Schools may close for the summer, but a child’s education never stops.
As classes and homework take a leave of absence, the void they leave behind will be filled with other pursuits, every one of which will be a learning experience in its own way.
What kind of education will your child have this summer?
I consider myself to have been a lucky child. My summers were spent playing outside, helping work on the farm when I was forced to, and reading.
We children were blessed with a patient mother who always had time to read to us, or, after we learned to read for ourselves, she was always there to answer a question or explain the meaning of a new word. She and my father read the paper every day, and talked about what was going on in the world, and I listened. I loved to read, and consider the endless time I spent with books to be one of the strongest foundations of my childhood education.
It wasn’t until later years that I realized how many other influences contributed to my education as well, beginning with where we lived. All around were fields and woods and springs, brimming over with life. There were flowers everywhere, some planted by my mother, others growing wild. There were lilacs so thick and plentiful that I could run through them as if in a small forest, taller than I stood, the scent of so many blossoms almost dizzying, especially right after a warm spring rain.
Of course, there was another facet of my education. It was called work, and it usually involved a hoe, which I wielded neither accurately nor well. The funny thing was, I not only learned to do it, but also to like it, and the sense of accomplishment it gave me.
As I look back at the things I learned, and how I learned them, I think I have found the key element in the successful education of a child. It’s the people who are willing to teach them, to make sure they learn from the life around them. In my case, those people happened to be my family.
Life has changed in many ways, but there are still plenty of moms, dads, grandparents or other relatives, and paid caregivers as well, who go the extra mile to see that a child’s need for learning is met.
There are working moms and dads who are never too tired to read another story, or to allow a child to help with a task, when it would be so much easier to do it themselves.
These are the people who realize that they are a child’s most important teacher, and that school is always in session.
————
Persinger is community editor for The Tribune. She may be reached at (812) 523-7063 or jpersinger@ tribtown.com.

A barn is like an anchor for those who make their living from a sea of rolling fields.
It is a place of shelter for livestock, and also a shield from the elements for the tools of the farmer’s trade.
Old barns, worn, even dilapidated, display character and draw forth a poignant wistfulness. Once, they were filled with the sounds of life on the land. Their lofts were stuffed with hay, and in the evenings, there was the comforting, contented sound of animals munching their supper before dozing off in the darkness.
The barns of rural Jackson County are fading into the past, as the face of farming changes and the landscape with it.
That’s a fact that hasn’t gone unnoticed by people interested in preserving memories of barns, past and present, by preserving the structures’ images.
“The barn has been the center of American rural life for centuries,” states a press release from the Jackson County Fair Antique Building Committee. “Barns stood for harvest and hard work. The barns are fading from the landscape, victims of their age, the expense of maintaining them and their lack of practical purpose.”
That’s why the committee will sponsor a photography contest this year with the theme of “Jackson County Barns,” says Karen Terrell, who is chair of the Antique Building, along with co-chair Carolyn Robison.
“The theme (for the Antique Building overall) is ‘Pride in our past, faith in our future,’” Terrell said, with the photography contest display serving as an added feature for the building.
The committee is urging people to preserve a favorite barn in a picture to share with visitors to the fair and to keep for future generations to see. Terrell said photos also could be submitted that had been taken in the past of barns now no longer standing.
Contest rules:
All entries must depict a barn located in Jackson County.
The entrant must include his or her name, address, phone number and location of the barn in the photo on a 4×5 card with each entry.
Prints must be no larger than 8×10, framed or on mount board. The winner will receive a prize, and the picture will be featured in the 2009 Fair Book.
Bring all entries to the Antique Building at the fairgrounds from 9 a.m. to noon July 18 or 19. All en-tries will be displayed in the Antique Building during fair week.
————
Persinger is community editor for The Tribune. She may be reached at (812) 523-7063 or jpersinger@tribtown.com.

Obedience training is going well. I think that before long, somebody’s going to be getting a little diploma …
We could have gone to a proper, professional facility, I suppose, but the dog and I decided to home school.
We developed our own little commands and signals, and they seem to be working out well.
If Brak wants to go outside, for instance, he will dance toward me, then back, tail wagging, head crooked to one side, three times. Fast dancing and tossing of the head up in the air means he wants to go outside right away.
Going outside can mean just going outside, back in 10 minutes, or it can mean a prolonged stay, if there is something that bears investigating.
If he approaches me and actually gets in reach, then stays there, it means he wants the place between his eyes rubbed.
The sound of rattling pans coming from the kitchen does not mean that he is doing the dishes. It means fill ‘em up, water or food or both. If I take too long to tend to his needs, he will come to the doorway and just stand there, looking at me, like, “Didn’t you hear the bell?”
Yes, he just about has me trained. He does his little bit of drama, and I just automatically get up and do his bidding.
I think I’m ready to graduate. I may get a diploma, but not with honors. I’ve made too many slipups for that.
Chief among them was the candy incident. Now, I know you’re not supposed to give dogs candy. But it was the holidays, and I was feeling mellow, and his ears pricked up when he heard the crinkle of a cellophane wrapper.
Brak nonchalantly strolled across the living room to the couch where I was sitting. After looking the proffered tidbit over, he took it daintily into his fangs and walked over to his “blankie” (an old coat he likes to sleep on).
He put the piece of candy down, and I expected him to lie down and enjoy the morsel of sweetness. Instead, he began pawing at the material, pulling it over the piece of candy.
“He’s burying it,” said my son, leaning forward.
Indeed Brak was, but then he stopped, pushed the cloth aside and picked up the candy again. He then sauntered over to me and put the candy right in front of my feet. Just spat it out. Ptooie! Right there in front of me.
By now my son was laughing uproariously.
“He gave it back!” he said. “I can’t believe he gave it back!”
OK, so now you know. Not only does the dog have me trained, but he’s also obviously smarter than I am. I wasn’t supposed to give him candy.
Actually, I may not get that diploma after all, or at least not yet.
I have a feeling he’s going to make me go to summer school to catch up.
————
Persinger is community editor for The Tribune. She may be reached at (812) 523-7063 or jpersinger@ tribtown.com.

What’s in a name? Apparently, it all depends on where you want to put it.
Let me make it clear right from the start that I don’t have a dog in the fight over whether to name or rename anything after John Mellencamp.
I don’t know John. I didn’t even go to school in Seymour.
I have certainly enjoyed several of his songs and videos, but I could say the same thing about dozens of other performers, and I don’t know any of them either.
Anyway, I can’t really say I have an opinion on whether something should be named after John in honor of his induction this week into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, but I do have some observations.
One is that, if you’re going to name something after someone, it’s better to name than rename. Let them have something fresh and new, that’s all their own.
I came to that conclusion a long time ago, when the nation salved its grief over an assassinated president in part by giving new or existing structures the Kennedy name. I was just a kid then, and I certainly had no objections. I was grieving, too.
As the years went by, though, I looked back and rather wished Cape Canaveral hadn’t been changed to Cape Kennedy. Canaveral was a 400-year-old name, with its own history and its own place in the world. (Actually, in 1973, the name of the cape itself was restored, with the Kennedy Space Center retaining the Kennedy name.)
There was also Idlewild Airport, now JFK in New York. Idlewild supposedly is an Indian word, but I wasn’t able to verify that. At any rate, it was a name worth keeping, one that could stand on its own.
There was nothing political or disrespectful in my wishing that these two places had not been renamed. I just felt that some things deserved their own place, and their own name, in history.
If a street is renamed for John, I have one more observation: When I think of the times he sings about, I think of the days when kids “scooped the loop” and cruised along Chestnut Street, causing traffic jams and driving adults crazy.
Now they’re the adults, but just for a little while, they had the time of their lives.

“Snakes alive! Burmese pythons may be headed our way” was the headline on a story dated Feb. 22, 2008, on www.ajc.com.
The story, written by Mark Davis for The Atlanta Journal-Constitution, takes a look at the possibility that the burgeoning population of these pythons in the Florida Everglades could mean that eventually they’ll move into Georgia. So, for now, the “our way” in the headline is referring to Georgia, not Indiana. I don’t think these behemoths, which the story says can grow to be 16 feet long and weigh 160 pounds, would find Indiana’s climate to their liking. Good.
So how did these big snakes find their way into the Everglades?
It seems they are the reptilian equivalent of dumped dogs and abandoned cats that once were the prize pets of someone, somewhere. Then, well, they got too big, and outgrew their little snake houses in someone’s apartment in the city, and their owners, not wanting to have their pet put down, decided to to free Willy, so to speak. Trouble is, while Willy was getting his bearings, Sally was also being freed, and the rest is breeding history.
Several Web sites that I’ve visited have much the same tale to tell - the python population in the Everglades is booming, the snakes are growing to sizes that only an alligator has a fighting chance against, and hanging in the balance are the animals and birds that also call the Everglades home.
What to do? Open drop-off stations for unwanted reptiles? What then? And what about the fine mess already brewing in Florida?
I wonder if it’s possible to seine pythons.

There’s a scene in the movie “Crocodile Dundee” that has stayed with me through the years.
It’s the one where Mick Dundee and his female companion are accosted by a knife-wielding mugger on the streets of New York.
The woman points out to a laid-back Mick that the bad guy has a knife. Mick replies that, nah, that isn’t a knife.
He then pulls out his own whopping big hunting knife and says something like, “Now, that’s a knife.”
I was reminded of that statement the other day when I was waiting in a drive-through behind a brand-new Volkswagen.
I looked it over, all shiny and sparkling in the sun, and thought, “That’s not a Volkswagen.”
Recalling my own 1962 red Bug that I had back in the 1970s, I couldn’t help but think, “Now, that was a Volkswagen.”
First of all, I actually could fit into it way back then. Second, it had a manual shift that actually responded correctly to my inept handling. No stalling on takeoff, no bucking and jumping when I tried to shift.
Best of all, it could turn on a dime (and almost park on one) and it never saw a back road it didn’t like. I had no compunction whatsoever about whipping off the blacktop and onto the gravel.
The interstate may be fastest, but the gravel, hands down, offers the best view, unless you’re really into looking at traffic, truck stops and exit signs.
Traveling the side roads, you can see acres of crops here and fields of wildflowers there, rattle over iron bridges and take a winding path up the knobs and stand on the brakes going back down.
At dusk, I have seen roadside meadows filled with fireflies, and at dawn, fog seeping from the ground and silently drifting over the fields.
Breathtaking.
The Volkswagen is long gone, but I’m still searching for the best views in life and they’re still turning up in unexpected, out-of-the-way places.
That’s why this blog, like my weekly column for The Tribune, is called “Side Roads.”
This is a place to share your own views as well. Drop in, and drop a line, any time.