Author: Loree Burns

On Wednesday I visited the town where I grew up—Everett, Massachusetts—and wound up on the site of a place I spent a bit of time as a kid: Babe Ruth Park. Do you know what I found there? A school. A very big, very new school. The Madeline English School, to be exact, which is one of four new K-8 schools now in Everett. And if that didn’t make me feel old, meeting the principal, Ms. Massa, who graduated more than half-a-decade after me, did. How can I be old enough that parks are now schools and whippersnappers are now principals? It’s all very unsettling.

Lucky for me, about a hundred chatty fifth graders met me in the library of the Maddy English, and they calmed me down. We spent a fine hour talking about bees and hives and beekeeping … and our hometown. We dispelled rumors, shared stories, and generally mused over the coolness of insects that are at once so important and so scary to us. I don’t know if their exuberance over honey bees had anything to do with our common roots, but it was a thrill for me to answer questions from kids who were so completely engaged and interested in the same things that engage and interest me … and who happen to be growing up in the same place I did.

At some point I asked an obvious question: who was Madeline English? The answer floored me. Madeline English was a national hero, a true baseball legend. And she grew up in Everett! How could a kid who grow up playing rec league softball in Everett—a girl who later played on the high school softball team—not know this? I was a third baseman, for crying out loud! (Okay, only for one season and only because we were desperate that year. But still.)

Good, old Everett: full of memories, smart students, new schools, old friends, and even a few surprises. I’m glad I grew up there, and I’m glad I had a chance to go back for this visit. I made a stop at the Parlin Memorial Library, too, and I will tell you a bit about that amazingness soon. Stay tuned. In the meantime …

** Excited waves to Ms. Lyons’ third graders at the Webster School: it was fun to meet all of you! I thought you would get a kick out of that photo up there at the top of this page. Can you find Ms. Lyons and me in it?**

 

For three days last week, I got to be part of the incredibly energetic learning community at Brookwood School in Manchester-by-the-Sea, Massachusetts … and I am still glowing. I shared writing adventures with first and second graders, buzzed about bees with saavy sixth graders, talked books with excited teaching interns, and celebrated sustainability with the more than six-hundred folks from northeastern Massachusetts who turned out in force for Brookwood’s fourth annual Sustainability Fair.

Six hundred! That’s a lot of green people.

I brought home some nifty treats to share with my family, like organic peach salsa chopped to perfecton by Brookwood second graders, recycled bookmarks crafted by pre-K students (photo above), composting tips, green cleaning tips, farming ideas and inspiration to keep me thinking and living green for a good, long time. I even found a few minutes to stroll the beach and collect seaweed for my garden. (The garlic bed is now drenched in Atlantic seaweed and very, very happy.)

Congratulations, Brookwood School, on a job well done, and thank you for letting me join in the fun!

 

Join us if you are free on Saturday!

(Here’s a link to the invitation if, like me, you have trouble deciphering the tiny print on this one!)

 

© Loree Griffin Burns

A couple weeks ago, Sara Pennypacker visited our local library. Being mother to one of Clementine’s best friends (or so she says), organizer of a Mother & Daughter Book Group that has read lots of Clementine adventures, and also a fan of Ms. Pennypacker and Ms. Frazee (writer and illustrator, respectively, of the Clementine books), I went. And something Sara said resonated with me deeply. She told us that the reason she likes to visit schools and libraries is simple: conversation.

Yes. That’s it exactly.

We writers toil and tinker until we’ve got down on paper a story that we think will have meaning for someone. We think what we’ve written is important, and so we send our words out into the world hoping the readers who need them most will find them. Once the book is gone, though, there is not a lot we can do to be sure that happens. We try to spread the word, of course, but so much is out of our hands. In order to avoid the agony of waiting and wondering—and also to keep food on the table—we get busy on the next book.

Eventually, we hear from reviewers. If their criticisms are kind, their whisper of a reply feels good. Sometimes we hear from readers by letter or email, and this also feels good, especially when there is an opportunity to respond. But for me, neither reviews nor letters compare to eye contact with a reader, to an actual exchange of looks and expressions and thoughts and ideas. That sort of loveliness happens only in person, and mostly in a school or library or bookstore setting.

For me, sadly, these events are few and far between. But listening to readers, hearing their responses to my work, knowing—finally!—their thoughts on what I did right, what I did wrong, and what I should do next, is always a humbling experience. I am able to respond, to ask about their thoughts and ideas … and in the asking begins a true, honest-to-goodness conversation. These moments change me in ways that are as profound as they are unexpected.

That Sara Pennypacker is one smart cookie.

All of this is on my mind, of course, because I’ve just returned from two days of school and library visiting in Athol, Massachusetts. The conversations I had there were organic chocolate chip cookies for my writing soul, I tell you …

I met a boy who I think is going to be this world’s next champion of honey bees, a beekeeper with verve and smarts.

I chatted with a girl whose books we will likely all know one day, and she bravely shared with me the opening of her newest short story. It was fabulous … and composed, she told me with a frankness that knocked my breath away, during my presentation. (“When I realized you were going to talk about bees and not writing,” she told me, “I had to tune out. This story had to be written!”)

I sparred with a thoughtful man who is as worried as I am about agricultural chemicals. We are on the same team, he and I, but we use different playbooks, and he reminded me that even in disagreement, conversation is worthy and important.

Many thanks to all the fine folks I met in Athol this week; I am so glad we had time to talk.

A postscript on the illustration: this is an old photo of a special conversation between one of my children and the author of his then-favorite book IBIS: A TRUE WHALE STORY, John Himmelman.

A postscript on my postscript: Yes, I forgot to bring my camera to Athol!