Regular readers are at least familiar with my dear friend and colleague, Jack Falvey. I recently shared some plans with him and was not surprised by his response. Since I’m about to share those plans publicly, I’ll start with part of his response.
“We spend our whole lives trying to make it. For better or worse, we are already here.”
Jack Falvey
Ironically, as I prepared to write this, Seth Godin, in his daily blog post, notes that what we’re doing influences where we are. He asks the rhetorical question, “What happens when we are here and now?”
All these thoughts about where we are and what we’re doing are a good introduction to a few thoughts about where I am, where I’m going, and what I’m doing. I think some of you will be surprised.
This is not going to be a typical summer in our household. For one thing, we won’t be here for three weeks. How this all came about could be an interesting tale that might include karma and coincidence for those who believe in that sort of stuff.
Our extended road trip includes some time in Holmes County, Ohio, often referred to as Amish Country. On the return trip, we’ll also visit Lancaster, Pennsylvania, and connect with some Amish friends there.
However, a primary goal of the trip is Scotts, Michigan, which is the home of Tillers International. Here, I’ll spend four days learning to train and drive oxen.
Doing things the old way… Photo by Tillers International, and no, that’s not me!
As some know, I’m a huge fan of oxen and ox pulls or draws. I can spot a poorly trained team or a teamster that doesn’t understand them. Tiller’s isn’t training for competition–they have a mission that includes preserving our rural heritage and skills. “We attract many people to our classes that are interested in history, the use of hand tools, nostalgia, and a sense of accomplishment of doing something ‘the old-school way.'”
While I’m going to Michigan, in another sense, I’ll be somewhere else. Maybe even a different time when things were more straightforward and we lived closer to the earth.
I’ve joked that this may qualify as one of the more useless things I’ve done in my life. I have no intention of acquiring a team. But as an educator, I suspect I’ll be conscious of how I’m trained and how I, in turn, train and manage these furry fellows.
Jack’s cryptic writing style is reassuring: “I love the oxen adventure. That is you. Oxen are real. You are in a good place.”
Some of my other thoughts on oxen:
Gee Haw! Meet four-year-old Julia and her two large friends. She had the fine distinction of being the youngest and smallest driver in a special class of oxen pulling…
Thanks, Julia! Seven years ago, Julia had the fine distinction of being the youngest and smallest driver in a special class of oxen pulling I watched. It was both entertaining and impressive.
Here’s a short message for kids and parents everywhere. Things don’t always happen the way they’re supposed to. Let me explain.
I recently stopped for a school bus. That’s not big news. It is an example of things happening the way they should. I was facing the bus and could see past it, noticing that the cars behind it had also stopped exactly as they should.
The lights flashed, the stop sign on the bus opened, and the safety arm across the front of the bus swung wide.
Four or five kids got off the bus. They ranged in size from tiny ones with outsized backpacks to some older ones. They came around the front of the bus. So far, so good.
Some ran, some walked in front of the bus and across the highway.
When they started across my lane, I started yelling at them even though there was no way they could hear me. They didn’t stop or even pause to look up and down the road. Fortunately, everything was working the way it should. Well, almost everything. I think the kids were supposed to look both ways.
Safety shouldn’t be delegrated; it should be shared.
“Mr. Boomsma”
Sometimes, things don’t work the way they should. I can think of several ways that might have been the case. Several days later, there was a headline from a distant state where someone didn’t stop for a school bus, and a child was injured.
If we want kids to feel and be safe, we need to involve them. It wouldn’t be so bad for them to learn they have some responsibility for staying safe. A few seconds long pause to look up and down the road is just plain smart.
At the start of the school year, perhaps parents should meet the bus and ensure the kids do. I’d be happy if the bus driver kept the window open told the kids to stop and look–at least until they got into the habit. It’s been a few years since I’ve attended a school bus safety program, but I’d be thrilled if crossing in front of the bus was part of that curriculum. Safety shouldn’t be delegated; it should be shared.
Regardless of how (or what) you celebrate, best wishes for a meaningful and memorable holiday!
UPDATE on New Year’s Eve:
Happy New Year’s Eve! Since I’m not feeling terribly witty or creative this morning (I’ve been up since three and still wondering why), my New Year’s thought is, “Just when the caterpillar thought her life was over, she became a butterfly.” There are several variations of it, and it’s most commonly attributed to “unknown.” But it does seem like a pretty good thought starter as one year ends and another begins. An interesting corollary is “In order to become a butterfly, you have to be willing to give up being a caterpillar.”
I’ve recently been getting phone calls from the same unrecognized number 3-4 times daily–some well into the evening. I finally answered one out of sheer frustration. The caller pretended to be my friend, called me by name, and claimed he represented the C.D.C. Since the C.D.C. is not currently on my favorite organization’s list, that was not a move in his favor. If a phone call can be both annoying and funny, this one might qualify. I wish I had recorded it.
ME: I answered the phone only so you’d stop calling.
CDC: (After a hearty laugh) I’d like to ask you some questions.
ME: I’d like you to prove you’re actually from the CDC.
CDC: I can send you a text message.
ME: That won’t prove a thing. I want something in print.
CDC: Okay, if you’ll just give me your email address…
ME: Print means paper and ink. And I’m not giving you my email address.
CDC: I can do that. What’s your name and address?
ME: You must already have that; you’ve been calling me by name.
CDC: No, we only get phone numbers. I’ll need your address to mail you something.
ME: I’ve got a better idea. Put me on your do-not-call list.
CDC: I can do that.
ME: If you don’t, I’ll be reporting this number to the FTC. If you really are associated with the CDC, you’re still not exempt from federal law.
CDC: Okay, have a nice day.
I’ve wasted some time trying to figure this one out. First, if this was some sort of CDC survey, why was my specific input so crucial that he kept calling repeatedly? (Actually, it was obviously robo-dialed.) Second, assuming it was legitimate, was he that ignorant, or did he think I was? He’s going to prove he’s with the CDC by sending a text message from the number he’s calling from? He’s going to send printed information by email? How does that work?
Data has value. We need to be cautious about giving it away too quickly and easily. It makes sense to be a little cautious about who gets ours.
And just occasionally, it’s possible to enjoy the ride.
Walter Boomsma (“Mr. Boomsma”) writes on a wide array of topics including personal development, teaching and learning. Course information is also available here!
