Prosopis glandulosa
Mesquite
The bush tree
Crooked branches, inch-long spines
Twice-pinnately compound leaves, seed pods
The bee tree
Honey, light and clear
The mesquite roots for water during the North Texas draught.
I root for computer lab space at a small North Texas University.
For the last several years, I have worked as an adjunct instructor in an English department that has no computer lab--buzzing from department to department on campus, borrowing their labs, teaching at odd hours, carrying my disks, books, and class supplies--the English bag lady. This has been a wonderful adventure. I've meet a math professor as amazed that an English teacher would need a computer lab as I was that she taught math in a lab; I have gotten to know the rad-tech people who are delightfully ahead of the rest of the campus with their distance ed. Master's program--the first in the country; I've been welcomed by an education department that is spinning into the new century, leaving my little department behind; and I have annoyed the intense Caribbean business students when I asked them to close their Excel sheets and make space for FYC students.
When the English department needed to be moved to a new building, I knew this was our opportunity to ask for a computer lab. Though my computer activities and plans were meet by complaints from some members of my own department, the administration was interested; they had heard the buzz as distance ed. approached and encouraged my unpaid energy and efforts.
My resolve to build a space increased as the draught lingered. I pulled computer writing classroom plans from web sites and spent a summer in the cool Upper, Upper, surrounded by water, learning from Cindy and Dickie in their lab of pods.
When I returned home from Michigan, I received a call from the Dean. Would I design a space for a computer lab and give it to him the next week? Sure I replied. Though not on salary--The mesquite is a drought tolerant tree--I would be happy to pull together a plan.
Working on lab plans
A tap on my kitchen window
Hope flickers
Not rain but wasps building a multi-celled flower in a corner of the window
Stings without honey
When I present my design to the computer committee, I am surprised that my efforts are initially met by anger. There is fear that a computer writing classroom involves a change of power: an oxymoron, adjunct power. They like my plan but one suggests that the plan would be more readily accepted if I removed my name from the proposal--adjuncts can't serve on committees.
Sting
Alone with my plans
Developing thorns
My design is accepted, and hardware and software decisions need to be made. No one steps forward to help. I begin to feel like the Little Red Hen. I conduct a survey. How do the faculty want the new lab equipped? Little to no response, only a buzz. I have learned my lesson. I inform the faculty of all my moves and run everything by Information Systems. I know now to move slowly among bees, to make no quick moves, and to be wary of wasps.
Hardwood
Seed pods
Seeds with hard seedcoat
Dormant for decades
Conditions must be just right for germination
I look up from my monitor one Saturday afternoon as my son returns home from a game of paintball. To miss a direct hit, he dove to the ground, landing on a mesquite branch. "They needed a pair of pliers to pull the mesquite thorn from my leg, Mom." Proud. Standing in front of me, jeans covered with splotches of red and yellow paint, he points to a patch of cloth cut from the left leg of his pants, revealing the round, dark wound: big sting, ruined pants. "Did you cry when they pulled it out?" "No," he replies, "And it made one of the men there sick to watch."
Strong
Hardcoated seed
Evening, his leg begins to swells and fear crosses his brow. I, too, worry, recalling when he was so small, strapped down in a crib in ICU with a tiny tube snaked down his throat to keep his air-way open, a case of croup gone amuck--I recall his taped mouth, his silent cry. I camp on the floor beside his bed, as I had many times when my children were young and sick--fearful that in the middle of the night they wouldn't be able to breath, that I would be too far away to hear their muffled cries.
Skies darken
Wasps silent in blossoming nest
Storm warnings
Violent emotions shear branches from the trees overhead
My home groans in the wind
Waking in the morning, I stretch stiff, crooked limbs and look at my sleeping son. His leg is swollen, fiery pink, but his breathing is smooth.
Hardwood and seed weather the storm
The next morning, sweeping up the debris, I pull a bench from the brick wall to clean behind it. An angry black swarm busts into the air. My face and arms burning, I run from the porch onto the lawn, screaming in indignation and betrayal.
Hardwood cracks
Tears disappear into the dry Bermuda lawn
My throat begins to swell
Who will hear my muffled cries?
My twelve-year-old daughter sits glued to the monitor in the kitchen sending Instant Messages to a boy, Noah. He claims to be 13, home-schooled, and from Utah. Perhaps, but I envision a middle-aged drooling lech from Las Vegas and insist she print copies of their conversation. Hearing my cries, she pulls away from the screen and flies to my aid.
Hardcoated seed sprouts
Daughter consoles old wood
Deadlines sprout amidst the ruin. They have sat on my plans for months, and now I have a week to provide all lab estimates to the Dean's office. I stare at my monitor and seek advice. I turn to e-lists: acrimonious postings. ACW is also under attack. Dormant emotions take flight, swarming the unsuspecting: I stop reading my e-mail.
The drought lingers
Water rationing is mandated
Water on the wrong day and face a 250-dollar fine
I'm asked to schedule the proposed lab for the fall. We plan to have all FYC students spend time in the lab, and I'm to teach them. I schedule the sections, and count up the teaching hours: 300 plus contact hours a semester. A member of the administration suggests that I should be put on as staff instead of faculty: Dilbert is not funny today.
Facing ugly truths on all sides
I worry
Mesquite burns with white-hot heat
Then it snows. We have our three days of Texas winter, a little moisture, a little relief.
And I crack a tooth (adjuncts are not benefit eligible). Sitting in the dentist's chair, I note a young tree outside the window beginning to bud. Looking up at the ice cycles dripping off the roof, I worry aloud that the buds have been damaged. "Yes," the hygienist, agrees."They aren't as smart as the mesquite. Watch the mesquite," she continues, "It's never fooled."
Cheek swollen, I return to my office and check e-mail before heading home. I open a message from a former student:
"I was worried about taking your writing class in the lab last semester, but I liked it; I like to write. Do you mind if I keep e-mailing you, showing you what I'm working on? " I recall a quiet boy with Day-Glo green hair.
Raindrops hit the windowpane over my desk.
Two-inch fragrant blossoms cover crooked branches concealing the deepening lines
Mesquite in bloom
Bees buzz
The honey is light and clear