Shouts

from inMiddlebury Magazine March 2020

Real Simple named Middlebury

Welcome to our SHOUT page!

If you know of a community member or group of people whom you would like to offer out a SHOUT of gratitude in a future magazine, please send your nomination to our editor Desirée Beauchamp-Boucher at Delightfullyhere@gmail.com

Shout out to MeLinda Taylor for simply being her. –Monica Cummings

I would like to thank Mr. Luken for everything he does for Northridge Middle School. He helps organize and attends many of the civics activities the 8th graders participate in. He has organized the annual Washington, D.C., trip for years that has allowed countless students to visit our nation’s capital and he is an endless supporter of all middle school athletics. Not to mention he is a great teacher. –Robert Miller

A HUGE thank you to “Country Lane Bakery” for their amazing cookies. Your cookies were a BIG hit at our volunteer trainings...we appreciate your support! –The LoveWay Staff Lots of thanks and gratefulness to “Aunt Karen’s Café” for all their support of LoveWay! Your AMAZING brunch made our “Christmas with Santa” a HUGE hit! We SO appreciate your heart for our riders . –The LoveWay Staff

Thank you Cinnamon Stick, Monteith Tire, Joyfully Said Home, Ben’s Soft Pretzels, Shirley’s Popcorn, Essenhaus, Body on Cue, A Good Neighbor Heating and Cooling for donating to the Love Banquet at Crystal Valley Missionary Church on February 8 to benefit the Middlebury Food Pantry! –Heather Calfee

Shout out to Amy Schmucker for being a great friend and always being there for me. –Monica Cummings W e are so grateful to Leah Bigler for donating her time and talents to take some amazing photos of our horses. Thank you for blessing us with your artistic talents! –The LoveWay Staff

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Invite family and friends and share the fun!

Thursday, March 12 4:00-6:00 p.m. Friday, March 13 1:00-5:00 p.m. Saturday, March 14 9:00 A.M.-3:00 p.m.

PUBLIC WELCOME! Admission is $5.00 per person

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Student ne s

“Dear Green, You give me a tummy ache A plummeting stone of hope crashes into the dormant acid dragging the oxygen down with it Some days you poison my mind never gracing me with mercy from your melodic fingertips I can see your brilliant mind spinning and I am the one who becomes dizzy I suppress the feelings knowing one day they’ll boil up to the surface of my lips Leaving the only words dripping from them a residue of my independence I’ve taken the maximum Alka-Seltzer and Pepto Bismol and the reality of this cancer settles in Slowly The conversation pebbles sink Gasping The dreams die Praying to fall out of it, the deep unfortunate emotion But God and Allah sigh knowing I will never feel anything true again They look down giving me the charity born from pity of music Sincerely, Devoted”

– Meredith Dorbin

“I have this fear that one day I will wake up, anxious for all the lives I have never lived”

– B.K.

All grade levels can submit their own writings, haiku, short stories, creative activities, etc. to delightfullyhere@gmail.com to be featured in future issues of inMiddleburyMagazine. We’d love to hear what our students find important or entertaining!

20 inMiddlebury Magazine | Ma rch 2020 Special Boy On May 21,1960 a boy was born in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, he was a special boy The boy had a hobby which was collecting bones, he was a special boy Faked seizures & hide alcohol during high school, he was a special boy Got kicked out of college and the military, what a special boy Living at grandma’s house where he sins, what a special boy Hitchhiking for a ride, made a friend name Steven Hicks what a special boy Being a puppet master for love Being hungry for love, what a special boy Leftovers in refrigerator, what a special boy

Being caught twice by the law 15 years behind solid bars Turns to god’s will Rest in peace Special little Jeffrey. – Abby Rumschlag

“We can waste a lifetime wishing for all the possibilities that still lay in our hands”

– B.K.

Student ne s

“Though War is Hell.” A Poem on the Transition from Hellish War to the Christmas Truce of 1914

In hot, yellow rain the young boys cry Through flying dirt and thunderous claps of falling shells Cry for mothers and fathers alike, War is hell. The enemy is faceless with cold empty eyes, we know only their voice, It’s thunderous bang and yellow rain. We were men but now we are husks. How could man go through such a thing, or deliver it unto us, The young boys with mothers at home. Are we men, or are we beasts in this hellish landscape? War is hell.

The Night is cold and silent, and the stench of corpses infect the very air and muddy, brown snow littered the ground. When through the silence, a young voice cried, not one of a thunder clap nor did yellow rain follow- But it was human. And the voice was of greeting- almost joyous. Soon after, a bright flame arose- not one of the great earth shattering shells, or the devouring flames of the metal dragon But a candle, and what followed was a hand- the rest followed. Our rifles shook coldly in our hands as the soft click echoed through our fingers for yellow rain to be released in full. But then the shaking stopped slowly, as in the small person’s hand stood the glowing figure of a tree, descending down onto the cold ground- what was this stretch of unusuality?

We expected yellow rain, thunderous booms and the blur of grey and green coming towards us at full speed- But yet the person stood, then another, and another, some taller, some shorter, each holding candles, their before faceless heads illuminated by the candles, young, old and chiseled, same as us.

Then we found ourselves doing the same, our boots taking up on the parapet and onto the ground, And we stood before them. A long silence continued before it was broke again by a young boy muttering In the meekest of voices “Merry Christmas.”

So low a tune you could barely hear, but voices began to spring up in conversation and laughter between and the men and I found myself exchanging my cigarettes with a German of all people..His eyes were of a boy, His hands were the same as mine, covered in blackened mud and oil. Perhaps we really are men, Though war is hell.

Writer’s Note: When I wrote this poem, I was creating a digital art piece of the same context, the Christmas Truce, and so the idea struck me that I should make a poem commemorating it though I wanted to add a touch- a flair, if you will, that would not undermine the war behind it. The Poem, based around The Great War (1914-1918) would include a glimpse of the horrors behind the war, and how propaganda played a part in dehumanizing the enemy, when they were just as human as we were. For those unaware, The Christmas Truce was a result of the common thinking of the soldiers that the war would be ended by Christmas. When the late days of December rolled along, and by Christmas, Soldiers would sing over the trenches for the Holidays, and even exchanged words with the other side, shouting over the top of their trenches. This happened all across the western front, in many occurrences, soldiers went out and even shook hands and even exchanged gifts with the men they were fighting against, a short peace in a terrible and bloody war. “