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Published on 07/21/1997 All articles from this issue

Summer '97 and letting go

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By Charlotte K. Jarmy

Reflections

At this time in past summers, I could be heard moaning, "It's almost over. School starts in another month." As a teacher, I joined all the young voices, moaning the same tune. When my sons were younger, I would also praise the powers that be that my kids would no longer complain, "There's nothing to do around here." Summer is almost gone, glory be.

Despite my retired teaching status, I still feel a growing anxiety as the sunny days flow endlessly on. "What's today's date?" I ask Howard, despite the fact that I have the newspaper in front of me. His response sends me spiraling down until I skid to a halt like a cartoon character.

"Hey, I don't have to worry any more." My joyful laugh changes only a little when I remember that my Stanford responsibilities start up again as the summer dies. Will I enjoy my new student-teachers? Will I be able to help them? I groan a tiny bit when I remember the 6 a.m. wake-up alarm to hurry out to a local high school to observe, comment, and, "Oh Lord," video tape the class in action.

It won't take more than a few weeks before I am loving the job again, and, like most teachers, truly caring about the young people who worry themselves into a froth about the weighty task they have taken on.

To teach and involve a classroom full of young people drains even the most energetic new teacher. Then to return as students at the university and once again respond to probing questions and difficult challenges set before them by their professors can seem almost too much. The fact is, most of them follow through and accept the fact that they will still have much to learn even at the end of the year. All four of my 1997 charges successfully completed the year. Three of the four have signed contracts; the fourth will soon, I'm sure. It's hard to let them go.

When summer ends, however, I'll have another cause for celebration. The green bean season will be over. Howard's zeal as a gentleman farmer is only exceeded by his success as a grower of green beans. My enthusiasm for the long, skinny vegetables never reached "hozzana" heights. But after a steady parade of them into the kitchen in the arms of the proud farmer, I'm ready to say, "Enough is enough."

The summer hasn't been all sunny days and trips to Lake Tahoe, however. We celebrated the 4th of July with 25 friends, worried about the event two days before and collapsed for several days after. What on earth shall we do with several dozen leftover hot dogs and buns? They aren't exactly food for the next holiday: Thanksgiving.

Another event was the installation of a hummingbird feeder in front of our patio windows. We sit, binoculars at the ready, in hushed delight as the whirring of tiny wings holds us captive. True to his enquiring nature, Howard took out two books on the lovely birds that visit us several times a day. Nature is playing out a script for us. One little fellow chases the other away from the feeder as they dive and zoom up to the oak tree. Spousal abuse among our feathered friends?

There is a definite aggressiveness even among the tiniest creatures that upsets my preconceived notion that these birds are peaceful and beautiful. I hear stories that hummingbirds are possibly aggressive enough to attack the eyes of human beings. "Wear sunglasses," one friend warned us. I refuse to give over our freedom to roam at will on our own property.

There is a darker side to the natural world, and I am saddened to admit it. Were there once creatures on Mars as well as the waters scientist believe existed? What caused the stunningly silent and rocky landscape we see on our screens? Was it jealousy or anger? I wonder what our fate will be in a billion years or so. Luckily hummingbirds don't seem to be philosophical as they sip their free "lunch." I sense that I am gearing up for autumn.

Charlotte Kaye Jarmyis a Los Altos resident and longtime contributorto the Town Crier.