Recently, we had an ice storm.  Thunder and lightning signalled the start of the event; immediatelyy, rain came pouring in torrents from the sky.  It seemed to freeze on impact.  Each electric line, each tree branch, each birdhouse on a post, each blade of field grass was instantly covered in a coating of ice. Sidewalks and porches and overhangs carried the burden of this glass-like substance.  Wood stacked behind the house by the wood furnace was glazed in a half inch of ice.  Of course, we had  the day off from school (and the next).  When the rain stopped and the sun came out, although it brought no warmth, it created a scene dazzling with the brightness of a fairy tale ball.  Delighted, I pulled on my barn boots, strapped on my quilted cap, and slipped on my heaviest coat and gloves.  Slowly, I made my way out the garage door and across the sheet of ice to the pile of wood.  A smile spread across my face as I took in the wonders around me.  Although I needed to somehow take wood from the pile and put it in the wood stove, wood that was tightly frozen to each other piece stacked there, I was undaunted.  The beauty of the scene buoyed my mood as I chopped at the ice on each of a dozen pieces of wood, freeing them from their tightly fitted puzzle and tossing them into the furnace.  As I worked, I thought to myself, "I need to go inside and write about this...'wow, I'm a writer!'" 

These four words were introduced to me at my first writing marathon, at the Summer Institute for CRWP. Just thinking them brought to mind my dear friend and colleague, Penny, who used that phrase. I smiled to myself. I worked for half an hour, chopping ice, freeing wood, feeding the fire.  As I closed the door to the furnace, I looked forward to going inside to enjoy the warmth of the fire as it spread heat throughout the house, and imagined myself composing an essay or a poem.  I saw myself sharing it excitedly with my students as we talked about the storm and how we had used our gift of a day off.  And then, I went inside.

I opened my email first, and saw an urgent note from our director: NWP funding had been cut; SI as we knew it might no longer be possible; drastic measures were needed to be taken; we needed to meet and talk as soon as possible. My face crumpled as tears slipped down my cheeks.  Who would have ever thought a piece of legislation could make a person cry?

 

 My life as a writer, my life as a teacher of writing, has not been the same since I attended CRWP SI and became a part of NWP. The connections I have made to other teachers has given new life to my teaching; the ideas we have shared as a diverse group with a common goal have inspired new lessons and  methods for teaching them.  My students have become better writers, and better readers of writing.  I see possibilities I hadn't seen before!  I try approaches I'd never before considered.  And if I get stuck, I know where to turn for ideas---to any one of my friends at CRWP and NWP.

 

Funding for NWP must continue.  Nowhere else does such a model exist that is so fundamentally sound, so uniquely effective, and so powerfully sustaining.  NWP has proven itself to be the most effective professional development program for our teachers, who then affect the learning of our students in ways no other program has ever matched.  Our ice storm has since passed, but my fire for NWP will never go out.