and I am still here.

Student teaching is rougher than I imagined, but as I do more actual teaching (as opposed to observing and being the “extra eyes” in the room) I am improving. Somewhat.

It is clear I have a long way to go, in both developing lessons and delivering them.

On the other hand, I am seeing progress, both in myself and in the students.

Seven more weeks to go in this go-round, then a quarter of being just a student again, and one more student teaching in the spring.

For now, we’ll assume it will go as planned.

Meantime in the family, we have two students in the same school again, although the elder son is more than half-time at the community college rather than high school. It is nice, though, to have one bus schedule (and school schedule) to remember for a bit.

Both in the band, both considering debate this year, both enjoying being with their friends after a long summer.

Meantime in the garden, we have squash! and apparently pumpkins. And swiss chard and lettuce, cucumbers, potatoes, various herbs and flowers, and in the wings, if they can outgrow the hungry baby slugs that finally appeared in the last month, broccoli, cauliflower, cabbages.

I was fortunate, the day after I wrote the previous post to have a lovely warm afternoon. I remade the scarf that didn’t turn out and improved the design as well as the color. Constant refinement, in arts as in life, provides both variety and opportunity. I didn’t take any pictures, though. Not enough time.

I am sure I am forgetting something.

The beautiful goldfinch that sat in the medlar last weekend while I worked on lesson plans?

The mists that hang heavy in the morning and many evenings already?

The long commutes most mornings that get me up three hours before the school I am teaching at begins? Or the long commutes most evenings that see me home sometime after everyone else is long ready for evening recreation?

It’s raining again, more than 6 inches since it began earlier this week. Soon the boggy area down by the road will fill with water and the frogs will stop singing. The maples will turn a brilliant yellow and the (non-native but now ubiquitous) sweetgum an eye-popping scarlet.

If we are lucky, there will be a few days of glorious sun while the colors are on the trees.

And then the landscape will rest, and bid us do the same.

Meantime, there is research to do, lessons to plan and deliver, and a family to tend.

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