From Sunsets to Storm Clouds

The privilege of conservation

October 29th, 2019
To discuss food waste. To carry a trash bag and pick up litter on a trail. To choose the fresh vegetables over the canned or frozen vegetables. To visit the grocery store with a reusable bag.

These are privileges.

To cultivate a permaculture-inspired garden in your backyard. To watch stars emerge in a pollution-free sky. To experiment with higher quality flours in baking. To take a seasonal job just to see what it’s like.

These are privileges.
Ever since leaving Nashville, I’ve come up against this idea of privilege in new ways. It is no longer just the “haves” vs the “have nots”…the people who gentrify a neighborhood vs the people who have always been there…the donors vs the recipients of the non-profit work.

It’s the people who can make conscious choices about preserving and controlling the environment – from a garden to their own body to national forests. Their resources allow them to invest in this work. They spend time volunteering on trail maintenance, allowing more people to engage with nature. They cultivate healthier user-land relationships through the application of permaculture principles. They teach other people how to recycle and compost and repurpose.

All of this is good. And the work that I’m doing now – hiking with kids, teaching them to waste less food, guiding them through a perch dissection, forcing them to practice team building – it’s good stuff.

But we all have the privilege of investing our resources – time, energy, money – into this good stuff.

And I’m constantly stuck in this battle between pushing forward into this world of conservation/environmental education/outdoorsiness and feeling drawn back to the work that I’ve always done in the face of poverty, diversity and social injustices. With the season coming to an end, I’m actively looking for “what’s next” and I haven’t been able to find a way to ride the line between those just yet.

And it’s a privilege to wait until I find that “yet.”
Take a Latch out of Arkansas…

October 21st, 2019

My parents have often been called “adorable.” People say that my mom is incredibly sweet and my dad has an amazing mustache. My mom is known to make friends wherever she goes and learn the life story of cashiers in the grocery store. My dad, on the other hand, is your classic introvert/hermit who is happiest sitting alone with a cup of coffee…preferably around nature. So, they have quirks (like most parents). And when they decided to drive up to Maine for a few days to join the “leaf peepers,” I braced myself for the quirks.

My dad picked up rocks all up and down the coast of our little island near Acadia. My mom rolled her eyes and added a few to his collection. We found fresh lobster and clam chowder…and my mom even tasted lobster (I know – right?!?). There were antique stores and bookstores to visit. Plants to identify and forests to wander. There was annoyance at people being in all of the places. And there was a stop at a lighthouse (and annoyance at people standing in the way of pictures).

They brought their quirks all the way to Maine with them…but if you looked at my car (and the list of places I’ve visited between here and Arkansas/Tennessee), you’d know that I have plenty of my own. And, as confirmed by all photographic evidence, our quirks prevent us from taking any sort of normal photo together.
The Maine Thing

October 16th, 2019

About last weekend…there was hiking and there was Maine.

I hiked on Saturday and Monday, with Maine filling the space in between. When you roll into a small town and your friends invite you to meet them at a brewery and then join them for a movie on permaculture, you know you’re in for a good time.

Saturday night I crashed in my favorite yurt. I slept “late” and savored the gentle morning light that streamed into the yurt.

Such a change from cabin life! A few weeks ago, when the temperatures dropped, we had to close up the windows to our cabin. The only natural light we have comes from the small window on the door. Some days, it feels like living in a cave.

The yurt was a pleasant change.

And the cozy, restful night left me prepared for the day’s adventures!

There was a cranberry farm.

Yes. I picked cranberries. And cranberries and cranberries. As we walked out to the field, another gentleman who was there with his wife asked if I had ever done this before.

“I’m from Arkansas. This isn’t really something we have there.”

And with that, we began picking. I filled a small jack-o-lantern bucket with cranberries. The official haul was three-pounds of cranberries. Now…what to do with all of those cranberries?

We started with cranberry-apple-pear hand pies. (And some savory pies with a roasty tomato sauce, buttercup squash, and rosemary…no cranberries.)

It was in part of an early celebration of “World Community Bake Day” (officially, it’s today – the 16th). The wood-fired stone oven was fired up and everything went it. Pizza. Vegetables. Naan. Bread. Hand pies. I was in my happy place.

I enjoyed one of the hand pies alongside a glass of freshly pressed cider. Because what else do you do on a brisk Sunday evening in Maine next to a wood fire oven??
Fall & 4000 Footers

October 16th, 2019

We had a three-day weekend. And after last week, I definitely needed it. (We’re not going to get into those details…they’re boring. I promise). So with three days opening up to me like an oyster, I decided to do some hiking and go to Maine.

First…the hiking.

For the first trail, I met up with a friend I met via CouchSurfing when I was in Maine back in August (AUGUST?!?). He spent the past couple of months traveling internationally and recently landed back in New Hampshire (Right?!?) to spend some time camping and hiking. So we tackled a fairly mellow 4000 footer, Mount Hale, with his dog (chosen because of the accessibility for an 11 year old golden retriever). The summit was somewhat anti-climactic, but the views along the way of fall foliage were spectacular.

The second trail was the opposite of a “mellow 4000 footer.” Mount Madison is a notoriously difficult hike. I did not know that…I chose it because it was on a list of “best hikes to view fall foliage.” It was beautiful. I thoroughly enjoyed myself. And I was thoroughly exhausted (my calves might take a week to recover).

It’s funny how two trails can land on the same list (4000 footers), but create such different experiences. Hale was accessed via a very mellow five mile trail; I came down a steeper option that clocked in right around two miles. As we hiked up the five miles, I had a hard time appreciating the colors because my hiking partner was a bit chatty. I wanted to stop and appreciate the smells and sounds and sights of the season; but I also didn’t want to be the classic “leaf peeper.” It was a slow hike, but not in a savoring sort of way.

Madison, on the other hand, was an entire day of savoring. Savoring colors and sounds and scents. Both ascending and descending the mountain were slow…delicately stepping over roots, balancing on boulders, and occasionally slipping on leaves. I was able to thoroughly appreciate the experience and celebrate the beauty. And when I met someone on my way down who asked about the view from the top, all I could say was “so worth it.”

It would be easy to write Hale off because the summit was just “meh.” But the colors along the way…oh my goodness! So worth it.

I never want to be a person that choose trails purely because of a summit or just to mark them off the list (been there, done that). Instead, I want to continue choosing trails because they’re worth it…whatever “it” happens to be on any given day.
Three months

October 9th, 2019
It’s been three months since I left Nashville. Here’s a look at that time in numbers:
- ONE – 4000 footers I’ve hiked
- THREE – fires I’ve built
- FIVE – different outdoor education classes I’ve led
- SEVEN – bags of coffee I’ve been through
- EIGHT – states I’ve slept in
- NINE – kitchens in which I’ve baked (ten if we count the beach)
- NINETEEN – breweries I’ve visited
- TWENTY FIVE- students I’ve had in field groups
This past month, in particular, has been rather challenging. Although my life has looked more stable than the previous two months, there have been so many unknowns. My day to day life has slowly found a rhythm…that continually gets disrupted. The weather, my site location, the students in my group (or not being assigned a group for the week), other people feeling chatty/catty.

It’s been a struggle to find the things that keep me sane in the midst of this chaotic life. I get up early to drink coffee and knock out work for Corner to Corner. My weekends are spent hiking (alone). And I randomly take off to explore new corners of the property. When life is chaotic and full of unexpected twists and turns, it’s important to find those things that ground you – whether it’s people, systems or habits. This month has been full of opportunities to hone in on each of those. Yes – even the people.
New Site

October 8th, 2019

Just when I started to get the hang of things, a group of us headed down to Massachusetts to work at our site “on the cape.” We spent the better part of last week trying to learn a new system and new trails and new expectations and new colleagues and…it was hard. Have you ever taken a bunch of kids on a night hike on trails that are unfamiliar? (We did NOT get lost.)

Every break and every evening was spent crashing into sobbing heaps on the floor of our cabin, wishing that we were back in New Hampshire. We missed the community that we’d built back “home” and the familiar rhythm of our days. And we missed knowing what was expected of us in each twist and turn of that rhythm.

It was rough.

But there was something comforting in knowing that we weren’t in it alone.

And…there was the half day we spent at the beach with our kiddos. (Yes – we all froze to death. But I was the “super human mutant” who wore shorts and Teva sandals.)

Also, best kid quote so far:

Do you have a ferret? Because you look like you would have a ferret.
A different sort of week

September 30th, 2019

Week two as an outdoor educator was COMPLETELY DIFFERENT from week one.

I had six fifth grade boys from a small, private school.

We spent about half of the week working with another group from the same school – a group of eighth graders with three boys and four girls.

For those of you keeping count, that’s TEN students for TWO adults. A group of students who, overall, were very chill and well-behaved.

Compared to the previous week, it almost felt like a vacation. But I got bored.

Most of my “career” has been spent with students like those I met during that first week, especially that one challenging student. When I got to the end of that week, I knew that I would miss him. And I wondered how I would feel when I had an “easier” group.

Turns out, I like the “challenge.”

Don’t get me wrong – both groups had their challenges…and both groups had their joys! Each week I got to watch kids who didn’t really know each other develop better relationships. And I got to watch the kid who stood quietly in the back step up and share brilliant ideas that turned around the team-building activities. And I got to watch kids put in the work to hike and discover nature.

But when all was said and done, week 1 left me feeling more fulfilled. For a long time, I’ve believed in the value of long-term relationships with kids. And when last week came to an end and those kids loaded up on the bus, I remembered why. Kids need people who will show up for them over and over and over again. Kids need those stable, consistent figures in their life who will remind them that they are valued, even when they’re acting completely ridiculous.

So, for the next six weeks I’ll continue working as an outdoor educator. I will do it with joy and I will grow in skills that wouldn’t develop in any other setting (like fire-building and tree identification…maybe caterpillar identification, too). But when all is said and done, I know it will be time for a new adventure.
How to survive the first week as an outdoor educator

September 22nd, 2019
- Accept that you will make mistakes
- Find reasons to laugh
- Drink lots of coffee
- Confiscate students’ bug spray
- Be prepared to throw plans to the wind
- Plan on not showering
- Wear comfortable shoes
- Call for support when you need it
- Drink more coffee
- Optimize the time and tools that you have
This week was long. There was a “challenging” student in my field group (we spend anywhere from 5-9 hours with our field group each day). He and I butted heads a lot and there were times when the rest of the group got really fed up with his behavior. But at the end of the week, I was sad to see him go.

I come from a work environment where I saw the some of the same kids two to four times a week for three years. In this new world, I get them for a few days. So while I would LOVE to spend more time with that kiddo and learn more about his motivations and his hopes and his fears, I don’t get to do that.

And that’s hard.

Way harder than I thought it would be.

But I know that he’s going back to a school with teachers and staff that want to see him succeed. They spent the week communicating with me about his highs and lows, trying to find ways to make sure he stayed with our group. And, y’all, he did succeed…in more ways than one. He caught crickets and salamanders. He was a beast at the more physical team-building activities. And he got to be comic relief in our skit. And when he left, he gave me a high five with eye contact.

So, now I get to look forward to doing that again next week and the next and the next. And in between all of the weeks, I get to find rocks and trails.
Learning…

September 16th, 2019

After less than two weeks of training, tomorrow I dive head-first into being an outdoor educator. If you’ve known me for more than two minutes, you know that I’m fairly passionate about the outdoors and I’m fairly passionate about education. But this is a beast of a completely different matter.

Over the past two weeks, I’ve lashed canoes together to build a catamaran. I’ve donned a bee suit and worked my way into a hive. I’ve identified and eaten edible plants. I’ve hiked in and around the “classroom,” sometimes at night. I’ve been blindfolded and done corny team-building activities with the 17 other folks who are in this with me. And more often than not, I have felt completely out of my element.

I haven’t done research projects on birds or studied extensively studied environmental science. I haven’t taught kids how to backpack or how to build fires. Heck – I don’t even cook my own food over a fire when I’m camping. I don’t know how to identify birds by their call or find salamanders under rocks.

For two weeks, I have been completely intimidated, terrified, and overwhelmed.

But then I find myself laying in the grass, trying to write down everything I’ve learned (and everything I still need to figure out), and a tiny caterpillar crawls across my notebook. Or I find myself coming down a trail as the sun as setting and I just pause to listen. Or I hunt for quartz and successfully come up with two pieces that will create a chemical reaction, sure to wow a bunch of wily kiddos on a night hike.

Every day is a new chance to learn or discover or experience something. I am trying to focus on that…the advantage that gives me. Like the kids who will roll in tomorrow, I am here to learn. And we get to do that together.
Two months

September 8th, 2019

At this point in time, I’ve been on this journey for two months. And for the first time in two months, I actually have a plan for two months out.

If you’ve known me for more than a minute, you probably know that I like plans. And structure. And being in control of everything that happens.

For the past two months, all of that – those comforts – have been more or less absent from my life. I have been at the mercy of the weather and other people and the efficiency of Wifi in coffeeshops, AirBnBs and breweries. One morning, I woke up without knowing where I would be sleeping that night. Being flexible has taken on a whole new meaning!

And even though I have the next two months planned (what?!?), I know that the day-to-day within these months will require that same flexibility. I’ll be taking groups of students on hikes to find mushrooms. We’ll talk about pond ecology. There will be team-building games on a low ropes course.

But as much as I plan and prepare and even though I could read through an entire field guide, there will be days when it rains. There will be kids who refuse to participate in team-building games. And someone might have an asthma attack or go into anaphylactic shock (I went through first aid/CPR training the other day and I’m still shaking off the “worst case scenario” mentality.)

The next two months will be look completely different from the last two months. But they will continue challenging me to be more flexible and remain open to learning, growing and experience life in new ways.