Chapter Four, Shadow on the Rock Miss Georgia knocked on the Stone’s door and heard muttered exclamations inside. She was sure neither James Stone nor his wife was expecting anybody to drop by this late. James opened the door in overalls, shirt, and bare feet. It seemed strange not to see him dressed to the […]
Jul 3, 2020
The Ride Was Bumpy, But Fun
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Maybe it’s because a virus has caused so much turmoil everywhere, especially in schools, or maybe it’s because I’m growing older and tend to look back sometimes, but, lately I’ve been thinking about a little one-room school my brother and I attended in northern Oklahoma– wheat, alfalfa, and cattle country. The school’s name was Valley […]
Feb 22, 2020
Does It Really Have to End?
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Does the Story Have to End? The following is by a guest blogger, my sister-in-law Linda Day. This was published a few years ago, but it’s always fresh and new. Haven’t we all felt this way? Reading wasn’t always an enjoyable pastime. Being a tomboy and growing up in a rural area, more interesting adventures […]
Aug 1, 2019
What To Do with Endings
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This morning as I look out at a dark, damp world and the beginning of a new day, with another school year fast approaching, I think of beginnings. And, endings. July has ended, another summer is nearly gone and August is here–the month when schools start and teachers and children troop back to the classroom. […]
Sep 15, 2018
A Launching Pad
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Last night, my niece and I talked about teaching young children. She’s a teacher and so was I, for a good many years. Computers were just being introduced as learning tools about the time I retired. I’m glad I retired when I did. Many things can be learned through computers, but it is my firm […]
Aug 13, 2018
Summer School at Etta
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Times have changed and so have school terms. Today’s blog is the conclusion of the segment begun yesterday about the summer term at Etta Bend around 1915. This is taken from my book, The Heritage of Etta Bend. Although the picture is of an old-time school, it isn’t Etta. The words and story are my mother’s, […]
