After taking a couple years off, Man High School decided to bring back the Social Studies Fair. This was great news to my ears considering where I grew up in Wyoming County, we did not have anything like this. I think I was just as excited as the students who enjoyed participating each year and were disappointed when they stopped. To my understanding, the reason for the break was to let some of the projects that show up year after year, by younger siblings and relatives, to filter through the system and encourage students to produce new, original projects. The Social Studies Coordinator at the state, Regina Scotchie has worked hard to revamp the rules and regulations, along with a new abstract and website, www.wvssfair.com. Now, projects can be done electronically. One new important rule is that any project that has made it to the state level before cannot be brought back again. And of course, we had some really nice "recycled" projects, but those participants were told to rework their ideas and come back next year.

MHS had nearly 30 participants in the categories of Geography, US History, World History, Psychology, and Sociology. The following participants received scores above 90%, qualifying them to move to the next level of competition: Lyndsey Bateman and Rebecca Williamson, both juniors, researched feral children in the Psychology category, and Zac Underwood, a freshman, research coal mining's effects on communities in the Sociology category. Good luck guys!

The state fair will be held May 2nd at the Charleston Civic Center. Check out the WV Social Studies Website for details!

In the spring of 2006 Coalfield Writers was one of eight writing project sites around the country awarded mini grants for the Celebrating Rural Poetry Project. Celebrating Rural Poetry was a collaboration between The National Writing Project and The Rural Schools and Community Trust. This partnership provided $3,000 mini grant. The objectives of the program were to:

• encourage rural public school students to write poetry about the people and places of rural America they know best
• encourage rural schools to adopt "sense of place" curricula
• raise the profile of rural schools and communities among educators, poets, and readers of poetry, and within Congress.

2009 - National Poetry Month Don't forget our student's poetry.

Untitled
By: Sonya Ashby

For a long and painful time
I pushed you, made you stretch, bent you to my will.
Eventually, you saw reason and succumbed.
Since then we've been together every day
Your support brought me to new heights.
After several years, it appears I pushed too far
your support began to slip, and I began to slide away from you.
You were coming apart at the seams
Your sole was worn.
But you were so cute I kept you around
far longer than I should have.
Even when you caused me pain.
But now I have the courage
to kick you to the curb!
I can tolerate your stench no longer!
I have the courage to go forward in the quest
for a new pair of shoes!

Untitled my attempt at a sestina
By Tia Miller
Through the depths of space,
A companion to waves of light,
Alone among the stars, we travel.
Our journey produces awe
In the eye of a blessed eternity
As our life continues to move

Toward that which only moves
Farther into the humbling space
Between mortality and eternity.
Reaching for the elusive light,
We find no sense of awe
In the darkness through which we travel.

It does not hinder our travel,
Nor does it encourage us to move.
It does not match the awesome
Power of the beacons which are spaced
Like islands, islands of light
That drift unattached through eternity.

And though they appear eternal,
As to their waters we travel,
We cannot depend upon the light
For it, too, is compelled to move
Proceeding through the vast space
Searching for something that brings awe.

For light needs a sense of awe
To counteract its race toward eternity.
And we, seeking the light of space,
Do not realize that, as we travel,
One errant, misplaced movement
Can disrupt the quest of the light.

And to disrupt the quest of the light
Is to erase that which causes awe
And compels the longing heart to move.
Not a single step toward eternity
Can be taken by any traveller
When the light has left this space.

Spaced between the pinpoints of light
We travel the darkness, wrapped in awe
As a slippery eternity continues to move.

The Walk
By: Sharon Blevins

I took a walk today.
I gazed up at a powder blue sky
and felt the warmth of a golden sun on my face.
I found a poem.

I took a walk today.
I lingered lazily at a neighbor's garden
and took in the scent of a lovely red rose.
I found a poem.

I took a walk today.
I strolled slowly through a park
and watched children freely laugh and play.
I found a poem.

I took a walk today.
I stopped for ice cream, vanilla with sprinkles,
and lost myself in the sweet treat.
I found a poem.

I took a walk today.
I counted each step and each blessing
and took time to realize how lucky I am.
I found a poem.

Where I’m From
by Marsha Walsh Jarrell

I’m from Chapmanville,
          Meetinghouse Branch and dirt roads.
I’m from the creek running serenely over the rocks
          and supplying hours of messy fun in the backyard.
I’m from the mountains
          from the old oak tree
          whose outreached limbs always welcome me home.
 
I’m from beans and cornbread
          from fried chicken and potatoes.
I’m from Clorox and Pledge
          and Friday night cleaning.
I’m from Sunday breakfast
          with cinnamon apples, bacon, and eggs
          homemade biscuits and gravy.
 
I’m from the coal mines and slate piles
          from gardening and canning.
I’m from the yours, mine and ours
          three children during the week
          and five children on the weekends.
 
I’m from clotheslines and wire hangers
          from well water and a pump house.
I’m from a laid back attitude and country slang
          from patience is a virtue
          and take your time to do it right the first time.

I’m from hard work and kind words;
          from treat others how you would like to be treated.
I’m from respect your elders
          from honor thy father and thy mother.

I’m from the scrapbook of photos
          under my mother’s bed.
I’m from a cedar chest of memories
          reminding us of where we’ve been
          and those that made the journey with us.
I am from those moments—

Mother Who
by Marsha Walsh Jarrell

Mother who watches her children like a hawk
and asks if everything is all right
who is chicken and dumplings
who is pinto beans and cornbread
whose eyes are emeralds shining bright
is too nervous to let her children grow
who is the voice of reason
who is the rock of the family
can’t get over the empty nest
worries about her youngest daughter the most
who doesn’t live with her anymore
is calling everyday just to check in
who will call around town if she can’t get in touch
is a protectful mother goose
who watches her children fly away
who sits and waits for the next call or visit
asking if everything is all right
who needs me who?

by Marsha Walsh Jarrell

Pap-Paw who limps with a prosthetic leg
and asks how are you honey
who is tobacco and a spit tune
who is a handkerchief and Dickie work pants
whose skin is wrinkled from the sun
is too weak to watch TV today
who tells me I love you honey
who tells me not to go
whose hands are rough yet gentle
can’t work in his garden today
sleeps in his recliner while watching the Western channel
who used to have a booming voice
is gone
is lying in a hospital bed
has come home to die
doesn’t live here anymore
is in the mountain across the road
who is an echo in my head
is an imprint on my heart
who is beef jerky and deer meat
is cattle and tractors and hay bales
who is the apple trees in the orchard
asking who misses him
who misses him who?

The Day my Daddy Cried
by Marsha Walsh Jarrell

I heard the news on Monday night
that my Pap-paw had passed away;
I didn’t get to see my dad
until the morning on Wednesday.
Nearly three days he meticulously worked—
climbing and digging with no pay—
just to give Pap-paw the perfect place
where his body will now lay.
The second time in less than two months
Dad must endure the loss
of burying dear loved ones
with the last name of Walsh.
How can he handle all of this?
How much more can he bear?
Where does he pack this burden?
I wish he could give me some to share.
The family was all gathered
around the Freeman’s tent once more;
the wind gusts blowing wildly
and the snow too much to endure.
As a veteran played TAPS on his horn
while seven others gave the gun salute;
each face in the crowd cringed
when the signal was given to shoot.
I looked for my dad;
he was nowhere in sight.
Maybe he needed a moment alone;
maybe the feelings were too hard to fight.
The preacher said the final prayer
every head bowed and eye closed.
I walked up to the coffin to have my last glance
Then, I saw my dad at the front of the rows.
I ran and threw my arms around him
locked in a tight embrace.
“I love you, Dad,” was all I could say
as I stepped back and looked upon his face.
A single teardrop fell
from under his glasses down his bearded cheek.
I never say this to him;
I always feel too meek.
I will never forget this day;
it will be with me until I die.
This was the day
that I saw my daddy cry.

Time Marches on
By: Sharon Blevins

My mind wanders back
To days long past.
I silently wonder
how time moved so fast.

Crows feet,
Wrinkles,
Hair sprouting gray,
Bones creaking louder
Every day.

A middle getting thick,
No longer thin,
And when, oh when
Did I inherit that double chin?

My wardrobe has changed too,
It has changed plenty,
No low cut shirts,
No skirts that are mini.

I gaze at my reflection
As this "new style" I don.
I shake my head and smile.
Time marches on.
Certain things I can't change,
Any time, any place,
So I'll just keep growing older

With dignity and grace.
I'll look back on my life
With a laugh and a song.
I'll shake my head and smile.

Time marches on.

Midnight Blue
By: Laura Tracy Baisden

When I was nine years old
the midnight blue Crayola
was useless

too light to be black
too dark to be blue
it seemed superfluous
it was an appendix
a tonsil
in the Crayola box

I didn’t know the purpose
of midnight blue
at nine too young
to see the world in shades
other than white or black

I didn’t know midnight blue
is the sound of summer stars
singing their way through the
Perseids meteor showers
on the night a favorite uncle died.

Or that midnight blue is
the smell of Hyacinths whispering
their spring secrets to each other
under porch railings

I didn’t know midnight blue
is George Straight’s voice
A love without end amen
on the afternoon
your best friends sign
divorce papers

I didn’t know midnight blue
is the comfortable companionship
of twenty-three years

the color of passion’s first conflagration
burned down to hot coals and cinders
worth far more than
the initial flames

I didn’t know midnight blue

For Cat Lovers Everywhere
By Judith Ramsey Southard

A dead chipmunk lay on the patio
Its front paws across its chest
As if in prayer,
Its back paws gone.
The neighbors’ chubby, black cat
Her tail held high,
Rubbed her arched back
Against my legs
Meowing for an extra treat
In return for her special gift.
I leaned to rub my hand
Through her sleek black fur,
Glistening in the sun.
Suddenly I pulled back
With a shiver
As in my mind’s eye,
I saw myself the size of the chipmunk
My hands folded across my chest,
My feet gone.

I Am From
By: Rebecca Johnson
I am from “I do”
I am from “Let’s have one more baby”
I am from “Twins! Oh Doc, you’ve got to be kidding”

I am from “God is watching”
I am from “Have you prayed about it?”
I am from “Praise the Lord”

I am from “The bus is up the road!”
I am from “Do your best”
I am from “Do your homework”

I am from “Try it, you might like it”
I am from “I knew you would”
I am from “I am proud of you”

I am from “Keep trying”
I am from “You’ll be sorry if you quit”
I am from “ I knew you could do it”

I am from “I’m glad you’re home”
I am from “When is your next visit?”
I am from “I am proud of you”

I Am
By: Mary L. Hawkins
I am Mother’s crying sobs
I am the mourning dress and deserted shoes
I am an American flag-folded and placed in empty arms
I am the embroidered lace on her handkerchief
I am the bugle somewhere in the tree line
I am the sentiments of friends and neighbors
I am a scared, solemn face
I am a tear
I am a forgotten child

A Random Autobiography
BY: Laura Tracy Baisden

I was born on November 22nd, four years to the day after President John F. Kennedy was assassinated. Camelot had passed, and hippies lined the streets of San Francisco, protesting the Vietnam War. My parents hated hippies. They also hated the war. My husband is my best friend. I have one sister; I have one brother. I am an only child. I know a song lyric for every occasion . While I learned to crawl and ride a trike my uncle was doused with agent orange, as he crept through the jungle. I treat my dog like a child because I can’t have children of my own, but I do understand the difference. I struggle to be a Christian of Peace. I don’t like to decorate for holidays. I am an organized, sequential thinker; I enjoy calendars and watches. When I was a kid I only drank Tang because I thought it would help me be an astronaut; I hated Tang. I am an artist and writer. I learned the truth about Santa Clause from my first piano teacher. I could read when I was three years old and when I was six I tried to fail first grade because I didn’t want to be a classroom helper tutoring the retarded kid who sat in the back of the room and ate his boogers. My grandmother died at my grandfather’s funeral. I am a child of the sun and the winter solstice saddens my soul. I am an English teacher. Once while driving I saw a monkey swinging from the guard rails on the turnpike. I saw a teenager on an airplane get arrested by federal marshals. I lived in a haunted house for nine years. I remember how blue and beautiful the sky was on the afternoon of September 11th, as I stood on my deck and watched traffic. Someone bowled a 300 game at the Chapmanville bowling alley that afternoon and now every time I’m there I wonder why anyone went bowling that day. Batman is my favorite super hero, and I wore batgirl pajamas for my entire seventh year. I survive my world through humor. I am resilient.

April Fool
I guess you could call me an April fool.

Several other months come to mind too.

You see I teach school.

To students who

Don’t think learning is a tool.

Five days a week I go to school.

For nine months a year

My lessons I think are cool.

Planned and executed without fear.

Only to be dropped in a muddy pool,

Beside the playground in the rear.

I guess I’ll always be a fool

Because I believe in teaching school.

---

During the summer of 2008, Coalfield Writers technology team will conduct a Continuity Institute. This institute is only open to teacher consultants of Coalfield Writers, and only 10 TCs will be accepted.

Submitted By: Laura Tracy Baisden


Logan High School teacher Tia Miller has been accepted as a member of the 2008 West Virginia Humanities Council Summer Institute. The institute, Updating Shakespeare: Text, Context, Stage and Film will be held July 14 – 26, 2008.

As a member of the institute Miller will have the opportunity to study in-depth the body of work of William Shakespeare. The institute will involve three days of study at West Virginia State University, four days of study in London, and three days of study in Stratford-upon-Avon, the home of William Shakespeare.

Highlights of this summer institute will include several London theater performances, tours of the Globe Theater, seminars, excursions to Canterbury and Bath, and study at various Shakespeare Properties with guides from Shakespeare Birthplace Funds.

Miller teaches Language Arts 11, Advanced Placement Literature and Composition, and test strategies at Logan High School. She is a teacher consultant of The National Writing Project and works as publication coordinator for the local affiliate, Coalfield Writers. Tia is the daughter of Bob and Donna Miller of Peach Creek.

Imagine 80 students, ranging from grades three through eleven, gathering at 9:30 on a sunshiny spring morning in a High School cafeteria for the sole purpose of writing together. It's hard to imagine that many students willing to give up a day of free time in the early spring weather for writing instruction, but that's exactly what happened at Williamson High School on March 1st, 2008.

Coalfield Writers, a satellite of Marshall University Writing Project and affiliate of The National Writing Project, provided the creative writing arts symposium that drew the students.

During the day students divided in groups based on grade level. Each student attended three different writing experiences themed around a central idea. Students in grades 3 and 4 attended classes around the theme of "Night in a Museum." During their classes they went to a dinosaur museum, a Native American museum, and a Christmas museum. Students in grades 5 – 11 attended classes around the theme "Quilting a Writing Life" and during each class created three writing quilt blocks. At the end of the day the nine quilt blocks were pieced into a quilt of writing.

See more photos.

Coalfield Writers recently held two writing assessment seminars for students. The goal of the seminars was to help students connect strong writing practice learned in their classrooms to tips, tricks, and strategies for success on the upcoming Writing Assessment test.

Traditionally, each year in West Virginia students in grades 4, 7 and 10 are assessed on their writing skills abilities. This year, however, the test is expanding and students in graded 3 – 11 inclusively will be tested. During the writing assessment test students generate an essay based on an assigned prompt. This type of writing, often called "writing on demand" is one of the most difficult types for student mastery, since writing on demand does not allow for either student choice in topic or time for work with drafting, revision, and writing groups. Studies have shown that both topic choice and collaboration time are factors in writing mastery.

On February 16th Coalfield Writers held a Writing Assessment symposium for student in Logan County, at Logan High School. On February 23rd Coalfield Writers held a Writing Assessment symposium for students of Mingo County at Williamson High School. On both Saturdays students worked with teacher consultants of The National Writing Project to review and practice successful writing strategies. One of the most helpful sessions of each weekend was time to review actual student writing samples and score them against the rubric for evaluation that the West Virginia Department of Education uses.

The writing assessment symposium program is not meant to substitute for strong classroom education in the field of writing. Instead, the symposium is designed to allow students to receive additional writing instruction that enhances and confirms what the classroom teacher already emphasizes.

On February 16, 2008, at Logan High School, Coalfield Writers conducted a Writing Assessment Workshop. See more photos from the event.

On Tuesday, February 6, 2008, Holden Central Elementary School, in conjunction with Title I and Coalfield Writers, collaborated to host a "Build-A-Book" workshop for parents and students. The workshop allowed parents and students to collaborate on creating a book about a subject of their choice. The workshop was hosted by Holden Elementary teachers and Coalfield Writers Teacher Consultants Debbie Holly, Karen Dillon, Lynda McKnight, and Pam Roeher. There were approximately 33 parents and 45 students in attendance at the hour and a half long workshop.

Thursday Readers Book Club, an informal book discussion group sponsored by Coalfield Writers, will continue meetings this spring. Book club meetings are held at Chirico's Restaurant, in Logan, beginning at 6:00 p.m., and the public is invited to attend. The meetings are free and open to anyone with an interest in reading interesting books.

Each meeting features a discussion of the monthly book, friendship and fellowship. The discussions are not scholarly analysis of the books, but rather are friendly conversations about the positives and negatives of the book of the month. The only requirement for attending is that participants have read enough of the book to be able to talk about it with the group.