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How Teachers Can Prepare For The Autumn Rush

How Teachers Can Prepare For The Autumn Rush

It’s halfway through October when school routines feel a little more settled and we’re starting to feel more at ease. Just as the air starts to turn to autumn and the classroom starts to feel a little less panicked every day, we’re hit with the Autumn Rush, that wild time between Parent-Teacher conferences, Halloween and Thanksgiving, when all of a sudden, the routines that we’ve implemented so carefully and the predictability that we know our classrooms demand is flustered and flittered and messy again.

It’s a marathon, hiding inside of pumpkin spice and falling leaves and likely, if you’re not careful, to make these days feel overwhelmed and overextended.

How Teachers Can Prepare For the Autumn Rush

Remember: the children are attuned and empathetic to the pace you bring to the classroom. Pay attention to your own energy this month: are you sharing your stress with the classroom? Are you making changes more rapidly than you usually work? Are you taking time to observe, even in the middle of the chaos (especially in the middle of the chaos?)

You are a part of the prepared environment. Take the time to prepare yourself for the Autumn Rush.

Breathe. Settle. Do the work mindfully. Start with a poem.

To Autumn

BY JOHN KEATS

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,

   Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;

Conspiring with him how to load and bless

   With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;

To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,

   And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;

      To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells

   With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,

And still more, later flowers for the bees,

Until they think warm days will never cease,

      For summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?

   Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find

Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,

   Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;

Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep,

   Drows’d with the fume of poppies, while thy hook

      Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:

And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep

   Steady thy laden head across a brook;

   Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,

      Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.

Where are the songs of spring? Ay, Where are they?

   Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—

While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,

   And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;

Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn

   Among the river sallows, borne aloft

      Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;

And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;

   Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft

   The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;

      And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

This post first appeared on Montessori Daoshi.

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