IT'S FRIDAY, the end of a very long week. The Iowa Tests are behind us. The kids are excited about early signs of spring. The end of the year is flying toward us at warp speed, and there's no way to slow it down. So in a matter of weeks, the kids and I will be going separate directions. And too soon, the classroom we built together will exist only in our memories. But what a collection of great memories we will share. Today is Chief Rocky Boy's birthday. The reservation my students come from was named for Rocky Boy, who died a few months after the land was granted. The Chippewa and Cree people had been landless tribes. Chippewa Chief Rocky Boy and Cree Chief Little Bear combined their small bands and fought together against government red tape to win a small section of the Bear Paw Mountains -- far less than promised, but far more than nothing. That makes Chief Rocky Boy's birthday a big celebration day for us. We've been hard at work all week on the projects, research, writing, and displays, as well as the study of local landforms, animals, and natural resources. This morning Joe Big Knife, a tribal Elder, drove us to Rocky Boy's gravesite. The weather was perfect, and the children enjoyed running along the mountainside. Watching them, so free, picking flowers, getting too near the creek I was somehow reminded of a fabric softener commercial. When their energy flagged, we placed our gifts of tobacco and flowers at the gravesite and sat in a circle in front of the log tomb. For a moment, we thought quietly about all Rocky Boy and the other Grandfathers sacrificed for the people. Mr. Big Knife told us stories about how the Rocky Boy Reservation came to be and about the old ways. As he spoke, his language slipped fluidly from English to Cree and back again. Once back at school, some students wrote about our trip. Others printed the digital pictures we had taken along the way. And still others worked on exhibits for the upcoming science/cultural/social studies fair. After lunch we sang Happy Birthday to Rocky Boy and ate cake and ice cream. At 3:00, I threw the door open and unleashed 18 children bounding with energy and excitement onto an unsuspecting public. Full of sugar and enthusiasm, they raced to their buses, and I made my way back to our classroom and pulled the door closed. My feet were aching. I plopped down on the closest chair, kicked my shoes off, and put my feet up. With the exception of the bus ride, it was the first time I'd been seated all day, and it felt good. But what felt better was the silence. No one needed my attention. It was just silence. Sweet silence. I sat there for a while staring at nothing in particular. If asked, I might have said I was reflecting on the day. But really, I knew I was just too tired to get up. Driving home, I cautiously maneuvered through a herd of cattle making their way across the road. One cow walked arrogantly down the exact center of the road. With cows to the left and right, it was impossible to edge through. I'm going to miss that, I thought. The memory of my first free range encounter replayed in my mind. It was dusk, and I had just come out of a sharp curve. There, way too close to my headlights, stood a spotted pony. I swerved hard and missed it by a foot or two. I was still recovering from the near miss when my peripheral vision caught the shadow of something large moving along the driver's side. I had no idea what it was, but it sure startled me. Slowly, the blur came into focus. A horse was racing alongside my Jeep. Where else . I thought, smiling as I left the horse in my dust. When I decided to give myself the gift of a year in a third-grade classroom, I hoped I could improve my work with preservice and practicing teachers by learning more about today's educational climate. And I have learned. Some lessons felt like refresher courses. Other times, my own words haunted me, ringing in my head, telling me what I should have done, reminding me that I had missed the mark yet again. …