I’ve been listening to a steady stream of books on Audible lately as I water plants, knead dough, fold laundry, and paint my toe nails (Pompeii Purple for the fourth time this summer).
I just started Alice Waters’s We Are What We Eat this morning. I’m a big fan of her Chez Panisse cookbook, and as I scrolled through nonfiction “must-reads” on my phone, I came across her new book and started listening. When I began, it took me about 10 seconds to decide to turn up the speed to 1.3, which is laughably contradictory to one of the pillars of her philosophy for preparing food: take your time and savor every step of the process. I am totally on board with that, but I’m not trying to spend all day on the first few chapters. Forgive me, Alice.
I’m not very far into the book, and so far, her words have rung true, particularly what she has to say about convenience, that it is “…all destination and no journey.” The meal itself is arguably less important than the journey you take to get there: selecting the ripe tomatoes, crushing and mincing the garlic cloves, cutting the fresh basil into ribbons as the smell of summer floats through the kitchen.
I immediately made a connection to teaching and learning. It’s the journey that matters. It’s the process of reading, re-reading, writing, revising, starting over, learning how to listen to each other, how to empathize with one another, developing the skills and the confidence to participate in meaningful discussions.
Sometimes I feel the final project is, indeed, merely a gesture; the journey is the heart of it all. And, of course, the last word I would use to describe shepherding a roomful of middle schoolers through the journey is “convenient.”
My Corner of the Village 