The First Day of School

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Sep. 10, 2020, from The Washington Post, comments from readers on school opening.

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Sep 8, 2020: Today, students at the Middle School.  First time since March.

Not until the end of this week will anyone have any real notion of how many students will actually report in this time of Covid-19.  Similarly, only the future will tell which unusual bumps in the road there will be – Covid’s continuing impact on our lives.

I took the four-mile drive to the Middle School twice today, once about 8:30 and then another trip back about 1 p.m.  Neither trip did I even think of trying to touch base with my daughter, the schools Principal.  Anyone who has ever taught knows the dynamics of the first day; few of us can even comprehend how the Covid-19 Crisis makes Day One even harder.

The second trip a staff person was directing traffic at the entrance to the parking lot; there were school buses gathering; and traffic was being directed to the back of the school, apparently for 6th grade arrivals.  In the parking area were two signs, “7” and “8”, apparently for 7th and 8th grade, later.

My understanding is that today and tomorrow are orientation days for the 6th graders; Thursday the 7th and 8th graders make their appearance.  Everything was orderly.  I’m aware that today’s information may be outdated and superseded by tomorrow.  That’s how it is at this point in history.

The staff person and I chatted, but very briefly – his business was attending to parent traffic, probably some parents new to the school, as their oldest graduates to Middle School.

Years ago I was a junior high teacher, in the days when grades 7-9 were in junior high school.

Jumping from “Top of the Heap” in 5th grade, to “Bottom of the Barrel” in 6th grade is a major change in a youngsters life.  We all know this from our life experience.

I really applaud the apparent staged transition from elementary to middle school such as I was witnessing today.

There are lots of challenges ahead, no doubt.  But I think the faculty and staff are equal to the task at Oltman and the other schools now beginning.

I wish everyone well.

At some point I hope to be able to fill in the blanks about how it went today and this week and this month….

Oltman Middle School Sep. 3, 2020

Uncle Vincent’s Onions

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A friend in LaMoure County ND saw my recent post featuring Uncle Vincent’s mailbox, and in part replied:  “As a member of the LaMoure Farmers Market, I remember him bringing onions and a few other vegetables to the market to sell.”

This brought to mind a memory or two of Vince, who died five years ago, and was the last of the Busch’s who had occupied and worked the home farm since 1905.

The onion comment caused me to remember this photo I took  May 17, 2013.  

By this day, Vincent’s sister, Edithe, had been in the Nursing Home for some months.  Neither ever married, but really depended on each other.  Part of Vince – Edithe – was missing this May day in their garden, and his own condition was deteriorating rather rapidly;  A few months later his own destination was the same Nursing Home, down the hall from his sister.  She died a few months later.

Their garden space was almost an acre, less and less used as their circumstances changed.  It had once served a large family in a time when canning, rather than canned goods and frozen foods, was customary.  It was always a place to visit.  Sometimes a “crop” was spectacular flowers, specifically planted there.

Each winter, Vince and Edithe got the seed catalogs in the mail, and ordered some seed, planting it in the garden.  Some crops, like sweet corn, were prized by raccoons and deer.  Such crops dropped off the list.  The rhubarb and a couple of apple trees flourished on their own – no help needed.  The garden space was always too large, and each year less and less was planted.

One year, Vincent ordered some sweet onions, and he picked a winner.  We can attest, they were delicious.  They became an annual crop.  Apparently he set up a space at the Farmers Market and sold some of them in the summer.  His “brand” at the Farmers Market.

By the time of the photo, Vincents general health was failing quickly, so nothing had been planted in a timely manner.  It would be the first year of no garden.  But he was insistent on planting his sweet onions, probably knowing, deep down, that he wouldn’t be able to nurture or harvest them.  But planting them he did.

At Vincents funeral in Feb. 2015, a few of his farmer neighbors were sharing stories.  One of them remembered a time when he was over to help Vince with something or other.  They took a break and Vincent made a sandwich for his neighbor who, on taking a large bite, found it to be an onion sandwich – not quite what he expected.  But it was a sweet onion, and quite okay.

The group had a good laugh, and I wondered how Vince would have taken the good humor.  He was a quiet sort of fellow; on the other hand, I think at the end he would have been okay with the story, which the others found hilarious.

We all have our stories, and this one, on Labor Day, is dedicated to a farmer who loved his farm and his community.

He’s at peace, and the world is the better for Vincent Busch and the other Busch’s and Bernings having been part of it.

“The Road to Abilene”

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An idea for Labor Day weekend….

The week just passed, I was involved in three Zoom meetings.  Another is scheduled for Labor Day.  In my world, Zoom seems to have become the paradigm for the future.

Yesterday I got to thinking back to a film I had seen at some staff workshop way back in the 1980s.  I couldn’t remember the exact name, but it was about a road to somewhere, and a parable of how we humans get stuck in stupidity (my interpretation).

I kept thinking about the film, in the way I think about things, and finally, about 5 p.m., “Bingo”.  “The Road to Abilene” was resurrected.

I found several renditions on YouTube, not the film itself, but the one that seemed most pertinent was “The Abilene Paradox“, an actual two hour workshop in 1981 conducted by  Jerry Harvey, the PhD who’d coined the phrase.  “The Road to Abilene”, is based on a real family story.  Harvey was a professor at George Washington University, and most likely the venue for this talk was Washington D.C.  (If you have trouble accessing, at YouTube search “Abilene Paradox, Dr. Jerry Harvey, 1981”)

As I write, I’ve watched only the first 40 minutes, but I’ll do the entire two hours this weekend.  It is well worth the time.

At minimum, watch the first 20 minutes, and watch it in context with the world you inhabit today, right now.  You can frame it anyway you want, but watch it as if you were sitting in that auditorium today, in 2020, facing a national election in less than two months.  You will relate to it, I can assure you.

Have a good day.

POSTNOTE:  When I watched the actual film (on a 16mm reel to reel).   I was teacher union staff during particularly turbulent times in the teacher union movement.  It was half a lifetime ago for me.  I’m now 80.

This week, these were the Zoom calls:

Monday, helping a friend by watching him practice his very first Zoom talk, which he’ll present on Zoom next Monday night.  This first one was just he and I.

Wednesday, a one hour Zoom with seven people, from Vice-President candidate Kamala Harris, U.S. Sen. Tina Smith, MN Lt Governor Peggy Flanagan to four grass roots folks: a lady who’s a parent; two MN state legislators, a child advocate in special education; and a Service Employees Union leader.  The topic was the 2020-21 school year in the age of Covid-19: safety, schedules, technology and child care (as I recall).  It had the usual imperfection anyone who’s zoomed has come to expect, and there’s only so much that can be done in 45 minutes.  This is new.  But it was very much worth the time, and I’m grateful I learned about it.

The session opened with the words: “Kindness, Empathy and Humility”, and the participants reflected these words.

Thursday, was a regular organization meeting of a group I’ve been part of for years, who’s had to put on the shelf in-person meetings for an indeterminate, and possibly permanent time.

At the Thursday meeting, one of the “youngsters” proposed that all of us watch a movie on-line on our special interest focus, and let the rest know within a week.  Abilene will be my choice, though on Thursday I had not even thought of the topic at the time.

POSTNOTE 2:  August, 2020 (see archive) was my “politics month”.

This month I’m going to endeavor to publish no more than one political theme per week, this being the first.  I would suggest the last two September posts, which were not posted until the end of the month are worth your time. (Trusting In Dishonest Times, 8/30, and School Opening, 8/31.)

Labor Day, I have a family recollection: Uncle Vincent’s Onions.

There won’t be regular reminders, but if you’re an off-and-on reader, something will likely motivate me to write a couple of times a week.  Just call up the archive by the current month.

We’re in troubled times.  Do your best (often, times of crisis bring out the best.)

COMMENTS (more at end of post.)

from Brian: Dick,  yes we saw that film at the Univ. of Houston in a management class.  I remember it well!

from Annelee: Annelee Woodstrom grew up in Adolf Hitler’s Germany and has lived in rural Minnesota for almost 75 years.  Her book, War Child, and two others, remain available and are excellent and from the heart primers on how life was for a young person who grew up in tyranny.  I comment at the end of her words:

Sep 5: “Dick, I am really pensive lately, when I think about our children , grand- and great-grandchildren’s future.
What are we leaving behind? Presently, the country is torn asunder, will we heal in time? I  have seen and lived much.
I am almost glad that I am nearing the end of my life. Today I thought of Uncle Pepp and what he told me in 1945.
  You find the article beginning on third paragraph, page 122, WAR CHILD
  If you read it, and want to add anything, feel free to do so.”
Earlier, Sep 5: “Dick,
I read your blog on the Road to Abilene, it got me thinking:
You know I live in a community of many Trump supporters. I feel we are somewhat ahead of 2018 because we state our differences when we discuss Trump vs. Biden.
However, we haven’t learned to listen to each other and try to reach a meeting point.
It is most evident when one looks at the demonstration that presently destroy our cities, and reach a point of no return.  [Dick: see my comments at end of this letter]
The “Black Lives Matter” organization  feels they have a cause and they must fight for it until they win.
If it takes destruction to make a point, so be it! We need to defund our police force, we need to have committees that select who protects us.
Surely these are valid points, but those actions at the demonstration have so far offered no resolution.
What I offer, let us speak not as Democrat or Republican, let us speak as human beings.
Surely, I am with BLACK LIVES MATTER. BUT I FEEL NOT JUST BLACK LIVES MATTER, ALL LIVES MATTER.
MY LIFE SHOULD MATTER AS MUCH AS YOURS.  WE ALL WERE CREATED BY GOD, OR YOU MAY SAY OUR MAKER—
DID HE MAKE ONE LIFE WORTH MORE THAN THE OTHER?  I DON’T THINK SO.
I offer my Uncle Pepp’s analysis of humanity:…….. (I just take some of his reflections, opinions that apply to our time
as well  as they did in 1945.
“We learn a lot in a lifetime, but no one in the world learns about keeping peace. every time there is a war, they say it is for
some cause and then it will bring peace forever. The human species is the dumbest species there is. For thousands of years they have fought, maimed and killed each other for one cause or another.”
Uncle Pepp’s eyes bored into mine, “ You think this war is the last war?  Anneliese, don’t mind my laughing. Someday you may have a son who will get his draft notice to fight in another war. Again, they’ll  promise you. ‘This is the last of all wars.’
On the other side there is a mother who will have to send her son for the same reason.  To stop war!
What we have not yet learned is the simple truth: Wars lay the seeds and breed another more horrible war than the ones before.”
Uncle Pepp came close to me,” maybe you will make it through this war.  You will if you are lucky and have say about it.”
He kissed me on the forehead , “Now go and do come back..”
It is hard to brlieve that was 75 years ago. 
I am thinking: how much have we learned since, and how much has changed?
At my count, America has been in five major wars, and smaller skirmishes.”
Dick in response Sep. 6:  Annelee, you and I have known each other for 17 years, and we’ve been to your town in northwest Minnesota quite a number of times.  I feel I know your community quite well – a county seat of 1,700 people surrounded by rich farmland.  As you know, your community would be strong “Trump country”, though as you also know, you and many (but not enough) will and have voted Democrat in the past, and will again.  .
I also know well the city, Minneapolis,  that was visited by violence in the wake of George Floyd’s death on May 25.  Where he died is a half mile from where your son worked for an entire career.  Your son knew and respected the character of this neighborhood far better than I could know directly.  He was there every day..
And, of course, you grew up in small town Germany from your birth till age 20.
There is, of course, a great disconnect between small town and city, geographic distance and all the rest.  I wonder how to make an equivalence that is understandable in your town.
Just for thought: imagine your towns business district, in both Minnesota and earlier in Germany.  Just visualize it.
Consider that on a late spring night the entire business district was attacked by some unknown people with many buildings destroyed and many more damaged.  Many people were masked. It is unknown to this day who the perpetrators actually were, though this is coming to be known in bits and pieces.  It does not appear to be the neighbors who live in the neighborhood.
Imagine further what I saw in this neighborhood from the day after the violence to this day.  None of the homes within the community – at least none to my knowledge – were touched by the violence.  These are the same people who depended on the businesses that were torched and vandalized.  These were ordinary working people such as live on your own street today.
The violence after May 25 was directed at businesses that served the community.  It makes absolutely no sense that the residents of those homes would destroy their own business district.
It would be like saying that your town was attacked by someone, and the businesses were destroyed, and none of your homes were touched by the violence.
It is just a thought: whoever did the violence after May 25 may well not have been even an active part of groups like Black Lives Matter.  These were others from elsewhere much more involved.
Just a thought.