Dear Elm Tree fams,
We have no words, though we will try and assemble some for this last blog entry, which we write with a heavy but overflowing heart. Yesterday was the final day of Elm Tree Poetry (for now), and we closed it out with what we knew would be a special event, but we had no idea just how extraordinary. Our reading, hosted generously by Unnameable Books, was an amazing way to wrap up our program, as it honored our amazing poets and celebrated their parents' dedication to our program. Many of them were instrumental in making sure Elm Tree became a reality this summer, and for that we are grateful.
It is, needless
to say, a vulnerable act to stand in front of a crowd and read your
poetry aloud. The bravery of our young writers—who, until then, had been
reading and writing exclusively with each other in the park—is not
negligible. We were beaming with pride watching our kiddos up there, and
were honored to stand alongside them and read some of their work when
asked. We knew that their words would do most of the work for us, and we
were right.
But we're getting
a little ahead of ourselves. Our day started all other days at Elm Tree
have, with the kids getting dropped off and climbing trees in the
entrance by Prospect Park. Our last day served as a great catalyst to
fulfill some bucket list items, which for a few of the kids meant facing
their fear of jumping (safely!) down from one of the trees. Thanks to a
ton of supportive cheering from fellow kiddos, our poets managed to
finally face their fears and make the leap. The cheering we heard from
around that tree was echoed later as our kiddos rehearsed for the
reading, and were supported by their new friends with (loud) vigor.
We grabbed our wagon and started on our long trek towards our destination for the day, which we kept secret from the kids until getting closer to the site. The walk there felt magical; we took a new route and were surrounded by trees that curved above us, creating a green tunnel with specs of sun streaming through. On the walk we found architectural pieces that were stunning, and especially fun to just happen upon. Ajay spotted a bee hive high up in a tree, and the kids stood back in amazement watching as the bees worked. There was no fear of the bees; in fact, we asked the kids to use this as a thinking time (which is our phrase for a silent moment of individual reflection—coined by our Week 1 writer, Amelia). It was clear to us that the respect the kiddos had developed for poetry was being exercised in their iterations with nature during our walk.
We kept walking, singing Moana along the way, which was handy when we found ourselves face to face with a construction site blocking our route. We all bravely managed to reroute through the bushels and found ourselves in a meadow and back on the main path. Finally, we saw we were nearing our destination, which we revealed to be the Camperdown Elm, the tree that our program was named in honor of.
The Camperdown
Elm is a bit of an ecological anomaly. The tree is part of the weeping
elm family, born from an elm found on the estate of the Earl of
Camperdown in Scotland. An infected tree root caused the estate to chop
down most of the elms, but the remaining branches were used to plant the
Camperdown Elm in Prospect Park, one of the last remaining trees of its
kind. Due to the infected root, the tree itself cannot reproduce by
itself, but this has served as a tiny miracle since that same infection
is said to have saved the elm from the Dutch elm disease that spread
throughout the United States in 1928.
Its strange scientific history was enough to have Pulitzer Prize winning poet Marianne Moore dub the tree Brooklyn's "crowning curio" in a poem she wrote in 1967. Moore, a lifelong Brooklyn resident, became infatuated with rescuing the dying tree, and requested that in lieu flowers at her funeral, citizens donate to save the elm tree instead. The call-to-arms worked, and the tree has since been preserved by the park and protected by an iron gate surrounding its branches, which droop down to ground level.
While Romy and (co-founder) Sally were flipping through a guidebook of Prospect Park, they learned this story and decided to honor Marianne Moore in much the same way that Moore immortalized the tree in her poem, "The Camperdown Elm". The tree is located near the Boathouse, and her poem is below:
The Camperdown Elm
I think, in connection with this weeping elm,
of “Kindred Spirits” at the edge of a rockledge
overlooking a stream:
Thanatopsis-invoking tree-loving Bryant
conversing with Thomas Cole
in Asher Durand’s painting of them
under the filigree of an elm overhead.
No doubt they had seen other trees — lindens,
maples and sycamores, oaks and the Paris
street-tree, the horse-chestnut; but imagine
their rapture, had they come on the Camperdown elm’s
massiveness and “the intricate pattern of its branches,”
arching high, curving low, in its mist of fine twigs.
The Bartlett tree-cavity specialist saw it
and thrust his arm the whole length of the hollowness
of its torso and there were six small cavities also.
Props are needed and tree-food. It is still leafing;
still there. Mortal though. We must save it. It is
our crowning curio.
We decided to spend our last day nestled under the Camperdown Elm, so the kiddos grabbed the tapestry themselves and laid it out in the shade, following our routine without prompting. We told the kids that this was the tree our program was named for, and began to have a discussion about the rods holding the tree together, the rope keeping the branches afloat, the wooden posts raising up the tree's silhouette. Annabel immediately started to speak in metaphors about the tree as we the kids began to eat their snacks. "Every leaf is a story," she suddenly said aloud. She continued on from there. Rod and Romy decided immediately that Friday would be dedicated to a freeform day, allowing the children to be inspired by the elm to write in whatever form spoke to them. This was very much inspired by Annabel's sudden desire to place the tree in a poetic context. It became clear to us that at this point in the program, the kids didn't need prodding: they were inspired on their own.
It didn't surprise us that a student who had been working with us for both sessions was the one to lead the exercise. As Annabel watched the other kiddos begin to write, many of them using her form as a launching pad for their own work, she said in astonishment, "I have never felt this proud." She even took to transcribing Ajay's work for him, proving that she's every bit the teacher as she is a poet. We could imagine a child like Annabel—someone with so much energy and spirit—helping us run Elm Tree one day.
Once the kids felt they had reached the end of their poem, we turned our sharing of the work into a rehearsal for the reading. The kids went up one by one and read their poems aloud as we worked on projection, enunciation, speed and intention. Once we had gone through the reading order and had everybody practice, we broke for lunch, where Romy and Rod decided that we were going to allow the kids to enjoy each other's company and play for the rest of the day. The poems they had written in the morning were such moving odes to both the program and the tree that gave us its name. With the reading coming up in a few hours, we wanted to give them a mental break to frolic.
We
told the kids the above history of the tree before and read them
Marianne Moore's poem. With that, we headed toward the Natural
Playground for some closing day fun.
Some parents sent us a few photos of the reading — unfortunately, not everybody is represented, as Romy and Rod were unable to take the normal fury of photos during their duties as hosts. But hopefully you all snapped or videoed your kiddos up on our makeshift stage.
The past two weeks have been, as one parent put it, a truly "mind-bending experience". Watching the kids grow in a matter of days has been the surest sign that education should not exist in stasis. Learning is, like the plant life that surrounded us for the last ten days, a living, breathing thing. With enough care, both individual and collective, it grows tenfold. The concepts we worked with during our program were at times extremely complex, and we were often asking the children to "unlearn" certain presumptions about writing just as much as we were attempting to teach them new tools. By giving them autonomy in their learning, they made us better teachers. And for that, we are forever grateful.
The pride in their faces after the reading was an image we wont soon shake. We hope you saw it too.
With love, always, always and always,
Romy & Rod
Dear Elm Tree fams,
Today marked our penultimate day and easily our most ambitious: a field trip to Ellis Island! Usually by Thursday, our kids are well-versed in Elm Tree rules, having established bonds and a sense of mutual responsibility for each other, which makes it the perfect point in the week to take a trip out of the park.
All the kids arrived first thing in the morning, minus our dear poet, Enid, who was sorely missed as we set off on our adventure for the day. We hopped on the train and headed to the ferry, where we met Rod's friend and our visiting artist for the day, Hoyce (Julia Joyce-Barry). On the train ride over, we started the kids thinking about the concept of a name, which was very much the theme of today's writing assignment. What's in a name? What does it mean to change it? What does it mean to carry it with you? (A quick little history of the name Hoyce: Rod dubbed Julia, one of his closest friends, Julio, which lead to a completely ridiculous new name: Julio Hoyce-Barry—eventually just shortened to Hoyce.)
During one of our regular Thinking Times, we asked the kids to imagine what someone with the name "Hoyce" might be like. What color did the name evoke? If they were an animal, what would they be? What would they be like in their daily life? Oona practiced a little pun work and said, "she's probably very strong, because she can hoist things", while lifting imaginary barbells. Maddie said she imagined a woman of German origin (which wasn't too far off, even though Hoyce isn't her real name).
Soon after, we untied with Hoyce and it was love at first sight! We did our classic intro (which you'll hear at the reading tomorrow at 5:00pm at Unnameable Books), and Hoyce did the same before we headed off onto the ferry, which is always an adventure onto itself. We marched up to the top of the boat, in "two straight lines, Madeline" (Romy's catchphrase), and had some snacks as we set sail on the Lady Liberty. On our way, the kids grasped onto the banister and screamed, "ahoy!!" to any boat within range (which was any boat), and most people waved back!
We docked onto Ellis Island, and had a quick meeting before entering the museum. We stopped at the sign and broke down the word "immigration", asking the kids to explain to us what the word means. We broke apart its many iterations, most important of which is "immigrant". Romy and Rod didn't want to influence their critical thinking regarding our current state of affairs, but this year, our work does aim to challenge and question the personal and the political. Poets often embrace the power of subtlety; this is also very much part of Elm Tree's ethos, and we always want the kids to really notice what is overlooked. Even without us "teaching" this concept, they have figured it out on their own. As a result, examining the concept of an "immigrant" on Ellis Island felt like a way to discuss the political climate without having to get boggled down in political policy.
Upon entering the museum, the first thing you are greeted by is the baggage room, which contained sectioned off historical suitcases preserved by the museum. We asked the kids to gather around and look at the luggage, and imagine the act of distilling your entire life—a home's worth of belongings; an entire family's selection of heirlooms—and place it in, sometimes, a single suitcase. Some of the kids initially described the suitcases as being extremely large, but upon careful consideration arrived at the conclusion that the moment in which a family assembles that suitcase is a moment of immense sacrifice.
After that, the kids headed over to a digital directory of immigrants who passed through Ellis Island. Some of our kiddos had family members who immigrated into New York, so we took some time to search for them. Jacie mentioned that her great-grandmother, Beatrice Schiffman, came to Ellis Island "because she was Jewish", which Romy echoed as true for her family as well. Maren's great-grandfather, Jerome Dioguardi, also immigrated just after World War II. Lyla's grandparents, the Lasovskis, also passed through! Most of the first and last names were not listed, but we were able to track down everyone's last name, and make our way to the wall to see its engraving. The kids were extremely excited to see their relatives on this wall, the history of their family collapsed into one moment. Maren held her finger to her family's name.
We settled under a tree—our personal favorite spot, no matter where we are—and had a quick lunch before jumping into our writing project for the day. We had the kids head back to the wall (on their own this time) with their notebooks and pencil in hand, and jot down a name that spoke to them. Some of the kiddos wanted to choose their family's name, while others picked out someone they didn't know. At first, they were confused as to what they would do with the name of stranger, and Hoyce reminded them their imaginations were sharp enough a tool to engrave the details of even a stranger.
When they came back, we gave them a prompt to start off with it. The poem started off in the form of a letter, with "Dear (name)", followed by "I hope you / but I'm worried that". The poems really asked the kids to examine the micro and the macro, and to imagine the experience of an immigrant entering a strange land, which the kiddos are lucky to consider a home. We reminded them that they live in New York City, one of the most culturally rich cities in the world and to share this privilege with the person they're welcoming into their home.
by Audrey
by Ajay
by Lyla
by Oona
by Maddie
by Maren
by Annabel
by Jacie
by Gayatri
To close out our day, Hoyce and Rod scurried to refill all the kiddos' water bottles, while Romy read "The Name Jar" by Yangsook Choi, a book which the kids loved and that we'll be finishing on Friday morning. The book chronicles the experience of Unhei, who hails from Korea and relocates to a new school in the United States, where she is initially ridiculed for her name. What is most powerful about this book is that the school children try to help Unhei come up with an American name, but in the end she decides to keep her own. This is critical because many names were changed or adjusted at Ellis Island, and we wanted to give a child's outlook on the idea of assimilation.
We hopped on the ferry back to Battery Park, where we bid adieu to Hoyce after a day spent gallivanting around the grounds with her. When it was time to part, the kids ran and bombarded her with the biggest hug Romy and Rod had ever seen. They thanked her for her kindness, her humor, and her tattoos. Hoyce, in response, thanked them for their generosity and willingness to accept an outsider into their makeshift family. The essence of accepting others felt embodied by her presence and our kiddos' openness.
We dedicate this blog to Hoyce, for giving us herself—in every sense of the word. She was such a magnetic force for the kids. It was amazing seeing how quickly they trusted her, how willing they were to ask her for help and have her transcribe their words for them. She is already a big part of the extended Elm Tree family.
Thank you, Hoyce!
Please refer to the email for details on tomorrow's (Friday's) reading at Unnameable Books. We really hope to see you all there, after our last day of the Elm Tree Poetry Program.
With a heavy but full heart,
Romy & Rod
