Category Archives: faith

Not The End, The Beginning – Part 3

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Cousin fun on the Rifle River, Omer, Michigan. June 2023

Part 1

Part 2

This year will mark my 12th year back working at Russell Canoe Livery.  Each year, I love it even more and appreciate what my parents and grandparents built.  Without the canoe livery, pursuing my teaching career, and student teaching in particular, would not have been possible.  None of it would have been an option.  Only when I returned to the family business in 2013 did I fully understand just how much my mom contributed to the canoe livery.  After retiring from teaching in 2010, Mom became more involved in the business.  Only in 2013 did I begin to take over some of her responsibilities.  I had to reconsider what I wanted and the narrative I had created for myself.

Growing up, I always looked up to my dad and Grandpa Buttrick.  Both businessmen, I saw how both had created a life for themselves using family businesses.  In Dad’s case, the seasonal nature of the canoe livery allowed him to pursue other interests and provide us with a great quality of life.  As his sidekick, I grew up watching Dad making decisions about the business.  Prior to building the Crystal Creek shower house in 1992, I went with him to check out similar showerhouses.  One of my earliest memories is going with Dad in his truck to unclog the artesian well across the road in Crystal Creek Campground.  I used to argue with him when Erica and I would catch the bus from our house behind Crystal Creek to our main location in Omer.  He, of course, wanted us to ride in his bus.  Knowing that he wouldn’t let me bounce around in the back of the bus, I wanted to ride with anyone else.  Dad often won.

Grandpa Buttrick, on other hand, moved his young family from Marshall, Michigan to Standish, Michigan to take over his grandfather’s business:  Forward Corporation.  On our yearly trip to the Upper Peninsula with my Buttrick grandparents and cousins, we always had to stop in Gaylord to check on his convenience stores.  He loved the business, and due to a unique set of circumstances, I managed one of his convenience stores for a few years.  Through that experience, I learned just why he loved that business so much.  If I hadn’t moved back to Michigan in 2005, I would not have had the opportunity to get to know Grandpa Buttrick so well before he passed away in 2007.  Like teaching, business runs deep in my blood.

Late 90s at Russell Canoe Livery.
Hard at work!

When I graduated in 1999, I attended Michigan State University to pursue a business degree in supply chain management.  I quickly decided to pursue a Spanish degree too.  I couldn’t give it up.  Both of my older cousins earned degrees in supply chain management from MSU as well.  I knew the program, and frankly, the subject still fascinates me.  Even though I didn’t end up with a long career in supply chain, those experiences during my years at MSU made a deep impression on me and still shape how I view the world.

The processes of working so closely with my parents on all things relating to the canoe livery and establishing my teaching career gave me a whole new appreciation for my mom.  I will never understand how she taught kindergarten for 15 years.  Two half-days substitute teaching in kindergarten were more than enough for me.

As time went on, I slowly realized that the canoe livery would not have been nearly as successful without Mom and Grandma Reid.  Dad may have had the vision and made it happen, but it would not have been possible without great customer service provided by us all.  I may have grown up wanting to follow in Dad and Grandpa Buttrick’s footsteps, but I followed in my mom’s instead.  I just faced a different set of circumstances.

Not The End, The Beginning – Part 2

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Not The End, The Beginning – Part 1

When I went back to school in January 2014, just over 10 years ago, I admit, the idea of being an older student intimidated me, especially online courses.  When I graduated from Michigan State University (MSU) in 2004, online courses were not nearly as developed as they are now.  Due to a combination of landing a full-time position in Houston, Texas within a week of graduation, moving across the country, my stubbornness, and adjusting to working in corporate America full-time, my first experience with online classes did not go well.  That early negative experience stayed with me.  Fortunately, I adapted.

During the academic year, I planned to attend class and work on coursework two to three days a week while substitute teaching as much as possible.  To add insult to injury, I didn’t just take classes at Saginaw Valley State University (SVSU).  No, I decided to enroll at Delta College too.

There were two reasons why I enrolled at Delta.  First, realistically, I could save money when compared to SVSU.  Second, I decided to complete a writing certificate while working towards my teaching certificate.  In the end, I had a wonderful experience at Delta College.  My history and writing classes, all taken at Delta, are among my most treasured.

My decision to complete the general writing program at Delta College stemmed from my involvement with Mid-Michigan Writers.  I attended their Gateway to Writing workshop in the fall of 2013.  That day, I happened to hear a group of Jeff Vande Zande’s students talking about how much they enjoyed his class and the wonderful writing program at Delta.  Vande Zande, who happened to be the keynote speaker that day, taught a screenwriting class at the time.  A few years later, his screenwriting class changed the way I look at movies forever.

At SVSU, I had to decide which secondary endorsements I planned to pursue.  In addition to Spanish, I had to choose between social studies and English.  Social studies won.  In 2019, I started a new position as a middle school teacher at St. Michael School and began taking classes to earn my English endorsement.  As with so many things in my life, I didn’t want to have to decide between two great options, so I didn’t.  I did both.  In spite of a pandemic, scheduling conflicts, and other considerations, I finally completed my English endorsement in May 2023.

In the end, I resigned my position in order to finally complete my English endorsement.  As incredible as it seems, SVSU, even in the aftermath of a global pandemic, offered no online or evening options for the two classes I still needed.  It wasn’t the only reason I left St. Mike’s, but I knew if I didn’t, I’d never be able to finish.  It ended up being for the best.

Sadly, that summer, approximately a month after I resigned, the assistant principal at St. Mike’s – and so, so much more – passed away.  It is safe to say that my life would be very different without Norma Vallad.  I certainly would not have landed at St. Mike’s without her involvement.  So much of our school culture revolved around her down to every last detail.  I still can’t imagine St. Mike’s without her.  Fortunately, I didn’t have to face that prospect in the fall.

By the time I finished my English endorsement last May, I felt such a deep sense of closure.  After all these years, no more educational pursuits to chase – unless, of course, someone would like to pay for a masters degree or PhD.  As far as I am concerned, I have nothing left to prove.

Teaching left me conflicted.  On one hand, I had come way too far to give up on teaching.  Yet, my first full year of teaching coincided with the Covid 19 pandemic.  I saw first hand how the pandemic affected teachers, students, parents, administrators, and everyone else.  The apathy I saw and experienced still haunts me.  As I reconsidered my role and future in education, little did I know that the best was yet to come.

Stay tuned for Part 3 …

Not The End, The Beginning – Part 1

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I started this journey just over 10 years ago, and with all of the setbacks and triumphs along the way, every last step led to where I am now:  Exactly where I belong.  Actually, it started earlier than that.  It all started with a conversation.

On an average evening well over a decade ago, I found myself deep in a conversation with my ex’s mom that changed my perspective, and my life, for the better.  As she was making dinner, she brought up the fact that she wished she’d gone back to school to become a nurse.  All I could think at the time is that I would do everything in my power to prevent having such a regret later on in life.  Somewhere along the line, as I drove by Saginaw Valley State University’s beautiful campus, it hit me:  As much as I wanted to deny it, I am a teacher.

In fact, that fact became a bone of contention.  When my ex, our relationship already in shambles, found out that I planned to go back to school to become a teacher, he knew exactly which buttons to push, exactly the wrong thing to say.  He felt that I wanted to become a teacher simply because my mom and sister are teachers.  He had it exactly wrong.  I wanted to become a teacher in spite of that fact.  I knew intimately the challenges teachers face and have faced for decades.  I know how little respect teachers get within our society.  I grew up hearing how ineffective teacher preparation programs were and can be.  I know how the sausage is made, and yet, I still wanted to be a teacher.

Above all, I am not my mother or my sister.  My interest in education is not the same as theirs.  Both were meant to be elementary school teachers.  Me?  Never!  I adore young children, but I much prefer to work with teenagers, particularly older teenagers getting ready for the next step in their lives.  My mom fell into the profession, and fortunately for her, it suited her well and worked out.  Even though she’s been retired for well over a decade, I know what a wonderful teaching legacy she leaves behind.  In fact, I am proud to be a part of it.  I landed in her 6th grade social studies class.

My sister Erica, on the other hand, knew that she wanted to be a teacher her entire life.  We’d play school frequently.  With my love of books, I’d be the school librarian.  Erica would be the teacher, of course, while our much younger brother Garrett would be the one and only student.  Erica may still have some of those early report cards that she made for Garrett.

It is certainly true that teaching is in my blood.  My sister and I come from a long line of teachers on our mother’s side going back at least five generations.  As interesting as that is, it doesn’t stop there.  Both of my mom’s grandmothers taught.  My mom’s older sister Tara taught for her entire career.  Grandma B. earned her teaching certificate, even though she never taught, choosing instead to stay home and raise her five daughters.  Her younger sister, Joyce, taught for decades in the earliest grades.  I could go on.

My dad’s family valued education as well.  Both my dad and his sister married teachers.  He has several cousins who work (and worked) in agricultural education and special education in various capacities.  Even though my paternal grandparents never had the opportunity to pursue college educations, they encouraged their children to do so.  In fact, my grandma valued her education so much that her school memories were some of the last to go in the face of dementia.  Stories I will never forget.  In fact, I doubt I would have had the opportunity to go back to school to earn my teaching certificate without Grandma Reid’s influence.

So, why did I go back to school to earn my teaching certificate?  It is quite simple.  I knew that if I didn’t, I would regret it for the rest of my life.  My life would be unfulfilled.  It has not been an easy journey, to say the least, but I am now exactly where I am supposed to be.  Stay turned.  This is just the beginning.

Ghosts of Christmases Past

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It never seems to fail.  Come the first week in December, I get overwhelmed with everything that needs to get done before Christmas – decorating, shopping, cards, planning, and so much more.  As a teacher, that doesn’t even include everything that needs to be wrapped up before winter break.  December, and Christmas in particular, are such a whirlwind of emotion and activity.  Don’t get me wrong, I love Christmas.  In fact, I adore it.  My December 18th birthday just adds to it all.  The reality that I am another year older doesn’t always help.  I am old enough to miss several people who are no longer with us, particularly my grandparents, all of whom loom large in my Christmas childhood memories.  Somewhere in the first week of December, I hit a wall, and frankly, I don’t want Christmas to come at all.  Yet, it always does, and somehow, everything gets done on time.  New memories are made.  I just wish that it wasn’t such a messy process.

As with anything else in my life, I have to get over my idea of “perfection.”  Who cares if I decorate later?  I am decorating just for myself.  Who cares if I leave up my Christmas a little longer?  I still want to enjoy it once the craziness is over.  It is time to move on and continue not caring what others think.  It will all work out in the end.  I will get plenty of time to spend with family and friends over break, and maybe even a chance to rest.

What is it about the Christmases of our childhood that bring back such vivid memories that we long to recreate?  The thing is, it is in my blood.  My mom adores Christmas.  When mom and dad were newlyweds, she started playing Christmas music in October.  After spending nearly a week in the hospital after I was born (yes, I am that old, and my mom was sick when I was born), my parents brought me “home” on Christmas Eve.  In fact, they didn’t take me home.  They took me directly to Grandma Buttrick’s for the Christmas Eve festivities.  I don’t believe we arrived home until the next day.

I often wonder what that Christmas Eve 1980 at Grandma and Grandpa Buttrick’s was like.  The only evidence I have that I was there are pictures of my parents holding me as I was decked out as Santa in a Christmas sleeper with a Santa beard bib.  I wasn’t even the only one celebrating her first Christmas.  My cousin Abby would turn one year old a few months later.  It is fitting that we shared a first Christmas, just as we shared so many other childhood memories and fears.  Christmas would not be the same without cousins.

As if two babies at Christmas wasn’t enough, 1980 represented the first Christmas in Standish.  Earlier that year, Great, my great grandma, moved from Marshall, Michigan to Standish in order to be closer to her sons, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.  I grew up hearing about all of the epic Christmases in Marshall at Great’s house.  My mom and her sisters still marvel at how their mother packed everything for Christmas for five girls and then hauled it all across half the state.  I imagine I get the same look in my eyes when I talk about Christmas Eve at Grandma Buttrick’s – or our entire itinerary – that my mom and her sisters get when they talk about Christmas in Marshall.

I can envision a time when my nieces and nephews will reminisce about the Christmases in Omer at Grandma Lala’s and Papa Chocolate Mik’s house, the house in which I grew up.  I love to see how much they enjoy spending time together, even if it is absolute chaos.  I just hope that I help to create a little bit of Christmas magic for them all.

Living History

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In March 2020, during Lent, this piece of art featured prominently outside my classroom door.
When we left school that fate Friday, March 13th, no one realized that we wouldn’t see each other in person for months.

A Journal of a Plague Year

Growing up, I always wanted to live through a historic event.  Unfortunately, little did I know what life had in store for me.  Now in my early 40s, I am amazed when I stop to think about what historic events I have lived through already – and how different the world is from when I grew up.  I vividly remember the Cold War; the fall of the Berlin Wall; both the first and second Gulf Wars; September 11th, 2001; the War in Afghanistan; and of course, the COVID 19 pandemic.

A year after September 11th, 2001, that somber anniversary inspired me to write about my experiences on that fateful day.  That entire morning is etched in my memory.  At the time, I had just started my semester studying abroad in Quito, Ecuador a couple of weeks before.  I was still learning my routine and adjusting to my new host family.  September 11th colored that entire experience as there was no way it could not.  While I didn’t write much for the 9/11 digital archive, what I did write sets the scene and provides a glimpse into what US exchange students were dealing with all over the world.  My full story can be found at The September 11 Digital Archive, story6757.xml.

This past spring, a conversation with a fellow writer made me realize that I could do the same with my experiences throughout the pandemic.  I found a place to archive all of my writing relating to the pandemic, past and future – A Journal of a Plague Year.  I may include some videos I have from that time frame as well.  It may become a cool little side project.  I’m definitely looking forward to it.  Maybe I’ll be able to finally put all that the pandemic disturbed and disrupted behind me.

There are SO many things that stand out.  That first awful week of the shutdown during which I had to go to school, alone, and pack up all of my 6th graders belongings (pictured below).  The conversation that I had with Norma and Ashley as school dismissed that awful Friday, March 13th of Lent, not realizing that we would not see each other in person for months, will always be remembered.

In the weeks following our last in-person day of school (March 13th, 2020), as a teacher, I had to pack up my students belongings and prepare them for pickup by parents. Each teacher had an assigned time to be in the building. Doing so in the middle of the stay at home order, not knowing when I would see students, teachers, and staff again, was nothing less than surreal.

That weekend, my mom had had several old high school friends over for a get-together.  The venue changed from a friend’s house to my mom’s in order to limit contact with her friend’s disabled and susceptible son.  All so very strange and new.  Keep in mind that this is just before the stay at home order was issued for Michigan. 

After I learned that we would not be going back to school the following Monday, I just packed clothes and headed to my parents’ house.  I didn’t know what else to do.  I would stay there with them well into May/June.  What I remember most is that I happened to catch some of my mom’s friends, some of my favorite people, before they left.  It would be the last time I would see them for several months.

I could easily keep going.  The spring of 2020 also represented the end of my first full year of teaching, my first 6th grade class.  Definitely not the way I wanted to start off my teaching career.  Personally, I believe the education system is still reeling from the shutdown.  Students and teachers are still trying to pick up the pieces.

This is just a glimpse of what I plan to share and document.  I hope that I inspire others to do the same.

Gordon Lightfoot – The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald (1976)

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Gordon Lightfoot – The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald (1976) (Video) (Lyrics)

(Written May 7, 2023)

“The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down

Of the big lake they called ‘Gitche Gumee’ …” (Gordon Lightfoot 1976)

There is probably no more iconic opening lyric in modern music history.  Sadly, Gordon Lightfoot died on May 1st, 2023 at age 84.  In capturing the story of the tragedy of the Edmund Fitzgerald in song, he immortalized the iron ore carrier, its crew, and its disputed demise for generations to come.  In a sense, it has become an elegy for all those lost on the Great Lakes over the centuries.

Growing up in Michigan throughout the 1980s and 1990s, we learned about the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald through Lightfoot’s lyrics.  Personally, I’ve been fascinated ever since.  It is easy to see why so many are still drawn to the story.  First, it is a fairly “modern” shipwreck.  The Fitzgerald sank on Lake Superior on November 10, 1975.  They had enough lifeboats, modern radar, and radio communication.  In fact, Captain McSorley’s last radio communication with a nearby ship, the Arthur M. Anderson, was “we are holding our own.”  That chilling fact alone sends my imagination reeling.

Next, there are lingering questions as to exactly how the Edmund Fitzgerald sank.  Some say that she ran aground on Six Fathoms Shoal, while others believe that the hatchways were not properly secured.  Then, there are those who believe one of the Three SIsters – a reference to gigantic waves developing on Lake Superior in the wake of incredible fall storms – doomed the ship.

In fact, the subject of the Edmund Fitzgerald still garners a lot of local interest in Michigan.  In September 2022, former reporter and Edmund Fitzgerald researcher Ric Mixter presented information on the wreck at the old court house in Omer.  I happened to attend his presentation, and for such a small community, there was standing room only.  Ric Mixter, a former reporter for local WNEM TV5, went on to present in Bay City and other nearby communities as well.  What’s great about his presentation is the depth of his research, his respect for those who died in the tragedy, and his obvious love for the subject matter.  He lets his audience decide for themselves the ultimate cause of the wreck.  After I attended Ric Mixter’s presentation, I compiled some of his resources in the post All Things Michigan.

Finally, Gordon Lightfoot’s master songwriting draws one into the tragedy.  WIth lyrics like “ice water mansion” and “Does anyone know where the love of God goes, When the waves turn the minutes to hours?,” it becomes a timeless folk song dedicated to the power of the Great Lakes.  By telling the story in a basic timeline format, he immortalizes the old cook and Captain McSorley, along with the rest of the crew, for all time.  I can’t think of a better tribute to the 29 men that lost their lives that fateful November day.  It is one of the most haunting songs I’ve ever heard and fully deserves its rightful place in the history of timeless American folk songs.

Faith Over Fear

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Below are my thoughts after one year teaching through the pandemic.  As a writing exercise, we were asked as teachers what we had learned through the experience.  In my opinion, two years later, it sill holds up and summarizes nicely how I felt and continue to feel.  Originally published on the Saginaw Bay Writing Project (SBWP) website, you can find a link to the original piece below.  I’ve only corrected minor errors here.

Our Teachers Write – SBWP

What did I learn about myself as a teacher over the past year?  First, I clearly understood just how fragile our everyday lives are – students, teachers, and administrators alike.  Most people seem to have underestimated the power of their daily routine, their “normal.”  I certainly did.  Second, I learned just how much I continue to not know.  I am still learning how to teach effectively online.  Finally, I learned how to focus on what truly matters.

As 2019-2020 was my first full-year teaching, I continue to feel robbed.  Plans for March is Reading Month, field trips, and so much more – all gone.  Memories with my first 6th grade class never made.  The little things still haunt me.  I am a big believer in class read-alouds, and when we shut down for the school year in March 2020, I was in the middle of the first Percy Jackson book:  Percy Jackson and the Olympians: The Lightning Thief by Rick Riordan.  My 6th graders adored the book, and I still regret the fact that I was unable to finish the book with them in-person – or continue the series.

If I still feel this way a year later, I can only imagine how my middle school students felt and continue to feel.  There appears to be little to no concern regarding the impact prolonged shutdowns can have on emotional, social, and academic well-being.  It just doesn’t seem to matter to anyone.  Somewhere along the way, we  lost our humanity.  We, educators and students alike, are not alright.

As we entered the Lenten season this year, memories of last year came flooding back.  On Friday, March 13th, 2020, as I participated in the Stations of the Cross with my students, we learned that we would not be coming back to school.  Little did we know that we would not finish the year.  The uncertainty, the miscommunication, and the worry will always stay with me.  At the time, no one had any answers, only an endless list of questions.

During the lockdown, I worried about every single one of my students.  Would they fall behind?  How would they survive without seeing friends on a daily basis – or ever?  I also learned what I didn’t know.  No one taught me how to teach online.  Yet, that is exactly what I did. I was not prepared last spring.  When my class was quarantined this fall, I was still not fully prepared.  Only now, in a virtual week built in after spring break, am I now beginning to feel as though I can somehow teach online.  It took over a year.

I can’t imagine trying to navigate it all without faith.  When I talk about faith, yes, I am referencing a higher power, but I am also referring to a general faith that everything will work out in the end.  No matter where we are today as educators and students, there is hope for tomorrow.  All hope is not lost.  We can and should do better.  We will.  If given the choice between faith and fear, I choose faith.