Pitching Hay (9/2)

The details are fuzzy, but it might have been my 7^th or 8^th birthday party. My Mom hosted it in our backyard and at some point had me explain and teach some kind of activity. Again, I don’t remember what it was. But what I do remember is that after I did, my mother said, “Douglas! You should be a teacher! You did such a good job with that!”

 

Was that the first beckoning finger that led me through the door that led me to the life that followed? Again, I can’t be sure. But the fact that I remembered her praising me feels significant. And it wasn’t the praise per se. She was not shy about letting me know—sometimes—that she thought I was the cat’s pajamas. (Where did that phrase come from?) But the fact that she saw the future teacher in me might have indeed set something in motion. 

 

In his poem Hay for the Horses,  Gary Snyder tells about working with an older man pitching hay. The 68-year-old-man says:

… I first bucked hay when I was seventeen.

I thought, that day I started, 

I sure would hate to do this all my life. 

And dammit, that’s just what

I’ve gone and done.”

 

 I also was 17 when I got my first part-time job tutoring kids in a summer program and found that I enjoyed it quite a bit. Some part of me might have thought, “This could be fun to do my whole life. “And my 74-year-old self says, “Hallelujah! That’s just what I’ve gone and done!”

 

Today was my last day of a 12-week run (with some interludes) that found me teaching nine courses in four continents to some 350 teachers. It was a glorious ending to a course that began with some doubts as to whether I could be of use to the students and they might sincerely enjoy it. Doubts I never have, but with so many who were not music teachers and had never been to an Orff workshop, it was a slow beginning. But each successive moment in the three days, I could feel them slowly opening like a beautiful jasmine flower with a delicious scent. Their final project was to come up with a final rendition of a well-known folk song (appropriately including a flower—The Flower Drum Song) and making it come alive with Orff instruments, drums, singing and dancing. A great pleasure for me to just leave them alone to work on it and sit outside enjoying the summery day with its cool breeze. 

 

After they performed, I shared some of my jazz activities and they jumped in with both feet dancing. We ended the day with them singing Jasmine Flower (another appropriate choice!) while I went around and gave a goodbye handshake to each person in turn around the circle. A simple, but moving, affirmation that we came together, enjoyed each other and this teacher appreciated each person’s unique contribution. Not exactly business as usual in China —or many places. Letting people know that they matter. 

 

Two days ahead of some tourist sightseeing and then finally returning home to San Francisco, where I’ve been exactly one week out of the last fifteen! But I’m ready to dig back into my home and family and friends there. Amazingly enough, I have one 75-minute workshop at a Conference in November and as of now, that’s it for teaching until Singapore in January. Four months ahead with my teacher-self tucked away. But that’s okay. As Whitman said, “I am large. I contain multitudes.” I can say that without ego because I sincerely believe we all contain multitudes. Perhaps that’s the main point of my teaching— to help release them. 

 

Meanwhile, thanks, Mom, for setting me on the path to the equivalent of pitching hay for the horses, giving folks the nutrition they need. And that’s another connection with one of today’s songs:

 

“Who pitched the hay? I did!”

 

And am so glad I did. More to come.