by Larry Campbell | Sep 4, 2015 | Guest Voices |
Following Your Passion
We all have a passion, some of us more than one. If we’re lucky we find it when we’re young.
My passion is horses, and it was alive and burning in me at a young age. Growing up in the suburbs of San Bruno, just south of San Francisco, there were no horses around, and no opportunity to ride. Instead, I read every horse book I could get my hands on, watched each episode of Fury and My Friend Flicka on TV, and collected every horse picture, model and magazine that crossed my path. I made saddles, bridles and show jumping courses for my dog in the backyard. If I was lucky, a few times each summer I would have a chance to ride a real horse at a dude ranch or farm.
While still in elementary school my family moved to Canada. My parents bought a house in Ottawa, Ontario and I quickly made friends with Sue, a girl who lived a few doors down the street. She and I were both horse crazy and we organized our own horse school. We taught each other about horses, taking turns being teacher and pupil. We wrote on a chalkboard, and gave each other lectures and tests.
After graduating from high school, I decided to pursue my passion for horses by taking riding lessons at a stable about a mile from my parents’ house. A few months later I began working with horses at a small, private hunter and jumper stable outside of Montreal, in Quebec. Humber College in Toronto started a horsemanship program at this time and I attended the two-year program, graduating with an Honours Degree in Horsemanship in the mid-seventies.
I continued to work with horses for several years and gradually came to realize that there really wasn’t much of a future for me in the horse industry; I didn’t want to be a groom for the rest of my life. And so I left.
But the love of horses never really left me. Years later, when my daughter was in elementary school, an opportunity came to once again return to a life with horses. We moved to a riding/boarding stable, and my daughter was in heaven! She too was a horse crazy girl, and in school, she struggled with math.
One evening, while helping her with math homework, I could see that the assigned question could easily be changed to reference the real world of horses. Instead of ‘Sally receives an allowance of $35 each month. How much money does she receive in a year?’ I wrote, ‘Sally pays $250 each month to self-board her pony at a nearby farm. How much does it cost to board her pony for the entire year?’
While the mathematics of the question remained the same, my daughter gained a sense of the actual cost to board a pony per month and for an entire year—and she was motivated to find the answer!
Suddenly, I began seeing math everywhere in my work with horses.
In my mind I saw a workbook about math in the real-world of horses, and began writing pages of questions. I tried to interest a publisher. Nothing happened, and finally, I had to let it slide—but just to the back burner. I always knew it was a good idea.
There’s plenty of math and science in the real-world of horses, and if horse crazy kids could just see it, math and science would simply be another means to learn as much about horses as they can.
I remember how strong that desire to learn is. And just like when Sue and I had our horse school all those many years ago, in spring 2011 work on a new horse school began, and this time it had a name, Horse Lover’s Math.
Now, Horse Lover’s Math (HLM) is a website for kids ages 8 and up devoted to horses and math. HLM follows the math curriculum guidelines for grades 4 to 6, and creates math questions, drawn from the real-world of horses to meet as many of the curriculum goals as possible. In January 2015, the Level 1 Workbook became available.
After all these years I’m back following my passion, allowing it to lead me forward. Like a good horse knowing its way home, I can drop the reins and enjoy the ride.
About The Author
Deborah Stacey lives in British Columbia, Canada. She has created – and runs – a website called Horse Lover’s Math. Through this site, she enables students who share her passion for horses to more effectively learn important skills in mathematics. She has developed interesting curriculum materials for this and has also created a Horse Lover’s Math Club! To learn more . . . .
- Visit her website at Horse Lover’s Math. You may also contact Deborah through this site.
- Listen to her guest appearance on AfterMath Adventures on KRZK FM (106.3) either by listening (or streaming) ‘live’ on Sunday afternoon Sep 13 at 4 p.m. CDT, or by podcast any time after that. Visit AfterMathAdventures and click Listen Now or visit the podcast at the bottom of the page.
by Larry Campbell | Aug 8, 2015 | Guest Voices |
A Little Bird Misses the Forest for the Trees
As the second of five children, one of the great treats of my childhood summers was to occasionally get to spend a few days by myself with my grandmother. I called her Grammy. She didn’t live far from us, maybe 30 miles, in the same town where my dad worked second shift. I would ride along with him on the way to work in the afternoon, and when my visit was over in a few days, he would pick me up, in the middle of my night, on his way home.
Grammy was my mom’s mom. She and my grandfather, along with my mom and four of her six brothers, had immigrated to the United States from Germany in 1951, when my mom was fourteen years old. Speaking to my adult mother, one would never guess that English was her second language. Not so with Grammy. Hers was a thick German accent, and even when speaking English, she would sometimes sprinkle in some German words.
On one of my visits, when I was eight or nine, Grammy announced that she was going to teach me a song to sing to my mom when I went home, a song in German. It was a short song, just a couple of lines really. I still remember it:
Kommt ein Voeg’lein geflogen,
setzt sich nieder auf mein’ Fuss.
Hat ein Zettel im Schnabel,
von der Mutter ein’ Gruss.
Grammy would sing and have me repeat. She’d correct my pronunciation, and we’d do it again. It plays in my head like a little movie: walking in the yard, watering the garden, in the breezeway stuffing the feather pillows, around the table playing cards, singing all the while. It was while we were playing cards that Grammy told me what the song was saying. A little bird comes flying and lands on my foot. It has a note in its beak, a greeting from my mother. It sounds much better in German, doesn’t it? she asked. Of course, it did. The German rhymes.
I learned the song to my grandmother’s satisfaction, and she sent me home with instructions to sing it to my mom. She would be asking me about it on her next visit to our house. She visited us often. I haven’t mentioned yet that I was a very shy child. While I don’t remember having any trouble singing the song with my grandmother, the question of how I would ever work up the nerve to sing to my mom consumed me. I thought about it constantly. She would need to be alone. When such a moment occurred, I tried to encourage myself to go to her and begin, but I never could. My mom was not an intimidating personality; my grandmother could be. Why couldn’t I sing?
Then the day came. When I woke up in the morning, I found my grandmother on the couch, delivered there in the night by my dad. I knew the question was coming, and it did. Had I sung the song for my mom? I shook my head. How about now? Grammy got my mom’s attention, sent me to her, said I had something to sing. My mom was sitting at the kitchen table, and I stood before her. We were face to face. I don’t really remember singing, but I think I must have, likely while watching the floor. To my amazement, my mom knew the song, as well as a second verse, which she sang to me with her arm around me. It was a sweet moment.
Fast forward nearly forty years: I was attending a program at our church which had an international theme. Each of the speakers spoke a little about her country of origin. One of the countries represented was Germany. The speaker came to the US with her family as a three year old. She didn’t speak German. She was a musician and wished she could sing us a song from Germany but didn’t know any, so instead she sang a couple of selections from The Sound of Music. I thought, I know a German song, not that I would ever sing it in front of a crowd. My shyness has diminished over the years, but get real, not that much. Maybe, though, I would tell the speaker sometime about how I learned that German song.
With this in mind, I thought back on the story I’ve related above, and I had a revelation. Perhaps the reader saw this from the beginning, but it was truly the first time it had occurred to me, decades after I’d learned the song. I was the little bird, sent with greetings to a daughter from her mother. Grammy passed away just a couple of weeks after my thirteenth birthday, and I lost my mom only twelve years later. The song was a sweet gift, and the memory, with its new insight, is like a little bird bringing greetings from beyond.
The second verse:
Liebes Voeg’lein, flieg weiter. Dear little bird, fly on,
Nimm ein’ Gruss mit, und ein’ Kuss Take a greeting with you, and a kiss
Denn ich kann dich nicht begleiten, For I cannot go with you
Weil ich hier bleiben muss. Since I must stay here
P.S. The song exists online and, in particular, on YouTube. Every version I’ve found online uses Vogel instead of Voeg’lein (bird as opposed to little bird), but I stand by my grandmother’s version.
About The Author
Anita Dixon is currently the Regional Manager of the Educational Community Credit Union in Branson. She earned her BA degree from (then) School of the Ozarks, and a Masters in Math from (then) University of Missouri, Rolla. Besides mathematics, she has remarkable writing (and English) skills – and is the chief proofreader of our Weekly Photo/Sharing each week (though she has given up trying to get me to get my commas to behave, and she cannot be responsible when I don’t get her a draft in time!)
by Larry Campbell | Jul 29, 2015 | Guest Voices |
The last two columns in the Springfield News-Leader by Larry Campbell have hit a bull’s eye on my educational pet peeve target. When I first began teaching at Branson High School in 1972, I spoke with a friend of mine who was on the Branson School Board at the time. I asked him if it wouldn’t be productive to have the teachers fill out an annual evaluation of the administrators. I figured it would fit right in with their then-present policy of having students evaluate the teachers. His response? “Why would we want people to evaluate their own bosses?”
It became immediately clear to me that the board was operating on a business model. So, it was no surprise that the district was hiring its “minions” according to business interests: punctuality, attendance, loyalty, etc. Later, when I had left teaching and was elected to the school board, my former principal was heard to say, “That’s just what we need . . . an educator on the board.” He didn’t say “Bah!” but it was felt. No one on the board disagreed with his exclamation of disgust.
I was not very successful as a school board member. Needless to say, the votes were often 6-2 or 7-1. I was happy to be the gadfly, but I don’t feel that I accomplished much. However, I felt great pride and satisfaction a few years later when I moved to Springfield and ran into a former principal . . . a man who had been the high school principal when I first began teaching there. Introducing me to his new wife, he said, “This is Mike Brown. We taught together in Branson.” If administrators and boards were as interested in education as they are in the “bottom line” or profit motive, hiring good teachers might not be any easier, but at least we would be looking for the most promising characteristics in the candidates. Maybe we could even get a few students involved the hiring process, too!
About The Author
Mike Brown began his interesting and varied career teaching Freshman English at University of Missouri – his future wife Claudia was a student in his very first class!) After obtaining his Master’s, he taught for 4 years at the USAF Academy Preparatory School.
In 1971, he and Claudia returned to Branson, MO, where they purchased the Sammy Lane Resort from his parents, which they ran for 30 years. During that time, Mike taught English at Branson High School (1972-85), sat on the Branson School Board (1990 – 1996) and on the Branson City Council (1986 – 1992). He calls the overlapping years on the council and the board “interesting” and lets it go at that.
Mike and Claudia now live in Springfield, MO.
by Larry Campbell | Jul 9, 2015 | Guest Voices, Photos2 |
by Larry Campbell | Jun 26, 2015 | Guest Voices |
A Few Minutes Short of a Lot:
What if I had given it a few minutes more?
When I saw the cascade of water over the rocks in the creek to my right, I stopped the car. This must be it — the much praised Falling Water Falls, Arkansas, I had heard about from my friends. Ninety minutes of driving along winding Ozark byways, and there it was, finally. I parked the car along a dirt road, next to the falls.
Ever since the new camera arrived, I have been itching to get out into the wilderness around me and capture a few shots. The weather was perfect with a few wispy clouds overhead, a slight breeze, and a comfortable 65 degrees. The new camera, the gorgeous spring day, and nothing on my schedule became a recipe for a road trip of exploring and relaxing. I had to go see the waterfall I had heard about so much.
I carefully stepped around the rocks at the water’s edge, hoping I did not fall in, or worse, drop the camera. It was our first trip together, this camera and me, so its well-being was first in my mind. The water was cool and crisp. The sound it made as it spilled over the rocky shelf was musical, and one that would easily put me to sleep if I closed my eyes a few moments. The clean blue-green water fell about two feet over the rocky landscape and swiftly moved downstream. It was a beautiful scene, but somehow not quite as majestic as I had expected, gauging from my friends’ remarks. Nice, pretty, glad I came, but drive all this way again? Likely not.
The drive back home seemed to take longer, but I am still not sure if I was driving slower from relaxation or if it was the disappointment of the falls that was slowing me down. Either way, I arrived home and immediately downloaded the new pictures to my computer. A friend of mine had just visited the falls the day before, posting pictures online, so I pulled his photograph to compare to mine. Hmmm . . . my falls look different than his. My falls are shorter. The water flow over the edge is more on the right side in mine and in the middle on his. And his creek looks wider. I scurried to my book on Arkansas Waterfalls. Had I missed a turn? No. A quick look at the map, and I saw I had not – but why does my waterfall not look like his waterfall?
Still unsure of the difference, I enlisted the help of Google Maps with the satellite imagery to help me make my case. I noticed a sharp hairpin turn in the road by the actual Falling Water Falls, which was conveniently labeled on Google maps, but which I had not traveled. I finally realized I had stopped at a small cascade in the creek about a half mile before the waterfall I was seeking. After I had taken my photographs, I hopped in the car and turned around in the road, heading back up the hill in the direction I came. I just did not travel far enough on the road to see what I had hoped to see. Only after returning from the 90-minute drive home did I finally realize how close I had been.
All I could do was laugh. Today’s miscalculation was a failure on an extremely minor scale, and yet it illustrated the lesson of many of my biggest failures in life. I stopped short. Misinterpreting the data, I quit too soon. I did not give it quite enough time. I was impatient. I was tired. I was ready for the quest to end. All of these were reasons I had given myself to stop working toward a goal, were, therefore, the reasons I did not reach it. These were the reasons for my failings. Each one, an illustration of giving up five minutes too soon, and each one a metaphor for some of my life’s adventures. How different my life might have been had I given it a few more minutes.
I plan to return to Farm Road 1205 soon, and look for Falling Water Falls again. This time, I will go a few minutes farther down the road to get what I really wanted. At least I know the way.
Nothing could be worse than the fear that one had given up too soon, and left one unexpended effort that might have saved the world. — Jane Addams.
About The Author
Rita Herrmann’s days are – as she puts it, “. . . spent in the corporate world of the financial industry with dozens of hours a week knee-deep in spreadsheets . . ” Outside of her spreadsheets, her life is much simpler, and she finds her solace in writing, which she re-discovered after some life-changing events a few years back. You can learn more about her, and read more of her blogs at www.RitaHerrmann.com
by Larry Campbell | Apr 20, 2015 | Guest Voices |
CAMINO MEMORIES
Coming out of Zubiri was a long morning. By 11 AM with no cafes in sight, it was clear that the snacks we had purchased in a local tienda the evening before were going to be much needed. And, between us, we had almonds, oranges, crackers, apples , a banana, dark chocolate ( we ALWAYS had dark chocolate bars) …. A mid -morning feast as we perched on a ledge along the cafe wall….closed, of course, on that particular Monday.
Along the path we had passed an elderly Korean woman, someone we came to know by sight throughout the remainder of our camino. She chose to carry her her large pack with the waist strap un-cinched. The weight on her shoulders must have felt extraordinary. She was stocky and strong; small in stature. Coming upon us , and I do not even recall how we knew she was without proper food and water supplies for the long path of that morning, we knew she was hungry.
And, as pilgrims always do, we offered to share our feast, which she gracefully turned down. A bit of coaxing though and we were able to convince her it was perfectly okay, we had plenty and wasn’t sharing part of the camaraderie of the Camino after all? She agreed and happily sucked orange segments, munched almonds and crackers, and savored that beautiful chocolate. She chatted ever so briefly, then was off, pack weighing heavy over her shoulders.
The next day, walking through a magnificent glade of woods, we came upon her again. Excited to see us, and after the prefunctory ” BuenCamino! ” greeting, she stopped us and offered us all a share of her salty potato chips. ” Salt is important on this walk” she said. The remarkable moment was this:
As she passed the sack to each of us, one by one, she bowed person to person and thanked each for the portion of the mid -day snack they had provided the previous day. “For the orange” to Ed, ” For the almonds” to Guy, ” For the crackers” to Paul and ” For the chocolate” to Liz.
I recall being so deeply touched by her gratitude and I am touched again now as I write of this lovely woman.
Lesson:Never, ever believe that the smallest measure of sharing does not count immensely in the eyes and heart of another.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Kate Elliott and I attended the same Writer’s Workshop in Chicago in March, but we didn’t cross paths there. We first ‘met’ when I shared information with these writers about my Guest Voice feature. I wish now we had gotten to visit in Chicago! I’m fascinated by her story – and her stories. She spent over 30 years in hospitality management before discovering long distance walking in her mid-fifties. The story above comes from her walk of 833 km on the Camino de Santiago in northern Spain in 2014. You may learn more about Kate and read her blogs at Www.walkingwomanwalkingwithkate.blogspot.com.
