Which Work is Work?

Seems we’re all still reacting to the Flanagan piece slamming school gardens. Here’s a piece from Civil Eats that quotes Booker T. Washington on the value of physical work. The contempt shown by so much of the middle and upper-middle classes for people who work with their hands is, I’m convinced, partly responsible for the devastating loss of manufacturing jobs here in America. When you believe that work is only something other people do, and when you believe that those others, because they work with their hands and bodies must necessarily be inferior to you in your nice clean office, in your nice clean house (cleaned by whom?) and when in many parts of the country, even your yard and garden are tended by strangers who arrive once a week in a truck and then leave again, well, if your experience of the physical world is so mediated, then how could you ever know how satisfying physical work can be?

Is the real fear behind this school garden backlash that the kids might like it? And then what? Is the real fear that they might want to be farmers or gardeners or carpenters or to actually do something with their hands rather than to march off in lockstep to law school or MBA programs (because god forbid we deprive Wall Street of another generation of those all-important hedge fund managers)?

I remember when Patrick went off to Sterling College in Vermont, a terrific little school where he not only learned to write a paper for the first time, but learned to skid logs with draft horses, and to birth sheep and cattle, and tap trees for maple syrup (although boiling syrup’s not a good job for the ADD-inclined, look away at a crucial moment and it burns). That school was full of upper-middle-class kids whose parents were, in many cases, appalled that their kids wanted to be farriers, or farmers, or environmental biologists — you know things they could do outside, that involved working with their hands. And Patrick’s fellow students had, for the most part, spent their entire school lives being told they were dumb, or that they should apply themselves more, or that they just weren’t trying because they weren’t the kinds of kids who could sit in classrooms all day without doing something.

What has 40 years of insisting that college is mandatory and the only path to success gotten us? A nation where we have no plumbers or electricians or even just factories that make things. A nation where ordinary middle-class suburbanites don’t even know how to run a lawnmower. A nation of kids being raised in front of screens and in the back seats of SUVs being driven from “activity” to “activity” but not allowed to just play outside. Hmm. Progress?

Maybe it’s time to take another look at what Mr. Washington had to say. Civil Eats » Booker T. Washington on School Gardens and the Pleasure of Work:

Above all else I had acquired a new confidence in my ability actually to do things and to do them well. And more than this I found myself through this experience getting rid of the idea which had gradually become a part of me, that the head meant everything and the hands little in working endeavour and that only to labour with the mind was honourable while to toil with the hands was unworthy and even disgraceful.

…While I have never wished to underestimate the awakening power of purely mental training I believe that this visible tangible contact with nature gave me inspirations and ambitions which could not have come in any other way. I favour the most thorough mental training and the highest development of mind but I want to see these linked with the common things of the universal life about our doors.

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Don’t Blame the Environment

Hmm. I don’t think being green is the problem here — seems like these couples have bigger issues. Another dumb lifestyle article from the NY Times.

When Trying to Preserve the Planet Strains the Relationship – NYTimes.com

As awareness of environmental concerns has grown, therapists say they are seeing a rise in bickering between couples and family members over the extent to which they should change their lives to save the planet.

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The School Garden flap …

While in some ways I hate to give Caitlin Flanagan any more web traffic for her flameball of an article about school gardens, the response has been very heartening. Here’s a link roundup:

As someone who comes from a long line of experiential educators, as well as someone who watched a number of very very smart family members struggle with dyslexia (and thrive when given something concrete to do), I think anything that gets kids connecting what they’re learning in the classroom to applications in the real world is a great thing …

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Sharp Knives

There’s a knife-sharpener guy who has been sitting out by the side of the road near the grocery store for a couple of months now. Every time I drive past Mountain Man Knife Sharpening, I think I should take my knives to him, and yesterday, when I saw he was in his truck, I turned around, went home, and got my horribly dull knives.

Patrick used to sharpen my knives for me, and even though I’ve got a stone, and the oil, I never got around to it. So they’ve gotten progressively more useless.

Well, for three bucks a piece, Mr. Mountain Man sharpened them all right up. Now all I want to do is cut tomatoes all day long. They’re so wonderful. No wonder I used to like those knives.

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Tennis!

Tennis was my bête noire as a child. I took lessons, dressed in my proper white tennis skirt and tretorns, from the time I was about four until I was fourteen. And in all those years I could never hit the damn ball. It was a trial. My mother desperately wanted me to be one of those girls, tennis playing girls, nice suburban girls who get along with others and wear their hair in shiny ponytails and go out to play tennis on Saturday mornings. And I couldn’t hit the ball. I bent my knees. I kept my eye on the ball. And I whiffed it every time.

When I was sixteen we discovered that I needed glasses. When I was sixteen we discovered that I have very little depth perception. No wonder I couldn’t hit the damn ball.

But I never took tennis back up, so scarred was I by all those years of failure on the courts. Plus, I hate hot weather. A hot tennis court was so not the place I wanted to be.

But last night Chuck and I went to the local court over at the elementary school and hit some balls back and forth. With glasses, I can hit the ball! It was SO much fun. It helps that he’s not all competitive about it. We weren’t even playing with rules, we were just hitting the ball back and forth. The weather was gorgeous — in the seventies and that fall tang in the air. The Absarokas were in the background. We hit balls back and forth and ran around for forty minutes or so. There was fresh air. There was someone fun to play with. There was a little exercise. It was really great. I hit forehands, and backhands (not as reliably, but I did hit some) and even remembered how to serve. I’m so stoked. I always wanted to be someone who could go play a friendly game of tennis, and I have a couple of girlfriends in town who play. Who knows? At my advanced age, I could finally become the social tennis player my parents always wanted me to be.

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