“I soon realized that no journey carries one far unless,
as it extends into the world around us,
it goes an equal distance into the world within.”
– Lillian Smith
"It's our never-never land." That's how a friend of mine, Anita, described Lancaster. It was true. There was something about the place- its lush green gardens, rolling hills, quaint country homes, and beautiful lakes- that enveloped us in a kind of dreaminess. It made us feel like we could do anything.
Lancaster allowed us more time- after classes, on the weekends, and during the holidays- to venture out and explore the area, or spend with friends and neighbours. And we were able to just relax and take care of ourselves, even while we were studying. I couldn't remember having that same luxury back home in Vancouver. The lifestyle in Lancaster, for us students at least, really emphasized balance between leisure and work. And I found that it actually made me more productive and heightened my love of learning. I wasn't just studying for my education, I felt like I was living it.
Anita lived in the same college flat as I did, just one floor above me. And though our areas of studies seemed to be so opposite, we discovered very quickly that our interests and way of looking at things were so similar. We shared a common love of innocence and playfulness - a faith and outlook on life that I think was being stifled before we arrived in Lancaster. Lancaster started bringing back this part of me- the person who wanted to continue to dream big, and believe in things that other people didn't. And Anita and I together started encouraging each other to do just that.
In fact, Anita later gave me a card that started out with the words, "People turn to you because you give voice to dreams, notice little things, and make otherwise impossible imaginings appear real." Though she meant the words to refer to me, I think the poem spoke to Anita because she too knew how to look past the usual, and let her imagination soar. And fortunately, the environment in Lancaster allowed us to believe a little more in "impossible imaginings". Perhaps I wasn't aware of it at the time, but Wordsworth's faith in nature (see Why Teaching- Part 2)- nature's power to make us more sensitive to our surroundings and the people around us- was materializing all around me. Lancaster's beauty and serenity allowed me to connect with Anita and others around me in a deeper way. And just as Professor Johnson (See Why Teaching- Part 1) and Wordsworth had done for me in previous years, Lancaster and Anita were providing me with the space to learn more about myself as well.
And years later, I realize that it was, and continues to be, our passion for writing that kept Anita and I connected even when we left Lancaster to carry on our 'separate' paths.
...
“Not all those who wander are lost.” – J. R. R. Tolkien
“Not all those who wander are lost.” – J. R. R. Tolkien
Lancaster University's schedule was quite flexible so we both had room to take another class completely separate from those we had already started as part of our program. When Anita decided one day to go out to St. Martin's College (Lancaster University's sister school), to see what classes they had to offer, I decided to tag along.
We traveled by bus. Anita went in one direction once we arrived at the school. And I wandered around wondering if there was anything available to me. I didn't really know what I was looking for, and just kind of strolled along to this old building that turned out to be the education department.
I don't even remember how I ended up talking to the head of the department there- Robin Bundy. He began asking questions. I didn't want to look like I hadn't a clue, so I exaggerated my interest in teaching and education. The truth of the matter was that I didn't think I knew anything about it, nor did I think it was something I would want to do or even be good at.
But I was there, and needed an extra class. Moreover, Robin was so informative and professional, but also friendly and enthusiastic. He explained, however, that all the programs were full and had already begun at the start of the school year. Since there was only one term left, it wouldn't be possible to put me into one of those classes. I thought maybe that was just as well, and that I would go look for some other type of course.
But then Robin came up with a suggestion: "What if I run a course, a shorter one, for this last term, just for you? We could set it up so that it's designed to fit your schedule. You would work with kids in a classroom and I would be the person you report back to and who heads the course."
Robin was so accomodating, and I still, to this day, don't know if he had ever set up a course like that, for an individual, in the past. But at that time, he seemed confident that it would work, so I didn't really question it. And I agreed to meet with him again to organize a schedule and discuss details.
Just from talking to me for a few minutes, Robin already knew what I would be best suited to do with the kids- teach poetry. I went with it, because of my love of literature but also because I assumed he would teach me HOW to teach, provide me with steps and tell me how best to get the information across to the kids.
Robin set me up in a classroom at Dallas Road Elementary School. I was to visit the school and meet their regular teacher. And the plan was for me to be there a couple of times a week and work with the kids in small and large groups during various blocks of time on those days.
Robin and I discussed what kind of poems would help spark an interest in writing and poetry for kids at that age.
He suggested some children's poets such as Shel Silverstein to begin with. I went home and read some of Silverstein's work, and became enamored with his poem Where the Sidewalk Ends.
There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.
Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.
Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.
-Shel Silverstein
The "chalk white arrows" remind me of the way I was led and pointed in the direction to Lancaster (see Why Teaching- Part 3), without even thinking about it. Lancaster freed me from 'the black smoke', and 'dark streets', of the rush of every day life at home. It enveloped me in "soft white grass", allowing me to "walk... measured and slow." Like "the moon bird", I felt like I was given a respite from the world I was used to, and shown something greater that existed outside and within me. And embedded in Silverstein's poem was the same faith that Wordsworth had in children as the 'real philosophers': "For the children, they mark, and the children, they know, The place where the sidewalk ends."
Soon, through Robin, and Dallas Road, I was going to experience first hand the truth of these words.
