While teaching the children, there's no better feeling in the world with one's students than those wonderful moments in the classroom when "they get it."
In "life after teaching," there's no better feeling in the world than when one's students not only "have gotten it" many times over, but they have also achieved something special in their lives because of their curiosity, drive and, yes, thanks to those who inspire them along the way.
Many of us retired educators, as we continue to get older, reap rewards and satisfaction many times over from the role we once played in the classroom---often when we least expect it.
That's because the seeds planted within our students are continuously growing, thriving and producing as they navigate their chosen paths in life.
Such is the case for any of us involved in the local education system who were fortunate enough to have Dr. Ryanne Pilgeram, a 1999 Sandpoint High graduate, as a student.
It was evident at the time, with her intellect, dedication to learning and her curiosity that Ryanne was bound for some great adventures in her future intellectual pursuits.
A look at her resume suggests that she's participated in just about every extracurricular available as an educator at the University of Idaho since 2010---in addition to teaching AND completing a manuscript for what looks to be a most timely, important book.
I was excited the other day when Ryanne posted the cover to her book on Facebook. Published by the University of Washington Press, the 216-page volume is due for release May 11.
When I went to Amazon.com and investigated further, my first thought was that this will be an important and meaningful read for these times, especially in our area where we hear so much talk about the influx and challenges associated with it.
Add to that a book about Dover, a place we all have loved for a lifetime and a place that has evolved over the decades from a mill town to a blend of what's now considered by many of us locals as Old Dover and New Dover.
As you'll read, Ryanne has spent six years putting together all the pieces to her puzzle through extensive interviewing and research.
So, the message from your old teach this morning, Ryanne, is that we are all very proud of you and anxious to see in the pages of this book what you learned from the locals along with the conclusions you drew from this fascinating project.
I encourage locals to pass along today's information and to check out Pushed Out on Amazon.com. You can pre-order there or maybe wait until May when the books starts appearing in book stores.
I asked Ryanne to provide me some information for today's post. Hope you enjoy.
Dover, Idaho is where my mom [Sandpoint's beloved Marcia Pilgeram], sister, and I landed after my parents divorced and where I took my steps from adolescence into adulthood.
Dover is where I had my first (and only) car accident. It’s where I learned the importance of fire safety from a dear friend’s ever-valiant father—their home phone number is still burned into the recess of my brain.
It is where I fell in love for the first time. It’s where my mom, sister, and I would picnic in the summer on a rare day that one of us wasn’t working—a bucket of fried chicken on the sandy beach in the shade of the cottonwoods.
And, it’s where I stood with a group of friends as we mourned the passing of her parents—placing roses in the river because we were too young to know how else to mourn.
I earned my PhD in Sociology in 2010 and was fortunate to land a position as an assistant professor at the University of Idaho. My interest and connection to Dover remained throughout the years.
When I would go
back to visit my mom, we’d have dinner at the new restaurant out there or just
drive around to take in the changes.
In 2015 I was asked to introduce a panel as part of a
conference on the rural West. Listening to the scholars on that panel,
particularly the brilliant Dr. Jennifer Sherman, I began to see the changes in Dover through a
sociological and historical framework that I had not had before. In fact, as I
listened, the changes in Dover seemed nearly a perfect example of the phenomena
the researchers were discussing at that panel: rural
gentrification.
It was these threads coming together that led me to write this book. I wanted to bring my experience as a researcher to a community that I very much cared about.
I was interested in the experiences of folks who’d
been in Dover for 90-plus years and of those who were new. I was also
interested in understanding how the city decided to rezone the land. Dover is
unique in regard to the amount of relative power the city had over the
land—especially in places like Idaho private property owners often have few
restrictions on their land. In Dover, however, the development is located
within the city and the city council had the power to veto it.
As I worked to understand this process, I became particularly grateful to the many people who opened their homes and offices to me and who shared a cup of coffee (especially the cup with the hot chocolate added to it) with me.
I am grateful to the recordkeepers and story-keepers who
helped me track down the next piece of information that I needed in this
puzzle. I put my energies into being fair to the many voices that make up this
book while being clear about the process of development in Dover.
I wrote this book to satiate my curiosity, but it’s for all the people who made this project possible, and for the people, but especially the young people, who will be the next generation to create communities.
It is
my hope that this book helps them imagine ways we can create spaces where
everyone can thrive.
 |
Dr. Ryanne Pilgeram, University of Idaho sociology professor, author, mom and lover of the outdoors, atop Scotchman Peak. She says Scotchman is her oldest son's favorite hike. ". . . so he hauled me up there to celebrate his 13th birthday last summer." ~~~~~~ Ryanne also sent me an except from the book's introduction. …The community hall
hosting this event, along with most of the other homes and buildings in town,
was originally built for a different mill town in the area, but when that mill
burned down in 1922, the mill’s owner, A. C. White, sent a flotilla of
buildings upriver to the site of a new mill and what would eventually become
Dover, Idaho. If the burnt-orange percolating coffee pot was any indication,
the community hall, like much of old Dover, had not seen many changes since the
buildings were moved. The walls were the soft industrial green that had gone
out of style but is now back in fashion. In places, large swaths of the green
paint was bubbling and peeling away, a sign of water damage and age. But what stood out were the photos that line the walls:
black-and-white photos of children in overalls standing before a now-forgotten
schoolhouse, photos of the old lumber mill before it closed in the late 1980s,
photos of long-dead but not forgotten Doverites who made their home on the
shores of the river. In one, children are dressed in costumes on stage for a local
production. In another, long tables of people enjoy the town’s annual picnic,
with the church and lake serving as the backdrop. The Dover Girls laugh as they
point out their husbands as children in the now eighty-year-old school photos.
Old Dover was born again in the photos that had been carefully preserved and
captioned. These photos highlight what was special about Dover to
the community. The beauty of the Pend Oreille River and Lake Pend Oreille was
never far from their minds, but it mostly served as the background for the
relationships that flourished in this place. The bluff, the beach, and the
endless fields and forests are meaningful, but primarily because they provided
a space to labor and connect meaningfully with the community. At the entry of the community hall, a birdhouse decorated
with ivy and moss serves as a donation box. A cheerful handwritten sign
explains: “Donation for Lights & Gas,” a reminder that we might not have
much, but if we pull together, we still have this place. Most of the windows in
the community hall face old Dover, still looking over the original mill
workers’ houses and church that were transported upriver in 1922. Slipping
into the kitchen and peering out the back window, however, is a reminder of how
much Dover has changed. In the 1950s, it would have looked at a tangle of
trees, then a deep meadow in the distance, and the community’s sandy beach just
beyond that. Later, the view would include massive piles of woodchips, the
birch trees providing some cover between the building and graying piles of
sawdust.
Today, there’s a walking path that skirts the back of the
community hall and, beyond that, brand-new homes. Dozens of buildings, from condominiums
to bungalows to massive mansions, now sit in the fields where the mill once
stood. Adorned with natural wood shingles and crisp white trim, the homes share
a similar architectural style, meant to evoke the craftsman style that was
popular when the buildings of old Dover were floating up the river. But the
homes are unmistakably modern in their attempt to blend the ruggedness of the
Pacific Northwest with the comforts of upper-middle-class living.
Lining freshly paved streets, the new homes nestle against
the development’s headquarters, which feature a fitness club and an upscale
restaurant. The development was approved in 2004 after a lengthy and
contentious struggle with the inhabitants of old Dover. Since then, new Dover
has brought waves of new people to the community, drawn by the scenic beauty
(and recreational potential) of the river and adjoining lake.
When looking out the window of the old Dover community
hall, the new homes are so close, it seems like you might be able to peer
inside them. But the new homes are built with their backs to the community
center so that they can face the lake and river.
And so it is: old and new, back-to-back, a path winding
between them.
(Pushed Out, p. 4-6) |
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