HOME SCHOOLING

I married into it, the homeschooling. Expected the kids would be hunkered down at their own desks a certain number of hours each day, the clock running. But that’s not how it was. No, the version (and there are many, I’ve learned, spanning the range from strict fundamentalists to loose unschoolers) I married into had piles of books and academic exercises and online resources and, well, I was surprised by the end of my first year to find out how much of what we’d told the local school superintendent we’d cover, we actually had – just not on the schedule we’d intended. Sometimes it came about as an impromptu trip to a museum – an outing in Boston, for instance.

I was also surprised how many group classes homeschoolers actually take. The taekwondo, for one, or the weekly White Pine outdoors lore, for another. Music lessons, anyone, or soccer?

Another component came on Thursdays, when the Dover Homeschooling Resource Center convened in the Quaker meetinghouse – about 100 parents and children – for a range of activities my wife dubbed “lunch-hour” or “recess for the homeschoolers.” It wasn’t all fun and games, either, despite some intense chess matches. Some of the older kids formed a science fiction group that read, wrote, and discussed the field.

My kids have some fond memories of their experiences across a number of activities.

Much better memories, in fact, than I carry from my public school days.

CALICO AS COCHECO

Calico – cheap cotton cloth printed in a figure pattern of bright colors, as the dictionary says – was a renowned product of the Cocheco Millworks in Dover, New Hampshire.

The city was not alone. Throughout New England, red-brick mills clustered around rivers seemingly anywhere a dam could be constructed – sometimes leading to factory compounds more than a mile long, like those at Lawrence, Lowell, and Manchester (itself famed for its denim, which gave rise to San Francisco-based Levi Strauss).

Sometimes, the operation would be much smaller, supporting little more than a village.

Upstream, existing ponds were enlarged to guarantee sufficient water flow through the year. Altogether, their commerce left its imprint on the landscape and its character while financing the legacy of the Boston Brahmins.

Likewise, the rain and snowfall flow through many of my poems. It’s not just water over the dam on the Cocheco River, after all, that’s noticed.

INSIDE THE MILLWORKS

I can imagine living in one of the towers, as one central character does in one of my yet unpublished novels.
I can imagine living in one of the towers, as a central character does in one of my yet unpublished novels.
One to another.
One tower viewed from another.
You could go climbing the walls.
You could go climbing the walls.
Or head for the street.
Or head for the street.
The old floors are fascinating, reflecting years of use. Often, they're embedded with the impressions of grommets or other materials that fell in the course of labor.
The old floors are fascinating, reflecting years of use. Often, they’re embedded with the impressions of grommets or other materials that fell in the course of labor.
The pulleys and other details overhead can be just as intriguing.
The pulleys and other details overhead can be just as intriguing.
Summer relief, however inefficient.
Summer relief, however inefficient.

OVERLAPPING TIME AND SPACE IN NEW ENGLAND

When my private-time writing returned to poetry shortly after relocating to New England three decades ago, my attention turned to this unfamiliar place where I was now living. Quite simply, it felt much different than any of my previous locales, and the spirit of specific locations has always been a central concern in my literary ventures.

My personal writing has often been a way for me to assemble thoughts and impressions. In many ways, it’s the way I work through a problem or gain focus on an issue. So when it came to the exercise of looking at my new environment, I soon envisioned a set of poems along the line of a monthly almanac or even a calendar of words rather than color photographs.

I’ve long had a fondness for those large monthly calendars anyway, and by the time I got serious in pushing the almanac, I had a good selection of images to draw from as additional inspiration. Just what images does the region conjure up, anyway?

That’s when New England’s famed Winged Death headstone engravings came into play, and each month began to compress the overlapping centuries this corner of the United States embodies – more so than other parts of the nation, at least.

Winged Death 1New England also has a strong tradition of authority and dissent. The Puritans, after all, came to these shores in their dissent from the Church of England, and Samuel Gorton, Roger Williams, Anne Hutchinson, and their followers in and around Salem, just north of Boston, were soon challenging the Puritan hegemony before being banished, in waves, to Rhode Island. Early Quaker firebrands were soon adding to that upheaval, and that’s included in my spiritual legacy.

What emerged from all this is a craggy, even Baroque, collage that reflects the evolution of the Yankee character in its landscape of harbors and mountains. It’s now available as a free PDF as my latest Thistle/Flinch edition. To read more, click here.

OUT INTO THE WORLD OF READERS

Poking around in the barn, as it were (actually, it was several folders in my computer, if you insist on being accurate), I wound up reopening collections of my poetry – and to say I’m astonished by their range, variety, and depth is not a matter of boasting. You’ve already sampled some of that here in my postings, not all of it “finished” work, either.

At the same time, as I survey the literary scene today and its opportunities, I’ve decided to issue as much of it as I can now (while I’m still ticking) rather than continue to seek piecemeal publication.

The upshot has been the resurrection of Thistle/Flinch editions, my personal imprint, as a free bookstore venture here on WordPress. Each month, it’s offering a new work as a PDF file to read on your computer or print out to paper.

In some ways, it’s like tucking a print shop into a corner of the barn. I rather like that image.

As an introduction, may I suggest:

Returning 1Or the rocky shores of my latest:

Winged Death 1

Hope you enjoy what you find there. And as always, here’s to happy reading.

 

 

RULE OF ECONOMICS

So there we were, in one of our informal noontime forums, this one led by an economist. The group itself was multidisciplinary, which made for some lively discussion.

As we analyzed the problem at hand, we saw that there were downsides to every possible solution we envisioned. No course of action was perfect, although some appeared to be better than others. Any way we turned, we’d be making some kind of mess for someone else to clean up or a burden for one group or another to carry.

We laughed, realizing that this is the way most of life actually is. There’s almost always a cost involved, and often unintended consequences.

And then one of our colleagues summed it up in a line that became our institute’s unofficial motto:

UNMIXED BLESSINGS ARE IN SHORT SUPPLY.

Once in a while, economics really does touch on reality.

STUFFED TO THE GILLS, BUT WHERE?

After moving to the house – and taking up a family – I began facing a profound mystery. Possessions would simply disappear. It wasn’t like my bachelor days, when things returned to their proper places. And it wasn’t always little stuff, either, meaning we couldn’t always suspect the kids.

While I obviously fretted, my wife took the calmer “it will turn up eventually” approach, which occasionally actually worked.

It didn’t take long for me to conclude that we have another room in the house – I know it’s not in the barn – one we haven’t yet located. And I’m certain that’s where all of our missing objects have gone, just waiting to be rediscovered. It has to be quite large, centrally located behind a wall or two. Or maybe even between floors.

There’s one more thing I’m certain of – it will be stuffed to the gills.

My wife has finally agreed with me. And she promises me the room will turn up eventually.

Now, where did I put my glasses?

BEHIND THE HEADLINES

Hometown News goes behind-the-scenes in the ways decisions are made in reporting the daily life of a seemingly pedestrian community – the kind of place where many of us grew up or perhaps resided. Focused on a family newspaper as it moves to a new generation of leadership, the novel builds on the aspirations of a core of young professional journalists. They share the ideal that aggressive reporting will foster grassroots democracy and an entrepreneurial vision as well as a widespread, healthy community. At most of the nation’s 1,500 daily newspapers, however, the bottom-line corporate outlook has meant that newsroom resources were squeezed to fatten corporate profits, even before the Internet began to erode paid readership. In that business model, readers and advertisers both got less and less for their money, and lively news from the neighborhood went untold. Unlike the Front Page tradition, today’s editors and writers have been stymied more by corporate bean-counters within than by Public Enemies without.

Hometown_News ~*~

To find out more about Hometown News or to obtain your own copy, go to my page at Smashwords.com.

 

COMPARING NOTES FROM THE ANNUAL YULETIDE CORRESPONDENCE

As I said at the time …

Your harvest, meanwhile, is most impressive. Just how much land do you have under cultivation? Our little “city farm” is a mere third of an acre, including house, barn, shed, and driveway – all of it having clay soil and partial shade. In a wet spell, our garden slugs rival Seattle’s; they took out most of our potatoes last year – the ones I was growing in barrels, up off the ground. Maddening. And, by the way, you have a longer, milder growing season. Last summer, we came close to buying half a pig from a couple halfway up in Maine – maybe that will happen yet. We are able to support some small-scale agriculture around here, which is satisfying. And there’s a lot of produce-swapping at Meeting – including eggs. Oh, yes, we have an interesting exchange with my wife’s best friend and her husband – the ones I jokingly call my in-laws; we provide them with a lot of seedlings, and since they work a much larger community garden tract, we get a lot of it back for the table and freezer. In addition, she does help herself to a lot of our strawberries, currants, and asparagus. Even some of the irises and daffodils. I really hadn’t thought about the range of connections going on there. Still, there’s no substitute for the taste of fresh food, or having your own, from the freezer, come deep winter. Maybe we go through all of it for a spiritual awareness and gratitude or simple out-and-out holy deliciousness?

To say nothing of all the wildlife we attract, especially around the bird feeders. We rather miss the skunks, and were surprised to find some possums living in the crown molding a story up in the barn last fall. How’d they ever get up there? Just don’t ask about squirrels.

Keep dry, but don’t forget to water the seedlings –