Williamsport Falls

Today was our monthly nature hike. After being rained out (twice) last month, it was nice to have a warm, sunny day. Especially as we were headed to one of the organizer’s favorite spots: the Williamsport Falls.

 

About 45 minutes from us, the falls are considered the highest in the state of Indiana, falling 90 feet. Nothing compared to Niagara Falls (which is what Ethan was picturing), but way better in other ways. After all, swimsuits are the attire of choice when visiting these falls.

 

It didn’t take long before the falls became one of everyone’s favorite spots. A great pool to wade in, a stream to walk along, rocks to climb, falls to admire, and rocks to toss into the pool (Ellyson’s activity of choice). It was such a great day that my kids were asking if we were going back the next day!

Ethan at the falls.

 

Ellyson finding rocks with her little friends.

 

Emry climbing some of the rocks.

My Teachers: Mrs. Steely

I’m not sure how many of the 20 or so kids in my first grade class would look back on that school year of 1986 – 1987 and say Mrs. Steely was their favorite teacher of all time. I’m pretty sure a couple of kids wouldn’t. But I would have to say she was mine.

 

Just this week she came up in conversation as I was telling someone about my love of history. Because she inspired that love. To be honest, I don’t remember what our history book even looked like, and I can’t remember what was in it. But I do remember her pictures and her stories of her trips to the Statue of Liberty, Philadelphia, and Washington, D.C. Oh, how I wanted to see those places!

 

In the small town of Lewisburg, Mrs. Steely was one in a long list of teachers who knew exactly who I was. Her husband, Coach Steely, had coached both my parents in various sports as well as taught them math way back when they were in junior high. She knew my grandparents. She knew my uncles. She knew my aunts. She probably knew more of my distant cousins than I did. But having Ogilvie blood pumping in my veins didn’t do me any favors. Mrs. Steely wasn’t that kind of teacher. In her class, everyone was equal. And if you crossed the line she set for you, you faced the consequences of your actions. She is the only teacher who ever put me in a corner. I disobeyed and was whispering during rest period. Me and enough friends that she almost didn’t have enough corners in the classroom to put us all in (she used the cloak room, too). I don’t think one of us ever did that again.

 

Mrs. Steely ran a tight ship. When she said she had eyes in the back of her head, you believed her. She was firm in her discipline, but fair. She expected every one of her students to work hard and do their work well. I remember messing up on a math page because I didn’t listen to the directions. I didn’t get put in a corner for that, but I also listened up from then on. Because she was a teacher I didn’t want to disappoint. Partly because of which family I belonged to and I was afraid a bad report would get back to my grandmother, but mostly because Mrs. Steely was just the sort of teacher whose expectations you wanted to achieve. Or at least I did.

 

In 2016, I saw Mrs. Steely again at my grandmother’s funeral. She still knew who I was. I was still partly afraid she had told my grandmother I had been put in the corner once. But mostly I wanted to tell her I had been all the places she had talked about: the Statue of Liberty, Philadelphia, Washington, D.C. And so very many other places I would have never imagined going if she hadn’t made history so real for me. And that is something I will always be grateful for.

 

Me in First Grade.

My Teachers: Ms. Cummings

When I think of Kindergarten, two things immediately come to mind:

 

1)  Nathan Cathy drawing all over my doll’s head.

2)  The fact that we didn’t get a book for every letter in the alphabet.

 

I remember a lot of other things from Kindergarten as well. I remember learning about St. Patrick’s Day. (I got pinched a lot that day…and thought it quite unfair because no one told me I was supposed to wear green.) I remember all the Disney songs we learned for our class play when we dressed as Mousketeers. I remember how proud I was to loose my first tooth. And I remember my first friend: Katie Lovett (now Hill – we still exchange Christmas cards!)

 

I attended Marshall County Elementary School in Lewisburg, TN. My teacher was Ms. Cummings. She seemed really old…and yet she wasn’t because I knew some of the other Kindergarten teachers were even older than her. Of course, in the eyes of a 5-year-old they were all practically ancient. She was always dressed very professionally: skirt, blouse, blazer, scarf, heels. I honestly cannot remember her ever wearing something more casual. I thought of her as a good teacher, but not really a fun one. Perhaps because we didn’t hatch eggs in an incubator (Mrs. Love’s class did that). Nor did we have tadpoles (I can’t remember whose class did that). We also didn’t get to wear crowns and a birthday sash on our birthday. (Mrs. Busler’s class did that, and my lucky sister Katey had her as a teacher three years later.) As a kid, I wanted a more fun teacher. As an adult, I get it. Incubators and tadpoles are a lot of work. And birthday crowns and sashes are unfair to kids who have summer birthdays.

 

As a teacher, Ms. Cummings fulfilled her responsibilities. Her class was in good ordered and I learned. I can’t remember precisely what I learned, but I remember writing on tablet paper as carefully as I could. I remember coloring shapes with my huge crayons. And I remember learning the alphabet. Well, I should say I remember what I didn’t learn about the alphabet. First of all, we didn’t learn it in order. Which really annoyed me. I know there is a science behind the order children are taught the alphabet, but it really bugged me in Kindergarten that we didn’t learn the alphabet A to Z. We got a little 6 x 6 pamphlet for each letter. I don’t remember what was in each, but probably a page to trace the letter, and pictures of words that start with that letter. I just remember that we didn’t get all of them. In order to “collect” all 26, you had to be held back and go to the “special Kindergarten” class the next year. Obviously, no one wanted to be in that class and yet I did want all the books. What was the use of having a set of books if you were lacking several? Especially when one of the ones lacking was the letter “M” which is a rather important letter when your name is Melissa Michele Sturm. Yes, I was OCD even in Kindergarten.

 

In conclusion, Ms. Cummings was a good teacher to start an education with. If anything, she didn’t fail to prepare me for first grade which is high praise when my first grade teacher would be Mrs. Steely.

 

Me in Kindergarten.

Bucket List

For someone who is a passionate list maker, it may surprise you that I don’t have a bucket list. Maybe I think I’m too young for that. Which is a really nice thought, however untruthful it may be. More likely I think of things I want to do as not the last things I will do. They’re just things I want to accomplish in my life, not simply do before I die. I suppose, in essence, that’s the same thing. It’s just different ways of looking at it.

 

The past fall my dad retired and one of the hobbies he has taken up in politics. It’s not a new “hobby”. Dad was part of the planning commission (or something like that) when I was very young and we lived in Texas. I remember going to political get-togethers with him as a child in Tennessee, and I remember handing out George H. W. Bush bumper stickers and flyers with him back in during the 1988 election. After that, we moved, more kids came, he travelled more with work, and politics fell to the wayside. Unless you count politicking in your own home. He was good at that. And why not? He was raising eight little voters, four times as many as most people bring into the world!

 

But now he’s got time on his hands and he’s back at it. It’s something he’s interested in and has always wanted to do. At his age, people might say it’s something on his bucket list. I think it’s just something he wants to do with his life. And it got me to thinking. What else do I want to do with my life?

 

In the midst of raising three kids, homeschooling, working part time, serving at church, keeping a house, and all the others things I pile on; it would be easy to say I’m good right now. The only problem is, it really bugs me to just go on with my life as if I have nothing left to achieve until I’m 60 and the kids are finally grown. The very idea drives me insane. I don’t want to live like that. I want to achieve something. Not President of the United States, but something. Three somethings.

 

First, I’d really like a home. Not a place to rent. A place I can call our own. A place to paint the walls however I want. A place to unpack allmy books. A place where the kids can grow up…and then come home to. If I’m honest, except for eight years of my life, it’s always something I’ve wanted. Something I’ve never really had. And, right now, something that just seems like it’s on hold. Again. And again. And again. Not a lot I can do about that now except pray. So I do.

 

Second, I want to be a writer. I think I’ve wanted to be a writer since I was eleven years old and put pen to paper in scribbling my first story about a bunch of girls who started a cheerleading squad. A silly story, but from that moment on I was rarely found not scribbling something during some part of the day…until life as an adult start catching up with me in my thirties. Then I got married. Then I had kids. And now I can barely keep up a blog. But I sometimes think of the stories I want to write in the few seconds of consciousness between putting my book down and sleeping. And the other day after a trip to the library as I lugged a bag overflowing with books into our car, even Ed turned to me and said, “Why don’t you just write books?” Words I thought I’d never hear him say because even though he knows I like to write, he’s never read a sentence of anything I have written and probably never will. And for the first time in years, I started really thinking about it…

 

And finally, join the Daughters of the American Revolution. I think I’ve wanted to do this ever since I found out I had relatives who fought in the Revolution and even started looking at it when I was in my late 20s. But I didn’t follow through for one reason or another and tabled it, almost not thinking about it again until a Christmas letter a couple of years ago from a family we knew in Pittsburgh. I hadn’t known she was a member of DAR, and it got me thinking. But with one thing or another, I didn’t follow through. Until the thought suddenly hit me again last week…and today as I was waiting for my laptop to save some graphic-heavy proposal to my work server, I opened up their website. Filled out an interest form. And then got several emails from the local chapter before the night was over. That settled it. I’m gathering my information and meeting with one of the women on Saturday to figure it all out. I’m finally going to do it. I’m gong to join DAR!

I still don’t have a bucket list. I doubt I ever will. The things above are things I just want to do with my life. Because that’s what God gives us a life for: to live. For Him. And after that eternity. Isn’t that a wonderful thought? 

Dear Emry,

 

Today is your 7^thbirthday! Seven years old…I will probably say this every year, but where have those years gone?

 

This past year of your life has had its ups and downs, as all years will. I just think you have been more aware of them. For you are a very intuitive little girl. You are starting to understand your own personality and the personalities of those around you. Sometimes you do quite well with the uniqueness God has given each person…but other times you just aren’t sure how to respond. Except to go play by yourself. You don’t play by yourself quite as much as I did (yet), but as much as you love being around people, you also like your space when life overwhelms you.

 

This past year you have been a B-bopper again, for which I’m very proud. You enjoy your dance class and are faithful in your practicing, but you’re also realizing there is a lot out there to try. So along with another year of soccer, you have tried acro. Now you want to try tennis. And art class. And maybe gymnastics. Perhaps basketball. Maybe softball. You’re at the age where you’re willing to try anything, and that’s a great age! Who knows what you may settle on, but I hope you’ll always want to try new things.

 

You have your own little group of friends now, mostly the two in the neighborhood who can be great…and not so great. As all groups of little girls can be. But you’ve also struggled with your friends, especially those who are so different than you. You’re not always sure how to respond to bubbly, or emotional, or overly bossy. You tend to be serious and take things at face value. (Pragmatic, your dance teacher called you.) But by and large, I have been proud of how you’ve dealt with the conflict friends can often present in your life. You are kind to those who need help, and equitable when in conflict. Learning to be a friend is a lifelong lesson, and I hope you will continue to learn it well.

 

This year also meant you were in Sparks at church, and I was glad to be in the class with you. You loved the lessons and were passionate in your Scripture memory. I am grateful you are not like your know-it-all-mother at your age who always knew everything about the lessons at church and wasn’t afraid to say so. You listen, and you think, and you ask questions. You aren’t yet sure of your faith in Christ and often tell me, “Mama, I don’t know if I trust Jesus. I mean, I do trust Jesus, but I don’t know if I trust Him enough.” Little girl, if I could give you faith I would. But I am grateful you don’t presume upon your faith. You don’t think you have it just because you know it all, or because your parents have it. I am grateful God has given you the understanding that faith is something that grows, and something that is personal. And I am praying God gives you that gift of faith.   

 

Emry, I am more and more thankful for your seven years with us and pray you will have decades more. God blessed us with your little life – a blessing far beyond words. So, happy birthday, little girl!

 

All my love,

Mama