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The boys howl, and I crack the whip

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This teddy bear was innocent until the boys transformed him into something evil.

This teddy bear was innocent until the boys transformed him into something evil.

As the toxic smell of spray paint drifts up from the basement and splotches of red paint dry on my hardwood floor, I ask myself, how is it possible that men still rule the world?

For the past seven years, I have coached a group of kids, most of them boys, in Odyssey of the Mind, a creativity/problem-solving program that coaches love to hate.  This year, for the third time, I’m coaching an all-boy team of four seventh graders and a sixth grader.  The boys are developing a skit about a traveler who visits an unknown place which he perceives as a threat to his community; the skit includes a set that moves without direct human power.

I’ve known these boys since they were six or seven years old.  I know them well.  They love PVC pipe, spray paint, and explosions, real or imaginary.  They also love the idea of winning–but only if they don’t have to work too hard.  Instead of “thinking out of the box,” they often struggle to think their way out of a paper bag, mostly because they can’t be bothered.

Odyssey of the Mind has taught me that when I retire, I definitely don’t want to spend my time “working with children.”  These boys often drive me crazy.  They bang hammers on dining room tables.  They leave hot glue guns burning on plastic tarps.  They splatter paint and paper maché mixture all over the floor.  

The purple glitter lumps are rock candy crystals. The yellow lumps are corn cobs. The mess is 100% middle school boy.

The purple glitter lumps are rock candy crystals. The yellow lumps are corn cobs. The mess is 100% middle school boy.

The boys have progressed/matured a little bit from last year.  So far, no one has shut my cat in a box and forgotten about him.  Pencil hurling mostly has stopped.  The kid who used to pick up anything dangerous (a two-by-four, a section of pipe) and absent-mindedly swing it around has departed.

Still, I know I can’t leave the boys to their own devices for long, because without supervision, they will take a PVC pipe that I purchased for them and cut into it without taking any measurements, or considering how they will get four cuts from one length.  One will grab a beautiful piece of large cardboard scavenged from a local store for use as a set backdrop, and cut a hole, right in the middle.  They are good at ruining things.

Why cut a readily available smaller piece of cardboard when you can destroy a large piece the team had intended to use as a set backdrop?

Why cut a readily available smaller piece of cardboard when you can destroy a large piece the team had intended to use as a set backdrop?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As the mother of a mild-mannered only son, I am not used to yelling at kids, or even being stern.  But in March, as we get closer to our tournament, I ask the boys if they want me to crack the whip.  I can crack it or not, I explain, but you guys aren’t winning anything if you don’t stop fooling around.  They always say yes, please, crack away.  They know themselves well.  So the filters come off.

“Stop swinging that knife, NOW.”

“Do you really think the judges want to hear about how you want to kill your brother?”

“WHY are you standing with your dirty feet on the backdrop?”

Odyssey is a Do-It-Yourself program for kids.  The rules prohibit adults from telling the kids what to do and from doing things for them.  However, we can teach them skills (this is HOW you use a drill without putting a hole in your eyeball), and we can ask questions that help them to devise solutions.  Early on these questions fall well within the program guidelines:  “How else could you support the structure?”  “How you could create the illusion of an exploding volcano?”

But by mid-March, my questions are more direct, perhaps bordering on the forbidden “outside assistance.”

“Is that really all you are going to do with that set?”

“Which team do you think is going to earn more points, the team that makes creative costumes, or the team that doesn’t bother with costumes?”

“Do you think these unpainted cardboard boxes look like a castle?”

Behold, the golden statue of the Gummy Bear leader. Even I have to admit that the boys did a pretty good job fashioning him from a plastic bottle, nubs of PVC pipe, and a Pokemon ball.

Behold, the golden statue of the Gummy Bear leader. Even I have to admit that the boys did a pretty good job fashioning him from a plastic bottle, nubs of PVC pipe, and a Pokemon ball.

Right now the pressure is on. Every room in my house is full of backdrops, structures built from PVC pipe, and drying paper maché.  Debris from exploding party poppers litters the floor. These are the times that try coaches’ souls, the times we love to hate.

The boys love this program, which is why I continue to coach.  How often do you see teenaged boys gleefully running around pretending to be Gummy Bears?  Or taking pleasure in transforming a stuffed teddy bear from innocent to evil?  Or building a giant’s lair which they secretly hope they can transform into their own personal lair once the competition is over?

Next Saturday, the kids will compete.  Instead of pulling things apart, they will pull it together to work as a team, and pull off a flawless performance.  I know the outcome will be great.  Even so, we may or may not make it to the State competition, or to the World Finals in Iowa.  The girls will probably rule.

But perhaps not.  The boys have a knack for getting the judges to laugh out loud.  While the girls spend hours working on elaborate costumes for a few bonus points, the boys practice the art of hitting the most points for the least work.  Who wouldn’t want that skill?

Also, seventh grade boys who willingly become Gummy Bears don’t care what other people think.  They’re doing what they want to do.  Other people’s expectations or definitions of “cool” do not concern them.  They please themselves, rather than trying to please others.

Maybe these strengths explain why men still the rule the world.  At least that’s what I tell myself, if only to push away the future image of a slacker son working just enough hours making YouTube videos to pay his cell phone bill and contribute a few bucks in room and board for living in his parents’ basement.

Wait–not the basement.  It’s full of cardboard and PVC pipe.  Besides, the WiFi reception down there is terrible.  And the lair slides so easily into the family room with the wide-screen TV.

P.S. Just to be clear: I don’t wish for me to continue ruling the world, or for women to take over—sharing power between the genders is definitely the goal.  I just wonder how this fact is still possible, given my experience in working with these boys.

Art amidst the mills of North Adams

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November December 2013 104

Fall leaves and outdoor swimming go great together!

A decaying mill town on a gray November weekend in an isolated corner of Massachusetts might seem an unlikely destination, but North Adams had been on my radar for a while.

The  Massachusetts Museum of Modern Art (Mass MoCA) offered intriguing, colorful and large-scale modern art likely to engage a 12-year-old non-artsy boy.  The Porches Inn provided a 24-hour outdoor heated pool and hot tub.  And Spruce Hill, just outside of town, is listed in Jeffrey Romano’s book, 100 Classic Hikes in New England.  Plus, right above town, we could experience the hair-pin turn on Route 2.  Why go to Disney World when North Adams awaits?

North Adams is a classic New England mill town, with acres and acres of massive red-brick empty mill buildings. Manufacturing in North Adams dates back to the Revolution, but now industry is all but dead, the final nail in the coffin coming with the 1985 closure of the Sprague Electric Company plant on Marshall Street (previously the home of the country’s largest textile print mill).  The Sprague plant was much more than a small-town components factory; it had state-of-the-art equipment and served as the company’s research and development center.  Employees included physicists and electrical engineers as well as line workers making electrical components.  At its peak in the 1960s, the company employed more than 4,000 workers.  The 1985 closure struck a massive blow to the community.

In the 19th century, sheep farmers in the hills around North Adams abandoned their fields for the relative comforts offered by row houses in the town.

In the 19th century, sheep farmers in the hills around North Adams abandoned their farms for jobs in the mills and the comforts offered by the row houses in town (on the Spruce Hill hike).

Soon after plant’s closure, town officials set their sights on reviving the town. In 1999, Mass MoCA opened at the sprawling Sprague complex to become the world’s largest contemporary art museum.  Although it’s unlikely that art will ever replace Sprague’s 4,000 jobs (plus the related jobs in other businesses), Mass MOCA has served as the cornerstone of the town’s revival, with other art galleries opening in its wake, along with restaurants, shops, and The Porches Inn.

Mass MoCA is fun – the perfect art outing for families with tweens or teens (and many were wandering around the place). Kids who might be bored with the portrait galleries of the Museum of Fine Arts will find much here to intrigue them.  The exhibits are constantly changing.

When we visited, Jason Middlebrook’s monumental hanging water fountain sculpture, Falling Water, packed a big “wow” factor. Mark Dion’s Octagon Room offered an intriguing bunker-like space to explore.  The colorful patterned paintings of Sol Lewitt (more or less on permanent exhibit) provide hope to non-artists that they too can create something beautiful, as Lewitt allows others to use his patterns to recreate his art.

The marble bridge, unique in North America, offers another sort of sculpture at Natural Bridge State Park, just outside of town.

The marble bridge, unique in North America, offers another sort of sculpture at Natural Bridge State Park, just outside of town.

European sculptor Joseph Beuys’s three-dimensional montage, Lightening with Stag in Its Glare, intends, per the catalog, to evoke “the spiritual power of animals and nature” while celebrating “the victory of socialist warmth and self-determination over materialist greed and alienation.”  For kids, however, the most interesting question is whether the irregularly shaped brown objects lying on the floor are lacquered turds or primordial worms (or perhaps both).

November December 2013 051

 

 

Just getting up to see Michael Oatman’s Airstream trailer repurposed as some kind of exotic aircraft (titled “The Shining”) is a unique museum adventure.  Visitors have to climb a few flights of stairs past old boilers and pipes to reach the outdoor platform where the trailer is perched.  The rusted pipes and equipment, which probably clanked and boiled well into the 1980s, now seem ancient.

A chilly November dawn in North Adams.

A chilly November dawn in North Adams.

Across the street from MASS MoCA, the Porches Inn is laid back and easy-going, with 24/7 access to the hot tub, sauna and pool. Visitors can order happy hour drinks at the small bar and sip them in the living room.  We decided to catch the sunrise each morning from the hot tub, although we kept forgetting to get up early enough due to the recent “fall back” switch to Eastern Standard Time.  Although we missed the official moment of the sun rising, we enjoyed sitting in the hot tub sipping fresh coffee and watching the pink sky.

The 3.5-mile loop hike up to Spruce Hill provided a good opportunity for leg-stretching and views of North Adams and Mount Greylock.  The loop trail through the forest took us along a massive beaver swamp, with many freshly chewed trees. The beavers remained hidden.

View from the summit of Spruce Hill, with Mount Greylock in the background.

View from the summit of Spruce Hill, with Mount Greylock in the background. The ledge was slippery, with a steep drop-off on one side. I lost my footing and fell hard on my behind, but at least I was on the right of the ledge!

In Mass MoCA, I took plenty of photos of the art, but I can’t publish those shots online. So when I was in North Adams, I tried to make my own art by shooting artsy photos. If you don’t know what they are, then I guess I have succeeded in creating modern abstractions (see below).

By the way, last year, on this same November weekend, we made our first-ever trip to Orlando to visit Harry Potter world at Universal Studios.  Jeremy rated that trip as a five-star adventure.  Our weekend in North Adams:  4.5 stars.  A pretty good rating, I’d say, for a place that exemplifies “November” in New England (i.e. gray, barren, and chilly).  Chamber of Commerce, take note:  with the right spin, marketing North Adams as the alternative destination for families weary of roller coasters just might work.

What kind of monster beavers can fell a tree this thick?

What kind of monster beavers can fell a tree this thick?

 

Stream in fall.

Stream in fall.

 

Modern art in the forest: the exposed veins of a tree.

Modern art in the forest: the exposed veins of a tree.

The wind howls, and we stir the pot

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As I write at the kitchen table, a pulled pork lunch for 17 simmers in the crockpot and the wind shrieks above the stove vents.  That wind has been howling for the past four days, hitting a peak gust of 121 mph on Sunday, when the temperature dropped to -25 and the wind chill was a crazy -76. And we summit volunteers are loving it!

Standing on the summit, with the Observatory Tower in the background. On the first couple of days, we saw many winter hikers at the summit, before the advent of the high winds that made hiking very unsafe.

Standing on the summit, with the Observatory Tower in the background. On the first couple of days, we saw many winter hikers at the summit, before the advent of the high winds that made hiking very unsafe.

The possibility of extreme weather is one of the main reasons why I signed on for the eight-day volunteer stint in January.  I knew that extreme weather meant we wouldn’t do any real hiking, but I was okay with that, as I’m rusty on my winter hiking skills. I had the warm layers I needed to safely push myself into 100 mph winds, plus a pair of sneakers for indoor laps around the rotunda to get some exercise in between short jaunts outdoors.

 

During my stay on the mountain, I’ve been reading about the winter of 1870-71, when State Geologist Charles Hitchcock and Assistant Geologist Joshua Huntington, along with three other men, and several visitors, spent the first winter on Mount Washington.

This scientific expedition set up shop in a small room carved out of the depot for the just-completed cog railway.  They spent the winter doing weather observations, using some of the same instruments that the observers use today.  They communicated to the outside world via daily telegraphs and were constantly heading out in extreme weather to repair the telegraph line.

Winter on Mount Washington

During their first full-on winter storm, some time in December, the group spent a frightening night huddled around the coal stove, as they listened to the roar of the wind and wondered if their quarters would hold fast.  The building, which was held down with chains, withstood the wind, and gave the group faith that they would weather future storms. Glass panes might shatter and they might have to stay up much of the night keeping the stoves going, but they could enjoy listening to howling winds rather than fearing them.

Hitchcock, Huntington and their companions each wrote different sections of Winter on Mount Washington, the 1871 book describing the expedition.  The prose is dense, written in the leisurely 19th century style that can be tedious for modern readers.  But what strikes me as I read about their days on the mountain is how little the winter experience has changed.  Although the men lacked today’s comforts, they were perfectly cozy in their small quarters. They got up early and piled on their gear to watch the sunrise.  They watched the clouds float up over Jefferson and Adams.  They marveled at the sunsets over the Franconia Ridge.

In Chapter 11, “Life on the Summit,” Joshua Huntington wrote,

“Most persons suppose that life on Mount Washington in winter must be gloomy, and gloomy enough it would be, at times, when the summit is enveloped in dense clouds for weeks, if it were not for the cheering click of the telegraph instrument.  They might suppose also that time would be extended indefinitely; that at night we should wish it was morning, and that in the morning we should long for night to come, and thus drag out a wear existence.  If the time of any persons in excellent health is wholly occupied in a pursuit that is congenial they are rarely gloomy, and are almost unconscious of the flight of time. But here, besides good health and time occupied, there is an excitement found nowhere else.”

“One gorgeous sunrise throwing a flood of light across a sea of clouds, one glorious sunset tingeing the clouds with crimson and gold, and the sun descends leaving the blush of day upon these snowy summits, or a storm unprecedented at lower elevations, infuse into our life enough that is grand and sublime to occupy the thoughts for weeks. With such surroundings, a person, on account of the intense excitement, may live too fast to have life extended to full three score years and ten; but there is a pleasure in it that would fully compensate for a few days cut off from the number to which life might be lengthened if passed in some quiet retreat, undisturbed by anything hat arouses the whole being, and carries the mind into ecstasies of delight. So days and weeks pass, and we are almost unconscious of the lapse of time.”

I couldn’t have said it better myself.

 

The Stage Building at sunset. This building, which serves as a depot for the Cog Railway, is a replica of the 1932 Observatory where the record wind was recorded. The current Observatory building opened in 1980.

The Stage Building at sunset. This building, which serves as a depot for the Cog Railway, is a replica of the 1932 Observatory where the record wind was recorded. The current Observatory building opened in 1980.

My post here is reprint from my January 28, 2014 post on the MWOB “Observer Comments” blog.  Below, more photos from winter on Mount Washington.