The Last Great Canal If You Didn’t Work on the Illinois & Michigan Canal Created by: Melanie Campbell
Intended Grade Level: Elementary	Approximate length: 2 class periods
Summary: This is a primary grade lesson designed to expose students to jobs associated with canal building.
Goals/Objectives Students will be able to: Identify different types of jobs associated with the building and operation of the Illinois & Michigan Canal. Design a poem about a canal-related occupation.
Procedures Ask students to think about how bulk goods can be transported transported across the country today. As a whole class have students identify as many jobs as they can that are related to the transport of goods by semi-truck across the country. (i.e. loading and unloading, driving the truck, train, etc., collecting tolls, designing highways, supervising workers.) Using the list students generated ask the students to apply these ideas to a canal, or “water highway.” Have them brainstorm jobs that would have been involved in building and operating a canal. List their ideas on the board or a graphic organizer. Read aloud the book, A Full Hand by Thomas F. Yezerski. Have students write down any canal-related jobs mentioned or pictured in the story. Discuss the canal-related jobs from the story. Add these to the board of graphic organizer. Pair students and provide each pair with one canal-related job description. Ask students to read and discuss the job descriptions. During their discussion they should jot down responsibilities of a worker with that job. Closure: Ask student pairs to share key points about their jobs with the class. Day two Read aloud the book, If You’re Not from the Prairie by David Blouchard. Ask students to listen for the pattern repeated throughout the book. Discuss the book and record the pattern it presents. Explain to the students their task is follow the pattern and working in pairs write a poem about the canal job they read about yesterday. Example: If you didn’t work on the I&M canal, Then you don’t know the mule drivers. You can’t know the mule drivers. Working 12 hours each day, six hours on and six hours off; Walking long stretches in all kinds of weather, day or night, rain or shine; Following the mules as they pull the canal boat, and watching out for branches in the towpath. Helping to direct boats passing each other, and sometimes rescuing mules that fall into the canal. If you didn’t work on the I&M canal, Then you don’t know the mule drivers. 4. Share finished poems with the class. Optional: Compile poems into a class book about canal-related jobs.
Materials A Full Hand by Thomas F. Yezerski If You’re Not From the Prairie by David Bouchard. Canal Workers job descriptions
Assessment

Criteria	Excellent	Good Job	Keep Trying!
Use of Class Time	Used time well during each class period. Focused on getting the project done. Never distracted others.	Used time well during each class period. Usually focused on getting the project done and never distracted others.	Did not use class time to focus on the project OR often distracted others.
Required Elements	The poem accurately describes a canal workers job.	The poem has some information about a canal workers job.	The poem does not describe a canal worker
Creativity	The poem contains many creative details and/or descriptions that contribute to the reader's enjoyment. The author has really used his/her imagination.	The poem contains a few creative details and/or descriptions that contribute to the reader's enjoyment. The author has used his/her imagination	There is little evidence of creativity in the poem. The author does not seem to have used much imagination.

A Full Hand

Thomas F. Yezerski

One fall evening, Asa was skipping stones on the canal, when his mother and father came down from the house.

“Asa, my mule driver quit today,” his father said. “Tomorrow I need you to help me out.” Asa’s father was captain of his own canal boat. Folks called him the Captain because he was on his boat for weeks at a time, working hard for his family.

Asa knew a few things about the canal, but he had yet to take a trip. He was only nine after all.

“How can I help?” Asa asked.

“Let’s get you packed and ready for bed,” his mother said. “You’ll need plenty of rest to make your first full hand.”

The next morning, Asa’ mother called from the kitchen, “Asa, time to wake up!”

It was still dark, but Asa could smell coffee brewing and bread baking. When he remembered it was going to be his first day on the canal, he shivered. He wasn’t sure if he was cold or afraid. He pulled on his clothes and went downstairs.

“Come and feed the mules with me, Asa,” the Captain said. “We can eat after they do.”

“Yes sir,” Asa said. They walked to the stable, where Asa scooped oats into the feed bags. The captain lifted the bags over the mules’ heads. Then Asa and his father headed back to the house to eat a couple of bowls of oatmeal themselves.

After breakfast, the Captain said, “Let’s get a move on. We have to pick up our load at the coal chutes and get it to Jersey City in five days.”

Asa’s mother walked with them to the boat. Shed took Asa aside. “You know, Asa,” she said quietly, “your father was a mule driver once, too, though you would never guess it. You’re going to do just fine.” She hugged him tightly. Asa smiled, and hugged her back.

The Captain tied one end of the towline to the mules’ harnesses. He tied the other end to a towing post on the deck.

“Asa,” he said, “your job is to lead the mules, just like you do when you put them in the stable. Keep them moving. Don’t let them stray off the towpath, or they will drag the boat into the bank.”

All of a sudden, the mules looked awfully big to Asa.

The captain took his place by the tiller at the back of the boat. “Ready?” he called.

“Ready!” Asa answered, doing his best to sound ready.

“Walk on!” the Captain commanded. The mules leaned forward, and towline sprang straight. The boat creaked to life.

The Captain pushed the tiller to the right to steer the boat into the middle of the canal. Asa walked with the mules, his hand holding his harness, but the animals already knew what to do. Their hooves clapped softly on the ground, and water rippled past the boat.

“See you I a couple of weeks!” called Asa’s mother.

At the coal chutes, trains whistled and clanged, men yelled, and coal roared into wooden hulls. Asa was thrilled.

“Stay here and hold on to the mules while I fill the boat,” the Captain shouted.

Asa halted the mules, and the Captain untied the towline from the boat. Asa watched him guide the boat to the chutes with a pike pole. Dockworkers helped his father unhinge the two sections of the boat, so they could fill both halves at the same time.

When the sections were lined up, coal poured out of railroad cars, down the chutes, and into the sections. The dockworkers moved the chutes back and forth to fill the section evenly. When they were full, the Captain hinged them together again and pushed the boat back to Asa and the mules. Asa threw the towline to him as hard as he could. “Good throw!” said the Captain. He tied it to the towing post on the boat, and they were on their way.

After a couple of hours, Asa settled in to the mules easy pace. They passed a corn field, and one mule started to wander off the path. Asa yelled, “Come on! You had breakfast!” She swished her tail and knocked Asa’s hat off.

“You have to show them who’s boss Asa,” the Captain said, laughing.
“Let’s go! We have to keep moving!” Asa scolded, grabbing the lead mules by the bit.

The Captaihn lift a big conch shell to his mouth and blew it like a horn.

Asa was startled by its loud wail. “What’s that for?” he asked.

“There’s a lock ahead,” said the Captain. “I have to signal the lock tender that we’re coming. The next part of the canal is higher than the part we’re on now. The lock will lift the boat to the higher level.”

The canal flowed into the lock through a set of miter gates, like doors. The Captain untied the towline and let the boat coast through the gates. The lock tender tied a rope from the boat to a snubbing post, and the boat squeaked to a stop. Children ran up to watch the boat go through the lock.

“Stand!” Asa ordered the mules, and they stopped.

“Morning, Mrs. Dailey,” the Captain said, tipping his hat. “How’s the finest baker and lock tender in Warren County?”

Mrs. Dailey laughed. “I’m fine. I see you have a new mule driver today. You must be Asa.”

“Yes ma’am,” Asa said.

“Well, I sure am pleased to meet you,” said Mrs. Dailey as she turned a crank above the miter gates to close them. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Then Mrs. Dailey walked to the other end of the of the lock. She opened paddle gates to fill the lock with water. Asa watched the boat rise up until it was as high as the upper level of the canal.

“Boy!” Asa exclaimed. “That’s some trick, ma’am!”

Mrs. Dailey smiled. “Captain, how about you take along a pumpkin pie for your new driver?” she asked.

“Well, how can we turn down an offer like that?” the Captain said. “Thank you!”

Mrs. Daley’s daughter brought them a pie. While the Captain tied the towline to the towing post, Mrs. Daily pushed the huge drop gate down, so the boat could float over it. Asa yelled, “Walk on!” and the mules pulled the boat out of the lock and away.

The boat would through fields and forests. They even crossed a stream on an aqueduct, which was a bridge with the canal built right into it.

Asa kept the mules moving with a word and just a pat of his hand.

The Captain called, “I see they’re not giving you much trouble anymore.”

“Oh they’re all right,” Asa answered. He smiled to himself.

Up ahead, the canal seemed to end at the foot of a high hill.

“This is an inclined plane,” said the Captain, “and we’re going up.”

Asa couldn’t imagine how. He saw a cradle car in the water, at the bottom of the hill. The Captain floated the boat onto it and then leaped off. Inside a tower, the plane tender opened a door to let water from the canal through a flume. The rushing water turned a wheel, and the wheel pulled a cable connected to the cradle car.

Asa and the Captain climbed the plain together with the mules. They ate pieces of pumpkin pie as the countryside fell around them. “I bet all the other kids are just playing tag and checkers today,” Asa said. The Captain put a hand on Asa’s shoulder.

At the top of the hill the cradle car splashed into the canal again. The Captain jumped aboard and tied the towline. Asa prodded the mules, and they pulled the boat off the car.

Late in the afternoon a breeze picked up. The mules’ ears twitched. Asa turned around and saw the angriest black clouds he had ever seen. A deep roll of thunder shook the air. The Captain turned and saw the clouds, too.

“Hold tight!” he shouted.

Suddenly, a shimmering wall of rain fell, and almost immediately Asa was soaked through. Lightening struck a tree, and the mules reared up in fright. They screamed and kicked and tried to get away.

“No!” cried Asa. “Stay on the path! Stay on the path!” He grabbed the reins, but the mules just dragged him along. They tugged the boat closer and closer to the bank.

“Hang on!” the Captain yelled. He thrust the pike pole into the canal floor and vaulted to the towpath, just in time to yank Asa out of the way of the thrashing mules. He hurried to unhitch the towline from the harnesses, but it was too late.

Crash! The boat hit the rocks along the side of the canal. Snap! The towline broke. The mules kicked wildly. One kick caught the Captain’s leg, sending him stumbling and sliding into the flooding canal.

Frightened, Asa searched the canal for his father. All he could see through the curtains of rain was the crippled boat drifting backward on the current. Lightning flashed again, and he saw that the Captain was caught in the rushing water! Asa felt helpless, but then he remembered the pike pole. Scrambling through the mud, he found it and raced downstream, faster than the current. When he passed his father, Asa threw himself to the ground and stretched the pole over the water. The Captain grabbed it as he floated past. Asa put all his weight on the pole, and the Captain pulled himself out of the canal.

Asa and the Captain sat on the bank. The storm cloud drifted away, leaving a muddy mess behind. The boat was smashed and wedged into the bank. The mules had fled.

“That storm nearly got the best of us,” the Captain said.

“That was something else when you vaulted off the boat,” Asa said.

“You were pretty handy with that pole yourself,” the Captain replied.

“Shouldn’t we go look for the mules and pull the boat out?” asked Asa.

“We can do all the tomorrow. I’m sure the mules found a farm nearby, and we’re going to need a lot of help fixing the boat. In the meantime, there’s a village up ahead where we can get some supper and sleep.”

Asa helped his father up. The Captain leaned on his son as they limped down the towpath.

“I think I’d like to be a captain someday too, Dad.”

“I think you’ll be able to do anything you set your mind to, Asa,” answered the Captain.

The tired boatmen came to the inn. They had two bowls of beef stew apiece. Then they went to bed. Before the sun rose on the canal again, Asa and the Captain had already started a new day.

If you’re not from the prairie

David Bouchard

If you’re not from the prairie

You don’t know the sun,

You can’t know the sun.

Diamonds that bounce off crisp winter snow,

Warm waters in dugouts and lakes that we know.

The sun is our friend from when we are young.

A child of the prairie is part of the sun.

If you’re not from the prairie,

You don’t the sun.

If you’re not from the prairie

You don’t know the wind,

You can’t know the wind.

Our cold winds of winter cut right to the core,

Hot summer wind devils can blow down the door.

As children we know when we play any game,

The wind will be there, yet we play just the same.

If you’re not from the prairie,

You don’t know the wind.

If you’re not from the prairie,

You don’t know the sky,

You can’t know the sky.

The bold prairie sky is clear, bright and blue,

Though sometimes cloud messages give us a clue.

Monstrous grey mushrooms can hint of a storm,

Or painted pink feathers say goodbye to the warm.

If you’re not from the prairie,

You don’t know the sky.

If you’re not from the prairie,

You don’t know what’s flat.

You’ve never seen flat.

When travelers pass through across our great plains,

They all view our home, they all say the same;

“It’s simple and flat!” They’ve not learned to see,

The particular beauty that’s now part of me.

If you’re not from the prairie,

You don’t know what’s flat.

If you’re not from the prairie,

You’ve not heard the grass.

You’ve never heard the grass.

In strong summer winds, the grains and grass bend

And sway to a dance that seems ever to end.

It whispers its secrets – they tell of this land

And the rhythm of life played by nature’s own hand.

If you’re not from the prairie,

You never heard grass.

So you’re not from the prairie,

And yet you know snow.

You think you know snow?

Blizzards bring danger, as legends have told,

In deep drifts we roughhouse, ignoring the cold.

At times we look out at great seas of white,

So bright is the sun that we squeeze our eyes right.

If you’re not from the prairie,

You don’t know snow.

If you’re not from the prairie,

You don’t know our trees.

You can’t know our trees.

The trees that we know have taken so long,

To live through our seasons, to grow tall and strong.

They’re loved and they’re treasured, we watched as they grew.

We knew they were special – the prairie has few.

If you’re not from the prairie,

You don’t know our trees.

Still, you’re not from the prairie,

And yet you know cold….

You say you’ve been cold?

Do you know what to do to relive so much pain

Of burning from deep down the drives you insane?

Your ears and your hands, right into your toes –

A child who’s been cold on the prairie will kow!

Of all those memories we share when we’re old

None are more clear then that hard bitter cold.

You’ll not find among us a soul who can say:

“I’ve conquered the wind on a cold winter’s day”

If you’re not from the prairie,

You don’t know the cold.

You’ve never been cold.

If you’re not from the prairie,

You don’t know me.

You just can’t know ME.

You see,

My hair’s mostly wind,

My yes filled with grit,

My skin’s red or brown

My lips chapped and split.

I’ve lain on the prairie and heard grasses sigh.

I’ve stared at the vast open bowl of the sky.

I’ve seen all those castles and faces in the clouds,

My home is the prairie, and I cry out loud.

If you’re not from the prairie, you can’t know my soul,

You don’t know our blizzards, you’ve not fought our cold.

You can’t know my mind, no ever my heart,

Unless deep within you, there’s somehow a part…

A part of these things that I’ve said that I know,

The wind, sky and earth, the storms and the snow.

The wind, sky and earth, the storms and the snow.

Best say you have – and then’ we’ll be one,

For we will have shared that same blazing sun.