Not competent

The poem that won the contest

was long and involved

with unfamiliar phrases

linked together

like prose

A photo of the author

showed a twenty something

with her blonde hair gleaming

in a halo of light

and youthfulness

It had seemed important

to submit my one good poem

but reading last year's winner

caused me to climb down from my pedestal

and retreat into obscurity from where I had come

Lakes and Peninsulas

I am not one who travels over water very comfortably so I made sure I had taken a motion sickness pill before we got on the Lake Express to travel to Wisconsin in early May.  It was only the second day of the 2014 season that the Express was running from Muskegon to Milwaukee and even though it was a gloomy day, the lake was fairly calm. The waves were not super high like my last boat trip to watch whales off Monterey, California where I ended up in a fetal position on the deck.  

However once the boat got beyond the channel I felt the boat rocking a bit and I decided maybe I should take a second pill.  If one works well, than two must work better.  WRONG! One probably would have kept me comfortable, but two put me in a catatonic  state.  I didn’t totally wake up until we got to Fish Creek in the late afternoon..

The weekend was a get together in Door County with some old friends, Lee and Karen Lewis.  When we planned the trip I visualized cherry blossoms and nothing cooler than sweater weather.  What was amazing was that although Lake Michigan was clear of ice, there were ice chunks on Green Bay which is on the sunset side of Door County.  There were no cherry blossoms yet and it was jacket weather, but sunny.

Our friends Lee and Karen Lewis

Our destination was The White Gull Inn in the town of Fish Creek. Karen and I liked the pictures online showing cozy rooms with gas fireplaces and small sitting rooms.  Our room opened up on a long front porch with wicker furniture on the second floor of the Inn. Lee and Karen’s room opened up on a heated closed in porch at the back of the Inn.

On Friday night we had reservations  for one of  the famous Door County fish boils that was cooked behind the Inn.  It was a chilly night, but after the water boiled over, the fish and potatoes were cooked.  It was then time to go into the dining room to feast on the potatoes, fish and coleslaw with cherry pie and ice cream for dessert. These fish boils are so popular that the restaurant at the Inn was full and there was a second boil at 7:00 p.m. that Friday night.  In the summer they have the fish boils four nights a week.  

Door County is much like Old Mission Peninsula north of Traverse City.  There are wineries and small villages.  Like the Traverse City area,the main crop is cherries.  However another highlight of Door is their lighthouses.  We drove to the Cana Island Lighthouse near Bailey’s Harbor on the Lake Michigan side of the peninsula. We were able to see the living quarters and the beauty of the old buildings.  There are eleven lighthouses on the peninsula and surrounding islands.  A lighthouse festival in June attracts people to some of the less accessible lights on the islands.  

Once a year the shipyard is opened in Sturgeon Bay for people to tour where ships are made and mended.  We happened to hit the right weekend.  One company makes only yachts and there was one in the water with craftsmen working on the interior.   The men took the tour and were fascinated by the number of jobs created by this industry. One has to be very wealthy to own a yacht like the one at the dock.  The men were told it will cost the buyer around 50 million and was going to someone in the Mediterranean.  

While the men were learning something new, Karen and I were shopping.  We drove a few miles south of Fish Creek to the tiny town of Egg Harbor.  Little specialty  shops were the norm in Egg Harbor as well as Fish Creek.  

After bidding a fond farewell to Lee and Karen on Sunday, Hack and I  headed to the Upper Peninsula and saw that Lake Superior was still frozen.  We managed to get out snow covered roads to Pictured Rocks and see some roaring waterfalls.  At Grand Marais, a small town on Lake Superior, we stopped at the Sportsman’s Restaurant and had a great hamburger. We were able to pick up some colorful rocks on the beach at Grand Marais for our grandson Carter who has a collection.   May is not the optimum time to visit the UP, but I find that in traveling, there are always some adventures to be had no matter what time of year it is.  

Simple beauty on the shores of Lake Superior

The drive on U.S. Route 2 along the northern side of Lake Michigan is very picturesque and the first view of the majestic Mackinac Bridge is always a thrill.  I liked the sign at the entrance unto the bridge that said Lower Peninsula.  For us it is a four hour drive from the bridge to home.  After a stop for dinner in Gaylord at my favorite restaurant there, The Bearded Dog, it was good to push the next three hours for home and sleep in our own bed.  Traveling always energizes my life, but coming home also fills me with a deep sense of satisfaction in the familiar and the memories added from another road trip.

Photographic Journey of Lakes and Peninsulas

Fish Creek, Wisconsin

Drink cart beside Inn for fish boils.

White Gull Inn and sign.

Adding potatoes to boiling water and the boil over when both fish and potatoes
are cooked.

Porch on second floor of Inn

Cute gate and light just down the road from the Inn..

Ice chunks on Green Bay just a short walk from the White Gull  Inn.

Cana Island Lighthouse

Even though it is called an island light house, Cana Lighthouse is accessible by walking on a dirt road with water on both sides.  

The period living quarters of the lighthouse......

Privy on lighthouse grounds.

Sites in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan

My partner in life and on the road.

Sable Falls near  Pictured Rocks

Boat at Grand Marais

Inside the funky Sportsman's Restaurant in Grand Marais.

Beautiful sign on an old building in Grand Marais.

A view of the Mighty Mac....the bridge to home.

Soccer Boy

Blond hair

glistening in the sun
scampering across

the field rushing to

kick the ball.

Legs churning

in rapid motion

one side to the other

getting in position to

make a play

Scoring a goal

he runs back

to the middle

fist pumping with

his usual confidence

During time out

bopping over to me

in his green shirt and

black shorts with white

socks over shin guards

Leaning over
planting a moist kiss

on my face he shows

that he is a charmer

and still grandma’s  boy

Lessons Learned

“You’re mean, “ James said , as he sat with me after school one spring afternoon trying to finish up a yearbook deadline he had been procrastinating on for weeks.

I was shocked as I had never had a student call me mean.  Some may have thought it, but it was never verbalized. Wanting a confirmation that I was not a bad teacher, I turned to Kim who was typing up some copy so she could make her deadline.  “Kim….am I mean?”

“No, Mrs. Ramseyer, you’re not mean.  You just expect us to follow through and meet our deadlines.”

I knew James was close to tears.  I was in the next to last year of my teaching career and I had been through so many students I had had to badger to get their yearbook pages finished or newspaper articles written that I wasn’t very empathetic.   I was a type A person when it came to meeting deadlines.

I was frustrated with myself that I had ever let James take my publications’ class.  He was a student who meant well, but was never quite able to get through his work without more prodding than I felt I needed to give to a junior in high school.  However I had let him in the class as I felt he needed something in his life that would give him some confidence.  I had been mistaken that the class would help him, but it was past time for regret.  James was miserable and making me feel miserable.

I went to his desk to see what was troubling him and knew that raising my voice would only make things worse.  Somehow he got through part of it and I told him to go home and finish the rest the next day. I had a knot in my stomach and knew that no matter how frustrating  a student could be, it was my job to make them feel they were worthwhile and gently guide them to do better.  I hadn’t done that with James and I had enough experience to know better.

Between the beginning of my career to the end of it, I learned many lessons from my students.  I also learned what teaching techniques worked and what gave me stress. I tried to follow my educational philosophy of what I called the four F’s.  I first wanted to be firm and fair and then I could have fun and be friendly.  For the most part, the philosophy worked.    

Fresh out of MSU in 1968 I started my career at the old railroad town of Durand, Michigan.   My husband and I lived in Lansing and I drove one half hour to work.  I usually car pooled with other teachers who also lived in Lansing.  My first months in the classroom were scary as I tried to find my way.  I was teaching 10th grade English and was the yearbook advisor.  The yearbook was done with students after school.  I could have passed for one of the students and did as I paid student lunch prices for a couple of months until I realized the difference.

One day during my first year I had a boy who threw a piece of paper on the floor.  This young man wore his hair greased back like Fonzie in Happy Days.  He hadn’t been a troublemaker, but was a little sullen and didn’t really care for English.  I looked at him and said very firmly, “Please pick up that piece of paper and put it in the waste basket.”

In the back of my mind I suddenly had a scary thought, what if he doesn't pick it up?”  I breathed a sigh of relief when he got out of his desk, picked it up and did what I asked him to do.   I had a new sense of the power a teacher can have.

In my first two years of teaching high school at Durand I learned that teaching was hard work and there could be no trying to get out of it.  To come to school unprepared was the kiss of death.  I also learned in my second year that the vibrancy of youth can be snuffed out in a second.  My yearbook editor, Deb, was killed in a car accident as was a wonderful student I had taught the year before,John. John's father was a teacher at the high school. A student by the name of Peter I had in my home room committed suicide.   It was also the year my mother died.  

After two years of teaching we moved to Oceana County, where I had grown up.  I took a year off to have our daughter and then found a job again at a small rural school teaching English to 7th & 8th graders and music to the younger students.  I continued to learn lessons, both big and small.  

I taught in the years when it was up to each teacher to form their own curriculum and I often wondered if I was doing the right thing in my classroom as there were no dictates from the state or any other source.  There was a trust that teachers knew what was best for their students and had the intelligence to teach them well.  

In 1978 I was able to move up from teaching junior high classes to teaching at Hart High School.   One of my favorite classes to teach was 11th grade American Literature.  Studying American Lit in college was a pleasure.  I always felt enthusiastic about the material. One year after we had studied Thoreau and civil disobedience I realized that sometimes students don’t  forget the lessons of the classroom.

During basketball season that year a student had done something at a game that upset the principal and the student was banned from further home basketball games.  A student from my class organized an act of civil disobedience.  He thought the boy who was being banned was being treated unfairly by the principal.  He talked most of the student body into staging a sit in.after lunch one day.   A few students trickled into my room including my daughter and I waited for the rest of the class..

After the bell rang and the hall was full of sitting students I thought...this might be my fault since I taught them what civil disobedience is.  Suddenly over the PA the principal’s terse voice said, “All students are to return to class.  Anyone who doesn’t return to class will be suspended.”  There was a scurry of footsteps as students hurried to get themselves out of the hallway and into their classrooms.  I had to chuckle as I knew we basically had a high school full of good kids who really didn’t want to get into trouble, but were enjoying what they had been able to pull off.

Seeing the funny side of situations was always part of my philosophy about teaching.  However there were days when I could feel something happening in class that was getting my dander up, It could be anything from too much noise to students who hadn’t done the assignment which usually included reading a bit of literature.  One day I could feel my buttons being pushed.  I shouted, “You guys are really getting my goat!”  

The following week in our local paper there was an ad which read:  LOST: ONE GOAT.  IF FOUND, PLEASE RETURN TO ROOM 18.  I had to appreciate the humor of my students and bless them for keeping me on an even keel.  

I learned that grades did not have to be set in stone.  I had a student who was very intelligent and was hovering between a B+ and A- for the marking period.  I always showed the students what they would be getting for the marking period so they wouldn’t have any surprises.  When I showed this young man he was getting a B+ I could tell he was upset.  Later he came in to talk to me about it and wondered if he might not have done enough for an A-.and if not, could he do some extra work.    I was usually firm in my decisions.  But in this instance I thought about the boy's background and how he and his brother and sister were being raised by their grandmother.  All these children were hard workers and smart.  I knew that reading essays could be a subjective thing.  I changed his grade. This young man is now an award winning English teacher on the other side of the state.  

I learned that just straight book work did not make a good class.  So I tried to tie in things that would be relevant  to what the students were reading.  In the fall after reading Thoreau’s Walden Pond I took my students to Gales Pond….a short bus ride from school.  There they walked trails and wrote in their journals. It was always a beautiful time of year with the color reflecting off the water.   In the spring we walked to the Hart Cemetery to read headstones and find historical tidbits.  We did that after reading Edgar Lee Master’s Spoon River Anthology, a series of poems that were epitaphs of fictional people.

The last few years of my teaching career I taught a creative writing class.  Those students each wrote a children’s book. We went to the elementary school where they read their books to first and second graders.  One spring day when I wanted them to write about their childhood we went outside to play the games they remembered from their younger years like Ring around the Rosie, Duck Duck Goose and Red Rover. I came close to injuring myself on that one.

One important tool I used and learned tons from was letting my students critique my class.  I asked them to write on three topics.  #1:  Critique your writing.  What was good about it and how can you improve?  #2:  Critique the class.  Did you learn anything?  Why or why not?  #3 Critique yourself.  Did you work hard and give it your best effort?  

I taught twenty two years at Hart High School and through all of that time I only kept one critique that I received.  It was written by a boy named Joe who was in my 11th grade American Lit class at the time.  I do not remember the year. I am going to share it exactly as he wrote it.  

1.  I think basically I do well because I get all the major stuff but I have a tendency to miss simple things like spelling too or to and run-on sentences.  I also think I have a tendency to be extreme in how I write. I either don’t put in enough detail or I put in way to much.  I think that I have problems with writing too complexly in that I put in things that don’t need to be there and just make it hard to read.  I also know that I write too big and sometimes too much.

2.  I think this class is a rare thing at Hart High because in most of my classes the people are in three different divisions.  People who understand and do well in the class, people who try to understand and do okay, and people who couldn’t care less whether they failed or not.  In this class I saw something I couldn’t believe.  People who were in the last category in my other classes were asking questions and actually wanting and trying to learn.  At the same time I’m learning a lot more than I usually would.  Normally I get an A in English without learning much but I got a B+ and I learned a lot more with the B+ than the A.

3.  I think that I could do better but I’m very happy with a B+.  It surprised me that I got it but I feel I earned it instead of just doing nothing for an A.  I think I’m learning more than ever in this class and it’s fun too.  In my past English classes the Scarlet Letter essay test we took would’ve got me an A which just goes to show you the difference.

No one can go through a life and not learn valuable things, but  teachers are expected  to teach the lessons. However I learned that most students could be pushed and prodded to do better than they thought they were capable of doing.  I learned that reading their writing could sometimes bring me to tears.  I learned that giving an essay test was much more revealing of what they knew even though I spent many a Sunday afternoon grading papers.  I learned that I needed to be prepared on a daily basis and that I had to reread material every year I was teaching it. Only now in retirement am I able to just pick up a modern novel and have time to read it.

I learned that respect and humor go a long way.  There are students that stand out in my mind because they had a need to be heard and there are students who have faded in my memory because they chose not to be seen or if in not choosing that, couldn’t make themselves be as visible as others. I learned that if I could have done something else with my life other than be a singer or writer, I would not have chosen anything else. I wouldn't be who I am today without the lessons I learned from the students I had from 1968-2000.  

                             

My yearbook staff at Durand High School in 1960-70.  The amazing thing is
these former students would be in their early 60's now.  

         Caught by surprise by my yearbook photographer at Durand H.S. in
1970. I was twenty three years old.  

Bridge Over Troubled Water

The song Bridge Over Troubled Waters, recorded by Simon and Garfunkel, was released in January of 1970.  It was a song that resonated with me after my mother took her own life on March 6, 1970.  The words, like any song or poem, can mean different things to different people, but I see this as straightforward lyrics declaring from one person to another that 

When you're weary, feeling small,

When tears are in your eyes, I will dry them all:

I'm on your side.  When times get rough

And friends just can't be found,

Like a bridge over troubled water

I will lay me down.

The words reflect that when one person is in despair, we can each be the person who lifts them up, or like a bridge, keeps them above the circumstances until they can cross over and find their way again.

If we are lucky we live in a community where we know our neighbors or there are people who would come to our rescue if we were truly in need.  I grew up in such a community where we both knew our neighbors and had extended family close by.  When something tragic happened, there were people around to help pick up the pieces.  

I was around ten when my Uncle Mart was killed, leaving a young family of five girls and a wife.  My Uncle Mart owned the Shelby Sawmill with my Uncle George Babinec.  I may not have the story straight after all these years, but what I remember is that Uncle Mart was driving a logging truck and somehow fell out of the truck and was run over.  It was thought that he might have had a heart attack.  

I did not go to the funeral, but my mother took us to visitation.  The amount of flowers and their aroma was something I will never forget.  It was overpowering as was the emotion.  It was the first time I had seen a body in a coffin and it was very frightening to me.  The finality of it all.  After the funeral, family stepped in to help my Aunt Ellen cope.  Aunt Ellen is being laid to rest in May next to my uncle who died so many years ago and she will also be  beside their baby boy who only lived a short while.

I remember that time as a circling of the clan.  It is hard to get through grief when we realize a person has gone before what we think should be their time. Such was the case with my Uncle Mart and then my mother.  Their brother, my Uncle Tom died too early as well.

However we can not always control life.  We must just live it.  When tragedies hit we are often surprised that such things can actually happen and we question why.  Weren't we all just normal and happy yesterday?

What can we do to help in such situations?  As part of the last verse of Bridge Over Troubled Water reads:  If you need a friend, I'm sailing right behind.  Like a bridge over troubled water, I will ease your mind.

We can sooth each other's minds by being there and giving love.  It really is a simple thing.

The original version of the song can be found at:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jjNgn4r6SO5


I also like the Josh Groban & Brian McKnight rendition at:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KzTDaffqvQ

Sweet Season

My favorite Laura Ingalls Wilder book has always been Little House in the Big Woods.  Two chapters that are back to back, Sugar Snow and Dance at Grandpa's, describe what it was like in the 1800's to produce maple syrup and the fun and work that the Ingalls' family experienced.  Charles Ingalls' father tapped trees, emptied his wooden buckets into a big wooden barrel which his oxen pulled to the huge iron kettle where he boiled the sap.  It was a tricky job to have the fire just right so that the sap did not boil over.

When Laura's grandma and grandpa had a dance to celebrate the syrup harvest, Grandma worked in the kitchen doing a final boil of the syrup while Pa played the fiddle and the neighbors danced.  When the syrup was just the right consistency everyone grabbed plates and filled them with fresh snow. Then Laura's grandma poured syrup over the snow and it turned into chewy maple candy.  The children ate the candy that probably was taffy like until they couldn't eat anymore.  Laura wrote, "They could eat all they wanted, for maple sugar never hurt anybody."

It was with all that in mind that I set out to find the sweetness of the season this last Sunday in March.  Three trees were tapped behind our son and daughter-in-law's house and the sap was boiling in a copper kettle over a wood fire.  As I wandered down the road I saw my three grandchildren out and about enjoying the sunshine that was finally warming the air.  Avery had a hatchet tied to a rope and was using it to climb the banks of snow like a mountain climber.  Jay had a hoe and Carter was along for the fun of the adventure.  They decided they were going to climb a hill near the old barn and use their tools to get to the top.  Their dog Penny was having a good time chasing them around.                                                                                      

I walked up the driveway to check on the sap boil.  Steam was rolling off the top of the copper kettle and the fire was burning nicely.  It was all unattended.  On the knoll behind the house three white buckets were attached to the trees.  Pure clear sap was running out of the spigots at a nice pace.                                                                       

The children returned from their adventure pushing a huge chunk of ice they found in an old well near the pond.  I told them I didn't like them playing by the well, but I had to admit the chunk of ice was beautiful and looked like a round glass window.  

Avery told me that the taste of sap running from the trees was like water with a sweet after taste.  Carter showed me how he took a drink from the spigot. When I mentioned he was getting germs in the sap he said, "It doesn't matter grandma.  The germs will disappear when it's boiled."

The snow piles are still high for so late in March, but it is not what Laura's Pa called sugar snow.  Pa was referring to a snowfall they got after most of the winter snow had melted.  He said, "It's called sugar snow, because this time of year means that men can make more sugar.  You see, this little cold spell and the snow will hold back the leafing of the trees, and that makes a longer run of sap."

The run of sap will probably go into April this year in Michigan.  Most of us are looking forward to a string of 50-60 degree days, but that will bring the sap run to an end.  However daffodils are a glorious sight by the pond and the sweetness of the spring season will continue in other ways. 

March Madness Memory

Eighth grade was a confusing time for me.  I had turned thirteen that year and boys were becoming more intriguing.  I had liked the same boy from kindergarten on, but he had never paid too much attention to me.

We had a group class picture taken in sixth grade.  I was sitting next to said boy in my red plaid dress laughing at something funny he had done just as the camera was clicked.  So for posterity I am sitting there with a big grin on my face and closed eyes.  I might add, I was the only person in the class picture with their eyes closed.

"Mom, can I have a party?" I asked in my eighth grade year.  It was March and I wanted some of the boys in my class to come to my house.  I wanted girls too, but it was more about the boys.

We lived one half mile north of Shelby, so some of the boys I invited walked to my house. My mother had agreed to make sloppy joes and the premise of the party was to watch one game of the state high school basketball finals on TV.  I have no idea who was playing and it probably was one of the earliest years it was televised.

Television at our house was also a relatively new thing.  I was around eleven when I came home from school one day to find we had our first TV.  My sister and I had previously gone to the neighbors whenever we could to watch the Mickey Mouse Club.  

My father had installed an antenna and it was one of the most exciting days of my life up to that point.  The other remarkable thing was my dad had also bought a case of grape pop the same day he hooked up our TV.  Pop was a once in a blue moon sort of thing at our house so this was over the top excitement.  A new TV and grape pop.

The anticipation on my party day was at a high level.  I don't remember who I invited, but I can imagine that the boys might have been Paul, Gary, Rick, Jay and Jack.  I am drawing a blank on the girls except my best friend Jean must have been there.  

After eating and then watching a bit of the game, the boys started getting restless and loud.  That made me a little nervous.  My party seemed to be flopping. On a whim we all went outside.  The weather was warm and I found a kite.  The rest of the party time was spent running and trying to get the kite in the air.

Thinking back on that day I realize we were very innocent thirteen year olds who were balanced precariously between childhood and our teen years.  I know I wanted a bit more time to be twelve when I wasn't expected to want to kiss and hold hands.  Flirting was yet to be totally learned and embraced. Kite flying would all too soon be a thing of the past.

March madness which overtakes a great deal of our nation's population this time of year brought back this memory of a party that would end my childhood and propel me into a new passage of my life...the high school years.  But that is a story for another time.