So...yesterday started off beautifully---literally. The weather was still sweltering, but there was a breeze blowing, unlike the previous two days. I was at Emily Dickinson's house shortly after they opened so that I could take the self-guided tour of the grounds. Now I adored botany in high school, but I am something close to Queen of Doom to anything I try to grow. I knew ED was into both botany and gardening, so I was curious to see how she worked both the science and the art of flowers into her world. Also, as she limited herself little by little, how was it that she continued to experience the complex and ever-changing life of both flora and fauna that are at the heart of her poetry?
When she was a little girl, she first became interested in flowers as a hobby when she would press them. When she was a bit older, it became the fashion for girls to exchange and collect pressed flowers. As a teenager, she studied botany and became fascinated with the field, including it in her one year of college study. (Sidebar: According to Jeanne, our fabulous docent on Thursday, she may have left after one year because a "profession of faith" was a required part of the curriculum at Mt. Holyoke, and she was very uncomfortable with that; for all her seeming to be a shrinking violet, she was more of a steel magnolia and would not be told what to believe about God. She references that idea in a number of her poems that I recall, but in more, she talks about God as though he were a close personal friend.) Anyway, I have to think that part of her fascination with the study could also be the language of nomenclature: not only is Latin at the heart of much of the English language she was so gifted with, but it also goes to interesting backstories, such as a species' name that came from the person who discovered it.
Miss Emily's mother was a master gardener, a skill she passed on to both her daughters. Both Emily and Lavinia loved it so much that their father built a small conservatory for them behind the house, close by the screened porch that is there now. This allowed year-round growth of some things, especially like the bulbs she would force. While they had servants who would have tended the vegetable garden, the three women also kept an ornamental flower garden with a great variety of perienniels and a few annual flowers. (I wish I could share the pictures I took in the modern-day version with you now, but the laptop I've borrowed is a bit of a dinosaur and isn't configured for SD cards, as near as I can tell. Although I know you'd really have to be dedicated to come back in a couple of weeks to check, the pics I took this day were pretty good.) They also seemed to enjoy sharing their work, using the flowers in little bouquets for friends and family and decoratively in the house, unlike the landscaped homes of today where the purpose is to show off the house well.
One last note on this: Emily had as her bedroom not only the prime spot for growing things year-round (south and west exposure), but the best view of town. Main Street ran right in front of the house, and she could see up the hill to the very center of the town common that her brother helped establish. As she expressed, she really didn't need to go to the world; it came to her.
I learned such a wealth of information from Starr and Jeanne, and I took away an important rule I swear to live by: when you have read and studied and think you know everything about some author that you love, then you really have to get down to it and get studying. I thought I knew a lot about Miss Emily, although much has been rumored, and I try to account for that. I can only truly know what her poetry tells me. The rest is up for interpretation, and she'll have to be the last word on whatever it is we want to know.
I left Amherst that afternoon (was that really just yesterday?), heading northeast into Vermont to a site I had discovered less than a week before I left, but was very excited about, a trail near Middlebury that led to a cabin where Robert Frost spent his summers the last 20-odd years of his life. I had vowed that I would stick to a schedule so that I could get everything done, and things were going great, so far ahead of time that I allowed myself a quick stop in Deerfield, MA, at the official Yankee Candle store where their factory is. Then on I went, zipping into the Green Mountains in my rented SUV, so much newer and nicer than my own. We flew up the interstate, exiting at the spot I had chosen to get the quickest access to the trailhead. It would take us through about 60 miles of two-lane, but that was more than OK with me. I thought that would just give me a little time to see the mountains in a similar way to Frost.
(Note to English-teacher friends: radical shift in tone ahead. Put away your pens.)
Well! First, I will put a disclaimer on here: I have no trouble admitting when I have made a mistake. I didn't, so far as we know. Yet. But having grown up in an area with the old reliable midwestern grid system of streets, I have no patience with the kind that just change name or number and one has no idea of when or how this has happened. It defies everything I know as reasonable and sane. Also, I refuse to rely on GPS because I come from a family of map-readers, as in we like maps so much we read them for enjoyment and memories. Well, Vermont has no such worries or enjoyments, I must assume. Because after I got off that interstate, all bets were off. I might have needed to take that turn, or maybe not. This resulted in a fair amount of backtracking, never more than a few blocks, but time-consuming nevertheless.
I was well into the mountains, but the roads mostly followed narrow valleys where the towns were only a few blocks wide, and maybe a few more blocks long, regardless of how large they appeared on the map. No matter to me. Until, after four or five towns, I realized I hadn't seen a living soul in any of those towns. I guess that's why it didn't dawn on me to try stopping at any of those quaint little places that easily had been there since Frost's last years and probably longer. Eventually, yes, I did see two or three people outside houses, but by then I was spooked and I kept on moving. I didn't move quickly, you understand, because the road was ferociously warbled, I assumed from the rough winters. But I should have never made note of that, because there came the inevitable road construction, miles of it. Then came an ominous orange warning: Pavement ends! Dear readers, I am not easily daunted, but for a minute there I saw myself poised in terror, lifeless green valleys behind me, nothingness before, with Rod Serling's voice starting his opening narrative. And it was, by the way, getting a bit on toward darkness.
Obviously, I made it. There was gravel, and a lot of it. I have not driven on gravel roads for that length of time since the Alaskan Highway in 1983 (not strictly true, but I have my poetic license if you need to see it). So of course I eventually reached the trail to check it out for today's hike as planned. And I would have gone back there this morning, I swear.....if it had not been closed for repairs from a torrential storm in 2008 (that's what the sign said!) AND because some college kids vandalized it this spring.
In high dudgeon, I drove on to Middlebury to find a room, but I was so digusted with everything that I decided I was going to go on to Burlington for the night and start out fresh on the interstate this morning, getting quickly down to New Hampshire. That was an excellent plan, except for more wrong turns and backtracking, trying to find a motel room that wasn't priced double of what it should be, and finally, the piece de resistance: arriving in the dark, in the rain, in an SUV that has everything located pretty much opposite of where it is in mine.
Today could only be better, and the Frost place at Franconia, where I got some excellent pictures today despite the clouds and threats of rain from the tropical humidity. I enjoyed chatting with Sue, the office manager (and acting docent), who let me take all the pictures I wanted. Although there weren't many objects in the house that belonged to him or his family, there were some original copies of his books and a bed that had been in use when the family was there. I especially loved the display of old farm tools in the barn and the accompanying handout quiz of what their names and uses were. I KNOW I can get my farm kids to listen to some poetry if they get introduced with something they'll enjoy like that, especially if it's a competition.
Let's hope there will never, ever be another blog as long as this one. Remember, it counts as two sinced I owed one from last night! I don't regret the experience, because if you're going to be a great literary adventurer, you're going to have some misadventures along the way. Thanks for reading!
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Friday, July 9, 2010
Adventures/Misadventures, Part 1
It's 1:30 in the a.m., and I'm just now getting to the computer to try to post something. But I don't think I can keep it together to write something coherent! So this is just my little IOU for the daily blog. Tomorrow I'll fill you in on what adventures and misadventures befell me! :-)
Thursday, July 8, 2010
The Day I Met Miss Emily Dickinson
Late yesterday afternoon, I arrived in Amherst, MA, rather by surprise. The maps don't show how much town runs into town here. When I saw the sign "Entering Amherst," I decided to just go on through the town and look around. At the Commons, I turned left, going in the direction of a lot of people on foot who looked like college students. After a few blocks, a car accident forced me to turn right on a totally random street. You can probably imagine my surprise when I drove a couple of blocks and came to a cemetery---the West Cemetery. I knew she was there, and found her I did. The late afternoon sun cast an appropriate gloom. Well, I didn't get in a conversation with her, if that's what you're expecting. I took my pictures and took my leave.
When I left the cemetery, the accident was still blocking the road I came from, so I went on along the street I had been forced to turn down. I passed some homes, a few businesses, a baseball game on a high school field. Many trees lined the road on both sides as I rounded a curve and headed down a slight incline to a cross street stop light. As I sat there, I was going to look to the left to see what was there and where to turn---but a flicker in my peripheral vision on the right, just a quick far-away flash such as someone waving a handkerchief, made me look to the right. And there, sitting on her hill like a demure, genteel lady waiting to be noticed, was the Homestead, the home where Miss Emily lived all but 15 of her 56 years. I think you know---I made the turn.
Surrounding the Homestead, the humid evening air seemed like a misty scarf thrown over the shoulders of the house and into the surrounding grounds. As I drove up the driveway, I instinctively reached to turn the volume down on the radio; even my beloved NPR was not reverent enough for that moment. I wanted to meet her with no distractions. I looked over the house, trying to guess which of the rooms upstairs might have been Emily's. I wondered whether she favored the south or west side of the porch. After finding the museum hours and tours, I reluctantly cast an eye around the hazy grounds behind the house before climbing back in the car and finding a place to settle for a couple of days.
This afternoon, serendipity gifted me again, this time with the tour guide to end all tour guides. Jeanne was/is a literature teacher, and even my college professors couldn't speak with the same authority she had, and as I observed with the people at OSV, she could answer any question along with relevant resources. Miss Emily's family Federal style house was more a factual tour in a few rooms. We learned of her very active social life up until her twenties, her self-consciousness that began to inhibit her life, and the abiding love she had for her sister-in-law Susan, even though Emily didn't visit her brother's home next door for 10 or 15 years. Copies of original manuscripts were barely legible, but no less holy in the moment. She once wrote, in reply to a request for a photograph, that she was "small like the wren," and she didn't exaggerate; a floor-length dress preserved in a case shows the shoulders at about the same level of my elbows. The tour was designed to evoke her image everywhere, and it was easy to feel it. In certain poems, she often has a tone or attitude that seems tongue-in-cheek, like she's laughing behind her hand at her expense, but wondering if we'll get it. I feel as though I do---when Jeanne quoted Emily, saying "I prefer pestilence to a clean house," my jaw dropped because that is exactly how I feel about housework. In short, it was easy to feel her there despite the fact that the house was not preserved in its original condition.
Her brother's house next door, known as the Evergreens, was very remarkable. The succession of people who lived there made virtually no changes before the home became museum property; even artifacts like books and musical instruments were original to the Dickinson family. A scandal was revealed that I've never heard rumors of before: Emily's brother Austin had a love affair with the woman who became her first biographer, Mabel Loomis Todd. It was an open secret, and they weren't much concerned with appearances. Another "scandal" evolved later with Jane's niece Martha, who, after her divorce from a Russian diplomat, took in a young man who was working with her. She said he was "too young to marry, and too old to adopt." So she moved him into the house with her, where he lived as her "companion." In fact, I believe Jeanne said Martha willed the house to him, although her mother wanted the place taken apart down to the foundation, probably because of the bitter years of his affairs with Mabel Todd.
And that's how I finally, finally met Miss Emily Dickinson. She wasn't nearly as shy as the legends portray her. Maybe she'll even come along tomorrow on the garden walk.
When I left the cemetery, the accident was still blocking the road I came from, so I went on along the street I had been forced to turn down. I passed some homes, a few businesses, a baseball game on a high school field. Many trees lined the road on both sides as I rounded a curve and headed down a slight incline to a cross street stop light. As I sat there, I was going to look to the left to see what was there and where to turn---but a flicker in my peripheral vision on the right, just a quick far-away flash such as someone waving a handkerchief, made me look to the right. And there, sitting on her hill like a demure, genteel lady waiting to be noticed, was the Homestead, the home where Miss Emily lived all but 15 of her 56 years. I think you know---I made the turn.
Surrounding the Homestead, the humid evening air seemed like a misty scarf thrown over the shoulders of the house and into the surrounding grounds. As I drove up the driveway, I instinctively reached to turn the volume down on the radio; even my beloved NPR was not reverent enough for that moment. I wanted to meet her with no distractions. I looked over the house, trying to guess which of the rooms upstairs might have been Emily's. I wondered whether she favored the south or west side of the porch. After finding the museum hours and tours, I reluctantly cast an eye around the hazy grounds behind the house before climbing back in the car and finding a place to settle for a couple of days.
This afternoon, serendipity gifted me again, this time with the tour guide to end all tour guides. Jeanne was/is a literature teacher, and even my college professors couldn't speak with the same authority she had, and as I observed with the people at OSV, she could answer any question along with relevant resources. Miss Emily's family Federal style house was more a factual tour in a few rooms. We learned of her very active social life up until her twenties, her self-consciousness that began to inhibit her life, and the abiding love she had for her sister-in-law Susan, even though Emily didn't visit her brother's home next door for 10 or 15 years. Copies of original manuscripts were barely legible, but no less holy in the moment. She once wrote, in reply to a request for a photograph, that she was "small like the wren," and she didn't exaggerate; a floor-length dress preserved in a case shows the shoulders at about the same level of my elbows. The tour was designed to evoke her image everywhere, and it was easy to feel it. In certain poems, she often has a tone or attitude that seems tongue-in-cheek, like she's laughing behind her hand at her expense, but wondering if we'll get it. I feel as though I do---when Jeanne quoted Emily, saying "I prefer pestilence to a clean house," my jaw dropped because that is exactly how I feel about housework. In short, it was easy to feel her there despite the fact that the house was not preserved in its original condition.
Her brother's house next door, known as the Evergreens, was very remarkable. The succession of people who lived there made virtually no changes before the home became museum property; even artifacts like books and musical instruments were original to the Dickinson family. A scandal was revealed that I've never heard rumors of before: Emily's brother Austin had a love affair with the woman who became her first biographer, Mabel Loomis Todd. It was an open secret, and they weren't much concerned with appearances. Another "scandal" evolved later with Jane's niece Martha, who, after her divorce from a Russian diplomat, took in a young man who was working with her. She said he was "too young to marry, and too old to adopt." So she moved him into the house with her, where he lived as her "companion." In fact, I believe Jeanne said Martha willed the house to him, although her mother wanted the place taken apart down to the foundation, probably because of the bitter years of his affairs with Mabel Todd.
And that's how I finally, finally met Miss Emily Dickinson. She wasn't nearly as shy as the legends portray her. Maybe she'll even come along tomorrow on the garden walk.
Memories and Dreams
This morning, I awoke with a vivid dream fresh on my mind. It was one of those kinds of dreams that linger, and I enjoy putting the stories together. That story's beginning can be found in my visit to Old Sturbridge Village yesterday.
As I mentioned yesterday, the "minister" and I talked quite a bit, and he was a true scholar. There was no sticking to a scripted act; no matter what discussion angle, whatever tangent taken, he could speak specifically and at length on it. For example, one fact he gave me that I found interesting is that Massachusetts did not change its laws to recognize separation of church and state until 1833. I was surprised by this, because my research on the history of the Salem Witch Trials revealed that it took 100 years, until 1792, to rescind the ex-communications of those who died, and descendants were paid a stipend by way of an apology. If they recognized that church-led government contributed to that fiasco, why take 41 more years to separate the two? The minister's answer was perfectly logical: everybody wants to have somebody to look down on. This was a time of great immigration, and prejudices long held flared up; the minister stated that one Irish girl was hanged in Massachusetts because she was Catholic. When she was asked to cite the Lord's prayer (a common witch test), she did---in Latin. No, that wouldn't do, and she was asked to do it again in English. But that version was heavily inflected with her Gaelic. She was therefore hanged, with the additional horror of watching five of her friends die first. Unimaginable.
Now, back to the dream. It was one of those "This is not the real time and place, but I knew it was supposed to be" dreams. I dreamed that a few people from the tiny rural community where I was raised came sneakily into the ranks of the little clapboard Methodist church I grew up in, in the 60's and 70's, and turned our quiet, simple services into loud, showy productions. In reality, when I was still in grade school, a few families comparable in age to my own, broke off from our church and began searching for other, more charismatic faiths to sustain them. It was very painful for us kids to go through this, when we all attended the same little school and were all friends, having grown up together.
It seems obvious to me now, but I finally figured out that the dream led back to that conversation with the minister, that it had embedded in my thoughts and pulled up a memory I almost never think of anymore. Suddenly, the two ideas showed up on a side-by-side screen in my mind: the rejection of a faith by people I loved, and the tragic rejection of those who were not Protestant among the Colonists. The effect was bittersweet---I was ashamed that I could worry over hurt feelings for years, as opposed to the many who died as a result of their faith. It was just this kind of illumination, a personal "Aha!" moment, the best kind of learning, that I came here for. I had to record it here, hoping maybe it will trigger something meaningful for others.
Another blog will follow later tonight. I think it will be a good one! Check back soon.
As I mentioned yesterday, the "minister" and I talked quite a bit, and he was a true scholar. There was no sticking to a scripted act; no matter what discussion angle, whatever tangent taken, he could speak specifically and at length on it. For example, one fact he gave me that I found interesting is that Massachusetts did not change its laws to recognize separation of church and state until 1833. I was surprised by this, because my research on the history of the Salem Witch Trials revealed that it took 100 years, until 1792, to rescind the ex-communications of those who died, and descendants were paid a stipend by way of an apology. If they recognized that church-led government contributed to that fiasco, why take 41 more years to separate the two? The minister's answer was perfectly logical: everybody wants to have somebody to look down on. This was a time of great immigration, and prejudices long held flared up; the minister stated that one Irish girl was hanged in Massachusetts because she was Catholic. When she was asked to cite the Lord's prayer (a common witch test), she did---in Latin. No, that wouldn't do, and she was asked to do it again in English. But that version was heavily inflected with her Gaelic. She was therefore hanged, with the additional horror of watching five of her friends die first. Unimaginable.
Now, back to the dream. It was one of those "This is not the real time and place, but I knew it was supposed to be" dreams. I dreamed that a few people from the tiny rural community where I was raised came sneakily into the ranks of the little clapboard Methodist church I grew up in, in the 60's and 70's, and turned our quiet, simple services into loud, showy productions. In reality, when I was still in grade school, a few families comparable in age to my own, broke off from our church and began searching for other, more charismatic faiths to sustain them. It was very painful for us kids to go through this, when we all attended the same little school and were all friends, having grown up together.
It seems obvious to me now, but I finally figured out that the dream led back to that conversation with the minister, that it had embedded in my thoughts and pulled up a memory I almost never think of anymore. Suddenly, the two ideas showed up on a side-by-side screen in my mind: the rejection of a faith by people I loved, and the tragic rejection of those who were not Protestant among the Colonists. The effect was bittersweet---I was ashamed that I could worry over hurt feelings for years, as opposed to the many who died as a result of their faith. It was just this kind of illumination, a personal "Aha!" moment, the best kind of learning, that I came here for. I had to record it here, hoping maybe it will trigger something meaningful for others.
Another blog will follow later tonight. I think it will be a good one! Check back soon.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Old Sturbridge Village
Today, I fell in love...with Old Sturbridge Village, the most useful and authentic re-enactment site I have ever been to, a walking, talking real life experience. The Village is a collection of homes, businesses, and meeting houses (churches) that were, for the most part, donated from families across New England. In most buildings, there was at least one person to act the part of an individual working there. The time period represented is 1790-1830.
But those are just dry facts; let me describe the authenticity. There was no constant piped-in music flooding the grounds, leaving one with a much better sense of the true environment, of the calm and quiet pace of life in the Colony. There were no paved surfaces---none. No golf carts running staff around. One horse-drawn coach was the only wheeled vehicle that came through, and that was for visitors. There were no bold, bright signs to mar the ambiance, no park-oriented materials in displays along the paths. I mean, they were so faithful to representing that, even on a day of record-breaking heat, the only thing the actors drank from was a tin, brass, or wooden mug made in the Village, water out of their bucket! I don't see any more vivid way to present the history of Massachusetts; it was a great start for my trip!
Of course, this doesn't speak to my learning experience, but this should: the historical knowledge of the actors was dazzling. In one home, the lady of the house gave me the names of two books on settling: one about the New England frontiersman and another about pioneering in the Mid-West. They were two very different things. The image of the one-room homesteading cabin that we of the plains states find so familiar is not necessarily the case in colonial times. Those settlers came from a moneyed background, and they had every intention of building the multi-storied homes they left behind. At the parsonage, I was able to engage in a little philosophical discussion with the minister about the change from one religion to multiple religions. He, too, recommended a book, one on witchcraft, by Sir Walter Scott of all people. Scott supposedly claims that the KJV of the bible was mistranslated, that instead of "Thou shall not suffer a witch to live," the earlier version said "poisoner"! Oh, how many ways could that be misunderstood or misinterpreted!
One other thing I loved about OSV was the fact that they had 1-week camps for students 11-18, all of whom learned a skill and served as apprentice to someone on site, dressed in full costume, etc. I took some fun pictures of a group of young boys trying to learn to march in time.
Needless to say, today was a smashing success. And tomorrow, I'll tell you about meeting Miss Emily Dickinson tonight! Any former student of mine can tell you that I'm just a little obsessed with her.
Thanks for reading!
But those are just dry facts; let me describe the authenticity. There was no constant piped-in music flooding the grounds, leaving one with a much better sense of the true environment, of the calm and quiet pace of life in the Colony. There were no paved surfaces---none. No golf carts running staff around. One horse-drawn coach was the only wheeled vehicle that came through, and that was for visitors. There were no bold, bright signs to mar the ambiance, no park-oriented materials in displays along the paths. I mean, they were so faithful to representing that, even on a day of record-breaking heat, the only thing the actors drank from was a tin, brass, or wooden mug made in the Village, water out of their bucket! I don't see any more vivid way to present the history of Massachusetts; it was a great start for my trip!
Of course, this doesn't speak to my learning experience, but this should: the historical knowledge of the actors was dazzling. In one home, the lady of the house gave me the names of two books on settling: one about the New England frontiersman and another about pioneering in the Mid-West. They were two very different things. The image of the one-room homesteading cabin that we of the plains states find so familiar is not necessarily the case in colonial times. Those settlers came from a moneyed background, and they had every intention of building the multi-storied homes they left behind. At the parsonage, I was able to engage in a little philosophical discussion with the minister about the change from one religion to multiple religions. He, too, recommended a book, one on witchcraft, by Sir Walter Scott of all people. Scott supposedly claims that the KJV of the bible was mistranslated, that instead of "Thou shall not suffer a witch to live," the earlier version said "poisoner"! Oh, how many ways could that be misunderstood or misinterpreted!
One other thing I loved about OSV was the fact that they had 1-week camps for students 11-18, all of whom learned a skill and served as apprentice to someone on site, dressed in full costume, etc. I took some fun pictures of a group of young boys trying to learn to march in time.
Needless to say, today was a smashing success. And tomorrow, I'll tell you about meeting Miss Emily Dickinson tonight! Any former student of mine can tell you that I'm just a little obsessed with her.
Thanks for reading!
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
The adventure begins!
Here I am in the quaint little town of Sturbridge, MA, in the middle of a record heat wave. After getting through a mini-trauma with a diabetic ulcer on one foot yesterday, my podiatrist gave me instructions, antibiotics, and his blessing to do my travel. I was very worried about postponing, but health comes first. It did leave me believing I would have felt more secure about rescheduling with a travel agent; I used Orbitz and got a good deal, but at least one part of the package was not refundable or open to change. Just a little tidbit for fellow travels: if you get travel insurance through an agent, you'll feel more secure.
Tomorrow at Old Sturbridge Village will be a day filled with a lot of filming, I anticipate, because I want to really bring home the actual physical daily activities the colonists were absorbed in. It may illustrate their close connections to Puritanism and the church, both of which show up in the writing from that time period. I'm looking forward to it so much that I feel like I'm getting to go to the carnival---but just wait until I get to the Frost places. I may be "plumb giddy" by then. Must get rest. More tomorrow, with more specific details. I'm exhausted for now...Thanks for reading!
Tomorrow at Old Sturbridge Village will be a day filled with a lot of filming, I anticipate, because I want to really bring home the actual physical daily activities the colonists were absorbed in. It may illustrate their close connections to Puritanism and the church, both of which show up in the writing from that time period. I'm looking forward to it so much that I feel like I'm getting to go to the carnival---but just wait until I get to the Frost places. I may be "plumb giddy" by then. Must get rest. More tomorrow, with more specific details. I'm exhausted for now...Thanks for reading!
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Two weeks!
It's T minus two weeks to travel time; I fly out on Tuesday, July 6th, and stay until the 20th. I can't believe how fast the time is going! There is still so much that I want to do to be fully prepared for the trip.
I've laid out a tentative itinerary for my time. Flights into Providence, RI, proved to be a bit cheaper than those into Boston and just as close to the sites I want to visit, with less traffic to fight. That places me closer to Western Massachusetts, so I'll start with Old Sturbridge Village and Amherst, home of Miss Emily, then circle northeast to New Hampshire and back south for all the areas around Boston.
One of the things I am most excited about is that although I planned the grant to coincide with a few author units and one play, it's turning out to provide me with a wealth of information that I can use throughout the year. For example, video from Old Sturbridge Village will be an excellent induction for my pre-colonial literature unit. I've also been able to add the Adams National Historic Site in Quincy, which will benefit us in studying the letters of Abigail Adams. She was an important early proponent of women's issues and a highly educated and skilled writer, especially for the time. I like to use her work to help my girls see how long it took for many good people to bring about the chances for equality that women have today, that it wasn't just a few years of suffragettes working for the vote before that right was acknowledged.
A few people have noted that much of what I'm interested in for this travel is related to history as much or more than literature. That's true, and there are two reasons: (1) all literature is relative to the time period in which it is produced, and (2) since America's culture is so young, much of what we study is the non-fiction writings of early colonists, such as diaries, letters, personal histories, and public documents. (It's been less than 200 years since America's first professional writer, Washington Irving, made a steady income as an author.) In the Oklahoma PASS objectives as well as AP programs, non-fiction writing and study is emphasized for English III. It wasn't planned when I wrote the grant, but I've been able to add so much to my study because of the fact that the Boston area is rich in historical sites.
I've made the leap to video, purchasing my new camera last week and practicing how to use it, as well as completing a class in how to use Windows MovieMaker. Now, if only I could figure out how to get the video from the camera to the computer drives to edit it! Thankfully, our school has an incredibly helpful tech department who already set me up with a laptop so I can blog on the road, and I know that Dave and Ben will also assist with the video processes. I just hope I have enough SD cards for the experiences I'm expecting!
I'm going to get back to work on the video-Rubik's cube of cables and uploads. Keep an eye out for future posts, daily starting the 6th!
I've laid out a tentative itinerary for my time. Flights into Providence, RI, proved to be a bit cheaper than those into Boston and just as close to the sites I want to visit, with less traffic to fight. That places me closer to Western Massachusetts, so I'll start with Old Sturbridge Village and Amherst, home of Miss Emily, then circle northeast to New Hampshire and back south for all the areas around Boston.
One of the things I am most excited about is that although I planned the grant to coincide with a few author units and one play, it's turning out to provide me with a wealth of information that I can use throughout the year. For example, video from Old Sturbridge Village will be an excellent induction for my pre-colonial literature unit. I've also been able to add the Adams National Historic Site in Quincy, which will benefit us in studying the letters of Abigail Adams. She was an important early proponent of women's issues and a highly educated and skilled writer, especially for the time. I like to use her work to help my girls see how long it took for many good people to bring about the chances for equality that women have today, that it wasn't just a few years of suffragettes working for the vote before that right was acknowledged.
A few people have noted that much of what I'm interested in for this travel is related to history as much or more than literature. That's true, and there are two reasons: (1) all literature is relative to the time period in which it is produced, and (2) since America's culture is so young, much of what we study is the non-fiction writings of early colonists, such as diaries, letters, personal histories, and public documents. (It's been less than 200 years since America's first professional writer, Washington Irving, made a steady income as an author.) In the Oklahoma PASS objectives as well as AP programs, non-fiction writing and study is emphasized for English III. It wasn't planned when I wrote the grant, but I've been able to add so much to my study because of the fact that the Boston area is rich in historical sites.
I've made the leap to video, purchasing my new camera last week and practicing how to use it, as well as completing a class in how to use Windows MovieMaker. Now, if only I could figure out how to get the video from the camera to the computer drives to edit it! Thankfully, our school has an incredibly helpful tech department who already set me up with a laptop so I can blog on the road, and I know that Dave and Ben will also assist with the video processes. I just hope I have enough SD cards for the experiences I'm expecting!
I'm going to get back to work on the video-Rubik's cube of cables and uploads. Keep an eye out for future posts, daily starting the 6th!
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