour on the hour.  It would chime bong, bong, bong.., .three o’clock.

 

Now Gordon was just 7 years old and was easily influenced by his older sister.  One time she talked him into trying to grab the rooster in the hen house but after a lot of scuffling around he only came out with scratches all over him and Clair stood in the doorway just chuckling away.  This time though Gordon was determined to not let her talk him into doing something he would regret. “Clair, I don’t think this is a good idea” he told her as she ran to the back porch to grab the soft ball and a mitt. 

 “Oh please stop being a baby!” Clair replied over her shoulder.  No really Gordon warned her.  But Clair wasn’t listening.  She was tired of everyone trying to tell her what to do.  She was 9 years old and she could take care of herself.  Besides what could happen? 

 

Clair scooped up her leather Wilson baseball mitt and her baseball.  Gordon was still muttering to himself as she confidently strolled to the living room.  “Ok first you toss the ball to me and I’ll catch it with my lucky mitt.”  Clair declared to Gordon tossing him the ball.  The first throw was weak and it just fizzled to the floor.  “Come on!”  Clair complained. 

“Well we are in the house!” Gordon replied back.  Gordon kept thinking that this was not a good idea but whenever he went against his sister’s wishes it always ended up with his sister teasing him until he blew his cool.

 

 So, to make things easier he went along.  Gordon threw the ball this time with a little more power behind it make sure to swing his arm over his head before letting the ball go.  Clair was getting bored fast!  This was definitely not as much fun as going outside in their huge back yard.  Her mind began to wander off thinking of yesterday when she was picked at recess to be on the cool team.  That had never happened before but word was getting around that she had a strong throwing arm. 

 

Then all of a sudden her attention was brought back with the whirring of the ball heading straight for her head.  Quick as lightning she whipped her mitt up just in time to catch the ball.   “It’s about time!  Good throw, Gordy.”  Clair complimented her brother. Gordon soaked up the rare compliment.  Then Clair tossed him her mitt. 

“Your turn, let’s see how good your reflexes are.”  Gordon pushed his hand in the mitt.  It was a little too big so it kept slipping off when he swung his arm but he wasn’t going to say a word.

 

“Ok, bring it on!” Gordon said confidently, still thinking about the compliment. Clair wound her arm up for the pitch and when the ball left her hand it seem to float in the air.  Slowly, making its way across the room as Gordon lifted his mitt the unthinkable happened. 

 

The mitt slipped off his hand and the ball seemed to have a mind of its own slipping through his fingers.  It flew by him.  KAACCCHHHH!  The sound of glass shattering. They both stood there speechless.  Slowly they made their way over the grandfather clock hanging on the wall both knowing what they would find but dreading how bad it would be.  As they stood there looking at the crack in the glass that run all the way from one corner to another their mother walked in.

 

“What was that noi…?”  Mother began but then noticed right away what they were staring at.  “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?”  She raised her voice staring back and forth between the two.  Clair automatically pointed at Gordon and he pointed at back at her. “Clair?!  Gordon?! I want to know what the truth is here!” Mother demanded.  Gordon hung his head.  He knew that he shouldn’t have been playing ball in the house but Clair was so convincing. 

 

At first Clair was going to just blame it all on Gordon because it would be easy to do that to her little brother and let him take the fall but something inside of her just couldn’t let that happen.  He was her little brother after all she had to be the bigger person.  “Mom, it’s all my fault!  I talked Gordy into playing ball in the house. I’m sorry!”  Clair confessed.  Gordon’s head snapped up and looked at his big sister with a new sense of wonder.  Did she really take the heat?  He couldn’t believe it!   Gordon didn’t realize it but at that moment was the beginning of a new friendship that would last forever.

Business Plan

Tonight we are going to the township special meeting to present a business plan to the planning commission.  Last year we purchased a small old fashion farm and have been working on restoring it to it's former self.  We are going to start renting it for special events.  Last fall we had our first wedding for a friend as a trial, I also had my daughter's baby shower and a colleagues retirement party at the farm.  They went well and we have plans to add more features each year.  Before we get too involved we have to make sure that the township will approve the idea.  So, instead of a typical post I decided my business plan would be my slice for the day.  Writing for a variety of purposes in life. 

Old Indian Creek Farm

Owners: Kris and Brad Shrontz

Mission Statement:

Old Indian Creek Farm will be an event center that will be able to accommodate special events such as: weddings, reunions, open houses, family gatherings, etc.  Its simple country atmosphere will appeal to customers looking for that rustic but cozy feeling for their special event and at the same time have many options when planning their event. 

Goals & Objectives:

Our goal is to provide a successful event center that is utilized in some way during every season.  The old hip roof barn is being repaired and will be one option for events.  There are a few smaller outbuildings that will also be available.  The house is furnished and is available to use during the time of their event. There is plenty of parking available on the property. 

Some of our 5 year goals are:

·         Dig a pond in the front of the farm

·         Bring in gravel to the back for additional parking

·         Build a loft in the old hip roof barn to accommodate more people

·         Furnish the old granary to be used as a staging area for getting ready

·         Remodel the bathroom in the house

·         Purchase more tables and chairs

·         Build a deck off the back of the barn

·         Landscape around the house and barn

·         Clean the fence rows around the farm and down by the creek to provide a trail and primitive camping sites

·         Build a small pavilion by the pond

·         Put bathrooms in the barn

Salvaging

Once a majestic architectural building is now just a ran shackled pile of remains of the old days.  The excavator machine  seems to come alive  clamping  on to wooden beams and chunks of wood. Twisting and turning the excavator grabs and drops heavy wood. As it reaches for the roof the claw on the bucket just eats through the roof that was caved in from the many years of storms and lack of upkeep.  It crumbles in a heap.  Then it reaches up and out as far as it can go grabbing hold of the wall. Pulling on the side it creaks and groans but won't let go until finally it can't hold on anymore it smashes in one whole piece on the ground.  The machine tracks over the piles of crumpled up wood, clank, clank, clank.  Reaching out for more wood to satisfy it's hunger. Finally, it comes to a rest. 
We rummage through the remains searching for anything that might be worth salvaging.  "This barn was a beauty in her day wasn't she?"  I ask. 
Just a barn but built to last for generations.  Looking closely at the beams you can see that they are hand hewed.  Each beam beginning its life as a tree then carefully hand constructed by a broad ax into the square pillars that held the barn for so many years.  Each beam has hand carved notches and corresponding holes with hand made pegs to interlock all together giving the structure  more strength when they would load it to the peak with mounds of hay.  The only nails used were the ones to keep the red, wooden tongue and grove siding in place on the outside. 
Looking around at the heap of wood it's sad to see another architectural wonder fall victim to the storms and lack of care.  We were told that the original elderly couple that lived there before them received money from the insurance company when a storm came through.  They paid a local construction company to fix the roof so the barn could carry on for another hundred years but he started the job only to not come back and fix it. 
Lucky, though we have plans for this barn to carry on it's legacy because we have one of those big hip roofed red barns that we are trying to restore to her natural beauty.  So, all of those hand hewn beams, interlocking hard wood flooring and red siding that hasn't rotted away from this barn will be used to help another.  Salvaging one to save another. 

Life Before.... Life After

I'm trying to branch out in my writing and wrote a rough attempt at a two voice poem.  After my son's accident I felt like my life was divide in two... my life before Trent passed away and my life after.  I struggled with how much my life had changed living without him along with how I had changed dealing with the pain.  This is just some rambles of thoughts about that change.


Life Before  Life After


High School classes, American History,           

Algebra, English, Computers   

Notebooks, quizzes and school assignments not

complete brought to us in a cardboard box

Piles of clothes...                                               
Clean and Dirty                                                  

Piles of clothes at first with the Old Spice scent

but then slowly fades away

Easy conversation with friends                          
and Peers                                                            

Sideways looks when they think I'm not looking or

quick get away when I mention the name

Constant nagging to get chores done                

Trash piles up, animals wait for me to feed them

Teenage kids hanging out, playing video games       

Quiet

Attending sporting events searching                

Attending sporting events searching

Revving motor, gravel flying, Brrraap             

Straining to listen but silence

Bus stopping, lights flashing, dog yipping            

Bus zooming by, dog's ears perked up

Looking forward to graduation                        

Baccalaureate with a memorial speech

given by a friend

Muddy boots                                                     

Empty boots

Defined by how many children                        
I have

Defined by how to explain how many children

I have

Trips, family events, funny episodes                

Memories

Whole                                                               

Broken

4                                                                       

3