Tag Archives: metaphor

The garden

7 years ago we had a community day at Inquiry Hub Secondary when 3 students organized the construction of our school garden. It was a wonderful day filled with food, family, and community support. But mostly it was about students showing pride in their school. Everything was organized by the students and the event was a complete success.


I’ve been thinking a lot about how empty the school feels these days. Students are working from home, and our garden is empty when this is the time it is usually thriving. It made me think about how some students thrive while others don’t.

Joe Truss asked in a Tweet:

The achievement gap is really the gap between ______ and _______.

And I responded:

…between
those that easily thrive
and
those that need to survive.

This has made me think about the inequality of what students deal with, in a metaphorical sense of a garden.

Some students are given every opportunity to grow… they are raised in a home like a garden filled with fertilizer, and they are given all the nutrients to not only sustain themselves, but to thrive.

Some students have a patch of dirt rather than a garden, and the elements support them sometimes, and sometimes the conditions are harsh.

Some students have parents and teachers who are good gardeners that know how to foster health and growth.

Some students have parents and teachers who are frustrated by their lack of growth and unaware as to how to foster healthy development.

Some students grow like weeds, regardless of the conditions and environment.

Many other students depend on those conditions, and can strive or just survive depending on how they are nurtured.

Schools aren’t perfect, but we can do a lot at schools to help give every student an opportunity to grow. We can be the wards of the community garden sustaining every child, and doing what we can to help them thrive.

Students are learning from home, but are schools still nurturing our students in the same way? Are we just giving them sustenance, or are we fostering opportunities to blossom?

Finding my sea legs

I remember a trip to the Cayman Islands with my dad. We were on the small island of Cayman Brac and we hired a boat to take us to see a shoreline that my dad wanted to explore. The boat wasn’t very big, under 25 feet long, and not designed for anything more than a day trip. The captain was a short, old man with a weathered, leathery face that made him look over 100 years old. He was letting me troll for marlin while we travelled. The waves were choppy, the boat bounced and swayed, and I had to keep my eyes on the horizon to keep from getting sea sick.

At one point I caught a barracuda and after I reeled it up to the boat, I couldn’t get it over the edge of the boat without standing up from my chair. The movement of the boat set me on my ass before I could take two steps towards the stern. The old sea captain put my dad’s hand on the steering wheel and pointed forward. He then walked to me, as sure-footed as if he were a young athlete on a flat track, picked me off the deck and helped me back into the seat. He then took my rod, walked back to the stern and got the fish into the boat. All the while, the boat bounced in the rough seas and this captain casually made tiny little shuffle-step movements with his feet, keeping himself perfectly balanced. This ancient-looking man had sea legs, he was as comfortable with the motion of the sea under his feet as we are on land.

This is my twenty second year as an educator and for the first time in years I feel like I’ve lost my ‘sea legs’. I’m struggling to find my balance. I’ve struggled with work load, and time management, and work-life balance before – I think all committed educators do – but this is different.

I recently discussed with Dave Sands that, “All screen time is not created equal,” but this is where I’m losing my balance. Beyond a daily walk, I’m spending every moment of my time in my school office or at home. During this time, I’m spending a fair bit more time online. When I’m at work, there is a constant flow of video conferences that interrupt any sense of work flow for my other tasks, and so days are very busy, but don’t always feel productive.

My online time at home flows from distraction, to entertainment, to work, to creating and writing, to news, back to work, and then back to news or distraction, with a daily workout thrown in. Recently, I’ve missed workouts, I’ve missed my daily meditation (3 times this month), I’ve spent more time writing (without writing much more than I usually do), and my focus seems scattered.

I need to rework my daily routine during this pandemic. It feels difficult because there is a constant flow of information that keeps shifting what things look like at work. There is also ever-changing news about how our social distancing expectations will change going forward. Metaphorically, the waves keep churning, and I’m struggling to keep my balance on the boat. I don’t have my sea legs. I’m going to rethink and reintroduce some of my routines that have worked for me before, and see if I can steady myself a bit.

It’s a marathon, not a sprint

After today, I’m going to take at least a few days off from posting about school, remote learning, social distancing, and Covid-19. I need to take a break from writing about these things daily, but will admit it’s hard when that’s mostly what’s on my mind. The reality is that these things aren’t going away any time soon. We are in this for a while.

Despite that, the last two weeks have felt like an all-out sprint. There are so many things that need to get done and the days have disappeared into busy blurs of activity and exhaustion.

This can’t be sustained over the marathon we have in front of us. We. Need. To. Slow. Down. This four-day weekend couldn’t have come at a better time.

No, I won’t be taking all four days completely off. But I will let go of work for a couple days. I will continue to exercise and take care of myself. I might be a little lax on my good eating habits. I will sit in front of the television. I will read. I will get outside.

Most importantly, I’ll remind myself that there are more than two and a half months of school left… If I’m going to be my best, it will be because I remember that I’m needing to be my best over a marathon of time, and not just for a short sprint.

Adding a little extra

I don’t know if I’ve ever seen a recipe where the amount of garlic ‘recommended’ wasn’t less than I wanted to (and probably did) put in. My whole family loves garlic and despite adding more garlic than suggested, in our house a meal has never been ruined by too much garlic. You can’t say the same for salt, or dill, or oregano.

Some things you can add a little extra, some things you can’t:

You can add some genuine compliments, be careful how much criticism you add.

You can add generosity generously, but just a pinch of selfishness.

You can add copious amounts of love, but only a sprinkling of animosity.

There isn’t any one recipe for living a good life, and so the ingredients we choose to put in can be played with… if we are thoughtful and liberally creative with the right ingredients, we can end up with delicious results!

New beginnings sprout from the old

This morning I went for a walk with my wife through Mundy Park. There is a 5 kilometre perimeter trail that we like to walk that takes us 50-60 minutes depending on our pace. The trail is well maintained and well used, especially by dog owners. We take the same route every time and it makes for a great uninterrupted time to chat.

I don’t usually take my phone out during the walk but today I did so to take a few pictures of trees growing out of old, larger stumps.

I love the way old stumps and roots become the home to new growth in the forest. Decaying life becomes the fuel and the foundation for new life.

It reminds me that we don’t always have to begin anew. We don’t always have to throw everything out and start fresh. We can build from a foundation we already have, and we can use existing resources to help us. Sometimes when we are looking to make changes, to make things better, we forget the accomplishments that got us where we are now.

It’s still early February, and I know we have a lot of wet and cloud-covered days to go before we can say spring has arrived. But getting outside on a bright and fair-weather day like today, and paying attention to the cycle of life in nature, reminds me that I can look positively ahead to new adventures, while also embracing the the things I hope to change. I can reflect on how these old things are an important part of the journey we all go through. When we bring life to new ideas, we need to respect the foundation of old ideas that we built on.

Just follow the steps

I enjoy solving puzzles like this:

The thing about these kind of puzzles is that if you don’t see the solution, you make a guess, you toss around ideas, then you eliminate them, and suddenly you see the pattern… you’ve figured out the steps, and you know you are right even before you’ve completed the answer. At that point you just follow the steps.

Easy… Or is it?

Sometimes the solution eludes you. Sometimes you just don’t see the pattern. In the example above, I can even tell you the next line of numbers and if you don’t see the pattern, it won’t help you understand: (13211311123113112211). The new row I shared would just become another set of confusing numbers. The solution won’t help you figure out the steps.

For some learners, getting started on a project or an assignment is like this. The blank page is daunting, giving no hints as to what to do next. Interpreting the question is too hard even before thinking about possible answers. For others, getting started is easy, but knowing how to finish involves a roadblock such as, explaining a process, collecting relevant data, summarizing information, extrapolating what the teacher wants, understanding the conclusion, or figuring out the purpose of even doing the assignment in the first place.

It took me about a minute and a half to solve this question, with half of that time doing the simple math to ensure I was right:

Find next number in the series:
23 21 24 19 26 15 28 11 30 7 36 ?

If you know the pattern, great! But if you don’t and I told you the answer is 5, that wouldn’t actually help you figure out the next number in the sequence.

When you know or understand the steps to get to the end of an assignment, it’s just a matter of doing the work. When you don’t understand the steps, or when a learning challenge gets in the way, then the steps become cliffs, too big to climb.

How often do we ask learners to climb cliffs?

Surface tension

Have you ever seen a water balloon being popped in slow motion? The ballon is punctured and shrinks to its pre-blown up size leaving, for a brief moment, the water in the shape of the balloon.

After the balloon is gone, surface tension holds the shape, keeping the memory of the ballon even if for the briefest moment, only visible in slow motion.

How many places in our life do we let surface tension linger?

A frustrating tone is shared, and instead of a calm response, surface tension lingers and frustration is returned.

Concern. Anger. Greed. Envy. Distraught. These are all things that can hold surface tension. They can keep their shape even when there is nothing left to hold them in place.

It’s easy to see on the outside, when others are holding on to it. It’s hard to see on the inside, when the tension is on our surface.

We can try to keep the tension or we can help it dissipate. A pause and a deep breath can help. But trying to fix things doesn’t always help. You can’t stretch a popped balloon back around the water ballon. You can help to catch the falling water.

Our reactions can keep surface tension, or they can let that tension go.

The Eternal Pot

In Barbados there is a meal called Pepper Pot, also known as The Eternal Pot or The Poor Man’s Pot. It’s a dark broth with oxtail as the primary ingredient, and it is delicious! Many a day I would sit dipping soft bread into a bowl, soaking up every drop and finishing up with only the oxtail bones in the wiped-clean bowl.

Pepper Pot would be made in a massive pot that would sit for days on the the stove. It was known as the eternal pot because it stayed fresh as long as you brought it to a boil once a day. No need for refrigeration. For this reason it was also the poor man’s pot because it could sit in the stove continually being added to, as a poor family put what they had available in it. A lean broth for many days, and then meat added on payday.

For us, the first day it was cooked, pepper pot was for dinner. After that it would be an always available snack, a Saturday brunch, a late-night binge. It was a magical pot that seemed to last forever…

This reminds me of good friendships. Eternal in its ability to always be there. We gather with friends for a meal, connect for a while, things fade, but you know you can always spice things up when you have the energy to do so. Then you lose touch, but that’s ok, things will be back to full strength the next time you connect. It’s not a perfect metaphor, but it works on certain levels.

I’ve gathered with a few good friends this break, shorter and longer visits, a few meals, all rich experiences… I’ve added stock and meat to the eternal pot, helping the friendships grow. We just need to remember to heat things up once in a while… to keep things fresh.

Remember to stop and break bread with your eternal friends.

Windows and doors

A closed windows let you see what is beyond your reach. Closed doors do not.

Closed windows still let you envision where you can go, while shut doors block your view and your path.

When windows open, they let fresh air in. When doors open, they let you out.

Windows of opportunity can provide you with the chance to see what’s possible, but you can’t get there until the door is open and you are ready to step through it.

Are you a viewer or a doer?

Most doors do not open themselves.

The last chapter of a book

I’m listening to a novel right now. That’s unusual because I usually wait until holiday breaks to read for pleasure, choosing instead to read (or listen) for learning. But I was done my last book and my new credit on Audible isn’t available for another couple days, so I picked up a cheap and popular Sci-Fi novel for a bargain on Black Friday.

When I get on the treadmill at about 5:30am this morning, I’ll put my headphones on and listen to the final chapter. I’m looking forward to this, but I’m also saddened by this as well.

I love the journey a good book takes you on. It doesn’t have to be a happy book, it just has to be an adventure. The heroes journey often takes the protagonist home at the end, but the journey is unforgettable. The last chapter is seldom climatic, it just offers resolution and closure. The rollercoaster ride is over, and you are parked back at the start of the ride, but there is time to reflect on the ride before the safety belt unlocks.

I love a good adventure, I don’t really enjoy ending it. Closure is melancholy to me. I remember reading once that the two things humans struggle with most in life are beginnings and endings, of these two it is endings that I struggle with more.

It’s time to get on the treadmill, and to close the final chapter of this book.