Toughing Out the Cold

 

 Sun rising over the middle school football field outside our classroom window.

(as captured by Maxwell)

Last Wednesday, as we walked in to school from the van, Ainsley looked up and said "Wow, look at the clouds!" I had noticed them too on the drive in. They were tightly grouped together in small mounds across the sky, looking very much like the moguls you see skiers hopping over in the Winter Olympics. In the distance we could see the sun just beginning to rise above the treeline. 

About an hour later my students had made their way into our classroom and were spread about the room playing chess, reading books, and searching the internet for news articles to share. I was working to decorate a CD cover with a small group of kids when Maxwell came over.

"Mr. Hass, did you see the sky?" he asked.

"Yeah, it's beautiful," I responded.

"Could I get the camera and climb out the window to take a  picture of it?" he asked.

I really wish our classroom had a door because we do quite a lot of climbing in and out of that window. While I've never been told specifically NOT to let the kids crawl out of it, I can't imagine it's encouraged.

"Sure," I said. 

I didn't really expect the photo to turn out. I imagined, if anything, it would be washed out by the sunlight. However, after school I pulled out the camera to see what pictures the kids had taken over the course of the day and I was amazed by the beauty of that first shot. A professional photographer could not have captured it any better.

Later in the day, after working to write songs and make sense of fractions, we cleaned up for recess. Kayla asked if she could bring the camera out and snap some shots of the kids playing and of the ice that sometimes collected here and there. I gave her the green light, most of us grabbed a jacket, and we headed out.

It was cold. There was a day when I would differentiate between "cold" and "South Carolina cold." In St. Louis we had long, long stretches where the high temperature would stay below twenty degrees. It was not uncommon to see the mercury drop below 0 a few times over the course of a winter. So when we moved to South Carolina and saw people bundling up as soon as the temperatures dropped into the low fifties we couldn't help but laugh.

They just seemed to overreact to the slightest change in temperature. At the threat of  snow flurries there would be rumors that school might be canceled. In fact, there were times in those first few years here where school was canceled due to the threat of flurries. Oh, and morning temperatures in the twenties.

In St. Louis I remember taking my class out to recess everyday unless it was raining or the temperatures were sub-zero. Part of this was due to my great hatred of indoor recess. But another reason for going out every day was that as long as you dressed appropriately you were never really all that miserable. Especially when you ran around and played rather than standing in one place to shiver and gripe. 

I had the right clothes, too. I loaded up with a wool vest, cotton coat, and windbreaker jacket. Added to that was a neck gator, stocking hat, and really big mittens outfitted with a wind and moisture blocking sleeve. Throw in a second pair of socks and leather hiking boots and I was sweating bullets until I finally hit the door.

I've noticed, though, that I'm not so careful to dress appropriately now that I live in the south. I still wear shorts a day or two each week and sometimes only come out to recess equipped with a hoodie jacket.  There's ice on the ground and in the pond - a fact that just amazes my students - and it's cold.                                                        

I shake. And shiver. And put my hands in my pocket and gripe to myself.

Why is it soooo cold?

It was seventy degrees like a week and a half ago!

Seriously, I didn't move south to freeze to death. This is ridiculous!

I have a partner in all this. Another teacher who is out to recess with us each day is originally from Texas. He pulls his hood around his face so tight that you can barely see any skin in there at all. He shifts from one foot to the other moaning and complaining. I tell him of the old days when I would have not worn a jacket at all. And the time I braved a port-a-potty toilet seat in 8-degree weather. And the time I ran a half-marathon in a 4-degree snow storm!

But those are all memories now. I no longer laugh at the locals because I've become one of them. Now the new northern transplants can enjoy a good laugh at me. I'm alright with that. 

I know their day will come soon enough.