How Does Your Garden Grow?

We will mark the two-year anniversary of when COVID first began to impact our world in Vermont in one month. It has been a roller coaster, to say the least. From the shutdown of schools in 2020 to the hope for this school year, only to be deterred by the Delta and the Omicron variants, we have all felt various emotions throughout these past twenty-three months. And as we look forward to the spring of this year, do we dare think that we see another light at the end of the tunnel? 

Case counts are coming down in our country. Case counts are coming down in our state. Case counts are coming down in our district. Vaccines are widely available for anyone five years of age and up. We are learning to manage our world with this pesky virus in it and are yearning for the label endemic, to finally shift away from the word pandemic. 

We've learned how to do school differently over the past two years and confirmed what we suspected all along: that learning does not only happen in a school building. I'm not suggesting in any way that we return to remote learning; what I am saying is that we have an opportunity to see and view school and learning differently than we did two years ago. But to do so will take courage because change tends to make people uncomfortable. 

We like our routines. I like my routines. We like the predictability of knowing what is coming next and the outcomes of those routines. And we've known that the way that we "do" school does not work for every child, and it does not work for every adult. So as we look forward to the endemic portion of this past almost two years, I offer that we have an opportunity to do something that we rarely have the chance to do: make meaningful change. 

I was listening to a podcast recently and what I heard really impacted me: 

If you're planting a garden, you must first get rid of the weeds. You have to get rid of the dead plants from last year. Any rocks that have shifted to the top, must also be removed. The soil has to be tenderized and broken down to make room to plant the new garden. 

There is plenty that we want to get rid of from these past two years. There are weeds from the remnants of this pandemic. We have plenty of rocks that need to be removed. We have to till the soil and to make room for all our plans for next year. 

And we are going to be careful. We've experienced a lot over these past two years that we want to continue. We've streamed events, and we hope to continue to do so. We've been mindful of our students' and adults'  social emotional health, and we will continue to do so. We've also demonstrated that learning can happen anywhere, and we want that to continue as well. That will require the courage to embrace discomfort and change. 

It's what we do every year that we plant a new garden. We get rid of the things that are not growing, and we protect what still has life. We tend the soil, regularly give it water, and hope for as much sunlight as needed for flourishing. We meet the needs of the garden, adjusting as necessary to grow what we want. 

It's how our garden grows. 

Photo courtesy of www.ratethequote.com

The Light in the Sky

As I write this blog post, I'm sitting in one of the rooms in our home that faces west, and I'm watching the most glorious winter sunset. Something about the bitter cold temperatures must help the colors be incredibly bright and sharp as the sun descends out of sight. I've noticed lately that when the sunsets have been visible, they've been stunning, and this evening is no exception. 

I'm buoyed by the fact that it is after 5:00 in the evening, and there is still plenty of light in the sky. I completely understand that there will still be more than four hours of daylight at this time of day in a few months. But for now, it feels momentous that we can still see beautiful colors at this time, since a few months ago, it was already dark by now. Or if it wasn't, it certainly felt that way!

The longer days the beautiful sunsets are giving me hope. Hope for the future. For warmer temperatures, for more daylight, and hopefully, hopefully for the end to this latest variant surge in our state. I reported to our board that we had 86 cases that we know of in our building since January 10. Eighty-six. That we know of. 

Why do we want warmer temperatures? We want to be able to spend more time outside. When we are outside, the need for masks is eliminated. Giving everyone a mask break, a chance to run around, and feel less restricted are really mission-critical these days. 

Why do we want more daylight? We want people to feel like there is still part of their day left when they go home. I cannot emphasize how hard these past two years have been for everyone, and particularly for those of us in the field of education. To give you a glimpse into what I'm talking about, consider that recently most evenings and early mornings feel like a snow day to our Co-Principals and me. Let me explain. 

With this latest variant, with the latest guidance from the Department of Health and the Vermont Agency of Education, we've seen an increase in the adult absences in our building. So in the evening, before I go to bed, I text our Co-Principals and ask how our absences for the following day are looking. When we awaken early the next day, I text them again, asking one question: Can we be open today? 

I'm humbled and proud that we've only had one day so far when we haven't been able to staff the building. The Secretary of Education has assured us that we won't have to make that day up at the end of the year. Our adults have once again risen to the occasion and continue to show up and serve our student and their families. They have done this every day, under the strain of COVID-19, for almost two years now. It is an honor to be their superintendent. 

Looking out the window, I still see the light in the sky. I still have hope for what's to come. Warmer temperatures. Longer days. 

And I'm filled with gratitude for all the human beings that are doing the work of education in St. Johnsbury!

Photo courtesy of www.wallpaperflare.com