Green Apple's Blush: Week 4 Highlights

Friday, September 9, 2011

Week 4 Highlights - 2011....

~We went to see the Da Vinci exhibit at Frazier this week and it was terrific! I loved being able to examine closely replicas of so many of his creations (as well as handling some of them). We are doing physical science this year and just started working on simple machines. It was cool to look at all the different types of applications Leonardo found for the screw and the gear....

http://www.davincithegenius.com/

~The new P.E. class is a testosterone filled rush! I think it is going to be a great success....

~Trepidation over the try-out for Junior Company (a theater group) gave way to a great performance! We won't know whether or not he got in until next Wednesday....

~ New books this week:

Across Five Aprils, Hunt; Sing Down the Moon, O'Dell; listened to Jim Weiss tape Mystery! Mystery! with stories by Poe, Doyle, and Chesterton

He just finished reading various Sherlock Holmes stories and I've got a book of Chesterton stories on hold (if the book ever gets returned - argh).... We'll be studying Poe and attending several events related to his works during October.... Did you know he invented the mystery story?

~ First soccer game of the season is tomorrow! (If the rain holds....)

Regena

2 comments:

Unknown said...: Wow - the DaVinci exhibit looks awesome! How neat that you were able to go.; September 9, 2011 at 7:49 PM
Daisy said...: Oh, we study da Vinci next week. I'm going to check out that link.

I now know tons about Poe because my daughter went through a Poe phase last year. LOL. Rather morose but she liked him. She was quoting bits of The Raven all over the house for months.; September 10, 2011 at 10:48 PM

The Planting of the Apple Tree, William Cullen Bryant

Come, let us plant the apple-tree.
Cleave the tough greensward with the spade;
Wide let its hollow bed be made;
There gently lay the roots, and there
Sift the dark mould with kindly care,
And press it o'er them tenderly,
As, round the sleeping infant's feet,
We softly fold the cradle-sheet;
So plant we the apple-tree.

What plant we in this apple-tree?
Buds, which the breath of summer days
Shall lengthen into leafy sprays;
Boughs where the thrush, with crimson breast,
Shall haunt and sing and hide her nest;
We plant, upon the sunny lea,
A shadow for the noontide hour,
A shelter from the summer shower,
When we plant the apple-tree.

What plant we in this apple-tree?
Sweets for a hundred flowery springs
To load the May-wind's restless wings,
When, from the orchard-row, he pours
Its fragrance through our open doors;
A world of blossoms for the bee,
Flowers for the sick girl's silent room,
For the glad infant sprigs of bloom,
We plant with the apple-tree.

What plant we in this apple-tree?
Fruits that shall swell in sunny June,
And redden in the August noon,
And drop, when gentle airs come by,
That fan the blue September sky,
While children come, with cries of glee,
And seek them where the fragrant grass
Betrays their bed to those who pass,
At the foot of the apple-tree.

And when, above this apple-tree,
The winter stars are quivering bright,
And winds go howling through the night,
Girls, whose young eyes o'erflow with mirth,
Shall peel its fruit by cottage-hearth,
And guests in prouder homes shall see,
Heaped with the grape of Cintra's vine
And golden orange of the line,
The fruit of the apple-tree.

The fruitage of this apple-tree
Winds and our flag of stripe and star
Shall bear to coasts that lie afar,
Where men shall wonder at the view,
And ask in what fair groves they grew;
And sojourners beyond the sea
Shall think of childhood's careless day,
And long, long hours of summer play,
In the shade of the apple-tree.

Each year shall give this apple-tree
A broader flush of roseate bloom,
A deeper maze of verdurous gloom,
And loosen, when the frost-clouds lower,
The crisp brown leaves in thicker shower.
The years shall come and pass, but we
Shall hear no longer, where we lie,
The summer's songs, the autumn's sigh,
In the boughs of the apple-tree.

And time shall waste this apple-tree.
Oh, when its aged branches throw
Thin shadows on the ground below,
Shall fraud and force and iron will
Oppress the weak and helpless still?
What shall the tasks of mercy be,
Amid the toils, the strifes, the tears
Of those who live when length of years
Is wasting this little apple-tree?

"Who planted this old apple-tree?"
The children of that distant day
Thus to some aged man shall say;
And, gazing on its mossy stem,
The gray-haired man shall answer them:
"A poet of the land was he,
Born in the rude but good old times;
'Tis said he made some quaint old rhymes,
On planting the apple-tree."