For the Longest Day of the Year

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I sat on the deck with Tallulah.

and

It was good.

Mayflower

During my teaching career of over thirty years, I adapted to different textbooks, but the literary selections stayed consistently the same until the twenty-first century. Then, bam! the old reliable disappeared and new texts appeared – some of this was a good thing, some not so much.

In the last years I primarily taught American Literature and to say the “canon” shifted is understatement, but, eh, not going write about that early on this Saturday morning.

The American literature course began, of course, with the early days of American history, and the textbook offered limited fare: William Bradford's Of Plymouth Plantation, John Smith's Jamestown experience, and William Byrd's History of the Dividing Line. Even though I found merit in each of those, my students yawned and complained and whined that this stuff was “awful” and that if the course continued in this way they might have to “revolt.”

As they might quip, but let me beat them to it: Whatever.

Then, with the “new” textbook material, emerged an excerpt from the captivity narrative of Mary Rowlandson, a minister's wife living in Lancaster, Massachusetts, who, along with three of her children [one died six days after], was held hostage during the short but devastating King Philip's War of 1675. Until this appeared in the recently adapted anthology, I had never heard of it.

This revealing story of naked Indians “thunking settlers in the 'noggin,” starvation, faith, and death finally piqued the interest of my students.

Massachusetts Survivor?

In my humble opinion their imaginations should have allowed them to see that with William Bradford, but if it took Mary Rowlandson and the bloody attack on her town – so be it.

What I wished I'd had as a companion piece to stimulate the interest of my students in the origin of their country was Nathaniel Philbrick's Mayflower: A Story of Courage, Community, and War.

Published in 2006, Philbrick's research, anecdotes, maps, and prose laid the foundation on how those first men and women made a go of it in a land where others had failed. Not only does he tell of the harrowing trip aboard the most recognizable ship name in history, but he takes the story beyond the first Thanksgiving and into the difficult years after that memorable first year.

In those fifty-five years that followed, as much as the settlers and natives lived peacefully, the seeds of greed, race, religion, and violence had been planted, and it would be the grand-children of those “new” Americans who would meet the inevitable fate of the repercussions of the loss of trust when those seeds produce ugly fruit.

Philbrick concludes Mayflower with an in-depth look at the events, deceptions, and mis-communications that led to one of the bloodiest conflicts in American history – King Philip's War.

A compelling read, Philbrick continues to be the go to writer for the layman interested in history.

If you are an American literature teacher out there reading this blog, add this book to your suggested reading list. Just sayin'.

 

Hallelujah Hydrangeas!!!

I don't know what it was about this spring, but my hydrangeas have been on steroids. The blooms on the oak leafs are 12 inches in length -- spectacular. I've been working in the yard so much that I haven't been writing my stories. I know you're missing them. 

Ha.

FTR: 

 MORE IMPORTANT--------

Chipmunks lurk and linger under those hydrangeas. 

Plump and juicy.

Hold in paws.

Play catch and release.

Except not.

Release.

Me bite.

The flowers?

 Meh.

Don't wake me up... for

Graduations?

 

*yawns*

 

Nephews?

 

Not in my house.

 

Again.

 

Please.

 

*stretches*

 

Garden tours?

 

Are there fat, chubby chipmunks?

 

Low flying birds?

 

Otherwise.

 

*bigger yawn*

 

 Polish chickens?

 

*snorts*

 

*waits for punch line*

 

But -- porch time?

 

*raises furry paw *

 

Booyah.

 

 

Marietta Garden Tour 2013

My sister, her friend Christine, and I spent a lovely, overcast Saturday on our first annual Marietta Garden Tour.

 

What follows is just a little taste of the beauty of the day:

 

Flowers

(lots of poppies and peonies)

 

 

Gardens -- all types

 

 

Doors

 

 

Sheds

 

 

and one Polish chicken

 

 

;-)

 

Graduate! Yes!

Always happy to watch another one of the 'phews don the mortarboard, cross the stage, and move on into (cough, cough) adulthood, I attended Stephen's graduation and noted that  "mother and daddy would be so proud."

 Stephen is the seventh of their eight grandchildren to graduate from college.

*crosses fingers for Glenn*

What a legacy they began, when they determined that they would make sure that all four of their children would have the opportunity to go to college[we all did and graduated!), and now my siblings have given their own children that privilege.

*sigh*

At Young Harris College in the Georgia mountains on last Saturday at 11am, during a monsoon [we got four inches], Stephen graduated from college with a BA in English.

*claps*
*throws confetti*

Held in their spanking new gym, the class of 2013, resplendent in cap and gown, and their families sat through a commencement speech by Monica Kauffman Pearson, too much chat by President Kathy Cox [sorry, a little editorializing there], and then two hours later received their diplomas.

Who throws a graduation during lunch, btw?

Regardless of the fact that Pearson's speech was riddled with clichés, it's always worth it to sit through one to see the completion of such success for a loved one.

So. Stephen. Congratulations.

Now, get a job.

the family with the graduate

Aunt Harriett: So Stephen, how did you end up liking all that literature?

Stephen: I didn't.

Aunt Harriett: *gasp*

Stephen: I mean, I like to read and write, but not necessarily read the "canon."

Aunt Harriett: *holds fingers up in the sign of the cross*

Stephen: Okay. Some of it was all right.  

Aunt Harriett: *checks blood sugar* 

 

 

Andrew took this picture of Stephen about 1/2 way through the ceremony.

 

Trust me, Stephen, we were with ya. LOL