When I signed up for the National Teaching Program, I imagined I'd be sent to the Chicago

inner city or the deep south, not this quaint, quiet New Hampshire town.

I just couldn't understand why the place struggled to keep teachers or any other out of town

professional for that matter.

There were always vacancies, even though there's virtually no crime, friendly people, and most

of all, beautiful countryside.

When the colours change in fall, the town looks like a postcard, better than a postcard

in fact, because no flat image could capture the vibrant yellows, flaming oranges, and

rich ruby reds that cover every hillside.

Tourists drive for miles just to stroll through the colorful rain of falling leaves, or snap

pictures in the morning mist, rolling through applaudjards and barnyards.

As a lover of pumpkin spice, Halloween, and all things fall, I was in heaven.

Starting at the beginning of October, elementary-age students decorated the classroom

with paper cutters of ghosts and cobwebs, and carved pumpkins, bulged rapples, and read

the legend of sleepy hollow.

To my surprise, I got a lot of positive phone calls from parents, praising the work I'd

put into my classes, and telling me how much their children had enjoyed them.

Principal Harris even pulled me aside to tell me how impressed he was, and mention that

if I'd keep it up, he'd pull all the strings he could to give me a permanent position.

Everything was going great, until the day of the Halloween sing along.

I ordered a CD of spooky but kid-friendly songs, and on the chosen day we turned out the

lights, brought lit candles and saw the pumpkins we carved, and sat in a circle to sing.

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