Doing school differently

I spent a (rare!) beautiful spring evening back at school last night.  As I drove there, I admit I had some grumpy thoughts about being pulled away from my family, who were lounging over dinner out on the deck, in order to go back to work.  But then I stepped into Avalon's last evening of senior presentations for 2011 and realized that it was worth it.  At my school we have all of our graduating students undertake a 300+ hour independent project.  Of their choice.  In the spring we take them on a retreat and we give suggestions, offer guidance, critique ideas- but the topic of study is entirely up to the student.  So is the method of study, the timelines, the final product, and for the most part, the grade.  And they wow me each and every time. 

These projects always run the gamut from the real hands-on to the deep thinkers.  This year we had topics such as:  Hollywood and the Other: Representations of Minorities in Film and Television, Fascist Youth in the Weimer Republic, and a deep exploration into political theory that taught me more in 30 minutes than my semester long poli-sci college class.  And then we had a kid who built an electrical guitar, while another built himself a crossbow.  Where else are you going to get that chance in public education these days?  Yet another senior learned how to blacksmith.  And then he built himself a forge in his backyard.  A forge.  Where he did blacksmithing.  Sprinkle in a handful of amazing photography, visual art, and environmental explorations and you have the Avalon Senior Class of 2011.  Every last one of these kids climbs up on to a stage in May and gives a 30 minute presentation to an audience that can number in the hundreds.  After the applause dies down they stand and face questions that are often thrown out by college professors and experts in their fields of study.  And they knock them out of the park.  These kids know their stuff.  And they know that they know it.  They stand tall, look the audience in the eye, and fill us with hope for the future.  If these are the leaders of tomorrow, I'm following. 

Another thing that fills me with hope and pride and really, love, for my school is that in this audience you will always find a number of underclass Avalonians.  Who just came because they were interested.  Interested in the Weimar republic, or Fukayama's political theories, or permaculture.  And they listen attentively, nodding along, smiling, then tossing out their own killer questions.  Questions they are asking because they want to know more.  The respect they show for their fellow classmates is a beautiful thing. I watch them watching the seniors and I get excited for next year's batch of senior projects.

After the presentations end for the night staff invariably have to break up knots of students who are intently discussing the ideas that were just presented, or who are hugging their fellow classmates, giving heartfelt praise on a job well done, but kick them out we do. And then we follow them out into the night and send them on their way- another batch of students who have just taken a large step into the world of adulthood. I know that traditional schools also provide a myriad of challenging opportunities for the youth of today, but I think that what we do at Avalon is different, challenging, and great.

That one color green

I've been waiting to see my favorite color green for quite some time here in Minnesota.  That first green/gold/yellow in the trees that renews the promise that spring will come.  It's been a long hard wait this year.  On our recent drive to south we got to watch the trees go from bare, to that first blush of green around Madison, to crabapple blooming glory in Chicago, to full on spring in Indianapolis, and nearly summer in Nashville.  It was lovely.  And then of course it was all undone on our trip home two days later.  I mourned the loss of lushness as the miles rewound and we rolled back into the still barren landscape in our neighborhood.  But then today we hit the mid-80's here and I swear that during the course of my bike ride this morning that the trees popped.  We're there.  The road up to my house is once again a bright tunnel of chartreuse.  All too soon the bright hues will dull to the dark dusty greens of summer and I will remind myself that I shouldn't wish for spring too hurry.  It will always come, and it will always be worth the wait. 

First trip to the medium south

We didn't make it to the deep south on our recent road trip to Nashville- but I think we can safely say that the SageMarts have now spent some time in the medium south.  We heard us some accents, smelled us some magnolias in the first blush of bloom, and reveled in eating outdoors during a time when our native land is still seeing the odd snow flurry.  We even saw a cowboy hat or two and some real nice boots.  I ordered some sweet potatoe biscuits, but no one in our party tried any grits, so there's still more to be discovered for sure.  And that's good, because 36 hours in Nashville was not nearly enough time to discover all its secrets.

Road Trip Tolerance Meter

Theo has an internal road trip tolerance meter that is permanently set to go off (and go off spectacularly) 20 minutes before the end of any and all road trips.  It doesn't matter the length of travel involved.  Driving 9 hours?  He quietly entertains himself for 8 hours and 40 minutes.  Then.  Watch out.  He gets antsy and wild.  He starts jabbing his brother, poking his mother, driving us all a bit crazy.  I know I should be extremely thankful that the kid can sit and amuse himself for over eight hours.  But there are two problems.  The first one is that this alarm goes off for him 20 mintues prior to any destination.  So our 25 minute drives to both sets of grandparents only give us 5 minutes of quiet self-entertainment.  Then bonk.  It's kind of uncanny.  The second problem is that I totally have this same meter in my body.  And it's taken me 40 odd years to get to a place where I can almost ignore its call.  But when Theo's tolerance meter dings, my body hears it loud and clear and I want to act out in just the same way he is.  And sometimes I do.  Ok.  Maybe most times.