Living at the Kellond teacherage had many perks for a kid growing up.
There was the playground with a thirty foot slide (okay, maybe not thirty, but to a five-year old it might as well have been a ninety foot slide), a set of SIX swings, monkey bars, and a merry-go-round.
There was, of course, the well house that was used to play Annie-Over.
There was ample room for games like Drop-the-Handkerchief, Kick-the-Can, Hopscotch, Four Square, Red Light-Green Light, Tag-You're-It, and on and on.
The creek that ran the entire length along the south side of the playground afforded so many opportunities for fun and mischief before and after school and at recess. The main activity at the creek was catching crawdads. The only way I can describe it is to imagine an episode of Okie Noodlin'. For those of you who aren't familiar with this sport, it's basically where a person walks chest-deep in water along the banks of a river and reaches into depths unknown, an underwater cave, and pulls out either a ginormous catfish or part of what's left of their arm. Little did we know as kids that's exactly what we were doing, except instead of noodlin' for catfish, we were noodlin' for crawdads. I kid you not. When the creek was running high, we would get in it, reach into the holes along the side that had been 'warshed' out, and grab those critters. Or maybe I should say, they grabbed us.
Yes. There were contests to see who could drag out the biggest one. Some of the crawdads ended up in Mason jars half-full of muddy water and kept for awhile but always let go, back into the creek to be captured another day.
Yes. Sometimes we tied strings to them and kept them as pets until the end of the day when Miss Bertha insisted they go back into the creek.
But the game that came to a screeching halt one morning was called Chicken. This playground game involved pocket knives. You heard me. Pocket knives. We were allowed to have them at school until the morning Tobe got one stuck in the top of his barefoot. To this day, I can still see it sticking out of his foot and the blood trickling down both sides. Just in case you're interested in playing a game with one of your friends, or perhaps want a couple of your kids to play it, I'll explain the rules:
Two children stand facing each other, barefooted, about five feet apart with their legs spread as far as they can without falling over. Each child has a pocket knife !!! The first player throws the opened (blade out) knife between the feet of his/her opponent. Once the knife sticks into the ground, that player has to shorten the width of the stance, bringing the feet a little closer together. The 'helpers' retrieve the knife and hands it back to the player. The second player then throws his/her knife, and the opponent has to step in once the knife is thrown. This process continues with the knife throwing and the bare feet coming closer and closer to each other until one of the players 'chickens-out' and doesn't want the knife thrown as his/her feet as the area continues to shrink with each throw. Thus, the name of the game: CHICKEN.
Well, this particular morning before school started, we were all out on the playground. If you've watched the video, it's the area where the gravel is in front of the building. Right about there.
We were in a circle surrounding Tobe and his opponent, whose name I don't remember, watching this game of Chicken. Unfortunately, 'whose name I don't remember,' took aim and landed his pocket knife right in the top of Tobe's barefoot.
Enter, stage left: Miss Bertha
I don't remember who pulled the knife out of Tobe's foot, probably my mom.
I don't remember much else after that.
But, I do remember that was the last day pocket knives were allowed at school.
Many of my previous posts have mentioned Kellond School. That's because Kellond is the first place I remember as my home. So, it was a special day to return to my old stomping grounds and be given a personal tour of the school building by one of my former students. More about him later! I will say that his grandparents were very special people to me when I was a little girl. So many stories. So many memories.
As with most of my posts, there are ulterior motives, in no specific order, for spending time writing stories and posting pictures . . .
1) I use them as references for making future travel plans, but mainly it just helps me remember where I've been. 2) I write them for my daughters so they have a bit of an insight into my childhood, 'thusly' helping them understand why I am the way I am. 3) When the urge hits me, I create lesson plans. There's always that teachable moment even if no one is listening. 4) Because living and traveling with Hans can be more than just an adventure, blogging about his antics gives me a platform to vent. You will notice he has his very own 'category' over there on the right side bar called Anode Man Adventures. 5) etc.
While being given the tour of the Kellond School Building and the area around it, Hans and I took turns making videos. I will post one or two with each post and share my memories of living there for over ten years years.
First, we'll start with information on this link from Wikipedia about KELLOND.
I made the videos for my girls to see so I could show them where I lived when I was about two years old until eleven years old. So, when you hear me mention Granddad and Grandmother, I'm talking about my mom and dad. Mom was the teacher for first through fourth grades in what was known as The Little Room. She was fondly referred to by her students as 'Miss Bertha.' In the first few years, Mr. Lonnie Killian was the teacher for the fifth through eighth grades in what was knows as The Big Room. Later, Mr. Charles Bolin was the Big Room teacher.
Interest about this place was piqued when several photos of students were posted on a Facebook site called Antlers Pushmataha History.
There are, of course, stories about why the town is called Antlers and why the county is named Pushmataha. There is, of course, always a story to be told.
Lots of questions were asked about what the place looks like now. So, the objective of this post and the ones to follow is to show those former students, their children, and grandchildren what Kellond looks like these days.
Probably the most asked question was about the 'rock wall' which surrounded the playground and teacherage on the north and west sides. (*Teacherage? Think Parsonage !)
There is no telling how many students walked and played on that rock wall. Or how many were pushed off that rock wall. To ease everyone's mind, YES, the rock wall is still standing. Mostly.
Other words that come to mind other than the rock wall . . . goat heads, and sand burrs, and then eventually . . . Bermuda grass . . .
Kellond as it looked in 1955.
Middle: Photos of Miss Bertha in the school auditorium taken at the Christmas program.
Bottom: Miss Bertha at the *teacherage and one of her school pictures.
*teacherage: house provided for a teacher by a school usually located close to the school building
Winter-time temperatures bring back memories of homemade chili. You know. those days when you go outside and take a deep breath and icicles form on the inside of your nostrils. Those are the kind of winter-time temps I'm talking about.
Like February 14, 2021, in Bartlesville, Okrahoma. Winter-time temps when the wind chill factor is MINUS EIGHTEEN DEGREES. That would be: Eighteen degrees BELOW zero. Toto, we're not talking about Fairbanks, Alaska. We're talking about Okrahoma.
But, back to the chili. Not to be cornfoosed with CHILLY.
Memories . . . It was an idyllic setting. Our little four-room house. Just the three of us. Mom. Daddy. and Me.
My mom's concoction bubbled in a pot on the big white Frigidaire stove. A savory, pungent, spicy fragrance wafted through the air that would make anyone drool like a puppy dog looking at a ham bone.
Mom's chili varied as to what she had left over from previous meals. Her main ingredient was some kind of meat which could be anything from ground beef, to shredded-up roast, and on occasion venison. Not from any deer that my daddy shot. That's a wholenother story.
The other main ingredient would be a Mason jar of canned tomatoes. Tomatoes that were grown in either of my grandmothers' gardens.
Other ingredients might be cornmeal as a thickener, a touch of cinnamon or nutmeg, or cloves, or cumin, chili powder, she always added sugar, sometimes a tad bit of peanut butter . . . yes, you read that correctly. . . peanut butter ! Sometime there were onions. There were never any beans added that I can remember.
Mom would scoop out that deliciousness into heavy pottery-type bowls. I would immediately place Saltine crackers inside the bowl and down into the chili so as to 'build a fence.' This produced a soggy half and a crunchy half of each cracker.
But, the crème de la crème was the peaches. Ordinary. Canned. Peaches.
They went into a bowl all of their own.
So there we have: The Savory. The Sweet. The Soggy. The Crunchy. What more do you need?
I would share my mom's recipe if I knew what it was. Her chili never tasted the same. But, her chili was always delicious.
So, the next time you cook up a big 'ole pot of chili, don't forget the Saltines and the peaches.
And just for fun, stir in a dollop of creamy peanut butter. You'll be glad you did.
So, what do two 60+ year-old people do at 7:30 on a Monday morning when it's 5 degrees outside ?
They blow bubbles !
Saw the idea posted on Facebook this morning, so I was inspired to try it.
Obviously, our bubbles weren't nearly as amazing as these, but we did have fun.
My fingers were freezing. I can't imagine what HansMan's felt like. Just hope he didn't get frost bite.
There must be several factors involved to make this work as in the related article, including the formula for making bubbles, temperature, and humidity . . .
"If knowledge is power, then what we don't know is wisdom." ----Adam Grant
Every once in awhile I take the time to share a book I'm reading or have read. Non-fiction is my genre of choice, so this book fits the bill, especially in light of what we've been experiencing of late.
Intelligence is usually seen as the ability to think and learn, but in a rapidly changing world, there's another set of cognitive skills that might matter more: the ability to rethink and unlearn. In our daily lives, too many of us favor the comfort of conviction over the discomfort of doubt. We listen to opinions that make us feel good, instead of ideas that make us think hard. We see disagreement as a threat to our egos, rather than an opportunity to learn. We surround ourselves with people who agree with our conclusions, when we should be gravitating toward those who challenge our thought process. The result is that our beliefs get brittle long before our bones. We think too much like preachers defending our sacred beliefs, prosecutors, proving the other side wrong, and politicians campaigning for approval--and too little like scientists searching for truth. Intelligence is no cure, and it can even be a curse: being good at thinking can make us worse at rethinking. The brighter we are, the blinder to our own limitations we can become.
A guiding principle of this book is to argue like you're right but listen like your wrong.
We don't have to believe everything we think or internalize everything we feel.
This book is an invitation to let go of views that are no longer serving us well and prize mental flexibility, humility, and curiosity over foolish consistency.
The author describes part of the problem as 'cognitive laziness.' Some psychologists point out that we're mental misers: we often prefer the ease of hanging on to old views over the difficulty of grappling with new ones. Yet there are also deeper forces behind our resistance to rethinking. Questioning ourselves makes the world more unpredictable. It requires us to admit that the facts may have changed, that what was once right may now be wrong. Reconsidering something we believe deeply can threaten our identities, making it feel as if we're losing a part of ourselves.
If there can be anything positive about this pandemic . . . sheltering in . . . quarantining . . . keeping six feet from another human . . . one thing might be that people are getting outside more than usual. Or not.
Our interest in outdoor recreation peaked in the 1980s and early 1900s. That interest has been dropping steadily ever since. This has been shown by the number of park visitations, fishing license sales, campground attendance, and other outdoor recreation recordings. In other words, the amount of time we spend outdoors has declined for several decades.
A study done at the University of Michigan found that sending people for a 50-minute walk through parks found that it measurably restored their cognitive skills, whereas a walk through a city’s busy downtown degraded it.
Regardless of a person’s mood, weather conditions or other external factors, the improvements in brain function were observed. It also noted that peacefulness alone, such as sitting in a quiet room, could not reproduce the observed cognition benefit. that a walk in the park reproduced. There is something about the kind of moderately interesting stimuli found in nature—even those stimuli found in a city park or along a quiet pathway—that is restorative for our brains.
So, what is keeping us inside?
The underlying reasons for this trend are debated, and likely still evolving. Numerous studies point to our growing preoccupation with indoor entertainment, beginning first with television and videos, then progressing to internet browsing, social media and online gaming. These technologies of course offer countless benefits for entertainment, education and social interaction, but they come at a cost to our personal well-being.
Richard Louv chronicled a growing body of scientific evidence that spending time outdoors is critically important to the developmental health of children in his best seller, Last Child in the Woods. Citing many scientific studies, Louv traced declining outdoor activities to a dizzying array of psychiatric disorders, obesity and other maladies, and coined the term "nature deficit disorder" to collectively describe them. His follow-up book, The Nature Principle, found that nature-deficit disorder also affects adults. Imagine that?!?!
This new edition reflects the enormous changes that have taken place since the book was originally published ten years ago. It includes:
100 actions you can take to create change in your community, school, and family.
35 discussion points to inspire people of all ages to talk about the importance of nature in their lives.
A new progress report by the author about the growing Leave No Child Inside movement.
New and updated research confirming that direct exposure to nature is essential for the physical and emotional health of children and adults.
This brought back childhood memories . . . in an era when the social media platforms were telephone party-lines, only two channels on a small black and white TV (KXII in Ardmore, Sherman & Denison and KTEN in Ada), Jimmy Fidler in the KIHN 1340 Hollywood Studios broadcast out of Hugo, and. . . and. . . and. . . that was basically it.
Those were about the only three reasons to be in the house unless one was interested in cleaning it.
Even when is was raining cats and dogs, the words I hear my mother say were, "Get outside and go play."
To which I responded, "But, Mom. It's raining outside."
To which she responded, "You're not going to melt, cupcake."
Here are some ideas for creating an at-home field trip. If you've ever wanted to visit a national park or explore the surface of mars from the comfort of your home, there's never been a better time.
Please leave a comment to let me know if a link doesn't work.
Part Two . . . There are so many photos, it takes two posts !
This one was first published a few years ago.
Just reminiscing a little about some of the 'events' along the way with Brooke . . .
She climbed up everything including the shelves of the refrigerator. She climbed into everything including the dishwasher. She climbed out of everything including her baby bed. We finally just let the side down so she wouldn't fall so far to the floor in her daily escapes. She ate lots of things . . . I pulled a large black bug out of her mouth one day. It was still alive. She ate the weather stripping off the door. She drank Selsun Blue which resulted in a trip to the ER for Syrup of Ipecac. Consequently, she blew bubbles out her mouth and nose. She painted herself with Fudgesicles.
Nevertheless, she was and still is a delight . . . she was a delightful little girl . . . she is a delightful young lady.
Do you remember where you were FORTY years ago today ?
I certainly do !
Before we commence with the 2,547 photos of my youngest that have been posted below, here are a couple of previous birthday posts:
If you are planning to peruse the links above and hang out here to scroll through the pictures that follow, may I suggest taking the time to grab a cup of coffee or tea or hot chocolate or whatever floats your boat. You will be here for awhile.
These photos are in no particular order. For any of you with OCD, and feel the need to put them in order, knock yourself out.
OK, so the first one is in order.
During my pregnancy, I experienced heartburn from Day One to about Day One-Hundred-Thirty. (She was over due about three weeks !) An old Indian lady explained to me. "Baby be born with lots of hair. " She was right !
She was precious . . .yes she was !
In the mornings, when her dad and I were getting ready for work, we enlisted the help of her big sister, complete with pink sponge rollers.
This photograph conjures up memories of "The Princess and the Pea Eraser."
We also enlisted the help of big sister to put her to sleep at night.
The Summer of '81 ~ Red Hill Road
Granddad loved his girls . . .
. . . as evidenced by the smile on his face.
Grandpa loved them, too.
Christmas at Grandma and Grandpa's with the cousins.
Christmas at Grandmama Wheeler's.
Grandma and Grandpa Winters
Explaining to Santa that she is three.
Some photos need no caption.
A cute little Halloween punkin'
Nana and Melissa
She loved her . . .
dress that came from . . .
Austria. (Yes, that's Tyler.)
Birthday celebration with Melissa and Landra
Fun at Leenie and Dexie's with Leslie, Sue, and Christi
All Smiles !
Grandmother and Granddad
Haskell, Oklahoma
If you notice an onery look on her face in any of the photos, that because she was is.
Easter at Grandmama's
Another Easter at Grandmama's
A common place to sit
Another Easter at Grandmama's
Blurry but Cute
Still blurry . . . but the plant behind me provides a nice flying nun look.
The usual "corner" for photo ops
Probably another Easter photo
512 NW "B" Street . . .
. . . a favorite place to be.
The red cannas
She adored her big sister . . . still does.
Wayne, Leigh Anne, Michael, James . . . and Brookie
Posing for Grandmother
Waiting for the parade . . . Grandma has Brooke in the background . . . Aunt Joy is there, too. Ashley, Sean, Sis, and Grandmother . . .
Leah joins them.
Some of these just don't need explanations . . .
Leenie and Dexie
Please note: Big sis is putting decorations ON the tree . . . Little MIss Pris is removing them.
Another Easter photo
Mam-maw and Pap-paw Smith
I wish we knew where that green wooden frog high chair is . . . see it in the background ?
Yes, she had a black eye for her first Christmas. It could have happened when she climbed the shelves of the refrigerator, fell off the door of the dishwasher . . . (Sean is in the background.)
With Dad and Cousin Lissa (Dad looks like he was attacked by Paul Bunyan while caught in a wind tunnel.)
A bountiful harvest . . . she planted watermelon seeds in the front yard. They grew, covering the entire front yard. . . ALL summer. It was quite the talk of the neighborhood. We couldn't mow because of all the watermelon vines. It looked like a scene out of Jumanji.
Possibly another Easter outfit OR dressing up with Nana
Record low temperature of minus two . . . she wanted to go outside and play . . . so she dressed herself and was headed out the door when this photo was snapped.
One of her favorite places to be.
Her big sis couldn't have been prouder . . . neither could Mommy, Grandmother Smith, or Grandmama Wheeler.
Grandmother and Granddad usually stopped by before church every Sunday.
All of the above photos were taken before the birthday girl, sometimes known as SwampSpawn, went to school. Below, is one photo when she was a few years older . . .with big sis.
The following photos were taken at Christmas 2010 . . .
The photo below was taken along Pathfinder Parkway in Bartlesville several years ago.
What is a daughter ?
A daughter is a day brightener and a heart warmer. She is a bundle of firsts that excite and delight, giggles that come from deep inside and are always contagious. She is everything wonderful and precious and a mother's love for her knows no bounds. A daughter is a treasure and the cause of sleeplessness. She is a gift of love. She is a little girl who grows up to be a friend, a partner, a mother's closest ally, an extension of herself. A daughter is a miracle that never ceases to be miraculous . . .full of beauty and forever beautiful . . . loving and caring and truly amazing. A daughter is one of the most beautiful gifts this World has to give. She may outgrow your lap, but she will never outgrow your heart.
What is a daughter ?
She is the happy memories of the past, the joyful moments of the present, and the hope and promise of the future.
Am I a proud Mommy ?
You betcha, I am !
She is a contributing member of society with a business of her own, a devoted wife, a loving-caring Mother of two . . . and in her free time, she went back to school and completed a Master's Degree.
Am I a proud Mother ?
You betcha, I am !
There are, of course, many many stories that come to mind, so while my mind can still remember them, here are just a few:
Our friend and doctor, Herbert Rowland called Brookie his little grubber.
One reason is because she was responsible for eating all the weather stripping off our doors. The good doc said, "A little roughage never hurt anyone. "
Then there was the time when I could tell she had something in her mouth, so like any good mother, I reached in with my fore finger and pulled out a black bug. A LIVE black bug ! We discussed possibly discontinuing our contract with Orkin since we had an in-house bug eater.
Then there was the time her grubber-instincts sent us to the emergency room. She got-a-hold-of a bottle of Selsun Blue. How much she drank, no one knows. This was during the era of Syrup of Ipecac. Lawerence Welk would have welcomed having her sit behind the orchestra because she blew bubbles out her mouth and nose for an extended period of time.
Then there was the time I was unloading laundry from the dryer, and I accidentally tried to knock my funny bone off my arm. If you've ever done this, you know how very painful this can be. I dropped the S-bomb and as I turned to sit on the floor to regain consciousness, there stood my two-year-old. She had no problem repeating that word . . .over and over and over again. A few hours later, my parents arrived. The doorbell rang and as I opened the door, Brookie greeted them with, "Mommy said shit-shit-shit."
Then there was the time she wanted in her sister's bedroom. It was a rule at our house that a closed door must be knocked upon. She loved more than anything to be in her sister's room. I heard this little knock-knock-knock on LA's door and her sister asked, "Who is it ?" Brookie replied, "It's yu-aah Muth-ah."
Then there was the time it was a typical morning with everyone trying to get ready, eat breakfast, find back packs. . . you know the drill ! As I picked up a towel in the bathroom, noticing a glob of black something or other drop out of it, I heard a scream from the kitchen, "M-o-o-o-o-m-m-m-m-m-m !" The kind of scream that makes a Mother's hair stand straight up on the back of her neck. Brookie had instructed her older sister to, "Feel right here." Right here was where her bangs used to to be. She had taken some very sharp shears, laid them flat on her head, and whacked-whacked-whacked-off her bangs. This was prompted by a conversation she had heard between LA and me that she didn't want bangs anymore and planned to "grow them out." Brookie, wanting to be just like her sister, speeded up the process, and did away with her bangs in three whacks with the scissors. The glob of black that fell out of the towel was her bangs.
Then there was the time we were making brownies. Brookie was about four. The teacher in me was always ready for that teachable moment, so we proceeded with step-by-step instructions. She was instructed to "grease the bottom of the pan." She took a handful. . . a h-a-n-d-f-u-l. . . I said a H-A-N-D-F-U-L of Crisco and greased the BOTTOM of the pan. Not the "inside" bottom of the pan. The "outside" bottom of the pan.
I won't mention that she was a biter. No, I won't do that.
There are so many photos, so many stories, so many memories . . . this post is in two parts.
Reposted from about thirteen years ago.
A Happy Birthday Post to My Youngest Daughter !
The following is in no particular order...just typing away...
Once Upon a Time... "Dear Santa, I want a baby sister."
compassionate and caring - speaking your mind with diplomacy - strong yet vulnerable - a little impish - a lot sweetish - smiles and tears, giggles and guffaws - not too shy - growing up so fast - paving your own way - a quirky little look that melts hearts - sometimes having to follow in a big sister's footsteps - always making your own footsteps along the way - understanding and questioning - sensitive almost to a fault - considerate and kind - the epitome of everything a mom wants in a daughter - now you have a daughter of your own - all grown up but never out growing my heart - smiles through your tears - funny and serious - joyful moments of the present, hope and promises of the future, happy memories of the past: look at the head of hair on that baby - not much of a sleeper - couldn't keep you in your baby bed - dr. herb called you a grubber - let's see, there was the weather stripping off the door - the black bug that was still alive - dirt and rocks -the Lawrence Welk bubble incident with Selsun blue- blowing bubbles out your mouth and nose - 'trimming' your bangs - murals on the walls - a bit of a biter - always my baby - always my best friend - always the little sister - defending like a mama bear - we've been to hell and back - the three of us - we learned survival - we learned to enjoy the moment - we hold fast those memories - kissing that bald head for good luck - we learned from mistakes - we anticipate the future - we were a team - we still are - it's difficult to stop writing because there is so much to say - I have to stop - just know that even though your dad and I had disagreements - there is one thing we do agree on and I know I can speak for him - WE LOVE YOU !
Taken at Surprise Baby Shower at Burrage's...( I was growing rounder and rounder as we waited thinking you would be here 'just after Christmas.' You did come 'just after Christmas'...about 3 weeks 'just after Christmas.'
Dad and LAW waiting patiently. We didn't know if you were a boy or girl...
A baby girl with a very large voice...
Was she a Princess? Ask LAW about the pencil eraser...
Early morning feeding...
Napping...
Long John's with a drop seat...
You could be found in any number of places...
A collage of memories...
Above: Your favorite place: with Grandmother while she sewed and your favorite look
Below: More precious memories...
Left: Dressed for Tea
Right: Dressed to Play in the Snow (It was 2 degrees below zero outside.)
You liked to do everything yourself, "Me do, it...Me do it." From planting your own garden in the front yard, later known as "The Famous Watermelon Incident" and Blow Drying your bangs so they stood straight up...later you whacked them off...
Your favorite cousin Melissa...Wayside Elementary...no teeth...
The memory you mentioned about Junior..."Aspen's Main Street...very cold..."
The Fishing Expedition...Cimarron...Taking the Shortcut...Fishy Mouths...
High School Graduation...Edison Tulsa...
Having fun with Best Friends...at OU...Where?
Three Best Friends...
Another Best Friend...Oklahoma State University...Go Pokes...
They call them 'teachable moments.' I lived for them, and at one time, I had a captive audience: my students . . . and my two daughters who also didn't have a choice to escape. They still don't.
It's at this point, you might want to just wander away unless you want to be bored with my ramblings about today's 'lesson.'
Most lesson plans require an objective that speaks to what the students will learn. That's not the case today. My objective is to create a diversion from whatever it is that's making me crazier these days.
So, for the next hour or so I'm going to immerse myself in developing a lesson plan about coyotes, of all things. If you're one of those parents whose child is virtually learning or needs a topic for some assignment, this post will follow the framework of Howard Gardner's Eight Multiple Intelligences.
Let's get started with all eight intelligences:
VERBAL-LINGUISTIC: How do you pronounce coyote? 1) kai-yo-DEE 2) kai-yo-TEE 3) kai-yoht 4) other
MUSICAL-RHYTHMICAL: How many of you have heard the song, "O, Bury Me Not on the Lone Prairie?" Probably most of you are now singing . . . 'O bury me not on the lone prairie. Where the coyotes howl, and the wind blows free. In a narrow grave, just six by three. O bury me not on the lone prairie.' (Please note how you pronounced coyotes when you sang that verse.) If you have now involved your child/student, it is worth the time to listen to this and maybe introduce them to a new genre of music: Country Classic Western
Enter. Stage Right: The coyote that spent a fortune on 'Acme' products trying to feast on a skinny roadrunner could be one of the reasons so many people add that extra syllable at the end.
Wile E. Coyote. How did you pronounce that? Have you changed your mind on how to pronounce coyote yet?
Wil-EE Kai-oh-TEE or Wil-EE Kai-yoht
VISUAL-SPATIAL:
Always have your camera ready because you never know when a coyote is about to capture a 'roadrunner.'
Once again, the roadrunner escapes.
How close was I to our resident neighborhood Canis latrans? This mammal? This omnivore? Is a coyote nocturnal? Is a coyote diurnal? Is a coyote crepuscular?
See. You can be sneaky and add vocabulary words like this.
LOGICAL-MATHEMATICAL:
How far do coyotes roam ?
Mean distances traveled at night are approximately 8.24 kilometers. Mean distances traveled during the day are approximately 6.51 kilometers.
Convert the above kilometers into miles. What is the definition of the term 'mean' in the sentences above. What does the word 'approximately' mean?
INTERPERSONAL:
If you were going to interview a coyote, what questions would you ask it?
INTRAPERSONAL:
Do you keep a journal? You should !
BODILY-KINESTHETIC:
The Coyote's Dance by Austin Gilkeson
Dance of the Coyote by Bill Hotchkiss
Coyote Dance by Francesca Mason Boring
Inquisitive minds will 'Google' at least one of the above to see what the book/poem is about.
NATURALIST:
The following video has nothing to see, but lots to listen to.
As you will see hear, the coyotes were not intimidated by Stella and Peek-a-Boo's barking.
There you have it.
I hope something here might have inspired you to learn more about coyotes, regardless of how you pronounce it.
At any rate, I had fun putting together this 'lesson plan.'
