Blog 9: Biking Home

Biking is a pure, raw form of freedom. It is the crunch of dirt beneath wheels and the near silent hum of pavement under tires, birdsong and music half-heard through the windows of cars zooming by. It is at the crest of the hill, knowing that soon you will be flying, feeling the wind run its fingers along your skin. It is noticing the lilacs blooming as you ride by, sensing their scent and sweetness deep in your bones.

            Above all, it is a return to the world. No longer do we move alone, breaking trail, safe in the knowledge that ours are the only souls to have moved through a place. Now, roads are our paths, not snow-laden trees and running rivers. We are learning to see outside of our community once more but slowly, gently; like the wild things we are, beings of the vast tree-lined spaces, we have approached the change with caution that transforms more and more into joy with every mile we ride.

            Leaving Whitehall and its chaotic gear change glory behind us, we began, led by Joe and Oliver. Then, just as soon as we had started – or so it seemed to us – we had reached camp. A thirteen-mile journey that would have eaten our entire day rowing was the work of barely three lazy hours. A breath, a slow blink later, and camp was set and we suddenly had… free time? Now, by this point on semester most of us were fairly sure that free time was a myth our teachers concocted to convince us to work faster. But here we were, our first day of biking expedition, with hours of time to spend. We did as we desired, swimming, reading, napping, and preparing for a longer day ahead.

Joe teaching bike mechanics

            The next day was one of challenge, both in distance and in terrain. Of course, just before we reached the first big hill of the expedition, our bike manager, Sam, managed to get two flats within a hundred yards of each other. Nonetheless, we began our climb, finding ourselves at the top, somewhat surprised that we had made it up relatively easily. And luckily for us, the old adage “what comes up, must come down” is completely applicable to biking as well; we enjoyed a glorious downhill to Manchester, then on to the community farm and bakery Earth Sky Time Farm. It was a breath of fresh, bread-scented air, bringing with it a sense of relaxation and wonder at the beauty of the farm and the warmth of its inhabitants. After we did a bit of community service work, we shared a meal before joining their Shabbat ceremony. Which is how we ended up singing together, trading songs and stories well into the night. When we left the next morning, we felt rejuvenated, ready to climb mountains.

Sam working on one of his flat tires

            Which, coincidentally, is exactly what we did, meeting Roger Haydock, an infectiously enthusiastic geologist, at the base of Mount Equinox. A sprightly older gentleman, he was incredibly knowledgeable about not only the geological history of the area, but also how it affected social and economic trends. His lesson drew us in from the moment he used pillows to demonstrate the movement of tectonic plates and used Tums to describe limestone. We headed up the mountain, stopping every hundred or so yards as Roger pointed out trees and told us stories. After eating lunch at the summit, we hiked back down and re-mounted our bikes, continuing on up a long hill to camp. As we settled in for a colder night, we were warmed by our new knowledge.

            The next morning found us testing our wheels on the first bit of rocky terrain we encountered, but Joe and Oliver’s excitement for mountain biking was contagious and soon we were bumping downhill with varying degrees of success. These rocks were something of an omen for the rest of our day, as we met David at Morris Cave only a few miles after leaving camp. Though there was some trepidation about the whole crawling headfirst into pitch black, wet caves thing, all of us made it into the central cavern, where we spent a few hours crawling around, scrambling around rocks and through squeezes. Seeking the peace that the cave held, we would often find ourselves sitting in the darkness, headlamps off, enjoying the silence that comes deep within the earth. All too soon, it was time to reemerge into the world again, eat lunch, and realize that we had perhaps spent a bit too much time in the caves as the sun seemed ready to sink below the horizon. A couple of miles down the road, we found ourselves at the base of Mount Tabor, the sun disappearing behind the surrounding mountains. Of course, camp was at the top of the mountain, a long eight miles of uphill away. Yet there is a certain peace to biking in the gathering darkness. The night air begins to cool, a slight breeze picks up as the sky fades from blue to yellow to orange to a deep purple-black. Even with the struggle of the hill, the night was beautiful and we set camp under the stars.

            We headed back down the mountain late the next morning, and actually passed right near where we had first met the Catamount back in February. After fording a river and riding a series of smooth rail-trails, we came to a hiking trail. For some reason that I cannot fully understand, Joe and Oliver called this a ‘single-track biking trail’ and sent us off along it. Since I’m not the best of bikers, it remained a hiking trail, with the added fun of portaging my bike. We finally reached a dam, biking up one face of it then down a series of switchbacks on the other side. We set camp by the side of a river, taking the time to jump in for a few minutes before gathering back up for dinner and reading from The Alchemist.

Than coiling rope

           We met Misha across the street for climbing in the morning and spent several hours scaling cliffs barefoot, rappelling, and enjoying the challenge of a sport that is both physical and mental. Climbing is also an incredible exercise in trust, since we must depend fully on our belayer, believing that they will catch us when we fall, share the handholds that they can see from their vantage point, lower us gently back to earth when we complete our climb. Finally it was time to undo our anchors and pack away webbing and ropes. Waiting for us at the bottom of the cliff were gallons of milk and yogurt from Kroka farm, which felt like a taste of home. We all drank far more milk than is remotely logical before heading out at last to Kroka’s old home at Trollhaugen Farm, in Newfane. The long day of climbing ate into our time more than we’d expected, so we arrived as dusk drew near, but were instantly charmed by the farm and our campsite amidst towering pines. Night found us around the fire, reflecting on our day before crawling into our tents and drifting off to sleep.

Emma rappelling down a rock

            The morning was spent doing service work for the farm, rebuilding a bridge and clearing a field of sticks as well as catching up on some of our academics. We set out after lunch for Fair Winds Farm, which happens to be where Mayah, the former scribe, lives. In the heat of the day, Oliver and Joe decided that an ice-cream treat was required, though we quickly discovered a problem- we had no bowls accessible, no spoons to be found, and only one container of ice cream. So we did the only logical thing that one could possibly do in such a situation; we gave Cat the single spoon that we could find and she went in a circle putting huge spoonfuls of cold happiness into our mouths.

Cat sharing ice cream with Noa as Rachel (the scribe) enjoys a big bite.

               When the container was empty, we found ourselves full of renewed energy, and off we sped again. Though it was preceded by an unfortunately long hill where all the farms were called something with wind, hill, or a combination of both, we finally reached Fair Winds. Imagine our joy as we coast into Jay and Janet’s wonderful farm, leaving our bikes lined up along the side of their horse stable as we ourselves are welcomed warmly into their home.
              After setting our tents in a field of long, waving grass, we were given a tour of the farm. It is a magical place; there is a garden planted not in rows but in lines that seem to follow the whim of the earth directly in front of the house, stretches of fields that know only the tread of horse hooves, never the heavy crush of tractors. We worked alongside Janet and Jay in the afternoon, helping to cook dinner and do general farm work. Then, the air began to change, feel heavy and low. A crash of thunder announced the first rain of our expedition, a solid drumming downpour that left us drenched and clean. Standing in the garden, feeling the rain wash down upon us, we watched a set of twin rainbows glowing in the sky. We ate a lovely dinner with the family that shares the farm with them, then returned to Mayah’s home for tea and talking, sharing stories and just enjoying the simple pleasure of good company and full stomachs. We scattered then, some of us choosing to sleep in the hayloft of the barn while others stumbled sleepily to the tents. The next morning found us in the fields, planting row after row of strawberries; it was wonderful to bury our hands in the rich earth, knowing that our labor would bear very literal fruits and appreciating the feel of dirt under our fingernails.

            And now that the rain had come, it seemed to want to follow us; we had just reached the base of our next big climb when the clouds opened on us again, cooling us down but stopping before it got too cold. The weather has truly been with us on this semester, and we realized then how lucky we are. After the hill came Green Mountain Orchard, our camp for the night. We were given free reign of their leftover apples- always a dangerous idea where we’re concerned, as some of us ended up eating five apples in that one afternoon alone! Since we had a bit of extra time, most of the group went mountain biking on a nearby set of trails, then went swimming in the pond we’d camped next to. After a delicious apple cake-like thing made by Ezra, we all collapsed happily into a sugar-induced food coma.

Efficient use of a bench at Green Mountain Orchards

            The next day we dove into the maze of orchards to do a bit of work clearing the trimmed branches out of the paths of the mowers and tractors. The long rows divided us, gave each of us time to think and reflect on our trip so far before we at last bid Green Mountain goodbye and set off up the hill...

            Only to find Emily T, Hanah, and Mathias waiting for us at the top! They rode with us for a bit, talking and laughing. We realized after a while that Sam, Cat, and Andrew had missed our turn, so Emily and Oliver went off to fetch them while the rest of us continued on to Basin Farm. There Hanah and Mathias left us just as the rest of our group rejoined us- perfect timing all around. We were instantly welcomed by the wonderful people who live at the farm, which is a faith-based community and incredibly friendly. We worked for a while out in the fields; most of the group weeded carrot beds while a few of us helped to plant squash. The sun shone down on us and we soaked it up as happily as the plants we tended, feeling the warmth pushing away the last of winter’s chill deep in our bones.

Andrew and Jamie planting in beds.

              We set up our camp just down the road then returned to their home just uphill from the farm. They generously lent us clean clothing for dinner, flowing pants and shirts that were the most comfortable, beautiful things any of us had worn in a long time. Before eating we joined them for a time of dance and singing. We muddled our way through the steps, spinning in circles and stepping on each other’s feet despite our best efforts. When dinner was served, we tried to scatter between tables so that we could get to know more about the community and those who live there. Tired, well fed, and feeling warmed by the kindness of our hosts, we at last went to bed. The next morning was Sabbath for them, so after breakfast we went on a tour of their woodshop and played volleyball and Frisbee with them rather than work in the fields as we had done the previous day.

Joe, Sam, and Andrew working on a bike chain while eating an apple snack

            When we finally departed, it suddenly hit us; we would finally be returning to Kroka after months away. After a brief stop in a Grist Mill museum, we raced off, fueled by excitement and an overwhelming urge to return to our home at base camp. Slowly, the roads and buildings became recognizable. Then, almost before we knew it, we were flying down the hill, yelling at the top of our lungs as we turned into the Boathouse driveway. Home at last.

            And now we have settled back into the rhythm of life here at base camp. Waking up early to run or bike or swim, we shake off sleep in movement and motion. We brought the rain back with us and marveled at the return of green grass and life that comes with a good few days of drenching. Our independent projects began as well, so we divided up to work on a project that interested us. Chase sorted through pictures and songs, crafting a beautiful slideshow, which will be shown at graduation. Mayah and Andrew spent their time learning to care for our farm, watching over everything from tomatoes to chicks, from compost to our new calf. Ezra biked over to a nearby Orchard Hill Breadworks every day, doing a number of small jobs and working with Noah, the baker. In the woods next to our camp there now stands a massive climbing structure built of cedar and hemlock poles by Emma, Nathanael, and Jamie under the instruction of Hugh. Cat and Izzy learned to work with timber framing and began the construction of the farm barn with master timber framer Bill Symonds. Noa and Hazel spent their days keeping track of and playing with a group of school children from Cambridge, MA. Sam and I hit the trails, trying to map out the network that runs through the woods behind Kroka and to clarify and mark the more confusing sections with the help of Nathan. We all came together for meals, telling each other of the highlights of our days and laughing at whatever the day’s mishap had been. At night we slept out under the stars, braving the mosquitos so that we could relish the clean air and the beauty of being woken by the sunrise.

            Soon, our time here at Kroka will end and we will go our separate ways for a time. But for many of us, semester has opened the door to a lifetime of adventures, of good friends and ridiculous stories. It has brought to us a new kind of freedom, one that comes not from speeding down a hill or bounding down a rapid but from something more significant. The Vermont Semester has allowed us all the freedom that comes with a deep knowledge of the self, and this is far more valuable than anything else we can ever hope to have in this life.

            We’ll see you all soon! Thank you for following our journey, and may your road be ever smooth, your skies ever blue, and your friends always close at hand.


__________Please join us at 1PM this SATURDAY to celebrate the graduation of the 2015 Vermont Semester. The ceremony will be held in the second floor of the Kroka Boathouse.

At 8PM in Greenfield, MA the 2015 semester parents have partnered with the Grange Hall to host a contra dance to benefit semester scholarships. We hope you will be able to join us for this as well!________________

Blog 8: Rowing down Lake Champlain

Dear Friends and Family:

We started our rowing expedition on Grand Isle, sleeping on the western shore. That night "Emily2" arrived, that is, Emily Hughes and Emily Turner.  We, in a hurried feat of organization and insanity, did all the work of a full layover in a single afternoon, allowing Pasha to return to Kroka with the canoes early the next morning.

Meeting our boats for the first time

The rowboats arrived around lunch the next day, but to call them such does not do them justice. We were given Saint Ayles skiffs (the Perseverance and the Resilience) and a pilot gig (the American Shad) by the Lake Champlain Maritime Museum. They have a program for students who struggle in a traditional school setting which allows the high schoolers to build magnificent boats which we have used for the past 14 days. I took charge of the white and blue Resilience, Cat took the navy and red Perseverance, and Jamie the yellow and blue American Shad. As captains we were in charge of keeping our crafts shipshape by coiling ropes, checking oars and pins, loading and unloading, and singing the boats ashore with the Norwegian songs that Emily Turner taught to us. With anywhere from six to fifteen people on a boat, we would lift it clear of the waterline each night and set her on shore, safe from the winds and waves.

Our path was somewhat roundabout as we rowed first northwards to Burton Island before swinging through Grand Island to Valcour island on the other side of the lake. There we stayed for a prolonged liveover, learning about the Battle of Valcour Island while sitting right on the shore where it happened. The liveover truly felt like heaven; we spent days swimming in the freezing water, wandering the island, and learning the history of the land and lake we traveled. Nights were spent sleeping under the stars in whichever flat spot we could find. Some of us began to rise early. Sunrise would find a scattering of silent figures, perched on rocks and in trees, watching it creep to our land.

Trillium found during our wildflower identification class using dichotomous keys 

From there we continued our journey south, spending a night at Caw Island which was full of ramps - type of wild onion - scones, and stories. Leaving early the next morning, we set off down the coast to Rock Point School, just north of Burlington. There we found a warm welcome, and just in time too! It seemed that the instant we were all settled into the Chapel that they let us stay in, the rain poured down.

Rock Point marked the first time we had been around another group of people our own age -- ones who had not spent the last four months learning every quirk and gesture that each of us had. But after dodgeball, we were given the time to get to know the Rock Point students better, sitting, laughing, playing music. All too soon we were moving on again as Emily H. left us to return to Kroka. As we reached the beach where we left our boats we realized a new challenge.

Covering the lake was a blanket opaque white fog as far as the eye could see (which, coincidentally wasn't more than 200 yards due to fog). But after taking a bearing to our next campsite, we set off nonetheless, the shore swiftly disappearing. The world was reduced, softened and encircled by the shifting whiteness and the other ships, always carefully kept in view became ghosts of themselves. The clacking oarlocks and the murmur of voices were markers in the clouds come to earth. Soon the wind picked up and the fog lifted, but those moments of quiet remain engraved in my memory.

We reached Shelburne Farms around lunchtime and were greeted by Marshall Webb. After quickly setting camp, we set off to explore. We found homes that looked like castles, endless fields of the greenest grass, and herds of Brown Swiss cows ranging on the land. Upon our return to camp, we found that the wind had picked up so much that it forced us inland a bit to a shelter behind a stand of trees. The next day we had math class, did some work on the farm pulling garlic mustard and gained Oliver, who showed up mid-morning to continue on the rowing journey with us.

"Toss your oars!"

Onward to Barn Rock and the Maritime Museum where we got to see a boat similiar to ours. Our first day there we helped them get ready for the start of their season. The next day was spent in the museum exhibits and cleaning artifacts found in Lake Champlain so that they could be preserved. At last, full of new knowledge, we found our way back to camp to prepare for the next adventure... a 36-hour fasting solo.

Cleaning artifacts

There is much that could be said about these: that we were sent out with naught but the clothes on our backs, sleeping bags, and footprints; that we were spread out from each other along the trail system; that we each found ourselves wrapped in our own contemplations; and yet, solos are highly personal and defy easy overviews. Each of us came back with stories and a new sense of ourselves.

The teachers greeted us with a wonderful feast as we set off once more to Crown Point where ice cream and fortress awaited us. We left as the sunset, rowing into the gathering darkness. Affixing headlamps to bow and stern, we slipped silently through inky water that reflected the stars along with us. We reached our camp at Five Miles Point very late, and simply set out our sleeping bags and fell into a deep sleep.

The next day brought us to Fort Ticonderoga. Unlike Crown Point, Ticonderoga was fully preserved, with a few historical reenactors working around all in the fort, friendly and willing to share with us the history of the area.

We rowed most of the following day, fighting a headwind. Nonetheless, spirits were high in the boast as the sky cleared and the sun shone down on us, encouraging us to slow down and appreciate the osprey nests in the bays, the marsh grasses at the edges of the river, and the trains passing by us. Camp set was followed by free time, so five of us took out one of the boats and went swimming, relishing the feeling of cold water and hot sun.

We set off into a slight headwind the next morning, rowing hard until we reached the lock at Whitehall, which spilled us into the canal and marked the end of our water journey.

Hazel at the lock

Of bikes, there is of course much to be said. I should tell you of the hills we have climbed, the farms we have visited, the beauty of lilacs just beginning to bloom. But I will not. Not yet, at least. You will have to wait the few short days until we are back at base camp. Yes, our expedition's end is drawing closer with every turn of the pedal, but somehow it seems that our journey is just beginning.

Blog 7: White Water Paddling on the Lamoille River

Suddenly our lives have erupted with color once more. After months of white snow and grey-brown trees, there is a magic to new growth and the green of new leaves, whose brightness would be garnish if not for the joy which it inspires in the heart. There is a new sweetness to the air as the winds bring the smells of treetops and flowers in bloom. We once again walk barefooted on the earth, the leaves of years before us soft as a whisper that we feel in soles and souls. Spring brings with it freedom.

Semester team with Sky Meadow hosts, Cella and Cassandra, as well as teachers, Oliver and Pasha

The change of seasons also brought about a change in our way of life. No more skis and snowshoes; instead we took to the rushing waters of the Lamoille River by canoe. This is a terrifying, exhilarating journey by whitewater. A primal skill that sharpens every sense, hones awareness to a razor edge and throws each rock, riffle, and hole into sharp relief. Starting in the headwaters, we spent a day learning the basics of paddling, before plunging headfirst into the freezing rapids, and for some of us, that plunge was literal. But even on the days when we flipped a half dozen times, we easily righted overturned canoes and returned to the warmth of Sky Meadow to dry wetsuits, hang clothes by the stove, and wring the river water out of ourselves.

Learning to carry canoes at Sky Meadow

Seeing the world shaking off the shadows of winter all around us, we yearned to be out once more, moving and feeling the fullness of spring surround us. And so we set off, canoes bulging with gear and excited expectation.

Artwork inspired by Pasha's teaching

Our days were long but relaxed, guided by the river we floated down. We seldom moved with haste, relishing instead the change in pace brought to us by Pasha, the man who taught us the ways of the Lamoille and spoke to us many nights of his artwork and of the other rapids he had run in the past. As we paddled past big stretches of open farmland and tracts of dense trees, we saw the world coming back to life; our path was marked by shouts of "GREEN" whenever a particularly vibrant patch of grass was sighted. We were fortunate enough to meet many kind people as we travelled: a man who allowed us use of his fields, another wonderful man who helped us with a few of the larger portages and the innumerable people on the river who waved to us as we passed.

Andrew and Chase bringing a canoe to shore

The portages took more than just a single fragment of our time, as they were a large part of our day, mainly because they could have taken ages. We unloaded all the gear out of our canoes then carried it a few hundred yards to over a mile then returned and did the same with the canoes. One skill that was crucial at such times was carrying a canoe alone, balanced on shoulders with hands gripping the gunnels. We must have been an interesting picture: teenagers with blue barrels and stuff sacks walking slowly next to canoes that had magically sprouted legs. But, difficult as they were, the many portages brought us together; every one of us had to work hard and carry as much as we could so that we all could move on and return to our lives.

We spotted many turtles basking in the new warmth of spring

Switching partners everyday we got to spend many whimsical hours paddling downstream, talking and rediscovering each other without the hinderance of cold and exhaustion that was common on winter trail. Then at last, we first saw Lake Champlain, the seemingly endless water stretching out before us.

Jamie and Sam paddling white water

Ezra and Chase recovering their boat in swift waters

Hazel and Rachel

Mayah and Sam

Noa and Emma

Teachers, Pasha and Oliver

Saul Blocher, 2004 Vermont Semester alumnus, met the semester team on the river for a lesson

Some other fun semester news:
Author, educator, self-directed learning advocate, trail runner and mentor to Izzy, Blake Boles, spoke with Kroka's founding director, Misha Goldman, about the semester program. Listen here to their conversation.

We hope you will all join us on the evening of June 13 (semester graduation day) at the Greenfield, MA contra dance. All who attend in support of Kroka will have a portion of the door fee go to Kroka scholarships!

Blog 6: Journey to the North

Time seems to be slipping by faster than I can catch hold of it. Somehow we made it out of the winter, broke through the snow and ice to make it back here to Sky Meadow. With the changing of the seasons came changes in Big Jobs as well. The new responsibilities are as follows:

Navigation:                                         Izzy and Nathanael

Food:                                                   Emma and Noa

Canoe Manager/Captain One*:       Jamie

Paddling Gear/Captain Two:           Cat

Bathroom/Hygiene/Water:               Hazel

Tent/Tarps/Camp:                             Chase

Kitchen:                                              Andrew

Energy/Fire/Tools:                            Ezra

Bikes/Vehicles/Trailers/Repairs:     Sam

Sewing/Medic:                                   Mayah

Logistics/Scribe:                                Rachel

*Captain refers to that human being who shall be in control of one of the three big rowboats on Lake Champlain. Captains get to clean the boats and sometimes tell people what to do, as far as I’ve gathered.

           

That’s right, I, Rachel, am now in control of this wonderful blog and will be keeping you updated on all that goes on for the rest of our Semester.

…

And so Big Jobs change and time goes ever winding on, bringing joys and travels that we can only dream of, affixed as we are in the present.

           

In Oujé Bougoumou, however, we made the choice to leave time behind us, along with any preconceived notions of what life in a Cree community would be like. Even the mode of travel, endless hours in the van, seemed timeless and oddly disconnected. Perhaps the sense of dislocation is due to the fact that this is the first time on our semester when we have not traveled by our own power, when the trip has been more about the destination than the journey to it. But oh, what a destination it was!

Noa working on a beaver hide while Cat stokes the fire

In Cree, Oujé Bougoumou means ‘the place where people gather’ and, appearing suddenly out of the vast tracts of spruce and Jack pine, is a community that truly embodies its name. Though we spent little time in the town proper, we were lucky enough to be shown around by Mark, who spoke to us of the town’s history, of his own life, and the upcoming Goose Break. The Goose Break is the week when most of Oujé is deserted as people return to their family hunting grounds to take advantage of the migration of the geese. It felt then like we too were a migrating species.

            

After a few days, we headed out into the bush with our guides Anna and David, staying once more in wall tents with thick bough floors. The only way out to the camp was a long walk along snow covered roads which turned into narrow snowmobile trails, clearly used only by Anna and David as they went from camp to town and back.

            

A moment’s thought:

We have snowshoes now!

I kind of miss skiing

Foot stuck in a hole

-Hazel

           

We lived in a state of constant awareness. Though we didn’t change camp at all, something could always be learned by watching Anna and David as they moved about the camp; how to best scrape a moose hide or the proper manner of gutting the fish we caught. We were incredibly connected to the wild meat we ate, even from the very first day. A few of us plucked and prepared six ptarmigan, a type of small white bird native to the area. We ate moose and goose and fish - though, in the interest of honesty, we did not get to go moose or goose hunting. Fishing, on the other hand, was a central part of our life. We set nets under the ice, catching pike, whitefish, and sucker fish. Not only did we eat beaver, including the tail, we also helped to stretch and dry their pelts.

           

A moment’s thought:

            Anna, still scraping, told me to get out the pelt beside me and scrape with the knife lying next to it. I scraped for a long time, ever so often stopping to watch her mechanism of movement carefully. I felt blind to all the things she must be doing that made her do three in the time I did one. But I found I knew something. There is idealism in me I had not met before. I had been craving the gift of skill from a bush woman; I had been noticing the pangs of interest and respect I felt when I saw her hold a child with the breeze about her, a song posing within her – a stable intention unplugged from goal, as she effortlessly tolled a calm ringing for the uncomfortable grappling toddler lamenting in her arms. She mutters, “It’s okay, it’s okay”, her face quiet, her body tolling back and forth. I look away and catch this feeling. It is painful, it is malleable, most of all it is the feeling of ground underfoot, soft, after a storm when the last raindrops float to earth.

            I walk out of the tent. My time will come.

            I’ve found – sooner than I thought – for it begins with the beaver hide. When she gave me this skill, I saw the beaver from gray baby in the underwater oasis of dark air, to the pond, growing suddenly in spring, through storms and waterways adjourning till a time of meeting - full grown through David’s hands then to Anna’s hands.  –Cat

Cat and Anna

The lake from which we got our water and fish also provided us with the wonderful opportunity of dunking into the water- but only after we chiseled through three feet of ice. Let me paint a picture for you:

            

We stand around a snowshoe-sized hole in the ice, staring into the inky water below. We wait for our guide, David, so that we can pull up the net we sent down three days ago. The winds gusts across the open ice and we huddle together, grateful for the millions of layers we are wearing. Then Sam smiles a mischievous smile and looks around with a glint in his eyes we know all to well. “I’m going in.” He declares and, to our surprise, Emily and Oliver allow it; we’re close enough to camp that it’s perfectly safe. Of course, taking off those millions of layers takes a while and requires a few of us to become clothing racks to keep everything off the ice but soon enough, Sam is in the (quite literally) icy water.

            

A moment’s thought:

There is an 18-inch wall of ice surrounding this hole.

This is cold.

I hope pike don’t bite my toes.

I should get out.

-Sam

 

Ice fishing

Emily Turner, semester teacher

Izzy and Chase scraping a moose hide

Of course, then nothing would do but for Mayah and I to jump in as well. My thoughts on the matter? Well, I can safely say that there is no greater motivator than a nice, stiff, Canadian wind to make you get dressed as quickly as possible.

Ice fishing

            

And so we passed our time in the bush, tanning moose hides, roasting geese, carving and crafting outside in the Canadian sun. When at last it was time to go, we left behind several jars of maple syrup that we’d made at Sky Meadow and took with us a newfound knowledge and a vast respect for the Cree people. Thank you to Anna and David, their families, and the Oujé Bougoumou community for taking such wonderful care of us!

We then traveled from the bush down to Quebec City- about as different as you can get in terms of culture, but the two are far more intertwined than many seem to realize. The French-Canadian way of life and that of the native people are at once separate and wholly influenced and directed by each other; how fitting, then, that we experienced both in so short a time. We stayed in a youth hostel in the old city, and spent a morning on a scavenger hunt through the city, getting vaguely lost on the French sounding streets and learning the city’s history. The adventure ended at La Musée de la Civilization (the Museum of Civilization), where we saw both the Quebec and Native history areas.

A moment’s thought:

            At the Museum of Civilization, we explored the exhibits. First we went to an exhibit detailing the settlement of the Saint Lawrence Bay and the building of Quebec City. We learned about Cartier’s landing at Gaspe in 1534 and Samuel de Champlain’s discovery of the city location and the beginning of the fur trade. Next we moved on to the Native exhibit where we saw a lot of old artifacts. We also learned more about the Native’s interaction with the government in Canada and the differences in land stewardship of the Natives and of the French-Canadians.

            It was interesting seeing the exhibit after so recently being in a community that lived in the way we saw within the walls of the museum. Some of the stories we had even already heard from Anna and David, both of whom had lived the history.” –Noa

Games in Quebec City

The next day we had the chance to walk around the city a bit more, going down to the waterfront for a while to see the ice beginning to break up. Then, as a treat, we got to go out to lunch at L’Omlette. Though we completely butchered the French language as we attempted to order our meal, the folks at the restaurant were patient with us and soon we were all happily consuming poutine, the soup de jour, cannolini parce au veau, and a few other dishes that we shared. Then, joy of joys: dessert courtesy of Mrs. Row- thank you for making our day a good deal sweeter!

Maple syrup pie

Chocolate mousse for everyone

Let’s get in the van!!

-Hazel

Rachel and Andrew enjoying lunch

We had crepes, maple pie, and chocolate mousse, all of which were delicious. Buzzing with sugar and ready to head home to Sky Meadow at last, we piled into the van for the long drive back.

It’s April 18^th

Driving south to Sky Meadow

Why is it snowing??!!??

-Hazel

So yes, time has been running away with us, but we are sprinting alongside it, ready to leap fully into spring and all the adventures it will hold!

 A moment’s thought:

Lately, I’ve been searching the sky for something to wonder on. A falling star or a rising sun, a flying car or a wish undone. Anything with which I might scheme my next step. I’ve asked the Earth for inspiration, should she have a piece to spare. While I wait, I sift sand through my fingers and find wind whispering across my face. Crocuses take refuge in my hollow spaces and we all sit quietly together, dust and breeze and blood, all awaiting a message brought around in an arc with the dawn of the sun. What the coming light holds, we couldn’t possibly yet behold, but I feel the dance moving on in our direction and I couldn’t possibly be more filled up with the beat of the days of the rest of this life.

-Mayah

I’ve decided to add a new section to this week's blog! Often, trying to convince my dearly beloved Semestermates to give me pieces of their writing is almost impossible, but clearly I want everyone to be represented in the blog. The following section is my solution.

Excuses I Have Been Given by Those Who Don’t Give Me Writing to Put into this Beautiful and Very Important Piece Of Electronic Literature

“Cuz my writing is to deep for… for… for… myself to understand.” - Chase

“Jamie is feeling strangely disconnected from himself and he’s in the strangest mood he’s ever been in, contemplating how to live a productive life. Jamie is also feeling that his writing is too special for the blog.” -Jamie

“Cuz my handwriting is illiterate. I’m a busy man, I don’t got time for that!” – Nathanael

“I don’t know, I don’t have an excuse, I could put something in the blog if you like…” – Emma

“I can give you a piece of writing – oh, uh, my dog ate my homework. Um, Mayah, what’s my excuse? [Mayah: You’re busy fighting dragons and saving princesses.] Yeah, say that!” – Izzy

“My handwriting resembles an ancient language from Sumer. Actually say that isn’t a legit excuse, everyone can read my handwriting except Stefan.” - Andrew

Ezra fell asleep

Blog 5: Sky Meadow At Last!

Dear Friends & Family,

           The first section of "Leg Three" was a blast. We spent ten days traveling and honing the winter living skills that we began to master during the first two sections of expedition. Whoever was filling the rotational chore of cook on any given day was required to step up their game, and each morning we had a “cooks challenge” to rate their performance in areas such as flavor, timeliness, and flare. Our travel days were short, leaving extra time for both the difficult terrain of the Catamount Trail and natural history lessons with Emily Turner.

            As we continued to travel and learn, the sun grew stronger.  We often found ourselves stopping to scrape sticky snow from our skis and precariously side-step across melting streams. Almost everyday we came across hills that had us stopping to strip down to T-shirts as we trekked up them.

            On March 25th, we arose early for an important day: The fabled "Bolton Trap Traverse". Since the beginning of expedition we had been hearing stories about this descent. The night before, we camped close to the point we would be skiing down from. In the morning we had a short climb before we reached a spectacular view, and our highest point of elevation for the day. There we paused for a drink, and looked out upon our next few days of travel.

            After a break, we began the beautiful descent that would bring us down almost 2,000 feet of elevation. Many students were nervous for this particular adventure in the days leading up to it, but their worries were for nothing. People fell of course- pulled off balance by their packs or turning sudden corners too fast. However, we navigated the steep terrain as experienced skiers. Looking back to our first ski trip at base camp, each and every person has improved incredible amounts, almost as if we spent our winter living upon skis.

The sign speaks for itself

The intrepid team ready to be challenged by the Green Mountains!

Sam, Izzy, Mayah, Jamie, and Ezra are ready to traverse

Emma skiing down the Traverse as the sun sets

Hazel skiing down

            At the bottom of Bolton Trap we found Hanah, Nathan, and Becky awaiting our arrival at the Trout Club Lodge. Here, we had a short layover: we divided up our food, were assigned smaller groups, and learned how to set up tarps. After two days of preparation, we were ready. The teachers left at daybreak, marking the beginning of our independent group travel. We spent 24 hours traveling alone, and then met up with Emily, Becky and Sammy once again at a little farmhouse that was unfamiliar to us up until that point. Inside, we met two amazing octenegarian Vermont women. The Lepine sisters greeted us with stories and cookies, which we enjoyed in the comfort of their home before splitting up once more: this time for a total of five days. In groups of threes and fours we said hesitant goodbyes to our teachers and friends. We skied over the rise of the land, into a new adventure altogether, nervous but determined.

Andrew, Chase and Ezra working on maps for their independent group travel

            On Thursday morning at 9:04am, the first group could be spotted strolling into Sky Meadow Retreat Center. Covered in pot black and mud and grinning from ear to ear, Emily greeted them at the door and they immediately began to shed gear- some of it for the last time this winter. I bet you could have heard their happy voices from a mile away as they pulled off stinky ski boots, and set aside their backpacks at last. So began the long process of closing down winder expedition. By three o’clock, we were all busily putting away gear, working on our Big Jobs, and settling in. Chock full of stories from our time away from the group, we chattered and worked our way into the beginning of spring expedition.

Andrew coming down the Sky Meadow driveway at the completion of the 2015 Vermont Semester winter expedition.

Jamie welcomes Cat home to Sky Meadow

Chase and Ezra walking their last steps of winter expedition.

Emily Turner and Rachel welcome students to Sky Meadow

Mayah with a smile after five days of independent group travel.

Nathaniel with a smile for Misha upon his arrival.

Sam dances in to Sky Meadow in style.

Teachers, Sammy and Becky

Students are proud of their journey and looking forward to their next adventures.

What’s Next?

As we wrap up winter leg, we are also beginning to settle into our new Big Jobs. On April 6^th, we will head to Oujé Bougoumou to spend ten days learning from the Cree people with our Kroka teachers Emily Turner and Oliver Mednick. When we return to Sky Meadow, we will begin preparations for spring expedition in earnest. In addition, we will celebrate the transition by spending a weekend visiting with our families! The next update that you will read will have a different author. Thank you for reading my posts, and bearing with my (sometimes) hasty news.

Creative writing & quotes:

Energy

Chase

Energy comes from within

Warmth is learned through fear

Putting together the stove is not so clear

5 pipes, 1 stove, 3 elbows, and two shelves are the case

please just put them in the right place.

Tripods are needed no matter what the situation

There is no need for contemplation.

Pipes fit the way that they do.

Don’t shove them in the way you want to.

So things change every day,

There is a small price to pay-

Consistence and pride comes on.

“When your light is cast to darkness, call and I will come.”               

-12 word poem

Noa with a big grin.

“I’m the guyliest girl here!”

-Emma

“The momentum of the trail forces you to be.”

-Izzy

Izzy and Emma, both alumni of the 2014 Kroka Ecuador Semester, challenge themselves to balance together.

“The next step is going to be glorious. The ending of one expedition is just the beginning of another.”

-Misha

“I am homesick for trail life”

-Cat

“I’m excited to be somewhere new”

-Hazel

“That there is a well cut bagel”

-Chase