I've had more time than ever to clear up the dead leaves and lawn refuse in our yard. It has been good to go outside and engage in something physical to break up the days. In the past, I've viewed this work as a chore to be avoided.
One thing I've observed is how the snow has receded from winter to spring. Every day, there would be a little less of a crest along the side of the house as the weather warmed, as if the snow was retreating to the south side of our property and ending under the shade of our overgrown butternut. The ground opens up, and I rake up nature's leftovers from the previous fall.
Going over this same pathway daily, I will often notice something new. For example, the spring bulbs and perennials are starting to sprout. Seeing this every day, the work becomes more important. Subsequently, I'm more motivated to clear away the leaves and last year's growth, and even protecting new growth with short wire fencing from the trampling of kids' feet.
I am thinking about how this time of slowing down and having less on our plates might relate to our work with students and teachers. What do we miss with our sense of hurry in schools? Likely, many of the small processes and outcomes that can only be captured with careful study over time, such as the ups and downs of our students' reading lives or the changes in our students' journal writing.
Without downplaying the seriousness of this pandemic, the optimist in me believes we have a chance to learn the importance of slowing down during these times. If we are teaching online/remotely, we don't have to fill our days with the usual of school. What's essential? How will I support this work from a distance? The added time and attention that can lead to more noticing (and less judging or "doing") might be the gift we never knew we needed.