a poem called "September"

I memorized this when I was a kid, and I've had it in my head all month:

The goldenrod is yellow,
     The corn is turning brown.
The trees in apple orchards
     With fruit are bending down.

Well, the goldenrod is past yellow, the branches are almost breaking, and here's the corn all dry and crinkly:

Here's the rest of the poem, by Helen Jackson:

    The gentian's bluest fringes
        Are curling in the sun;
    In dusty pods the milkweed
        Its hidden silk has spun.

    The sedges flaunt their harvest,
        In every meadow nook;
    And asters by the brook-side
        Make asters in the brook,

    From dewy lanes at morning
        The grapes' sweet odors rise;
    At noon the roads all flutter
        With yellow butterflies.

    By all these lovely tokens
        September days are here,
    With summer's best of weather,
        And autumn's best of cheer.

    But none of all this beauty
        Which floods the earth and air
    Is unto me the secret
        Which makes September fair.

    'T is a thing which I remember;
        To name it thrills me yet:
    One day of one September
        I never can forget.

Hullo, Autumn

I just spent a very pleasant weekend here:

Also, Autumn has arrived.  Mom and Peter and I just heard the first flock of geese heading south overhead, so it must be so.

Snoopy

Today the students are trickling back into the room from art.  I am staring at my computer screen, singing the Hallelujah Chorus with gusto:

"For the Lord GOD om-NI-potent reeeeign-eth!   Ha-le-LU-jah!  Ha-le-LU-jah!"

Through a haze I see students standing still and looking at me.  Suddenly I realize I am singing audibly.  I stop midway into a particularly hearty "HAH-le-lu-jah," mouth open.

Lasts of summer

Sleepy calves

New bales

Top o' the morning

Literally speaking, that is.

Social studies test question:  Explain the process for amending the United States Constitution.

Student response [and if you know this student, it makes perfect sense]:

1st get ink and a fether.  2nd start writing on it.  Finally submit it to the ligislature.

Literally speaking, that is.  (And this from the student who loves National Treasure.)

And an exchange from vocabulary class:

Mrs D:   What does modesty mean?
Student:  Being full of yourself?
Mrs. D:  Actually, no -- it's the opposite.
Student:  Oh, so -- being empty of yourself?

Incidentally, this is the view from the room all these things happen in.  Pleasant, I think.

used book sales!

findings:

And not just books either:  Some piano music, appropriately autumnal, with nostalgic titles:

1. To a wild rose

2. Will o' the wisp

3. At an old trysting place

4. In autumn

5. From an Indian lodge

6. To a waterlily

7. From Uncle Remus

8. A deserted farm

9. By a meadow brook

10. Told at sunset

And in anticipation:  Irving Berlin's "White Christmas"

This is a jazzy arrangement and my jazz skills are wanting.  When I ran through it on the piano, Mom asked me what piece I was trying to play.  White Christmas, I told her (peevishly).  "Oh.  It didn't sound like it at all."  (Thanks, Mom.)

Brussels sprouts and lunch intrigues

My lunches are an ongoing curiosity to my fifth-graders:  tubs of European-style maple yogurt with bananas and walnuts, homemade apple cake mush, baggies of organic spinach and green peppers.  They cannot figure out why I can't just bring a sandwich in a Ziploc.  ("Mrs. Eckstrom, are you vegetarian?")  Usually the first question of the morning, "What did you bring for lunch today, Mrs. Eckstrom?"

Today at the lunch table I was eating this:

"Mrs. Eckstrom, what is THAT?"

"These are leftover Brussels sprouts from last night with spinach and sunflower seeds and balsamic vinegar and olive oil."

"Oh.  What do they taste like?"

"Well, like green beans, I guess.  But sour -- because of the vinegar.  I don't think you'd like it."

"Ooh!  I like sour things!  Can I try one?"

I wish I had a photo of her face.  She mouthed the Brussels for about twenty seconds while the other students watched with glee.  Then the remains came back out into her napkin.

"EWWWW!  That is grooooss.  That does not taste like green beans."

Needless to say her spectators were delighted.