Paul Revere

Continuing with our American Revolutionary studies, we worked on the story of Paul Revere. 

By Niah

By Baron

We read:

The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere   by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 1807-1882 Written April 19, 1860; first published in 1863 as part of "Tales of a Wayside Inn"    

---

  Listen my children and you shall hear
Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere,
On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-five;
Hardly a man is now alive
Who remembers that famous day and year. He said to his friend, "If the British march
By land or sea from the town to-night,
Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch
Of the North Church tower as a signal light,--
One if by land, and two if by sea;
And I on the opposite shore will be,
Ready to ride and spread the alarm
Through every Middlesex village and farm,
For the country folk to be up and to arm." Then he said "Good-night!" and with muffled oar
Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore,
Just as the moon rose over the bay,
Where swinging wide at her moorings lay
The Somerset, British man-of-war;
A phantom ship, with each mast and spar
Across the moon like a prison bar,
And a huge black hulk, that was magnified
By its own reflection in the tide. Meanwhile, his friend through alley and street
Wanders and watches, with eager ears,
Till in the silence around him he hears
The muster of men at the barrack door,
The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet,
And the measured tread of the grenadiers,
Marching down to their boats on the shore. Then he climbed the tower of the Old North Church,
By the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread,
To the belfry chamber overhead,
And startled the pigeons from their perch
On the sombre rafters, that round him made
Masses and moving shapes of shade,--
By the trembling ladder, steep and tall,
To the highest window in the wall,
Where he paused to listen and look down
A moment on the roofs of the town
And the moonlight flowing over all. Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead,
In their night encampment on the hill,
Wrapped in silence so deep and still
That he could hear, like a sentinel's tread,
The watchful night-wind, as it went
Creeping along from tent to tent,
And seeming to whisper, "All is well!"
A moment only he feels the spell
Of the place and the hour, and the secret dread
Of the lonely belfry and the dead;
For suddenly all his thoughts are bent
On a shadowy something far away,
Where the river widens to meet the bay,--
A line of black that bends and floats
On the rising tide like a bridge of boats. Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride,
Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride
On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere.
Now he patted his horse's side,
Now he gazed at the landscape far and near,
Then, impetuous, stamped the earth,
And turned and tightened his saddle girth;
But mostly he watched with eager search
The belfry tower of the Old North Church,
As it rose above the graves on the hill,
Lonely and spectral and sombre and still.
And lo! as he looks, on the belfry's height
A glimmer, and then a gleam of light!
He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns,
But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight
A second lamp in the belfry burns. A hurry of hoofs in a village street,
A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark,
And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, a spark
Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet;
That was all! And yet, through the gloom and the light,
The fate of a nation was riding that night;
And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight,
Kindled the land into flame with its heat.
He has left the village and mounted the steep,
And beneath him, tranquil and broad and deep,
Is the Mystic, meeting the ocean tides;
And under the alders that skirt its edge,
Now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge,
Is heard the tramp of his steed as he rides. It was twelve by the village clock
When he crossed the bridge into Medford town.
He heard the crowing of the cock,
And the barking of the farmer's dog,
And felt the damp of the river fog,
That rises after the sun goes down. It was one by the village clock,
When he galloped into Lexington.
He saw the gilded weathercock
Swim in the moonlight as he passed,
And the meeting-house windows, black and bare,
Gaze at him with a spectral glare,
As if they already stood aghast
At the bloody work they would look upon. It was two by the village clock,
When he came to the bridge in Concord town.
He heard the bleating of the flock,
And the twitter of birds among the trees,
And felt the breath of the morning breeze
Blowing over the meadow brown.
And one was safe and asleep in his bed
Who at the bridge would be first to fall,
Who that day would be lying dead,
Pierced by a British musket ball. You know the rest. In the books you have read
How the British Regulars fired and fled,---
How the farmers gave them ball for ball,
From behind each fence and farmyard wall,
Chasing the redcoats down the lane,
Then crossing the fields to emerge again
Under the trees at the turn of the road,
And only pausing to fire and load. So through the night rode Paul Revere;=
And so through the night went his cry of alarm
To every Middlesex village and farm,---
A cry of defiance, and not of fear,
A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door,
And a word that shall echo for evermore!
For, borne on the night-wind of the Past,
Through all our history, to the last,
In the hour of darkness and peril and need,
The people will waken and listen to hear
The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed,
And the midnight message of Paul Revere.

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HOMESCHOOLING

You know you are on the right track when children choose to emulate the greatest qualities in life.  Here, a fine sunny, winter Saturday, my daughter steals away with her younger niece, nephew, and brother, to the school house for hours of school-fun.  Niah, the teacher, conducts class starting with Math, then onto Language Arts.  She assigns each child at their level and grades and rewards for jobs well done.  The children are attentive and captivated for hours in the bright warmth of the tiny classroom.  Then, Niah writes a prompt on the greaseboard, "What would happen if you put a Marshmallow in the microwave?"  The children wrote their responses, each adorable. 

So again, I ask myself, am I doing it right?  Are my children learning to love learning?  I'd have to say, by evidence, yes.  When children incorporate 'doing school' as a form of play, then the answer is unanimously, Yes.

Our Package Destined for Afganistan

The kids have been working hard collecting goodies for the box to be sent to the marines in Afganistan.  They wrote cute letters to the service men and women.

If you are interested in sending goodies too, check out the website http://www.carepackageproject.com .

Other Creative Clay Creations

by Niah

CELLS

    Baron's creation: fat cells

We worked on this project in stages.  The first thing we did was we made the clay from a cooked dough recipe in, Kid's Crazy Concoctions.  Then the kids played with the clay for a few days modeling all kinds of things.  We had a little bit of make up time to do so I introduced the cell topic for science.  We invited another family over for the experience and everyone modeled plant and/or animal cells.

Niah's creation: animal cell

Niah's Animal Cell

Cells waiting to be painted.

Freedom, The Declaration of Independence, and Slavery

Today presented an interesting learning opportunity.  We were on schedule to begin studying the Declaration of Independence when the discussion's focus turned to truly grasping what it means that, "all men are created equal".  We talked about what the founders may have intended and then we discussed the reality of the times, when slavery co-existed despite the movement for freedom.  I felt is was important to talk about slavery at the same time we were talking about freedom.

Over a week ago, I happened to have checked out a huge stack of books from the library which included two books that came into play perfectly for the lessons.  I had,  Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl, by Harriet Jacobs and a children's folk tale, The People Could Fly.  (Please note: The book by H. Jacobs should be previewed in advance of sharing with young ones as some content may not be suitable for all age groups).  I hadn't planned on focusing on slavery at the time but it made perfect sense to explore the topic now and it seemed very coincidental that I had the perfect folktale in my hands to teach it.

Again, my children and I shared beautiful learning moments together on the couch in front of a toasty fire.  Though tears were shed (mostly by me) as we looked at the illustrations and read the very moving folk tale, it gave us a deep understanding of the heartbreaking slavery situation in our history.  Niah even stayed on for another hour as I read from the diary and I answered question after question and together, we shared compassion for the plight of the slaves. 

Here are some of the illustrations from, The People Could Fly.

Boston Tea Party

My version of 'busy work' allows for creativity while I read to them.  Their hands are busy and their minds are open to what I have to share.  It's a win win.  Niah used colored markers and crayons.

Baron's version included adding a tea bag.  He chose to do his ship in watercolor.

 We sat in front of a warm, crackling fire and sipped hot English Breakfast Tea while we learned about the Boston Tea Party.  This was a special moment.