Lesson 8 done, Lesson 2 begun

Gilbert, Trixie and Gloria did Fred. Gilbert did his landscape for Science in Minecraft. Faith and Abby finished their poems and we started World History, and Catechism.

Lesson 8 OM9 and Lesson 2 OM4

Well I kind of gave up on those final paers for House of the Scorpion. Abby wrote a good one, if a bit abbreviated, and Faith just crashed and burned. So, moving on! They are working on the poetry lesson now, Lesson 8. Here's Faith's first draft, a Where I'm From poem.

I am from crayons,

from Band-Aids and off-brand apple juice.

I am from tree stumps in an open backyard,

skies summer blue and December gray and stormy green.

I am from post oaks and blackjacks,

and the silver maple tree

whose hanging branches protected me from the rest of the world.

I’m from fairy dolls and well-worn paperbacks,

from lakes so big you can’t see the other side,

and from yellow smoke and noisy coughs,

from shelves packed with things that couldn’t be thrown away.

I’m from the Virgin Mary and her mother Anna,

their plaster forms embracing each other as they have for years,

a plastic rosary hanging above them.

I’m from freshly baked bread with Irish butter,

onion burgers and hand-squeezed lemonade.

From my grandmother’s hair, accidentally bleached orange,

the fists my grandfather used to whip any boy in the county,

the narrow scar where my father’s lung was pierced to save his life.

My sister and I would play for hours,

exploring worlds only we knew existed

within the art covered walls of the upstairs bedroom.

Sometimes we witnessed a family of animals go on a picnic,

other times fairies on a quest to save their kidnapped sister,

I am from those moments,

and even now though we’re grown.

my sister and I will still occasionally explore those secret worlds

that we discovered so long ago.

The middle kids and I are doing well with Fred and Paddle, and progressing in Oak Meadow as well. We are making our landscape this week, in Minecraft!

Hero's Journey Lesson 8?

I think it's 8. The one where you read Lilies, by Mary Oliver. That's what we're doing. I was disappointed that the text didn't point out the reference to Matthew 6. I wonder why not? It enriches the poem.

I think the best way to destroy a love of literature, especially poetry, is to make someone overanalyze it. So we are doing this one not quite as read. We spent the questions in the book as our discussion time.

I'll post their poems when they write them. Today they are drawing what the poem makes them think of.

I have been thinking
about living
like the lilies
that blow in the fields.

They rise and fall
in the edge of the wind,
and have no shelter
from the tongues of the cattle,

and have no closets or cupboards,
and have no legs.
Still I would like to be
as wonderful

as the old idea.
But if I were a lily
I think I would wait all day
for the green face

of the hummingbird
to touch me.
What I mean is,
could I forget myself

even in those feathery fields?
When Van Gogh
preached to the poor
of coarse he wanted to save someone--

most of all himself.
He wasn't a lily,
and wandering through the bright fields
only gave him more ideas

it would take his life to solve.
I think I will always be lonely
in this world, where the cattle
graze like a black and white river--

where the vanishing lilies
melt, without protest, on their tongues--
where the hummingbird, whenever there is a fuss,
just rises and floats away.