Last night was the full moon.
The full moon of November was known to Native Americans as the Full Beaver Moon. A fact which I chose not to share with my students, even though we spent several weeks studying astronomy. Chalk it up to years of teacher's intuition, but my teachy sense tells me that my students might have let the facts fly right through their knowledge-thirsting brain-sponges. Setting traps before the swamps froze, for one last fur harvest before the dead of winter, would likely take a back seat to the HILARIOUSLY INAPPROPRIATE NAME OF FULL BEAVER MOON.
Likewise, I refrained from sharing with them the details of the beautiful hoar frost that graced my gravel road this morning as I cruised to school at 21 degrees.
Last week, I bravely introduced the Mohs Scale of Hardness, used for mineral identification. The snickers at the property of cleavage, though subdued, were still more evident than those that escaped during a schist explanation.
I must admit that I also gloss over Uranus.
We won't even touch on the issue that the industrial arts teacher has with wood.