Tinkerings

Yesterday I did something I wouldn’t have dreamed of doing just a few short years ago.  I blame two people, of course.  First, I blame Lance with the Discovery Educator Network because he put the DEN SI in one of the climbingest places known to man two years ago.  Second, I blame Tom with…well, Tom… for inviting me up to Pigeon Forge to “hike” a trail.

And what did I do you ask?  I parked my car at the bottom of Chilhowee and hiked the 4.3 miles up the slope to Benton Falls just to take a few pictures.  Of course, I took a small extra loop on the way up and another larger one on the way down.  I walked a little over 10 miles.  It took me 5 hours (to the minute).  And it was uphill both ways.  Or at least it felt like it.

All joking aside, it was a beautiful, gorgeous day.  The first thirty minutes of the hike was a pretty good uphill trek.  All of it.  I was afraid to stop for fear of talking myself into going back to the car.  I kept going by paying attention to three things.

First, I began to listen…really listen…to the crunching of my hiking shoes as they plodded through fallen leaves and small gravel.  Each surface had its own unique sound.  And they changed slightly when the trail finally leveled off.

Second, I started to notice the cacophonous sound of my own labored breathing.  There were parts of the trail where these two sounds were all there was to hear.  Occasionally a squirrel would rustle through some leaves or a bird would chirp, but for the most part I was the only animal dumb enough to be moving around in this cold.

Third, I began to notice the crashing sounds of waterfalls.  Suddenly, they were everywhere.  They faded slightly as the trail bent in toward the mountain, but came back even greater as the trail edged its way over the valleys.

And somewhere along the trail, in the midst of these sounds, I noticed my mind was less cluttered.  Less busy.  Less… techie.  The competition I thought I would feel with this trail became a partnership of sorts.  We worked together on this goal of mine.  Step for step.  Breath for breath.

And I realized that far too much of my life is a competition.  There are not near enough partnerships.  And somehow, I need to find a way to flip the two.

The mountain showed me that.

I take pictures.  Some days I take a lot of pictures.  Some days nothing.  I am not a photographer.  I’m just a plain ol’ ordinary picture taker.  Some things capture my attention more than others.

I love taking pictures of old things.  Abandoned things.  Lonely things. Solitary things. Black and white things.  You can draw your own Freudian conclusions.  I am learning more and more how to take pictures of people.  Capturing moods at parties.  Oh, and food.  I love to take pictures of food.

Recently I’ve been experimenting with HDR.  I follow some blogs that specialize in this photography type.  My camera has limited capabilities for it, but I’m learning with it before I spend the $6,000 or more on a new camera (yeah, in my dreams).

So, a couple of days ago I drove out to Parksville Lake to take some pictures at sunrise.  I took a few I liked even though I technically missed the sunrise because it didn’t show up over the mountains until long after the weather channel told me sunrise would happen.  Still, I had 5 or 6 pictures of which I was fairly proud.  I posted one on my Posterous site.

On the way back home, I passed an old barn that nearly always catches my eye along this stretch of road.  It sits on the edge of a wheat field.  It is old and run down.  It calls to me for some reason.

And when I passed it on this particular morning it was gorgeous.  There was a thick layer of fog out over the field.  Immediately, I could see the shot in black and white.  Maybe even one of the best pictures I’ve ever taken could come of that scene.  I started to turn around and go back, but….

So I convinced myself I was busy.  I needed coffee.  I was hungry.  After all, the fog would be there again, right?

I got up this morning and drove back out to the spot.  Nothing.  No fog.  Just a barren old barn in the middle of a field. Nothing spectacular.  Interesting, yes.  Eye-popping, no.

How many times has my classroom behavior mirrored my picture taking?  I spot a teachable moment.  I can see it in the kid’s eyes.  She wants to learn.  But what she wants to learn isn’t in my lesson plan and I’m being evaluated.  What she wants to learn isn’t one of the SPIs the state has dictated I spend my time on.  What she wants to learn would mean that I have to get 24 other kids doing something else for 5 minutes while I help her.  What she wants to learn won’t be learned today because I’m busy. I’m overworked. I’m stressed.  I’m…

Now I’m stuck. I will go back to that barn a lot over the next few days.  Earlier.  Later.  Rainy days. Sunny ones. Hoping to catch a glimpse of the perfect fog cover just once more.  I won’t let it slip away from me again.  I’m determined.  I have promised myself.

And I wonder when that longing for learning will show up in the eyes of one of my students again.  Will I be as ready?

What about you?