Bustling Ducks

Spring in Oregon means that it was sunny and 89° when I took my daughter to soccer practice on Thursday afternoon and a rainy 57° when she played in her game on Saturday morning. The blossoms are on the trees, the grass is growing at a rapid rate, and the world around campus feels like it’s speeding up as we rush headlong through April showers and May flowers toward graduation in early June.

It means that students are hurrying to keep (or get) their grades where they want them, teachers are rushing to get in the lessons they want to before the end of the year, and everyone is thinking about what needs to get done before mortarboards take to the air and the bustle of spring is replaced by the quiet drone of a bee in summer.

At an art school like ours, spring also means performances, exhibitions, and celebrations of creativity. In the past four weeks alone, our performing arts center has played host to a musical, a visiting German piano quartet, a story slam, dance recital, jazz and classical performance, and huge art exhibition. We’ll add a choir concert, film night, and another dance show before the month is out, and cap it all off with commencement in June rich in student performances.

But we are a school that likes applause, and as crazy busy as the last few weeks have been, I don’t think there is one of us who would want it any less so.

It was against the backdrop of this frenzied springtime that Mother Nature provided us a moment of pause and reflection. On a warm Thursday morning, ahead of a hot afternoon, I got a call on my radio that I needed to go to the courtyard near the rear of the PAC. I was still on my first cup of coffee, but thought I heard the word “visitors,” which in the nomenclature of school walkie-talkies means trouble as often as it announces welcome guests.

I grabbed my sunglasses (springtime invites optimism) and headed out, hurrying past students who seemed to be drifting eagerly toward the alley between the performing arts center and the Quonset Hut that serves as our cafeteria.

I picked up my pace, doing my best to keep that sense of calm a good principal should as I turned the corner and saw them.

My head custodian had arrived first, so our guest was hissing a him as students watched and a few took video with their phones.

But he kept his cool, gesturing the smiling kids back and whispering loudly to give the mother and her ducklings room to waddle out of the student walkway and onto the neighboring grass.


For an instant we were, all of us, caught up in the lives of these ducklings. And I thought that no matter what character in this story that we are in the moment: fuzzy youth, hissing mama duck, or shepherding custodian, for us spring is a season of surprises, action, and (as when those ducklings stepped onto the green, green grass) applause.

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