Once, when I did a reading in Vermont, I was paid in maple syrup; and I was sure that gift was the poetry barter that couldn't be beat . . . until yesterday, when the North Haven Community School presented me with 2 dozen local oysters. How popular I was when I got home!

And what a week away we had, Paul and I. To begin with, this was the first time I've had my own child along on a teaching gig, and this was the first time he's ever been a student in another school. He was extraordinarily lucky because NHCS may be the closest to perfection of any school I've ever taught in: a new, airy, relaxed, and beautifully designed facility; easygoing and attentive staff members; tiny class sizes; a curriculum that focuses on portfolios, presentations, student-triggered learning, the arts, K-12 French immersion, and the environment . . . and, mind you, this is a public school for local children: the children of oyster growers and gardeners and sheep farmers and electricians. These are regular kids with regular families, not, on the whole, the children of intellectuals or professionals.

I taught K-12 classes every day, and not once--NOT ONCE--did a teacher sit in the back of the room correcting papers or drop off a class of kids and vanish until the end of the period. Every single teacher worked with me as a colleague, participated in discussions and classroom management, and shared ideas for the next day's session. It was a miracle.

For Paul, the week was similarly miraculous. Students were allowed to move freely around classrooms. They had three recesses a day. They could look forward to building plant boxes in the greenhouse or working on an alternative-energy engine or participating in a wilderness expedition to Mount Katahdin. Students were informally grouped and regrouped by ability levels. For instance, without fuss, Paul was moved into the 7th grade for math, while other students, at other levels, were grouped differently. Yet the children still had a strong sense of identity as a grade 5-6 class.

Of course, there's a bittersweet backstory to all this goodness. North Haven has a very wealthy summer population, and and the school was built largely with private rather than state funds. The Arts and Enrichment account that paid for my visit is similarly funded. The island's unusual combination of resources makes many of these wonderful school programs possible, experiences that would be impossible in my own poverty-stricken Somerset County.

Yet not everything good about NCHS would be impossible in Harmony. A few more recesses, for instance--say, in the morning, instead of "bus duty," which is another term for "sit in your seats till school starts." For a town that is fighting lethargy and childhood obesity, this, to me, seems like a pretty obvious move. Moreover, the school could make much better use of the resources it has. For example, here I am telling you about the week I spent in North Haven, at a K-12 school that hired me to bring poetry to its students. I've offered many times to do this same job for free in K-8 Harmony. Has anyone from the school called me this year, even once, to ask me to share my skills? Does anyone even care that other school systems believe that I really do have national expertise in a field that is directly related to our children's English and language-arts goals? I think you can guess the answer to that question.

When my kids were younger, the elementary teachers were relatively open to my classroom participation. But now that the boys are older, I hear nothing. Although I repeatedly assure people that I don't want to limit my participation to volunteering only in my sons' classes, that I feel a commitment to our community of students, no one contacts me.

It's a bizarre situation that I've more or less come to terms with--as, perhaps, an example of the surrealistic self-destruction that is inevitable in our schools, large and small. So the North Haven children are luckier than they know--not because they had me as a visitor, but because they have administrators, teachers, and townspeople who take risks with the concept of education: who themselves are curious and excited and ambitious, and who therefore believe that their students are curious and excited and ambitious. Whether or not your school has money, we need to remember that curiosity and excitement and ambition don't cost a dime.