It seems like somethings is always obscuring view. My eyes try to wrap around the gnarled trunks of swamp maple lining this river. My poor students are somewhere between lost, aggravated and confused. What is the river to them? Perhaps it is just a string of water: cool because it is fall, or maybe just cool because I we are not in class. Or are we. I usually feel a bit boxed in in the classroom, while outside my mind does not wander, it embraces what is impossible to embrace: these woods, waters, bogs and trails that crisscross this, my childhood home. I wonder what great disservice I would do to my students if I simply opened the door of the classroom and pointed them toward this river and said, “Go, explore, think, write and learn what those woods have to teach. Come back to me in June and tell me of your time!” Nature makes me make promises I seldom keep. I don’t come back as often enough as I say I will. And that ain’t right.

Later… It was great fun making our way down to the river. Really, so much of my childhood was spent cavorting up and down the river with friends and often alone and old canoes and rowboats. It is something we should continue doing throughout the year. I hope that you got something out of our trip today that is just a little bit different than you would get in the normal class day. I know we only spent a short time sitting by the river, stepping over gnarled roots, and lifting our feet high enough to avoid the poison ivy, but we’ll know that in a day or two:) I hope you were able to get a few thoughts down yourself that you can expand upon tonight or tomorrow and craft into a journal entry that you can savor years from now. Most of my old journals are lost, and it is one of the true sole regrets of my life. Memories are great, but the ravages of decades of time take its toll on true remembrance. And this is what I am trying to give you: the chance, the opportunity, and the time to create your own remembrances of a blessed time in your lives. What you make of this opportunity is up to you. A good writer writes “fully,” meaning, he or she crafts words that are recreated in the mind with the imagery rich and exacting, with nuanced thoughts articulated

And this is what I am trying to give you: the chance, the opportunity, and the time to create your own remembrances of a blessed time in your lives. What you make of this opportunity is up to you. A good writer writes “fully,” meaning, he or she crafts words that are recreated in the mind with the imagery rich and exacting, with nuanced thoughts articulated with clarity and energy, and with actions and sounds pulsing with the original force. This is not something that just happens. It is painstaking work sometimes; other times the words flow as if from a flooded spring. But it is always worth it. Try to get your two journal entries posted to your blog before class on Thursday. I am eager to read them and share in your evolution as a writer and thinker. If you have pictures, post them too! I always had a pad of paper and a pen and rather horrible sketching skills. Do you remember what the sassafras leaf looked like? The Virginia Creeper? Can you remember the white pine from the red pine? The oak from the maple? And what of the burrs and scratches you were probably covered in? All time is

Do you remember what the sassafras leaf looked like? The Virginia Creeper? Can you remember the white pine from the red pine? The oak from the maple? And what of the burrs and scratches you were probably covered in? All time is

All time is important time. Remember time in words, not hours.

Remember time in words, not hours.