I'm going to apply for a job; the process requires a teaching philosophy. I've unearthed this old one and tinkered with it a little, and since I haven't posted in a while, voila.
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Education is a right, though it should be valued as a privilege, and pursued as a responsibility. This is the underlying premise upon which I base my teaching. The right to education is as unalienable as those set forth in the Declaration of Independence: the right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. Furthermore, it is integral to all three.
Every person is entitled to a safe learning context, so I strive to create that for my students. I would like to provide a blank canvas, primed and ready for their creativity, motivation and inquiry. The external aspects of their lives provide a frame for this creative space. All of these elements affect their learning: prior knowledge, cultural experiences, motivation, career goals, self-confidence, family and peer support, learning styles, classroom experience, emotional engagement, perceptions of welcome from the teacher and classmates, nutrition, how much sleep they have gotten, whether or not they have a safe place to go home to, and their expectations of the teacher and themselves.
If I can shut out the rest of the world for the duration of my class, or even for a few minutes, I can create some kind of equity for my students through that blank canvas, whatever the size, shape and weight of their individual frames. I can do that by caring for my students generally and individually. I can ask the right questions and influence the mood and atmosphere of the classroom to some degree, given external constraints and the group’s dynamics. I can discourage any behavior that stifles a feeling of safety. I can encourage self-confidence and give guidance in baby steps, building upon whatever each student brings to the task. I support the philosophy that diversity in education and all other areas of life is necessary for a fulfilling and authentic experience of the world. Equity does not necessarily mean that everyone gets the same thing, or is expected to achieve the same amount, level, or quality of work, because that might confine some and overwhelm others. Freedom to achieve at the right pace for each student is one key to achieving equality in the classroom, protecting each student’s right to learn.
Education should be valued by every participant in the process. Personal motivation is probably the most important factor in any student’s success, because if it is not valued, any knowledge he or she manages to attain is probably short-lived and ultimately irrelevant. This is where I make my own expectations clear. While I can go a long way in providing an inviting context for learning, I require a significant level of engagement from my students if we are to create a successful learning community. I ask them to be present, to be open-minded, and to be respectful, at a minimum. I assure them that any effort extended on their part will be returned in large measure, perhaps in a number of concrete and intangible forms.
Members of any constructive society have the responsibility to participate in learning and teaching opportunities in the interests of social justice. Education is part of a larger plan of attack on many personal, social and universal problems. Obtaining and sharing knowledge can help individuals, and the larger society, take great strides out of the plight of ignorance. Those mortals who are gifted teachers have a particularly large burden of responsibility, but every person can be a student and a teacher, promoting a better way in some aspect of living.
While this little manifesto encompasses my general philosophy of teaching, it is also quite relevant to any discussion of my approach to teaching writing. Often, the creative process is raw and personal, creating a good deal of vulnerability for the writer. My efforts to establish safety in the classroom as a fundamental right can help create an opening for that process. My expectations for presence, open-mindedness and respect contribute to the essential element of community in the teaching or facilitating of writing. The idea of writing as a tool for social justice provides an enormous source for topics, concepts, audiences and ideas. This last element, writing as responsibility, is also important to keep in mind as we consider the power of the written word. Like fire, water, a blade, or any other tool vital to our survival and comfort in the world, words can also be used to detrimental purpose. As a writer, I hold the power of language in awe, and I would like to share that with my students and colleagues in writing.
To this earnest, serious treatise, I must include the essential element of fun. If there is one thing I have enjoyed most in all of my years of teaching, it has been the laughter and goodwill inherent in any community of learners. I must infuse my philosophy of teaching with some belly shaking laughter.
This fits into my assertion that education is integral to the basic tenants upon which our country is founded, particularly the pursuit of happiness. Unrestricted opportunity to learn is essential to that pursuit for me, and probably for many of my colleagues in the profession. There must be some intrinsic motivation beyond the altruistic drives inherent in the job, because it ain’t the money, honey. Good humor helps provide safety for learning, builds community, and elicits an important degree of personal engagement in the tasks necessary to master skills, achieve objectives, and dare I say, meet standards.
Saturday, June 30, 2007
Sunday, June 10, 2007
The Sweetest Waters
On May 31st I joined once and future colleagues at the Office of Arid Lands Studies to attend a talk on Water Harvesting Impact Assessment in Dry Areas of Tunisia, by Dr. Mohamed Ouessar of the Institut de Regions Arides, Tunisia. He wrote an article for the Arid Lands Newsletter several years ago. Following Dr. Ouessar’s presentation, several of us went to lunch, then I joined Dr. O. and the editor of the ALN, Katherine Waser, to do a tiny tour of water harvesting efforts in Tucson. I was immensely flattered when Katherine proposed that we visit MY site.
In the end, my home visit was a chance to cool off and drink homegrown lemonade between visits to some REAL water harvesting sites in Tucson. But it was fun to share my fledgling efforts and get some expert advice on some of my rather unscientific and disorganized approaches to water catchment. While we were outside admiring my water collection cisterns, a neighbor pulled up to the side of the road and ran toward us. “Uh, oh,” I thought, cynically bracing myself against an accusation of ugliness in my sustainability improvements. Instead, she said, “I am so glad you’re outside! I want one of those!” Happily I met another kindred spirit and printed off some specs and contact information for her. She said she has a lovely yard and she wants to keep it looking lovely while minimizing her use of groundwater. It made my day. This stuff is contagious! She’s the third neighbor I’ve met as a result of my installations—a nice side effect, yes?
Visits to the homes of Brad Lancaster and Barbara Rose framed my little lemonade party. These are two leaders in the permaculture movement--teachers and role models among the growing community of people seeking to reduce their impact on the earth. I’m still distilling all I learned while I tagged along and listened to the conversation and information exchange between an international expert on water harvesting and these local experts who have had an enormous positive influence on my own community.
On that lovely day, I learned a new word: eremology: the science of dry areas. I like using esoteric titles to describe my professions, so now I can say I’m a gypsy scholar, word smith, librarian’s apprentice, and eremologist.
As long as people have inhabited and cultivated dry lands, they have harvested water. Water harvesting is the practice of collecting water from an area that is treated to increase runoff from rainfall or snowmelt for beneficial use. Examples of early water harvesting technology exist in Southern Jordan (5000 years ago), Southern Mesopotamia (4500 BC), the Negev and Yemen (1000 BC), Tunisia, Egypt and Morocco.
Some methods for water harvesting include collection of water from the atmosphere (fog and dew harvesting), from overland flow, and groundwater. People have imitated a kind of beetle which positions itself so that it can collect, condense and consume moisture from the fog that passes over its body. There is also a desert plant called walasia (sp?), which has unexpectedly large leaves, for a desert plant, which it uses to collect condensed fog. In the Canary Islands, humans use volcanic ash to condense dew—it infiltrates the soil to produce onions, grapes, and figs with no irrigation. The ash also serves as mulch to reduce evaporation.
Rainwater can be harvested from rooftops in micro- or macrocatchments (i.e. the size of the catchment). Water can be stored in jars, tanks and cisterns. Agriculture can make use of land contouring and plant placement to make the best use of precipitation. A subterranean dam made of sand can be drilled into the soil to obstruct the movement of water, to create a shallow aquifer. The water is stored in the area upstream of the dam, collecting water for use in agriculture. Small crescents can be shaped to collect water from slopes, preventing erosion and creating terrace-like areas for planting. Diversion dykes can be built with lateral spillways to redirect natural impluvium. Simple cages, filled with rocks, can be used to form blocks to make small check dams to reduce the velocity of runoff, giving more time for the water to seep into the ground to recharge the aquifer. Groundwater recharge wells can be used to directly recharge the aquifer, though silt builds up in these structures quite rapidly, reducing their effectiveness.
These are the sorts of implementations that have taken place in the dry areas of Tunisia. I’ll spare you all the intricacies of Dr. Ouessar’s Impact Assessment, but I will share this: in the study area where he and his team collected thirty years of data, the results of the water harvesting practices were quite nice: there was almost complete elimination of outflow, with increased percolation and seepage, with a slight increase in evapotranspiration. This had a positive impact on crop production and aquifer recharge. However, there were some not so pleasant side effects downstream from the water harvesting area. Cutting the runoff from upstream decreased the quality of halophyte vegetation in the saline depression at the very bottom of the watershed. This vegetation provides winter forage for livestock, and the overall quality of that area has decreased as a result of water savings upstream.
Dr. Chuck Hutchinson, director of OALS, asked to what degree local communities are involved in restoration and rehabilitation of the ancient water harvesting technology in their areas. Dr. Ouessar said that these structures are built and maintained by local populations, but there is the problem of migration as people move to cities to pursue a better life. He said the Tunisians do have one little secret weapon in the battle to preserve the ancient technologies for the benefit of their communities: they have a strong connection to place, so that even when they leave, they retain an investment in their home lands. They honor the property of their ancestors, making them more likely to put forth effort to preserve and improve the land and its associated assets. Water harvesting systems are regarded as part of the landscape, part of the history of the place. Some areas use the structures in ecotourism.
I know that first-hand; I visited some of these ancient structures in 199? with classics professor Dr. David Soren. We visited many of the sites described in his book: Carthage (David Soren, Aicha Ben Abed Ben Khader and Hedi Slim. Simon and Schuster/Touchstone: 1990). Perhaps even then I was taking in what I saw, letting that knowledge percolate down into a fundamental way of living influenced by ancient wisdom and pragmatism.
One of my favorite moments from that whole day was when Dr. Hutchinson told of his interviews with the elders of a community in Spain, who said, “The sweetest waters are in March.” The last rainwater of the season came into cisterns from rooftops that had been washed clean with the season’s rainfall. Perhaps the sweetest is that which is soon to be absent for a while, or forever. Maybe the sweet blessing of rainfall in the desert will inspire more and more people to use various time-tested methods to collect it for our own beneficial use.
In the end, my home visit was a chance to cool off and drink homegrown lemonade between visits to some REAL water harvesting sites in Tucson. But it was fun to share my fledgling efforts and get some expert advice on some of my rather unscientific and disorganized approaches to water catchment. While we were outside admiring my water collection cisterns, a neighbor pulled up to the side of the road and ran toward us. “Uh, oh,” I thought, cynically bracing myself against an accusation of ugliness in my sustainability improvements. Instead, she said, “I am so glad you’re outside! I want one of those!” Happily I met another kindred spirit and printed off some specs and contact information for her. She said she has a lovely yard and she wants to keep it looking lovely while minimizing her use of groundwater. It made my day. This stuff is contagious! She’s the third neighbor I’ve met as a result of my installations—a nice side effect, yes?
Visits to the homes of Brad Lancaster and Barbara Rose framed my little lemonade party. These are two leaders in the permaculture movement--teachers and role models among the growing community of people seeking to reduce their impact on the earth. I’m still distilling all I learned while I tagged along and listened to the conversation and information exchange between an international expert on water harvesting and these local experts who have had an enormous positive influence on my own community.
On that lovely day, I learned a new word: eremology: the science of dry areas. I like using esoteric titles to describe my professions, so now I can say I’m a gypsy scholar, word smith, librarian’s apprentice, and eremologist.
As long as people have inhabited and cultivated dry lands, they have harvested water. Water harvesting is the practice of collecting water from an area that is treated to increase runoff from rainfall or snowmelt for beneficial use. Examples of early water harvesting technology exist in Southern Jordan (5000 years ago), Southern Mesopotamia (4500 BC), the Negev and Yemen (1000 BC), Tunisia, Egypt and Morocco.
Some methods for water harvesting include collection of water from the atmosphere (fog and dew harvesting), from overland flow, and groundwater. People have imitated a kind of beetle which positions itself so that it can collect, condense and consume moisture from the fog that passes over its body. There is also a desert plant called walasia (sp?), which has unexpectedly large leaves, for a desert plant, which it uses to collect condensed fog. In the Canary Islands, humans use volcanic ash to condense dew—it infiltrates the soil to produce onions, grapes, and figs with no irrigation. The ash also serves as mulch to reduce evaporation.
Rainwater can be harvested from rooftops in micro- or macrocatchments (i.e. the size of the catchment). Water can be stored in jars, tanks and cisterns. Agriculture can make use of land contouring and plant placement to make the best use of precipitation. A subterranean dam made of sand can be drilled into the soil to obstruct the movement of water, to create a shallow aquifer. The water is stored in the area upstream of the dam, collecting water for use in agriculture. Small crescents can be shaped to collect water from slopes, preventing erosion and creating terrace-like areas for planting. Diversion dykes can be built with lateral spillways to redirect natural impluvium. Simple cages, filled with rocks, can be used to form blocks to make small check dams to reduce the velocity of runoff, giving more time for the water to seep into the ground to recharge the aquifer. Groundwater recharge wells can be used to directly recharge the aquifer, though silt builds up in these structures quite rapidly, reducing their effectiveness.
These are the sorts of implementations that have taken place in the dry areas of Tunisia. I’ll spare you all the intricacies of Dr. Ouessar’s Impact Assessment, but I will share this: in the study area where he and his team collected thirty years of data, the results of the water harvesting practices were quite nice: there was almost complete elimination of outflow, with increased percolation and seepage, with a slight increase in evapotranspiration. This had a positive impact on crop production and aquifer recharge. However, there were some not so pleasant side effects downstream from the water harvesting area. Cutting the runoff from upstream decreased the quality of halophyte vegetation in the saline depression at the very bottom of the watershed. This vegetation provides winter forage for livestock, and the overall quality of that area has decreased as a result of water savings upstream.
Dr. Chuck Hutchinson, director of OALS, asked to what degree local communities are involved in restoration and rehabilitation of the ancient water harvesting technology in their areas. Dr. Ouessar said that these structures are built and maintained by local populations, but there is the problem of migration as people move to cities to pursue a better life. He said the Tunisians do have one little secret weapon in the battle to preserve the ancient technologies for the benefit of their communities: they have a strong connection to place, so that even when they leave, they retain an investment in their home lands. They honor the property of their ancestors, making them more likely to put forth effort to preserve and improve the land and its associated assets. Water harvesting systems are regarded as part of the landscape, part of the history of the place. Some areas use the structures in ecotourism.
I know that first-hand; I visited some of these ancient structures in 199? with classics professor Dr. David Soren. We visited many of the sites described in his book: Carthage (David Soren, Aicha Ben Abed Ben Khader and Hedi Slim. Simon and Schuster/Touchstone: 1990). Perhaps even then I was taking in what I saw, letting that knowledge percolate down into a fundamental way of living influenced by ancient wisdom and pragmatism.
One of my favorite moments from that whole day was when Dr. Hutchinson told of his interviews with the elders of a community in Spain, who said, “The sweetest waters are in March.” The last rainwater of the season came into cisterns from rooftops that had been washed clean with the season’s rainfall. Perhaps the sweetest is that which is soon to be absent for a while, or forever. Maybe the sweet blessing of rainfall in the desert will inspire more and more people to use various time-tested methods to collect it for our own beneficial use.
Wednesday, June 6, 2007
"I'm glad you were born!"
My friend Dave called me this morning for what has become a traditional birthday call. "I'm glad you were born," he said. "I hope you don't mind, I stole the line from you. I call all my friends on their birthdays to tell them that."
"Of course I don't mind," I told him. "Share the love!"
Any day is a good time to tell those we love that we are glad they were born, that they made their way into our lives, that they are so great... But why not make a special effort on a birthday?
My biggest thanks today go to my mother, for bearing me, birthing me, raising me, and letting me go. Thanks, Mom... I'm glad I was born.
Heather
"Of course I don't mind," I told him. "Share the love!"
Any day is a good time to tell those we love that we are glad they were born, that they made their way into our lives, that they are so great... But why not make a special effort on a birthday?
My biggest thanks today go to my mother, for bearing me, birthing me, raising me, and letting me go. Thanks, Mom... I'm glad I was born.
Heather
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