Handwork Teacher Kate Camilletti was asked to write a poem to share at our School Warming on Thursday, September 1. Kate wrote this for her daughter Maizie, OVWS Class of 2013. Kate's son is currently in the 8th grade at Orchard Valley.

She was four years old
And our first
The other place just wasn't
 working anymore.
This teacher seemed grounded.
The morning rhythm flowed, bubbled,
 stuttered, streamed along contentedly,
 though not without tears.

Thirty below zero
We bundled her off to nursery school
Hot cocoa in the sippy cup, mittens up to
 her elbows.
The nursery, first grade and fourth grade
Honeycombed in the old cape
 till summer.

A little reluctant, reserved maybe,
 unsure maybe.
Her jeans though, always so short
 all of a sudden.
A one friend girl.
She got tall,
Got braces, too young.
Grabbed on to reading
 summer after third grade
Never stopped.

Never loved school.
Hated having her mother around
 in handwork, at recess
Needed something.
Her teachers felt it
Observed, supported, nudged her
 forward.
An imperceptible push on the unsure
 toward a tentative confidence.
Steady, gentle, subtle
Unwavering guidance through
 effort, friends and fights
 mud, ice, filthy clothes
lost socks, cracked mudboots.

She grew so tall
Dressed in white and sang with her class.
She cried at the podium.
I cried
 caught on the song with June's roses
 and it is an honor.
The immeasurable gift of parenting
 teaching
 encountering the being of a child
 through time.

Gravity
The wonder of her becoming.
We nurture, guide
 hold, lead
 share, play

Soon they will hoist
 an arch of goldenrod.
We will enfold our children in a
 shoulder-to-shoulder embrace
 of Joy
As breath catches on gratitude,
 unable to sing with September's roses.