It's hard not to play favourites sometimes, because we all know that we have them. Hard to have the same rules for everyone. Hard to kick out the student that you know may not come back because he's being a jerk. But a jerk's a jerk, and circumstances are circumstances, and on and on, but...
But I kicked him out. His choice. Participate or go work in the office. Participate or pay the price. He left. Signed out and walked out the door. It's a disappointment. It hurts and it sucks but I know that if I consistently change the rules for him because life is hard and life is a disappointment and life hurts and sucks... because sometimes life walks out the door... well, I know that I've lost everyone else. I know then that I'll lose him too. I'll lose his respect by treating him differently, and once you've lost their respect, they'll never come back.
Respect is earned here. No one gets it free. Especially not some new white teacher. And fair enough. I don't deserve it any more than those who walked before me. And I won't lose it now.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Friday, November 14, 2008
Burning the forest that's already down
They’ve told us that it’s going to snow a number of times… I wasn’t ready to believe them until now. Last time they told us it was still October. Now it’s the middle of November, my snowshoes have arrived; I have a coat, 2 cords of wood, and a spare body in the bed to keep me warm. Wood. We were supposed to get beetle pine from up top – the top of the infamous hill that keeps people away. Don’t know exactly what happened to that plan, but it went awry. Ended up getting old growth salvaged Douglas fir instead. I started
counting one of the logs. Got to 286 and got bored. Was probably 2/3 or ¾ of the way through. Some of it is soaked with sap and weighs 3 times as much as it should. Sizzles and pops and crackles and hisses the night away. It’s beautiful to come home to a warm fir-smelling cabin after a day at work. Home feels like home now that Jeremy’s here. Food and warmth and lots of love. We’re going to try and go up, up, up a mountain this weekend to find more snow, lots of snow. That makes me smile.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Lists and lists and lists of things
I tried to write, meant to write, and didn't or couldn't a few 
weeks ago. A little girl, 12 years old, died and I wanted to write it all down, but... well, I didn't. She got drunk and got in a car and drove home. Almost made it, but didn't. The community hurt, still hurts, will probably always hurt, but I think and hope that it changes. That something changes. I hope. We all do.
And now there's everything else. Mom visits and pumpkin carvings
and students that are wonderful and students that are less wonderful. Or at least have less wonderful days. There's birthdays and snowfalls (not here, but not far away... drive for half an hour and you're covered in the stuff. It's -4 in the morning when I go to school these days... COLD when the fire's gone out). There's Halloween and Halloween costumes and parties and parties and costumes and pumpkins and candy and fireworks.
And there's other visits. Special ones, long ones, ones that aren't vacations because they last 6 weeks. They may last a winter and a spring. They make your heart beat a little off kilter and they make you smile looking at the ground because you know you've already started to blush. Just a little bit.
Or maybe a lot.
weeks ago. A little girl, 12 years old, died and I wanted to write it all down, but... well, I didn't. She got drunk and got in a car and drove home. Almost made it, but didn't. The community hurt, still hurts, will probably always hurt, but I think and hope that it changes. That something changes. I hope. We all do.And now there's everything else. Mom visits and pumpkin carvings
and students that are wonderful and students that are less wonderful. Or at least have less wonderful days. There's birthdays and snowfalls (not here, but not far away... drive for half an hour and you're covered in the stuff. It's -4 in the morning when I go to school these days... COLD when the fire's gone out). There's Halloween and Halloween costumes and parties and parties and costumes and pumpkins and candy and fireworks.And there's other visits. Special ones, long ones, ones that aren't vacations because they last 6 weeks. They may last a winter and a spring. They make your heart beat a little off kilter and they make you smile looking at the ground because you know you've already started to blush. Just a little bit.
Or maybe a lot.
Sunday, October 5, 2008
The Lake
One of my students told me last week that he couldn’t wait to go to the lake. I asked him about the impending weather, and what he did at the lake in the fall. Where I come from, when folks talk about going to the lake, they usually mean Windermere - condos, cabins, a lake and a beach. Vacation time. In Victoria folks usually mean that they’re going swimming, tanning, gallivanting at one of the many many nearby lakes. I assumed the same in Bella Coola. There isn’t really a place to swim at the wharf, and it’s DARN cold. Maybe there’s a lake where people go and fish or hunt or just hang out. Ends up there’s a city (or somewhere that’s big enough to have a Tim Hortons, a McDonalds, a KFC AND a Zellers) where people go to spend money and buy stuff. Really, that’s what people do in Williams Lake. The Lake. 487 km away. Up The Hill. “The Hill”. It’s a hill alright. 1 hour of the 5ish hour drive is unpaved, and about 20 or 30 minutes of that is on The Hill. People make up stories, and I’m sure some of them are true. Someone went over on it last year. Dropped a LONG way. And parts of it are 1 lane... but only kind of. It’s like a logging 
road, but it’s our only road. And it SURE is beautiful in the fall.So I went to the Lake. And it was good. I went and I shopped and I spent money and I bought stuff. I drank coffee and ate out at restaurants that didn’t make my stomach feel gross. I bought organic cheese. I went to the river and drank beer and ate chocolate and hung out with my friends. I bought my dog a bone. I bought myself new bright red sheets. I missed my home and was over-stimulated by people and lights and noise.
I hung out with another grizzly bear, this one smaller than the last, probably a female. I hung out with Heather a lot. She’s my Teacher Assistant, and my best human friend in town. Her and George duke it out for best alive friend. Sometimes the cedar tree with the rope swing tries to get in on the bets, but she doesn’t follow me and laugh at my jokes and slobber all over me.The Lake. The Hill. The Valley. My home.
Monday, September 22, 2008
Sometimes they're really really big.....
George starts it all off. Or at least he did today. And yesterday. 36 hours. Twice in 36 hours his bark, not the loud and persistent bark that announces the arrival of my car, my bike, my feet, but that other one; the deep, aggressive, protective bark, announced the arrival of something much larger. Or not... my car, I suppose, is still larger.
We figure he’s 5 feet tall at the shoulder. Heather, a friend, my teacher assistant, saw him about a week ago and says his eyes are a foot apart. I’m not sure, but his head is probably as long as my torso. Silver and auburn. Tall, thin but not gaunt. He’s been eating well these weeks. Berries, apples, plums and fish. Guess is that he’s 5 or so. Wenda, the woman who owns this cabin and who is still living at the house a hundred feet or so away, says he’s been seen in the valley before. They always knew he’d be a big one.
I’ve never spent enough time living in bear country like this to get to know the animals. I’ve never seen the same animal often enough to differentiate it, known them well enough to tell them apart. This isn’t the black bear I saw my first week in town, not the first grizz I saw either. This one is special. I thought this one was going to climb my stairs. I locked my door and wondered what a deadbolt would do in a door full of glass against a paw as big as my head. I called my neighbours as I stepped outside to call George. Wenda says to stay inside... George will get closer as you call him, as your own danger increases. In order to keep him safe, be sure to keep yourself safe. Oh, the things we learn, oh the things we see. I pray for this bear. I hope we can continue to share our spaces, our homes. I hope my safety isn’t counterintuitive to his. I hope he doesn’t climb my narrow stairs after all. And I’ve set aside any notion of walking and cycling between 5pm and 9am... I guess I’ll be carpooling to school everyday until winter after all. And no late-night meanderings under the stars through the fields amidst the trees either. The things we give up are incomparable to the majesty we earn when living in places such as these.
We figure he’s 5 feet tall at the shoulder. Heather, a friend, my teacher assistant, saw him about a week ago and says his eyes are a foot apart. I’m not sure, but his head is probably as long as my torso. Silver and auburn. Tall, thin but not gaunt. He’s been eating well these weeks. Berries, apples, plums and fish. Guess is that he’s 5 or so. Wenda, the woman who owns this cabin and who is still living at the house a hundred feet or so away, says he’s been seen in the valley before. They always knew he’d be a big one.
I’ve never spent enough time living in bear country like this to get to know the animals. I’ve never seen the same animal often enough to differentiate it, known them well enough to tell them apart. This isn’t the black bear I saw my first week in town, not the first grizz I saw either. This one is special. I thought this one was going to climb my stairs. I locked my door and wondered what a deadbolt would do in a door full of glass against a paw as big as my head. I called my neighbours as I stepped outside to call George. Wenda says to stay inside... George will get closer as you call him, as your own danger increases. In order to keep him safe, be sure to keep yourself safe. Oh, the things we learn, oh the things we see. I pray for this bear. I hope we can continue to share our spaces, our homes. I hope my safety isn’t counterintuitive to his. I hope he doesn’t climb my narrow stairs after all. And I’ve set aside any notion of walking and cycling between 5pm and 9am... I guess I’ll be carpooling to school everyday until winter after all. And no late-night meanderings under the stars through the fields amidst the trees either. The things we give up are incomparable to the majesty we earn when living in places such as these.
Monday, September 8, 2008
Movin' in, movin' out, movin' in again....
They gave away a $500 mitre saw to the male winner for one of the events at today’s logging sports competition. The female winner got a $50 gift certificate for easy-mix. We weren’t sure if that was cake mix or cement mix. Sexism is still alive and well in backcountry BC.
So, 1 week down. And what a week it was.
I moved into my home the night before the first day. I started trying to figure out how to turn this laminate floored trailer into a home with the little furniture I have (it has 3 bedrooms and 2 bathrooms!) until yesterday when I found out that Mary, the senior level math teacher, and also new, decided not to move to this little cabin in the woods because she’s scared of bears... and fairly so. We saw a 5 foot tall grizz today from the highway walking along the creek that runs through the cabin’s property. So I went over, checked it out, and I’m in. Wood cabin, loft, wood fire, fully stocked, 36 acres, 4 (5?) fruit trees, 2 creeks, old growth cedar and fir, rope swing (not over a lake, don’t get too excited), 
and a bear dog, george, who comes with the place. Beth, the grade 1 teacher who’s been here for years, and who seems awesome, is living in the house on the same property. We’re going to cycle to school until the snow flies. It’s not on res - it’s 2 or 3 km away from the school - but it’s got actual privacy whereas here, students from the school have already come knocking on my door. It’s kind of unnerving.
It doesn’t take long for things to happen in small places. Friends, family, life. You put it out and it comes right back at you. Shauna (the grade 3 teacher) and her man, Tim, live down the street from my new cabin, and Tim’s willing to take me hunting. Lashand, one of my students, is going to bring me sluk, some variety of smoked fish. I’ve had moose, I’ve seen skunks and deer and bears, I’ve made connections for fishing and kayaking and skiing. There’s even an extra sled I can use if I want.
I’ve got a river and an ocean kayak, a canoe, there’s horse and a woman has offered to teach me how to spin wool. This place is crazy. It’s crazy. I learn and I learn and I learn and I’m amazed at all of it. I’m in love with my kids, with my class. None of them are the norm... they’re all the kids that your heart goes out to and years for and aches over. 6 of the 7 have seen more than I probably ever will. They’re beautiful and they’re not broken regardless of how hard some have tried to break them down. We laugh and we smile and they give me a run for everything I’ve got, but I love them. I love one in particular and I just want him to keep coming, and if he doesn’t, I’ll do whatever I can, because he should be in school... it makes me sad. It’s hard and it’s devastating and I don’t know how I’m going to do it. I just want to take them all under my wing. They just need it so bad. Whatever you’ve got, love, admiration, acceptance. They need it.
I move into my new home on September 15th. There’s a futon downstairs, and a fair bit of floor space. I wouldn’t let you set up a tent - there’s LOTS of bears in the area, but if there’s more than a few of you, I know of LOTS of spare beds around.
The room is open, and come asap - the weather won’t keep forever, and you should get here while you can see the mountains through the clouds. It’s spectacular. Please. Come. You should all see this. It’s worth it.
Oh. And write me.
Kerri Boland
Box 632
Bella Coola, BC
V0T 1C0
So, 1 week down. And what a week it was.
I moved into my home the night before the first day. I started trying to figure out how to turn this laminate floored trailer into a home with the little furniture I have (it has 3 bedrooms and 2 bathrooms!) until yesterday when I found out that Mary, the senior level math teacher, and also new, decided not to move to this little cabin in the woods because she’s scared of bears... and fairly so. We saw a 5 foot tall grizz today from the highway walking along the creek that runs through the cabin’s property. So I went over, checked it out, and I’m in. Wood cabin, loft, wood fire, fully stocked, 36 acres, 4 (5?) fruit trees, 2 creeks, old growth cedar and fir, rope swing (not over a lake, don’t get too excited), 
and a bear dog, george, who comes with the place. Beth, the grade 1 teacher who’s been here for years, and who seems awesome, is living in the house on the same property. We’re going to cycle to school until the snow flies. It’s not on res - it’s 2 or 3 km away from the school - but it’s got actual privacy whereas here, students from the school have already come knocking on my door. It’s kind of unnerving.It doesn’t take long for things to happen in small places. Friends, family, life. You put it out and it comes right back at you. Shauna (the grade 3 teacher) and her man, Tim, live down the street from my new cabin, and Tim’s willing to take me hunting. Lashand, one of my students, is going to bring me sluk, some variety of smoked fish. I’ve had moose, I’ve seen skunks and deer and bears, I’ve made connections for fishing and kayaking and skiing. There’s even an extra sled I can use if I want.
I’ve got a river and an ocean kayak, a canoe, there’s horse and a woman has offered to teach me how to spin wool. This place is crazy. It’s crazy. I learn and I learn and I learn and I’m amazed at all of it. I’m in love with my kids, with my class. None of them are the norm... they’re all the kids that your heart goes out to and years for and aches over. 6 of the 7 have seen more than I probably ever will. They’re beautiful and they’re not broken regardless of how hard some have tried to break them down. We laugh and we smile and they give me a run for everything I’ve got, but I love them. I love one in particular and I just want him to keep coming, and if he doesn’t, I’ll do whatever I can, because he should be in school... it makes me sad. It’s hard and it’s devastating and I don’t know how I’m going to do it. I just want to take them all under my wing. They just need it so bad. Whatever you’ve got, love, admiration, acceptance. They need it.I move into my new home on September 15th. There’s a futon downstairs, and a fair bit of floor space. I wouldn’t let you set up a tent - there’s LOTS of bears in the area, but if there’s more than a few of you, I know of LOTS of spare beds around.
The room is open, and come asap - the weather won’t keep forever, and you should get here while you can see the mountains through the clouds. It’s spectacular. Please. Come. You should all see this. It’s worth it.Oh. And write me.
Kerri Boland
Box 632
Bella Coola, BC
V0T 1C0
Monday, September 1, 2008
So I suck...
So last time I did something like this, I spelled "worldly" wrong. This time I spelled "ocean" wrong. So I'm changing the address. Or I've changed it. I know. Pathetic for an English teacher, but at least I'm correcting my mistake this time.
Beginning it all over again....
Wow. wow. I saw blue sky in Bella Coola this morning for the first time. I can see it right now. Almost the same colour as the blue on the flag thinking about wavi
ng in the wind outside my window, in front of the hill. It just figured out the physics of movement and is fluttering as it would on a made for TV movie. Well done.
Didn't eat a real meal until dinner yesterday. Didn't have any coffee. Was overwhelmed and scared and nervous and unproductive. Moved into a home temporarily last night, had my first wood fire, stoked it good, heated my house, heated my food, slept on a futon mattress on a box spring and awoke to that blessed sun. Now, food, coffee, life in my system, I'm able to see this place for what it is. Beauty. This school has been through a ton of changes - lockouts initiated by the band, administration changes, staff changes, policy changes. They brought in a guy from Arkansas to get it all set up. School starts on Tuesday and I feel more ready than the building does. It'll be chaotic, but isn't life? Chaos and calm.
This school is in the tourist brochures. 4 tourists just stopped outside my window to take pictures of the totem pole raised 2 years ago for potlatch, carved by the school's art teacher and 2 students. 20, 30 feet high.
It's real alright. Tuesday it begins, but it already has. Wow.
ng in the wind outside my window, in front of the hill. It just figured out the physics of movement and is fluttering as it would on a made for TV movie. Well done.Didn't eat a real meal until dinner yesterday. Didn't have any coffee. Was overwhelmed and scared and nervous and unproductive. Moved into a home temporarily last night, had my first wood fire, stoked it good, heated my house, heated my food, slept on a futon mattress on a box spring and awoke to that blessed sun. Now, food, coffee, life in my system, I'm able to see this place for what it is. Beauty. This school has been through a ton of changes - lockouts initiated by the band, administration changes, staff changes, policy changes. They brought in a guy from Arkansas to get it all set up. School starts on Tuesday and I feel more ready than the building does. It'll be chaotic, but isn't life? Chaos and calm.
This school is in the tourist brochures. 4 tourists just stopped outside my window to take pictures of the totem pole raised 2 years ago for potlatch, carved by the school's art teacher and 2 students. 20, 30 feet high.
It's real alright. Tuesday it begins, but it already has. Wow.
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