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!________________