Rachel Woodham

“I don’t think we need to tell Dr. B about the pickaxe,” I told my son. To tell the truth, I’m not sure what happened. The result was a small cut hidden by his voluminous hair on the eve of his annual checkup. It so happens that my son who is most likely to hit […]

“Go! Go! Go!” My son lay atop his red plastic kayak, coiled in anticipation. At his triumphant command, his older brother grabbed the free end of the rope and began running as quickly as he could. The makeshift sled accelerated down the icy incline, carried on by shouts of joy. Our wildest dreams had come

This is a follow-up to Rachel’s previous article called “Remembering:Building a Memory Palace.” “William, William, Henry, Stephen, Henry, Richard, John, oi!” I chuckled as the enthusiastic tune emanated from the shower down the hall. While preparing our memory work for the school year, I stumbled upon Horrible Histories “Monarch’s Song.” It begins with a dancing

When I was a child, Christmas was magical. I eagerly awaited the day after Thanksgiving when my parents would remove our artificial tree from its waxy box and our home would shine with colored lights. When Christmas came, we would journey from North Carolina to my mother’s hometown in central Florida. The glow of white

True confession: I hate to memorize. It isn’t a lack of desire or appreciation or value or effort. I try to memorize, and I fail: repeating and repeating and repeating a poem or monologue or passage of Scripture seems to flatten it. With each dull repetition, beauty seeps out. Am I attempting to embrace my

In light of the catastrophic flooding in North Carolina and Tennessee, I have realized that the mention of rain in the following article requires a note of explanation. When I wrote this, Hurricane Helene still churned in the warm waters of the Gulf. I had already cleared my writing desk; I placed my most necessary

It was slow going as we set off on a new trail, traversing downhill across damp rocks and roots. My daypack was heavier than I had expected; I had double the water that I needed and various odds and ends from previous adventures – fourteen Band-Aids, a beautiful rock, an ankle compression sleeve from an

From the second I set foot in the classroom a dozen years ago I began wrestling with the puzzle of learning differences. I found that charity and attentiveness went a long way. For example, I noticed the connection between outbursts from a child with ASD and the use of the overhead projector. This was an

It was Sunday afternoon and when I saw the caller ID, I knew something was wrong; my friends all know of my unwavering commitment to unplug on the Sabbath. With a shaking voice, my dear friend asked if I was in a place where I could hear something hard. The evening before a married couple

When I pulled into my driveway the weather app on my phone, still set to Blowing Rock, North Carolina, showed a balmy 79°.  As I opened the car door, a wall of 99° moist air engulfed me. My week of idyllic reading community had officially ended. I had driven home from the Close Reads retreat

Animal Farm was unexpectedly one of our all-time favorite schoolbooks. “Four legs good! Two legs baaaaaad!” my daughter began chanting through the house. She loves animals, and my boys are of an age that delights in finding hypocrisy in others. And I, unexpectedly, was chastened by Boxer the workhorse. As the pig Napoleon, leader of

I first encountered the ideas of Saint Thomas Aquinas through Josef Pieper in Leisure: The Basis of Culture. Pieper’s book had a profound impact on me; through it, I realized that I was missing the heart of classical education and because of it I decided to attend graduate school. In Pieper’s essay, Aquinas’s ideas stood