Reasons for Loving Bellybuttons

Because it is fun to say.

Because everyone has one.

Because when I was a baby I liked to play with it.

Because it is fun to poke.

Because I like to draw a happy face on it and make it talk.

— Kenzie, age 10

I have been buzzing about town with a group of lively 10, 11 and 12 year-olds. It's Summer Camp at Seashore Family Literacy and this week we are collecting words, observing life, and writing, writing, writing.

We are never without our journals, and just occasionally without smiles (when, after several hours, exhausted with words, we retreat to solitude and food).

Today we were lucky to have poet Ann Staley visit us from Corvallis, Oregon, an hour-plus drive from valley to sea. Ann has taught writing and poetry for over 40 years, and she spent the morning leading our group through a variety of poems and prompts.

The driving force of the day was lists (Things I Love), reasons (Reasons for Loving . . .) and instructions (How To . . .). From these lists, we generated pages and pages of poems.

Just as with gratitude, the more you appreciate, the more you see to appreciate. The Things I Love lists grew from 10 to 20 to more. "It's kinda fun once you get the hang of it," said Kenzie, as she reached 50 items.

For the How-To poems, we were inspired by How to See Deer by Phillip Booth. I was moved by Chrisanda's sweetly direct instructions:

How to Make a Friend

First, you start by saying

Hi, my name is . . . .

What's your name?

Then be nice to them.

— Chrisanda, age 11

Writing with children is almost always invigorating. Today I felt especially grateful for their willingness to try new things and to write about the silly and the sacred — from birth moms, to bellybuttons, to barbecue ribs.

How to Love

Pick a weed

Admire its long stalk and strong pull

Its roots bound to bad soil

to gloom, rain and hard scrabble

Find a flower with a delicate bloom

Examine how it

bends to sun

shakes in wind

How it needs tending and care

water and light

How it needs so much more

than you can give and

still, and still, it lives

— Drew Myron