In September, we lost Karen Hartman, a fierce advocate for Colorado teachers. Throughout her years at Thornton High School, in the secondary section at NCTE, as director of the Colorado Writing Project, and co-director of The Colorado Language Arts Society, Karen never gave up. Here, four friends pause to pay tribute. We all gathered at CCIRA with Karen regularly over the years, and hope this post will remind you of the power of teaching communities. We hope to see you this February in Denver.
No recipes
by Penny Kittle
Karen and I stayed up late eating her layered carrot cake at her dining room table after the fall CLAS conference in 2023. What makes this frosting, rich and creamy, yet light? I asked. She snickered. Karen didn’t believe in recipes, only in cooks, in instinct, in practice. You cannot replicate someone else’s good work; you must learn to calibrate on your own. Watch the pots that boil. Add salt. If your baking didn’t produce what you’d hoped, adjust. You are better off examining your own moves than criticizing or blaming the raw materials. Sit beside a student and listen, nudge, support. Celebrate their creations. I will miss those conversations, her blue eyes centered on me, her easy laugh, her love of a good story. I will miss her stacks and stacks of books and her joy in sharing them.
Karen had left her high school classroom when I met her; she was a teacher of teachers where she remained for decades. Karen helped me persist in writing through joy and challenge. Nothing is harder, she said, than composing your ideas, your stories, and your hopes. She wrote with teachers at every meeting, every conference, every opportunity. We both echoed Don Graves, You have stories to tell that no one can tell but you. Once teachers realize how important those stories are to them, Karen believed, they’ll put time to write in every lesson plan. (You say you don’t have time? Some new bloated textbook adoption in your district tells you this? Karen would have a response for that and it might have exceeded her self-imposed 5-f*cks-a-day rule.) Karen knew the emptiness of teaching that centers curriculum instead of students. She had zero patience for anyone who dictated the moves of teachers in our complex work. And she’d tell you: blue eyes sparking, searching, fierce and kind at once.
Karen believed in CCIRA. Teaching can be isolating work. We need each other. Conferences put teachers in conversation, and this one in particular, has always centered teacher research and experience. Quality ingredients are essential in cooking well, and a conference composed of authenticity, spontaneity, gatherings at coffee stands and in small sessions to explore and think are key to community. CCIRA cooks. They invite speakers to remind us how large and diverse this work is—spread across countries and generations and innovations. We gather. We learn together. CCIRA simultaneously affirms our instincts about learning as it challenges them. I leave inspired every time.
I know this: Karen Hartman’s love for teachers and their students will reverberate in my life always. I raise a glass to my friend; I raise it high. May we all live our lives with such courage, kindness, and generosity.
A Cherished Friend
By Stevi Quate
Karen was my cherished friend and feisty colleague. Without her by my side, my writing – personal and professional – wouldn’t have been the same. The flights to conferences and evenings after the sessions wouldn’t have been the same. And the professional literature we studied together wouldn’t have had the same impact. She nudged me and others to do what was best for students and not to take short cuts, and when she saw practices that disengaged students, she spoke out. Her impact on me and on educators around the globe was robust.
Dave Wendelin, former CLAS President and Director for the National English Honor Society for Secondary Schools (http://www.nehs.us/), recognized the impact Karen had on, literally, thousands of educators:
I doubt there has been a more dedicated teacher and student advocate than Karen Hartman. Strong in opinion and visionary, Karen has unpacked the work of thousands of educators across the country…She had little patience for any barriers that might limit the independent decision-making of teachers as they nurtured their students.
Along with teaching at the University of Colorado at Denver, presenting at numerous conferences including CCIRA, editing CLAS’ journal Statement and serving as English Department Chair at Thornton High School, Karen poured her energy into keeping Colorado Writing Project* fresh and relevant. As the director for more than a quarter of a century, she mentored and modeled and encouraged – and fed us her famous chocolate chip cookies.
A common theme from teachers in the summer workshops was gratitude. Here’s what Hayley, a teacher in one of her projects, said about Karen:
I wanted to thank you for opening my eyes to a new and better way of teaching writing. With only two years of teaching under my belt, I am always looking for the best practices; however, no staff development or PLC has come close to the type of life-changing experience this has been. Thank you.
It wasn’t just new teachers who expressed their gratitude. For instance, Alice wrote:
Your mom was one of my most memorable professors in grad school and was a wonderful mentor to me for many years after. She got me involved and taught me what it meant to be a professional educator. Even now, 23 years into the profession, I draw upon all she taught me. Her legacy is a great one.
It wasn’t just Colorado educators who were impacted by her vision. Back in the early 90s, CCIRA invited several teachers from South Africa to the conference. After attending one of Karen’s sessions, they wanted to learn more, so Karen invited them to attend one of CWP’s two-week workshops. Not only did Karen sponsor their visit, but she also housed and fed them and made them feel at home. At the end of the two weeks, those educators wanted to share the CWP experience with their colleagues back in the very poor township outside of Dundee, South Africa. So the next summer, Sheila Kaehny and I joined Karen for this adventure.
During those two weeks, we learned side by side with the teachers. Mornings would begin with gathering together in a large circle. Someone would begin a song and eventually everyone joined in. Often a few teachers would move into the circle center dancing to the impromptu singing. For the rest of the day, the writing project looked like what we did back in Colorado: teachers would study professional literature about teaching writing and write themselves. From the participants’ writing, Karen learned that one teacher needed to increase the number of cows he owned before we could woo his future wife. Karen weaved his story into a personal narrative that she shared back in Colorado, causing insight into a different culture.
Just recently one of South African educators called Karen her “global mama” and mourned her loss:
So sad to hear the news about the passing away of our dearest friend and mother, grandmother from ashore. May her spirit live long for generations to come. Karen will be dearly missed around the globe.
My cherished friend and feisty colleague created a legacy to be celebrated and will, indeed, be missed.
*To get an idea about CWP, watch this video (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8xFHjPm0qYI) made by one of the teachers who studied with her.
Going Online
By Sarah Zerwin
On a series of sunny June days in 2020, I sat on my back deck with my Google Classroom screen shared with Karen via video chat. We worked together for hours to transition the Colorado Writing Project curriculum from a two-week in-person workshop to a four-week online experience with both synchronous and asynchronous elements. Like everything else in education during that time, CWP had to pivot on a dime from what it had always been to something we had never imagined it would need to be. But Karen was determined—determined to offer a meaningful experience for teachers, regardless of the restrictions and challenges imposed by the pandemic.
And that was Karen. Determined to offer a meaningful professional development experience to teachers. For many summers, that’s exactly what she did with the Colorado Writing Project, for teachers all across Colorado (and then for teachers across the country once we had the online curriculum built out!). As CWP director for many years, Karen was keeper of the grail—the CWP curriculum. When I came on board around 2010 and found myself at Karen’s dining room table with the other teacher consultants during the annual spring retreat, I was amazed to learn that the curriculum document in the binder in front of me was about three decades old, built and revised by literal legends of the Colorado English Language Arts world. I didn’t feel worthy.
Fueled by Karen’s chocolate chip cookies, bottomless bowls of chocolate, and both a breakfast and lunch buffet, we made our way through each day of the two week curriculum, updating as needed to adjust to the evolving needs of teaching writing. I worked madly to upload the intricately-woven document onto my brain, amazed to see the inner workings of the most meaningful professional learning experience I had ever done myself as a CWP participant. Would I ever be able to actually bring this curriculum document to life and honor the legacy it represented?
But Karen’s confidence in me made it all possible. Karen saw capabilities in me that I didn’t see. Her encouragement and support are a huge reason I was able to persist through several years trying to get to what eventually became my first book for teachers. In every opportunity I have, I channel Karen’s dedication to serving up professional learning experiences that challenge teachers, honor them as professionals, and care for them as human beings. In every moment planning for what happens in my classroom, I channel Karen’s dedication to pedagogy that challenges my students, honors them as readers and writers, and cares for them as human beings.
See it was all so clear to Karen.
Karen put in the work because it mattered for teachers and their students and the authenticity of their experiences in the classroom. That was it. That was all. And that is everything.
An Unsent Letter to My Mentor By Sheila Kaehny
Dear Karen,
I remember a chilly April morning at the Teen Lit Conference when we met at the Tivoli before our traditional “What’s New In Young Adult Lit” presentation. You were at a table in the back, with a thick stack of handouts (yellow for you, green for me) and your red tote bag filled with thick hardovers decorated with sticky notes marking passages for read-aloud.
I remember your smile, your Diet Coke with lime, your etched silver earrings and matching necklace, and your perfect pink fingernails.
You were always excited to present our new YA titles, to share books to get kids reading. In your earnest “this is what’s best for kids” voice, booktalking was your gift. You were a natural teacher, and it came through in your carefully crafted presentations. I saw it in your writing conferences with kids and adults and when you listened and coached, helping people find answers. You loved it all. Both teaching and teachers annoyed you every once in a while, too, but you loved it (and all of us) just the same.
You presented at CCIRA every year. In your world, continuous improvement was teachers gathering together at conferences like the Fall Writing and CLAS for professional development. Do you remember how cranky I was about giving up my Saturday morning soccer to participate in a weekend conference? “Sheila, dear,” you said to me, “you can play soccer next weekend. You need this right now.” And you were right. No matter how exhausted I was after a long weekend of learning, I left each conference energized, buzzing with ideas.
Because of you and all those years of CWP summer writing workshops, hundreds of teachers across Colorado set aside worksheets and five paragraph essays and replaced them with authentic, meaningful instruction.
No one has had a greater impact on my life as a teacher than you, Karen. You picked me as your student teacher; you hired me at Thornton High School. I am grateful you kept me afloat with all those late night phone calls and words of encouragement whenever I lost faith in teaching. You were my steadying force. I wanted to be like you. You eventually roped me into being your Program Chair for CLAS (multiple times), and you made me a consultant for CWP. I loved teaching and going on safari with you in South Africa.
And now, I know you’d like me to pay it forward, and you’d like for us all to speak up a little bit more. You’d want veteran teachers to encourage young teachers to give a little time outside of school to their professional learning, to engage in the community, and to find the joy in teaching.
You had so many more books to read and writer’s notebooks to fill, Karen. So much more advice to give and criticisms of the current state of the world to post on Facebook. Your shoes are too big to fill. You wanted to make everyone’s life better through reading and writing and teaching, and I believed you could do it. Heck, I watched you do it.
Oh, how I miss you, my friend.
Love from your other daughter, Sheila
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