Every small town, though similar to its neighbour in some ways, has its own unique quirks.

Sitting in the diner at a corner of "downtown" Fonthill waiting for my dinner this penultimate evening of my three day assessment workshop for teachers, I have opportunity to reflect on the peculiarities this particular small town offers. (I guess technically the small town in question here is Pelham, and Fonthill is… what, a village within the town? But I digress…)

Let's begin with the suddenly-ending sidewalk that brought me here, the sidewalk that begins at the main road and continues, rising up, up, up, three quarters of the way up the hill, and then suddenly coming to a stop at someone's driveway.

I don't get it: I'm supposed to walk along the sidewalk, and then just suddenly jump down into the road or what?

On the other hand, let it not be said that the people of Fonthill are unimaginative; the unique and undoubtedly hand-made plumbing-inspired structure in the washroom of last night's restaurant featured no fewer than six toilet paper rolls, five of which I was able to capture in one photo frame on my trusty iPhone:

No, creativity is alive and well here in this tiny village in the Niagara region... Undoubtedly the locals have tremendous time to cultivate their prolific arts in the many hours they have off work; it seems every place around here is constantly closed.

Arriving in town two days ago, I was eager -- after setting up for my workshop and checking into a local B and B -- to check out some of the cute little shops I had seen on my drive in. Alas, everything had already closed for the evening, bakery, gift shops, chocolaterie, cafe...

It was about twenty to four in the afternoon.

I especially like the sign on this shop:

Srsly, dude! With working hours like that, who's going to laugh at government jobs anymore?

On the plus side, the local bank (when open) has specialists to meet the needs of the local community:

(What the hell does an "agricultural specialist" do, I wonder, at a BANK??! I mean, isn't agriculture more about planting corn than planting dollars? But what do I know, I'm just a city slicker.)

And then let's talk about the road I had to drive along to get from my B&B to my workshop each morning. It's called... Wait for it… "Effingham Road".

Yes, that's right, say it again, let it roll around in your mouth, say it out loud, kids -- it has to be heard to be fully appreciated. In fact, I heard it before I saw it spelled out myself, when the son of the folks who run the B and B where I'm staying said it out loud in a series of directions he was giving me… Honest to God, I seriously thought at first that he was saying "f--ingham", and it took every effort on my part to not burst out laughing!

And then I saw it written out on a street sign as I drove along.

But still…

So there I was, muttering "fuckingham" out loud to myself for the next three days, and succumbing to periodic fits of internal giggling, which had some observable symptoms, and which I hoped none of my workshop participants would notice, for I'm sure they already thought I was weird enough! (But really, people, who names a street -- or anything for that matter -- "F-ingham"?!)

I will mention two noteworthy redeeming features of this little spot on the southern Ontario rural map, one being the Picard Peanut outlet store on Hwy 20, which offers the company's world-famous chip nuts and a host of other goodies for purchase (I bought several packs as prizes for my workshop, and a few more to take home for family).

The other great thing about Fonthill and pretty much every place around here is the fact that it's located in the Niagara region, which means it has an abundance of fresh, juicy, tasty fruit.

​In fact, as I'm typing this, I'm devouring a bowl of fresh peaches, picked this morning!

So there you have it, folks, another great small town adventure in Ontario, yours to discover!

​For avid cyclists, it's no secret that finding the ideal fit in a bike takes time and experience. When I was lucky enough to have Silver bestowed on me by a generous friend a few years ago, I was still new to commuter biking, and not entirely sure that new, sporty steed was the right fit for me. Nevertheless, I rode it to work weekly, and rode around elsewhere, too, trying to get a sense of what it was to feel truly comfortable on two wheels.

Fast forward four years, and I knew for sure that I needed a longer frame and a more aggressive geometry.  My partner and cycling muse, a long-time bike commuter and former Can-bike instructor with the city of Toronto who currently rides 40 km a day to and from work on one or the other of her two bikes had also been urging me to consider drop bars, which I was not previously ready for, but which I had finally become more open to. 
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And so, on a recent summer day, we replaced Silver with Kermit*, an Instagram-worthy touring hybrid with drop bars and fancy new disc brakes.

Our first stop after introducing the two to one another was to take Kermit and Stevie geocaching, which we did along the Lakeshore last Sunday.

Sam Smith park afforded the first new cache we'd found in those parts in a while, and Stevie and Kermit waited nicely together in the cedars while their humans went hunting around in the dirt, eventually finding the cache and harrumph-ing at the silly jokes listed in the logbook.

After returning the treasure to its hidden home, we continued a little further west, along the waterfront...

Bikes locked up to one another and the slat of a gazebo, Tats began digging around on the beach while I pulled out some sustenance and set up shop on a lpicnic table nearby.

We did not get to lunch for very long, however, as Stevie's owner was determined to find one final cache before taking Kermit's owner to a little Austrian cafe on Lakeshore for "Kaffee und Kuchen". (Well, tea, in my case.)

And so on we rode, further west still, and leaned Kermit and Stevie against a tree one final time.

Once more Tats went tripping along the beach with her GPS while I snapped a few pics for the blog before joining her in the hunt.

All three caches on the list signed and logged, we hopped back on Stevie and Kermit, and headed back east a little, to Sugar for my Honey, to enjoy the promised cake and tea, and have a conversation in German with the owner there.

Still tweaking a few little details on Kermit (I think a slightly longer stem would be helpful), but overall, loving my new ride, especially the drop bars!!

*Naming my bikes is a habit I picked up from my partner, who had adopted the practice long before we met, from a cycling friend of hers.

Extended workshop facilitation affords me the opportunity for self reflection.

This latest stint, in Fenelon Falls, brought me two insights; first of all, that there are some damn fine butter tarts to be had in Ontario, and secondly that I am super lucky to have come into contact with certain people at just the right points in my life, to encourage me and move me forward in my growth mindset.
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Where to get Ontario's Best Butter Tarts

So it turns out the best butter tarts do not reside – – as I had hitherto suggested – – at the Lindsay airport, nor are they found in the previously written about Chelsea bun bakery, nor even at my local farmers market where there are found to be for sale some excellent home-baked goods.

No, indeed, the world's best butter tarts come from a little place called Erin's Little Bake Shop, as discovered by the half dozen samples that were generously brought to me by one of the participants of my workshop this morning, on Day Three of our three days together.

Sticky, sweet, delectable interiors of Erin's little Bakeshop butter tarts are ensconced with the perfect butter tart crust. (It has always been at my firm belief that entirely too much attention is paid to the centre of the tarts, and not nearly enough to the crust. The ideal butter tart crust, in my opinion, is somewhat flaky, somewhat crispy, somewhat chewy; the perfect marriage of all three of these qualifiers is what makes a crust "good".)

Of the half-dozen that the dear girl brought me, only two made it home this evening, the rest having been gobbled down ravenously by the same culprit who devoured the Chelsea bun from the previous blog post, as she was stuck in this wretched vehicle in slow moving traffic on first the 401, then the Don Valley Parkway, and finally the eventually-opening-up pavement of the QEW tonight.

My digital music playing device is now in its fifth incarnation since the lasagna and brownie escapades that my not-so-young-anymore friend had inspired, and while there have been a few bumps along the way, I can honestly say that I don't miss the cumbersome nature of my previous way of listening to music one bit.

It was the initial resistance, however, to try something new, that cost me considerable and unnecessary delay in moving forward with technology both then, and at other times since then. And while a little healthy caution can be a valuable lens through which to approach new ideas in general, I do feel that my lack of growth mindset has at times held me back in ways that have not been beneficial to my learning and my practice.

Thank goodness people like my technical and musically minded friend have been courageous enough to speak up and force me to consider different perspectives.

Good Friends + Good Food = Gratitude

As I devour the last delicious butter tart that I swore I wouldn't eat while dictating this blog post hands-free into my iPhone on the final leg of my drive home in this week's rental car, I realize how lucky I have been with the people placed in my life at just the right times. I am grateful not only for my music/techie friends, but also for others who have walked with me and moved me forward in my thinking when closed mindedness or resistance tempted me, or who have encouraged me to continue learning when I have felt tired or overwhelmed.

​As a teacher with some experience facilitating workshops over the years, I have the opportunity to do a little traveling within the province.  Typically, ETFO Provincial will send me to some small town or other to in-service anywhere between 10 - 40 teachers at a time, depending on dates, location and topic. 

Although it consumes a tremendous amount of prep time and mental effort, It's an adventuresome perk of the job I have enjoyed tremendously these past several years, and one I hope to carry with me into my next version of public educator, when I leave my current post as a Teacher with my school board, and begin working full time as an Education Officer with the Ministry of Ed next fall.
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This week, my rental car took me into the Kawarthas, home of the butter tart rivalries, to Fenelon Falls.

Reflections on Car Rentals

For most of my travels this past year, I've managed by public or commercial transit, or a combination of both. But there is no commercial flight to Fenelon Falls, and the bus from Toronto only goes as far as Peterborough, so I had to bite the bullet and rent a car.

I must be getting old.  And also, cars are evil!

I've been car-free since 2013, renting only when necessary, mainly on PEI each summer to transport my kiddies back and forth between our pastoral north shore retreat there and the bustling city life in Charlottetown, a half hour's drive from our house. And to drive to lobster dinner in New Glasgow. And to the North Rustico Bakery. 

​But I digress.

​So, I haven't been in the driver's side of a car since last summer, and now, suddenly, there I was, turning left onto a busy Toronto street in a rental car, and then out onto the highway, and there were BIG TRUCKS everywhere and it was fast and busy and crowded and it just kept racing along with me in the middle of it!!

Needless to say, I felt a little overwhelmed.

Taking public transit has -- for me -- been hugely convenient.  I've become accustomed to relaxing and reading the paper most days while someone else pays attention to the road.  I also get a lot of email and organizational work done on route.  And biking to work when I am not taking a bus, plane or subway is such a viscerally rewarding way to experience the grittiness of the city streets.

None of these realities was mine as I tried to just keep moving and merging and stepping on the gas in the not-so-little and gadget-bespeckled black Nissan which the good but perhaps somewhat naiive people at Enterprise had entrusted to me.

Thankfully, driving is a bit like riding a bike; once you get going again after a long break, your muscle memory takes over, and soon it's all good again. I managed to make it out of Toronto unscathed, and within approximately one hour of driving, the busy highway scenes had been replaced with a more tranquil Vista...

I began to relax a little, and just enjoy the forced focus that driving demands, without the incessant checking of emails and calendars and Instagram.

Music and Big, Open Skies

Somewhere between the 404 and Richmond Hill, I had managed to fish my iPhone charger out of my bag in the back seat, and had figured out how to plug it into the car's stereo system (turns out most cars now have a USB charger built in -- standard.  Who knew?!), though discerning how to select specific music from my playlist remained a mystery, and I was compelled to enjoy any and all songs on my phone in alphabetical order only.

While I awaited the mercifully-close-to-the-beginning-of-the-alphabet Bach I had been hoping to cue up (the country driving had inspired in me a hankering for a little listen of his aria, "Bist Du Bei Mir" ), I was treated to Malosetti's Acampantes and Nina Simone's Ain't Got No -- I Got Life (a stupendous Pop-Soul medley that inspired a rap-over by Lauryn Hill not so long ago!)  The first several bars of Rush's the Anarchist also made it to my eardrums before I pressed the FF button when the lyrics came on (I so love that band's groove; the singing, not so much!!)

Then it was on to the B's, but I got no Bist Du until I had first dealt with Baby Beluga and Disney's Bare Necessities, as well as Louis Armstrong's Be my Life's Companion and Michael Jackson's Billie Jean (two versions of that one, my friends!)  Then I almost had to pull over I was laughing so hard at the "two slightly sampled electric guitars" and "the Venetian Effect" of The Bell (from Mike Oldfield's classic, Tubular Bells), which I had not heard in AGES!!!

Almost alone on the wide, open country roads, I drove confidently now, humming along to my alphabetized playlist, and marveling at the magnificent skies that rural Ontario offers.

After some time, the novelty of the pastoral scenery (and its accompanying iphone track) wore off, and my hitherto gentle hunger pangs turned into an incessant gnawing in my tummy. I'd had enough of cows, horses and endless farmers' fields, and was more interested in finding something to eat, preferably a beautiful thing like a Harvey's veggie burger with cheese.

I began to curse myself for not having stopped at the roadside stop-and-eatery along the 401 earlier.

Saved by Butter Tarts

​Blessedly, I finally came to a small town, one with a bake shop that also made sandwiches to order.

Having procured a cheese, lettuce and tomato (with black pepper and a smidgen of mayo and dijon) on a kaiser, I elected to also purchase a delectable-looking Chelsea bun, thinking it would make a nice hostess gift for the location manager at my presentation site. (Alas, that caramel and walnut-encrusted baked good began calling my name soon after I got back on the road, and fully one third of the decadent object succumbed to the gastric desires of the ravenous driver in my car, for whom a custom built sandwich and the final arrival of Bach's long-awaited aria were simply not enough.)

Fenelon Falls

Not long after the bakery bun debacle, I found myself in the quaint town of Fenelon Falls, home to Lock 34 on the Trent-Severn waterway, and the site of my impending workshop.

The school where I was presenting lay within walking distance of my hotel.

Indeed, everything was within walking distance in a town this size, including the restaurant/bar where I requested a take-out meal after having set up for my workshop and checked into my unremarkable roadside motel.

Disenchanted by the noisy and incredibly annoying early evening power drinker at the bar, I had decided to take out my meal, and found a nice spot to sit and eat outside in the sun, near the falls.

Later on in town I saw a fellow out walking a pig down the street. It was cute, the little piggy; I didn't stay to pet or photograph it though. I had bigger fish to fry: My 3-day workshop, while richly planned out in my head, had yet to find its way onto any actual PowerPoint slides, and so my laptop was calling to me in painful refrains from my dingy little hotel room.

Hanging out with Teachers in Summer

​The first day of the workshop was relatively uneventful: 32 committed educators appeared the next day and played nicely while we talked about assessment, evaluation and reporting in an equity context.

The prize table was, as always, a big hit, and people looked forward to winning a little something to take back to their classroom, if nothing else.

I was somewhat glad I had not completed all aspects of my three-day presentation, as my interactions with the participants during Day One allowed me to head "home" to my hotel room at the end of the day and customize tomorrow's gong show a little to meet their needs as perceived during today's informal diagnostic and formative assessment: I practise what I preach!

A quickly cooling take-out tea from a local diner, and a generous slice of peanut butter cheesecake -- while not as decadent as yesterday's Chelsea bun -- offered some sustenance while I worked on preparing Day Two of our Assessment Workshop here in Fenelon Falls.

The memory of butter tarts from yesterday's sandwich and bun bakery, and the promise of bringing some home to Toronto after Thursday's session is complete and everyone's been sent away with a hundred new assessment templates and ideas, are my inspiration for the next 48 hours here in rural Ontario.

If you are a pilot and southern Ontario, it is customary, when flying to the Lindsay airport, to eat some of their famous butter tarts, and to pick up a few for the folks back home.

Having never flown to Lindsay myself, I decided to finally make the pilgrimage this past weekend, with my partner and kids.

In order to give one of the boys a chance to set up front in the Captain seat, I elected to sit in the back of the Cessna172 we'd rented for a few hours, with the other boy. It was an interesting vantage point; typically when I am flying or co-piloting, time for photos and reflection is understandably limited. Sitting in the backseat, with no navigational or pilot obligations allowed me to contemplate the southern Ontario landscape as we exited the CYT Z control zone, and flew east along the shoreline and then north over Lake Scugog to Lindsay.

Once on the ground and Lindsey, we hurried to the restaurant to get our take-out butter tarts, so that we could hop back in the plane and get back to Toronto on time. We needn't have rushed; our flight plan was shot to hell by the fact that another pilot, one who had landed just after us, had a flat tire, and needed to be towed off the runway!

While waiting, we devoured a few of the butter tarts not ear-marked for others, and the boys took a washroom break and worked their sillies out before making the trek back to the city.

Alex also got into the spirit of things, and helped Tats check the fuel before take off…

And then it was time to head back to CYTZ.

It was a beautiful day for flying, and we encountered a number of other small aircraft on the radio. Happily, everyone made good position reports, and we avoided any collisions!

Before too long, the familiar Toronto skyline came into view...

we woke up the children, who had fallen asleep, and Tatsy made a smooth landing (as always!) on runway 26.

The butter tarts were great, and so was the flight!

After Alex's art class this morning, we grabbed our scooters and headed downtown to catch said boat.

First stop: Climbing the tree at Centre Island!

after doing a little geocaching in the William Meany Maze...

...we headed over to the Franklin Garden to catch up with some old friends!

Then it was was time for a beaver tail and some frozen yogourt, which we devoured in the shade before scootering on to Wards Island to swim at the beach there.

(beach cat)

We ended our island adventure with dinner at the Wards Island Café, where a Calypso band entertained us while we enjoyed our food, and the boys scootered around the ramps at the nearby "pirate ship playground".

Here's to another beautiful day at the Toronto Islands, one of my favourite places in the world!

The first days of summer vacation… So much freedom, especially if you're a teacher… Right?

Well, sort of.

​The truth is, I feel a little… adrift for lack of a better word. In some sense, my work has always been cut out for me. The rhythm and routine of teaching means that you always know what comes next, at least in a general framework sort of way.

And now? Well, now I am moving on to something much less defined. Exciting, but also somewhat anxiety-inducing in its apparent lack of rhythm and routine.

So this will officially be my last "teacher summer", where the work I do is by choice (such as an 18-hour, multi-day session I am facilitating for teachers outside of the GTA next week, or the online math course I intend to take later this month), and the way in which I fill my days is driven by a need for rest and a desire for downtime with family and with friends.

I spent the final days of my classroom career making my peace with my departure from that domain. The closure and goodbyes this year were gradual; near the middle of the month, a colleague persuaded me to invite a few professional friends from over the years to a "farewell picnic" in the park, and, June being in the month of Ramadan this year, and me teaching a class comprised of at least 50% Muslim students, several had already departed before the last weeks of school, some travelling to their own countries to spend time with family, others opting to stay home for all or part of the month.

Those few who continued coming to school while fasting joined the rest of us on a field trip we had cooked up together for the last day of school: Rather then sweating out the final few hours in our un-air-conditioned classroom, we took public transit to downtown Toronto instead for a visit to the Redpath sugar factory museum, and enjoyed lunch/break at Sugar Beach afterwards.

We even bumped into Mayor John Tory doing a press conference at the latter, on our way to the playground at Sherborne Commons, before trotting back to Union station for the long trek out to Mississauga.

As we rode public transit back to school, a number of students stayed on the bus and headed directly home. Others dispersed quickly on arrival, as it was already quite late. This made for a relatively "easy" goodbye, on the other hand, it seemed a rather anti-climactic end to a 17-year teaching career and a particularly intense closing season in the classroom!

The first few days following my "retirement" were relatively straightforward; it was Pride weekend in Toronto, with all the fun and commitments that entails, including this year for the first time taking the plunge and embracing rainbow hair!!!

I had even made some "pride shoes" out of on old pair of white converse and some markers…

I took my rainbow hair and matching shoes to the teacher tent and the Canadian Aviation Pride (CAP) booth, and did a stint at each for a few hours before walking with Tats to Yonge Street, to watch the Dyke March and cheer on our sisters in the struggle.

Tats and I were also able to squeeze in some flying on the weekend, though it was a very bumpy ride; the high winds at altitude made for considerable turbulence, and it was more an opportunity for me to marvel at my partner's incredible piloting skills rather than an enjoyable dual flight over the city, LOL!

And then it was time to drop Alex off at his summer camp (the boys' dad dropped off Simon at his summer camp; yes, they attend different overnight camps by choice!) The 3-hour drive each way was punctuated in the middle by a very confident little boy eager to minimize long, drawn out goodbyes and displays of public affection with his mommies, and get on with his week to explore his new-found freedom!

Spending time with our post-op recovering dog at a friend's house nearby, and taking her in car rides to animal physio took up some time...

And suddenly, a week has gone by; the first week of summer, and what am I doing, really? What am I thinking about? How will I define the next decade and a half of my life?

I knew I had some personal reflecting to do when I woke up this morning damp with sweat from a nightmare I had had about school: contrary to reality, I had dreamt that there were still two weeks left of school, and that I was late for class, having mistaken this for a summer morning, and having slept in! And to make matters worse, all my lesson plans had gone missing!

(You know you're a teacher when…!!!)

For 17 years, I've been a classroom teacher, or held positions that have allowed me to return with relative ease to the classroom to practice and refine my craft in between "leadership opportunities".

I've raised my own elementary school age children while teaching their counterparts in classrooms, or directly working with teachers who do. Many of my blog posts over the past several years have been inspired by experiences and interactions with these children and/or conversations with their parents.

My summers have been defined by reflecting on the year that has passed, and planning for the year ahead. August is a flurry of activity, preparing both my classroom and my "back to school" lessons. There are times in the year for conferences, for report writing, for planning and participating in certain rituals and routines with my students and my colleagues. I have preserved much of the activity of these seasons of each year here in my blog. Learning skills comments, a new way of recording student thinking, ideas for integrating emerging technology with problem-based learning in math, etc., etc., etc.

Now, I am moving into a space that is considerably less defined, at least for me who has become somewhat of an expert in my increasingly growing "small pond".

I am also moving into a position that is by necessity (political and otherwise) less blog-friendly. What, then, will provide the means for me to export my educational reflections and document my professional growth? And what will I blog about here? Or will I stop blogging altogether?

​This blog has become for me a sort of digital scrapbook, often documenting the evolution of my teaching practice, and providing an archive of my thinking, even when that thinking has been messy or unpolished.

As a public servant stuffed into a small, grey cubicle, one of thousands at the Ministry of Education, my thinking will necessarily need to be more private than public now.

We met a fellow in the elevator this evening; he rode with his daughter, and was carrying a leather container with a drink cup Tats and I where well familiar with from our days in Argentina: "Mate!", I exclaimed, and the man – – excited that someone recognized this key aspect of his South American culture – – clarified... It was actually a cold drink, made with yerbamate, yes, but also infused with mint leaves and lemon.

As I open-mindedly took a sip from the bombilla-ornamented mate he offered, I reflected on how this new take on an old standby was in some sense representative of the new adventure I was about to embark on professionally; as I had immersed myself in mate culture during and following our year in Argentina, if someone had told me that mate leaves could also be used to make a very tasty and acceptable cold drink, I would have scoffed at the idea -- and yet, here was this drink, and it was good! Very tasty and refreshing. And enjoying this new drink certainly didn't negate the value of the warm mate I had been drinking hitherto!!

Refreshing, too, I hope my new job will be. And, as my experience with and understanding of mate in general helped me to more fully appreciate the new drink I was offered by my neighbour in the elevator this evening, so, too, I hope my experience with and understanding of classroom teaching and classroom teacher coaching will guide me in my contributions in my new role in education provincially come September.

And now.... HAPPY SUMMER!!!!