Last Day Thoughts, Creek Walks, and Curious George

Wilson Run

The last day of school is tomorrow.

We began first grade in August
reviewing letters and sounds
and by spring
the class could handle one of my favorites,
Curious George.
George was a good little monkey.
He had only one fault.
He was too curious...

This year we have read hundreds of stories,
solved hundreds of math problems,
written hundreds of words,
learned the fifty states,
the seven continents,
the nine,
umm, eight planets,
all four verses of My Country, 'Tis of Thee
and put on two plays,
A Christmas Carol
and Peter Pan.
Perhaps the favorite memory of the year, though,
was the walk across the highway
to Wilson Run,
the creek behind my friend Deannie's house.

A century ago,
where the highway now is
a railroad ran
bringing timber to Bennett Branch.
We find pieces of metal in the creek
and wonder what they used to be.
The trains are gone
but tracks remain--
though now the tracks are animal.
 "Mrs. Shaffner, a BEAR was here!
...or maybe a dog..."

It's fascinating to watch the kids in the creek.
After we all walk upstream
(even the timid boy comes back in to join us)
and listen to the water gurgle over the rocks,
the kids scatter.
Some rush to find the deepest part,
curious to see if they might approach the knee-depth limit.
Some build a dam--
who can bring the biggest rock?          

Two dams on Wilson Run

Some stomp
and watch the mud
swirl to the surface
to the irritation
of the crayfish catchers.
The current carries the mud away
and territories are established.
Some holler under the bridge
to hear the echoes.
Some throw rocks,  
mostly away from their friends.
Anthony walks upstream and down,
comparing the water's pressure on his legs.
Three girls are fascinated
by what can be found
on the undersides of rocks:
Snails.
Jellied eggs.
Larval forms of mystery insects.

Creatures on the bottom of a rock

One girl with goatlike tendencies
goes for the highest spot,
a tree,
and looks down on her classmates,
grinning.
Kay is crouched over the water,
looking intently.
She holds up a
one-inch-square rock.
"Look, Mrs. Shaffner!"
There are infinitesimal regular markings,
a plant fossil.
It has been here for millions of years
and Kay
is the first person
to notice it.
We take it back to the classroom,
make crayon rubbings,
and learn it is called Lepidodendron.
We divide it into syllables
and read it slowly:
Lep-i-do-den-dron.

We were privileged to be there on this Noticing Day,
Deannie and I.
The kids were curious,
like George,
and it is not a fault,
it is a blessing.

Tomorrow
my kids will spend their last hours as first graders.
I am glad they've learned to read
and write
and spell
(well, mostly spell)
and add and subtract.
These skills form the base
that they will add to over the years,
but their skills will grow faster
and wider
and deeper
if the child,
the grownup-yet-to-be,
remains curious.

I hope the child in you
remains curious.
Stop
and look
and listen
to whatever-is-in-front-of-you,
the minutia of life,
with wonder.