This scene greets me every morning as I step out my front door. Even after a year of living in Casita, I am often surprised when I start off to school. On the days when I have managed to both wear my hair up and to have on a long skirt, the odd feeling is particularly strong. For just a moment, with the wide open fields spread out before me, thoughts of education swirling about in my head, and a tiny doorstep under my feet, I feel like there is no modern boarding school campus behind me. Perhaps, instead, I am about to walk across a school yard where I will stoke the day's fire, gather a few horn books and greet the stream of frontier children of all ages who will enter to learn reading, 'riting, and 'rithmetic. Fortunately, the reality of my days at Cono is as different from the stories of Laura Ingalls Wilder as it is from the saccharine Christian romances of Janette Oke.
But, when I write, if I write, it is still quite from the fields. Farmland does spread out around our campus, and therefore my home, in every direction, even if no student even vaguely resembles a frontiersman or Canadian Mountie. I am not sure what I will do with a blog, if anything, but if I write, there will be musing and wonderings about where my life is going, how God is working, and what is happening in the strange little world of Cono Christian Boarding School. I scanned a fairly guilt-inducing article this afternoon that explored the need for those of us who teach writing to be intimately involved with the process of it ourselves. Perhaps this spot will prove a place for me to write. If that interests you, check back every once in a while.
3 comments:
shweet. nice to see you're writing. publicly. so the rest of us can read it.
wOOt
Lori =)
Casita means "little house" in Spanish. When we were first talking about the transition to our new abode, people typically referred to it as "Miss Thompson's old house" or, for some entirely inexplicable reason, "the town house" (did you see a town in that picture?) So, seeing as we didn't want to be reminded of the guilt of having taken the home of a 93-year old woman, we decided that we needed to come up with an accurate, concise name for our new house. Casita has achieved full recognition as the proper name of our house: it has been used by students, in official Board records and meetings, and even Isaiah refers to it as such. That's all for today's etymological exploration.
Hey Ms. Ellis!! Its Ben! I was looking at your pictures of Europe and found this link. I really miss everyone there, but i am enjoying life here. What's it like up there.
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