Oct. 9, 1980
Typically, I had forgotten to get gas, so a couple of quick U-turns and a stop at the Chevron station were necessary after I picked up Betsy. I had never met Betsy before this morning, but we got along well from the start. Perhaps because we shared a certain trepidation in this early morning beginning into something so new and unknown.
Despite the gas stop, we made it to Hidden Villa (HV) only five minutes late. Following directions faithfully, we arrived at the cabin and found several people sprawled on the floor dressed in old, comfortable shirts and jeans. No one looked quite awake.
Soon we had met Lynne, the voice over the telephone, and the other guides, both new and old. The already trained guides were getting their first batch of kids today. It was a morning of beginnings.
Wally, another HV staff member, asked us to write down a “value” to share with everyone before we began the day. Some people told of why they were here at HV; others mentioned beautiful things that they had seen and valued that morning, such as the fog on the hills or the cool fresh air; some imply spoke out on something they had on their minds, and some just said they were tired!
I gave a quote from Hugh Prather’s “Notes on Love and Courage,” which I like very much, and which has been on my mind a great deal lately. “Love, the magician, knows this little trick whereby two people walk in different directions yet always remain side by side.”
After sharing our value-papers, we split into two groups. Lynne took over the four of us that were starting at HV from the very beginning. There were three Stanford students— Sheryl, Betsy and myself—and Kim, a student at Foothill College.
First of all, we simply sat at a picnic table outside and talked. Again, value papers with a specific format were the jumping off point, but soon the five of us were chattering about an enormous variety of subjects as though we’d known each other for years. This wasn’t all that surprising since it was clear from the values we had written down that we all shared many similar values. A concern with environmental awareness, the preservation of open space, and the quality of our lifestyles and human impact on the earth were all common bonds between us. So, talk flowed easily and interestingly.
Lynne then told us a little about the history of HV and the Duveneck family, to give us a sense of where we were. We then embarked on a general tour of the farm and some of the nearby trails.
It was a beautiful morning—the fog had cleared and left a perfect blue-sky day. Our first stop was the organic garden. Wally was running a vegetable “beauty contest” for about nine second-graders. It was interesting that, even though the children had been told that the vegetables had no toxic sprays on them, they instantly, instinctively rushed to wash off each vegetable piece before eating it. As for us, we each ate a small cherry tomato and moved on. The farm gave a sense of being very old and very well taken care of. It seemed solidly implanted in this canyon, with the spaciousness that comes from having plenty of land.
We watched Chris directing six kids in the “cross the river” game, involving cooperation and contact between them. Then we inspected the chicken coop and fed the turkey and chicken ourselves. The palm of the hand had to be held stiff and flat or the sharp pecks could really hurt! Three geese and a gander paraded over the pasture, the geese following demurely and even walking in step. We collected peacock feathers and met the two Guernsey calves, one shy but one friendly.
Moving on to the pigpen, we were introduced to all the pigs and were told about how slaughtering was done on the farm. We then continued around, briefly meeting lambs and sheep, ducks, and Dave, the manager of the farm.
After stocking up on some water, Lynne led us out on the Pipeline trail. We first stopped for lunch at the Big Rock and talked quite a bit about recycling, waste and other topics related to our baggies and aluminum cans.
The trail ran along a steep south-facing hillside of chaparral, and despite the dryness, it seemed very similar to Jasper Ridge, (a nature preserve used by Stanford). Many of the plants were unrecognizable to me because they looked so different after a hot, dry summer, but they were the same familiar ones.
Lynne touched briefly on several different games—Ranger, where one person points out to each of the others a single interesting thing along the trail; giving plants new names just by looking at them rather than rotely ticking off the correct name when asked; an alone wall; shifting authority to a puppet; “find that color” in nature with sample paint cards, and many others. The canyon was extremely beautiful—steeply wooded hillsides unbroken by houses or clearings. The canyon seemed like a glimpse of what most of the Santa Clara mountains used to look like.
We worked well together as a group, sharing ideas, staying aware, and just having a good time. Though there seemed to be a great deal to learn, the prospect of actually taking children out and doing this for real was very exciting.
I probably had somewhat of an advantage in feeling at ease with the barrage of techniques presented to us, because of my familiarity with the area’s ecology and the fact that I had led some kind of tour before. Many of these games have been partially incorporated into the Jasper Ridge program, so it wasn’t all new to me.
Nevertheless, already I could sense some fundamental differences between the approaches I was used to at Jasper Ridge and the approaches I would have to learn at HV. Tours at Jasper Ridge consist of generally well-educated adults, often with a scientific background or at least a basic idea of science. So there I can explain the intricacies of allelopathy, natural selection, Mg/Ca ratios in the soil, the biochemistry of wasps ovipositing on oaks and producing galls, etc. Adults also generally want to know the names of things, and history, and administration, and many other facets of the Ridge.
While we try to present the ecology of the area as a whole and point out various good examples of various ecological concepts, it is pretty much approached from an analytical, scientific viewpoint. Which, for the people of the Jasper Ridge tours, works well.
HV has a completely different viewpoint. Making the children aware is the key—not simply “teaching” them. All the strategies at HV are designed to make children think for themselves. Dogma isn’t simply handed down, to be forgotten next week. Children are a wonderful opportunity—now is the time to install an awareness. I can’t seriously expect to ask a group of Stanford alums to suddenly stop and hug a tree, talk to it and whisper it secrets for five minutes. (Though at times I would love to do just that—it might have quite an effect!) But children are another story.
An analytical “this is that” and “x causes y” message can be told. It needs to be told to a lot of adults, simply because for many, it’s the only way to get through. But if, with a little guidance, the kids come up with “x causes y” on their own, how much greater an effect it is bound to have.
As one of our last experiences, Lynne talked us through a 5-minute session at the “hugging tree.” Some boys of about 14 walked by us: “I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it, but there were five ladies hugging that tree,” we overheard one tell a friend. There was amusement in his voice, certainly. But not a trace of derision.
Back at the cabin, Lynn played her dulcimer and we sang a few goodies from the Sierra Club songbook together, just to wind down a little. Armed with guidelines and a good idea of where we would be going at HV, we set off for home. Already the ranch seemed like a familiar place.
Oct. 16
Today was our second day of training at HV, and this time Wally took us “big people.” Though a sunny morning from the start, it was also fairly cold and Betsy and I made ourselves popular by lighting the stove.
Our first stop was the garden, where we picked some comfrey to feed the sheep, and saw the “red-bottomed bugs” in the old corn shucks. Of course, when we picked the comfrey, we had to thank the plant for letting us have its leaves. We jogged to the chicken coop to see if they would like some leaves, but although they pecked at it (I believe they’d peck at anything held out to them!), they didn’t seem particularly thrilled with it. The sheep were also too full of morning feed to eat much, but they were friendly nonetheless. Wally showed us how to act out the proper way to feed the animals—role-playing is not only fun for the children, it makes a much deeper impression also. It also made a deep impression on us—watching Wally roll his eyes and nibble on the leaves as a sheep was unforgettable. Wally is a natural for his job—as a friend of his recently told me, “he has the necessary weirdness!” Everything is still “Oh, wow!” to Wally, and he infects his kids with his attitude.
For the rest of the day, Wally led us back into the “wilderness,” teaching strategies right and left. Our hike eventually led us up to Ewing Hill for lunch, and then down the grapevine trail in a loop. We probably touched upon or did at least 30 different strategies, all unique and somewhat startling. We woke up some lichens and heard the story of Freddy Fungus and Alice Algae; pretended to be cameras, absorbing one particular image after closing our eyes; played the non-natural scavenger hunt; the tree shake for bugs; “blinders,” that restricts vision to only what’s above (particularly beautiful this morning with the sun backlighting the trees); made trail tea of pennyroyal and Yerba Buena; did the penny hike and created an ant pleasure palace; a blind walk to feel things; along Burma Shave walk, including a card instructing us to walk barefoot; thumb-up, thumbs-down; the smell of the mystery plant (almond extract—it turned out to be toyon); know your rock; rump-bump down the hill; Simon says; and many, many more. Wally kept us busy! Lunch was at the very scenic top of Ewing Hill, with a view of the Bay and its accompanying smog, which of course starts even more strategies of “where does the smog come from?” “Aren’t we all responsible for it?” etc. Despite the bewildering barrage of techniques showered on us, it was a fun and relaxing day, with both its very quiet moments and boisterous ones.
By the end, we were still appalled at how much we had to learn, but we had a much more solid feel for the common elements of all the techniques—awareness, responsibility, thinking it through, caretakership.
We’d also had a lot of fun, although Kim tried to kill us by sprinting downhill at a dead run during Rump-Bump! It was also valuable to get a few more trails under our belts.
We finished the day by visiting the milking barn and the cows and listening to Summerday’s stomach gurgle. Then Wally gave us a recap and told us that we’d get our first batch of kids in two weeks. Eeek! We only have one more training time before we’re set loose on the children (or is it vice versa?)
Oct. 10: Evening
Though not properly “a day at HV,” the family potluck held here that we all went to was still an important part of getting to know HV and its people. Everyone was there, from old Frank Duveneck down to us, the brand-new guides. Mary Hallesy, one of the original staff members, was also there, living up to her energetic totem of “hummingbird.” She guided the evening, beginning with the old bike-tire circle and carrying through dinner, the puppet shows, the slide show given to kids in the classroom, and other activities. It was a lovely, warm gathering of lovely people, all making us feel like we’d belonged to HV for two years instead of two weeks. Frank got up and told a great old story about the night one of the cows didn’t come home, and we played the “who’s most important” and “the forest dragon” puppet shows with the children there, mostly children of staff members and guides. Those kids had their ecology down, for sure! But wonderful as this all was, to me the really special part began after most people had gone home except for a few of us that stayed to do dishes and clean up. Two people got out guitars, and about eight of us just stood around singing every song we could think of, and then some, led by Mary with her clear mezzo and guided at times by her Sierra Club songbook, which she helped put together. I love to sing, and I especially love to sing with other people who love to sing. But what made our songfest even more special to me was the fact that they were the exact same old, well-loved songs that I had sung around campfires in the mountains all summer—and a flood of good, special memories came back to me as we sang. Few things could’ve made me feel more at home.
When I tried to analyze the feeling that emanates from HV as a whole, all I could come up with was something that sounds very trite and corny, but also sounds true. IT’S A PLACE OF LOVE. Why do we do this, spend our time trying to instill an awareness and respect for how the world works in children? Certainly, we all have our personal goals, our hope of gaining something ourselves from the experience—but in essence, in basic fact, we do it out of love. And maybe that’s why everyone there seems to have such an abundance of love—for the children, for each other, for the work they do and for the place itself.
Oct. 23
I’m afraid this day will always remain in fog in my memory, for I had picked up a nasty cold the day before and was at the height of my misery. I hung in there, but it seemed like a very long day.
Betsy had recruited a friend of hers, Gabby, to join us at HV, so the Stanford contingent was now up to four. Even though everything was new to Gabby, she didn’t appear to have any trouble absorbing it all.
Lynne took care of us today, and we began by hiking the Hostel trail, a major trail that we had yet to go on. Ranger, Burma Shave, and Predator-Prey strategies got us up the hill. I led the Burma Shave walk but couldn’t yelp loudly enough for the people behind me to hear. Lynne also had us dinosaur role-play, told us the story of the Ohlone Indians from the top of Elephant Mountain, and later rump-bumped off the hill. We ate lunch on a chaparral hillside, played some puppets, and wrote down some feelings about the land after hearing the story of Chief Seattle. The hills echoed with the sounds of children all day—two busloads of third-graders had arrived, and taken over. It was somewhat appalling to realize that this was our last day of training, and next week we would be given our own group of screaming little beasties! For finally, at last, the staff was running out of major new strategies to teach us. We were about a primed as we could be.
After a quick visit to the John Muir rock (commemorating the start of the Loma Prietan Chapter of the Sierra Club here at HV), Lynne led us along Adobe Creek back towards the farm. One pool had some water in it, so we took some time to investigate what critters lived there, with the help of a straining net. Lynne was curious about Jasper Ridge and asked me some questions about it as we walked back.
On the farm, we found a baby rabbit to hold, petted a butterfly, collected goose and peacock feathers, said hello to the calves, and hiked up to the birdhouse for a demonstration of what can be done with feathers. The birdhouse used to be Josephine Duveneck’s hillside retreat. As the last step, we visited the garden and the compost pile, to eat a few goodies from the farmer and feel the warmth of the latter. Back at the hut, we found all the guides munching out on melon and popcorn and singing to wind down the day. Lynne took us behind the hut for a few tidbits of safety and first-aid advice and rules.
“Well, do you feel ready?” asked Betsy as we walked out—a general question from all of us to all of us. No one answered. Ready enough to give it a try, for sure. After I get rid of this dang-blasted cold, though!
Oct. 3: THE BIG DAY!!!
It had been a long week, and I woke up Thursday grumpy and tense. The last thing I felt like doing was taking on half-dozen fifth-graders—I had two midterms the following day. But magically, once I started pouting around the house looking for things to bring on the man-made scavenger hunt, I suddenly was psyched. I realized that I, in actuality, had been getting adequate sleep, and I felt good enough to take on anything. Well, almost…
Betsy, on the other hand, looked worn out before the day started. She hoped to team with someone today. No dice—there were too many kids coming, and barely enough guides. We were all going to take our own groups.
Our morning chore started the day off peacefully enough—learning to card and spin wool. Betsy wasn’t the only one feeling tired this morning; it became apparent around the value circle. Nearly half our guides looked somewhat drained, and Lynne was sick. There was something rather ominous about the 68 10- to 11-year-olds arriving in a few minutes! But arrive they did, and Wally took over the first few minutes of a run-around game in the parking lot—designed, I’m sure, to use up some of the energy built up during a car ride. I was surreptitiously handed a slip of paper with six names on it —James, Miles, Lauri, Lisa, Robby and Joanne. I read off my names to the children, feeling more than a little like the announcer on some stupid TV game show (… Come on down!). Six children obediently got up and followed me. “You can go ahead!” shouted Lynne cheerfully. OK, I thought, mustering every bit of courage I could. It’s you and me now, kids, I thought, as I looked into those innocent faces. They were so little. But as it turned out, it wasn’t going to be just us—I acquired a parent, Mrs. Griffith—on my way to the garden. I barely even remember how I started things off—I think with some general questions about HV and such. I was petrified. But they seemed to be docile kids, actually pretty quiet. They accepted picking comfrey for the sheep and thanking the plants loudly. Also, they seemed intrigued by the red-bottomed bugs in the corn husks. I began to feel less nervous.
Personalities were very easily established. James was our tough guy, our wise guy, but basically a good kid. Lisa was outgoing and fast-talking, but had this amazing ability to interrupt and change the subject. Joanne and Lauri were both painfully quiet, shy children, although Joanne sometimes seemed old for her years. Robby was our clean-cut kid with the freckles and fresh-scrubbed face, very polite and very eager to be friends. And Miles was our loner, who didn’t even feel quite a part of this group, who quietly hung back or tried to stay apart. So, they were a good group—diverse, reasonably easy to discipline, but hard, at times, to keep entertained, and even harder to actually teach.
Entertainment was not a problem in the morning on the farm, though. We had a through-the-fence visit with the horses, and then, after a brief role-play, went in with the sheep. The sheep were hungry but also frisky, butting each other around. This scared some of my kids a bit, but everyone got to pet a sheep and feel how thick the wool was. Several of my kids – all except James, really, to some extent—were amazingly afraid of all the animals, asking me repeatedly if they’d bite. I didn’t want to reinforce their fear by saying yes, but at the same time, I did have to warn them about some of the animals. Ticked off that even the usually docile sheep were adding to that fear, I went for the rabbits next. It was a good idea—the rabbits and hearing a little about them from Amy, who was feeding them then. The rabbits were a hit and everyone was enthused about visiting the pigs, our next step. The enormous pigs were another hit, as most of the kids had never seen a pig, and certainly not one this big. We got into a discussion of slaughtering, too, which made a point but perhaps too forcefully. Then we visited the chickens, who were also feisty today, and the children were pretty afraid of them, although a few did feed them. Several roosters were uncooperative, though, and the chickens were not nearly so popular.
It was now time to go into the wilderness. My kids all wanted to climb “this mountain here,” so I took them up Hostel Trail. Things never quite went right from the start – an after-lunch restlessness had set in. The trail was steep and the children tired quickly. The Colors (strategy) went over OK, but Ranger flopped. (Miles whining “So what? Moss growing on a tree—big deal.”) The man-made scavenger hunt went pretty well, although Miles picked up some of my things. But several wanted to play it again. I was frankly scared to try Burma Shave or any other “Howdy-Doody” games – I just didn’t have them with me, and I felt a little desperate. I tried a modified form of Ranger, having James and Miles, my most rambunctious kids, run ahead a little to find something neat to share. This actually worked pretty well for a while.
Who said little girls always have to go to the bathroom? My three little boys were the ones who had to go, but fortunately, we were at Buckeye Corners and there was a place for them. At Buckeye Corners, the questions of “How much farther to the top?” and “My feet hurt” kept coming, so I took a thumbs-up, thumbs –down about whether to go on or not. Of course, it split three and three—and my girls wanted to go on. So, I compromised. I said if we went a little farther we could have a neat view, and that seemed to satisfy everyone. I took them up to where they could see the ranch below and congratulated them on how high they had climbed up.
We then played rump-bump off the hill, which everyone seemed to like, even though they were afraid to run too fast and they wouldn’t get close to each other. After one sliding stop on the dirt, I stopped it, but I couldn’t stop James and Miles from running anyway the little bit down the rest of the hill. At the bottom of the hill, I felt definite regrouping was necessary. Miles and James were getting intractable, Lisa kept interrupting that she wanted to go see the rabbits again, and I knew that everyone was to some effect bored. So, quite impulsively, I laid it out on them. I told them that they were here in a group, not alone and that we had to behave as a group and think of others, not just what each themselves wanted to do. I laid it all out on them, quietly and seriously, and they knew I meant it. In comparison, they were all pretty docile after this. It worked!
My inspiration (we had about an hour left) was to go to the Big Rock and play, basically. I had them climb the big rock and sit on it and play camera looking up, and then I just let them scramble up and run down the rock. Miles, my loner, sat off a little apart and played with some sticks and rocks or something. He was in sight, and the other kids were getting energized, so I left him alone for a little while. Then, during a lull, I went over and knelt beside him and just talked with him, and asked him why he was bored and such. I think I got through, but he still just wanted to sulk. We played a partners’ form of hide-and-go-seek, which was a smash success, and though at first, Miles wouldn’t play, when he saw how much fun we were having he jumped up and said, “I want to play!” So he was with us, then. And my final trick was starting a leaf fight, which everyone loved, particularly as the little devils had the bright idea of ganging up on me and burying me. I had a whole lot of bay leaves in my hair! But that ensured a good ending to the day, as everyone got together and a real good feeling resulted.
Peabody, my purple puppet, was also a final positive note, as I introduced Peabody as Someone Who Didn’t Know Any Better and got in a little something there. We walked back, the kids all jabbering with me and advising me on what to dress up for Halloween. They were convinced I was married and lived at HV. Also, several of them—Robby and Joanne, especially—thanked me profusely for the day and didn’t want to leave. I got them all safely back to the bleachers at 2:15, where Wally sang a few songs with them and made some closing remarks. After the kids left, everyone (the guides) stayed on the bleachers and talked about the ups and downs of the day. It had been a varied day, listening to the accounts.
When I thought back on my day, I realized it had gone up and down, but overall it had been positive, particularly considering that it was truly the first attempt. Looking back, I was appalled at some of the glaring errors I had made, the bad decisions, the opportunities missed, the important ideas rushed over. Yet, at the same time, I had made some good decisions, and handled more than a few things right, too. It was unbelievable, how much I felt I had learned just in this one day—some of them so basic and helpful, too. Just to keep track of things, here are some of the things I did wrong, with suggestions for improvement.
Beginning—I should’ve taken more time to stop and get to know the kids as people right away, and established more of a group sense and overall purpose right from the start. Sheep: should’ve slowed this down, made it more serious, talked about sheep more, and in general just prepared them more for it mentally before going in. Pigs: downplay slaughtering next time unless you’ve had a lot leading up to it. Also, talk about pigs more before you get there. Chickens: again slow down, talk about feed quietly, take only three in at a time. Something I left out but should include, is the gathering of feathers, possibly leading to a birdhouse visit. Advice: don’t take kids who are afraid in with the cows next time. Do the calves instead—no one can be afraid of a calf. General advice: don’t tell the kids what you think you’re going to do next—then they stop paying attention to what they’re doing now. Expectations aren’t good to set up.
Lunch: should’ve stressed more that Miles won a very bad contest. Also, possibly slowed down the Mountain more. Advice: stay off Hostel trail that time of day—play Group Ranger only. Think up some sort of reward for Colors. Do something active: role-play, puppets, when boredom sets in. Don’t be afraid to do an Alone Walk to serious things up. Always stay ahead in Rump-Bump when they go too fast. Tell more Indian stories. Turn Hide-and-go-seek into Predator-Prey. Involve the quiet children actively. Don’t let them get strung out. (The parent made this tough.) Turn water-drinking into a ceremony.
At the end, ask questions—“What did you like best? Least?” etc.—as a wrap-up. As a general rule, ask more questions of the kids—stop and get them to talk.
Whew! A lot of advice, for a lot of mistakes. The trail was particularly handled poorly, and I missed a lot of opportunities. I wondered whether I was doing justice to these kids’ one chance to see HV. I realized how much I have to learn.
Yet, on the other hand, I did some things right, too. We talked about land use and values—they got to know the animals and look at bugs. They smelled maple syrup and looked for colors and had Band-Aids and felt proud of how far they hiked. Everyone handled the snake and tarantula, heard the lichen story and knew all about manure and strawberry milkshakes. And for a large part of it, they had fun. I got the group together again when I had to, and everyone left feeling good. The day was hardly a loss. But when I learn more, how much better it will be!
Several things were really perspective shakers and worth mentioning. One of these is that I am old to these kids. I’m the equivalent of a teacher. They were surprised to learn I wasn’t married. I am old, and in a way I have to act old, not like an insecure somewhat older student. Of course, in other ways, I have to act young; but I need to realize how the kids view me as a whole.
Another biggie is remembering that it’s the kids’ day, and their only one, not just a single day out of a two-quarter course of mine. This is their only chance—they don’t come back next week like I do. This requires a shift in perspective—the day is not just something to be lived through; for me, it’s a personal challenge to deal with. It is an entire experience for the kids, and I must remember to try to give it some sort of unity for them.
And last but not least, I have to learn to separate my ego from this job. My job is to guide, to teach important things, to make an impact. It is not simply to entertain and be popular with the kids. My popularity should never be a factor influencing me. It’s what the kids get out of the day that’s important, not how much they like me. And sometimes this means I can’t just please them, with sacrificing a game that is important. I have to take risks, and some things won’t work—but little is gained if I don’t try. I need to concentrate on the good some strategy did for a child, not the fact that another child might’ve have been bored. Never will the whole day go angelically. There will always be some problems. But the cliché stands true—nothing risked, nothing gained.
Nov. 6
Good, I was so jazzed this morning. It had been a busy yet relaxing week—with midterms over—and I was very psyched for the East Palo Alto third-graders. Betsy and Gabby had midterms the next day, and it’s amazing the difference in attitude that can make! It began overcast but cleared into a gorgeous crisp fall day, all the colors glowing. Extra guides had come for today, and everyone was excited at what the day might become.
We waited in the parking lot for the buses to arrive—“Ravenwood kids are always late,” said Wally – and played new games to pass the time—riddles, Cookie, Superman, The Gauntlet, the Indian chant, etc. Still no kids. We all looked at our watches apprehensively, wondering if we’d have time to go far before lunch. Finally, Lynne called the school and found that because of some bureaucratic mix-up, the buses had been unavailable and the kids had no way to get up here. Both the kids and the teachers were very disappointed, of course, and we were crushed. We’d been so psyched, and it was such a beautiful day!
But there was no help for it—the kids couldn’t come. So, we reorganized—a few guides went home, but several of us stayed to help with some chores and learn some new games and strategies. Irene, Deidre and I fixed a poster or two in the birdhouse, and reviewed some feather strategies at the same time; at the hut, we helped make a new “bird beak” poster and learned tracks and bones from Lynne. Then Wally taught us several excellent role-plays—The Tree, Chocolate Factory, Apple World, Little Miracles, and other marvelous games and ideas. We then discovered several new trails—Disaster and Grape trails, in particular—that looked excellent, and well worth adding to our repertoire. So the day was hardly a total loss. It was basically a short, easy-going day of extra training. But I was surprised a bit, and pleased, at how truly disappointed I was when we heard the kids couldn’t come. I felt no relief, but only true regret. Poor kids! After being all primed and ready to go, too! And it was such a lovely day. But, perhaps the added knowledge will pay off in the long run, as we feel more prepared than ever with terrific ideas up our sleeves. Now—to relax and remember—that is the key!
Wally told us that we’d have sixth-graders doing special projects next week – spinning wool, weaving, paper-making, etc. plus “thematic” groups. The “Trees” idea sounded marvelous to me and I promptly volunteered. It was an idea that had actually occurred to me the night before as being a good way to structure the day. Also, here a little of what I do know about trees, in general, can come to use. The idea excites me a great deal and I’m looking forward to next week more than I could’ve thought possible. Already ideas are spinning!
Nov. 13: The Day That WAS
It appeared as though it would be a splendid day—cold, crisp, sunny, with autumn filling the air. Poor Wally was somewhat disturbed trying to get everything organized for this special day—there were paper-making, wool-spinning, bones and tracks, and thematic groups all going on today, and it took organization. I found myself teamed with an unfamiliar older lady named Fran and given a group of sixth-graders interested in birds. The “trees” theme had been scrapped from lack of children, but birds sounded like the next best thing. It was very cold in the shack and the parking lot sun felt wonderful.
Wally began the day with a rain-dance (evaporation, condensation, precipitation), and then we quickly broke into groups. My kids—Mike, Candace, Greg, Susie, Danny, and Tuesday—all appeared energetic and raving to go. We were scheduled first on the paper-making, and poor Lynne was still running around trying to get everything set up. My kids were fascinated and in no time had made their paper circles and left them to dry. Next, we visited one of the hostel cabins and set to carding and spinning wool. The kids were amazingly good at it, and the boys didn’t even seem to know or care that they were doing women’s work. Spinning takes cooperation but they had it down soon. Next, we constructed a weaving frame from 4 sticks and some prepared yarn. We hung the frame on the fence post and then voted for a hike—it was still too chilly in the shade, and we needed some warming up! I was astonished at how lively these kids were. They were running uphill instead of complaining that their feet hurt. Fran led the trail stuff as a whole, and we pretty much kept moving with only brief stops for various things to examine. Susie’s knapsack became stuffed with all sorts of things that were collected. Fran emphasized actual names and specific plants more than anyone else I’ve seen do at HV, but she didn’t overdo it and it seemed to work for this age group. Everything worked with these kids—smells, lichens, plants, north-south slopes, everything. They were eager, excited, yet at all times easy to handle. We took Hostel trail to Buckeye Corners and then turned up the Toyon Hill shortcut. The only thing which didn’t seem to go over well was rest, but even this they tolerated. They loved a long Rump-Bump, of course, and we ended at the well-loved Big Rock for lunch. We did a few lunch strategies, but they had them all pretty down. I tried the apple-world strategy and got a good response from the kids, but my parent piped up with a “Well, technology will change all of that.” I wanted to kill him—the attitude that elected Reagan. … “It will all work out right eventually, you know.”
We, at this point, were actually pressed for time and had to go straight to the birdhouse. This also went over well—Feathers and Wings were a definite hit, and they learned a lot from the pictures of beaks and predator-prey. We covered everything we could think of between us about feathers and they loved it. We then had to hurry back and put our weaving together, and squeeze in a last-minute quickie Bones, Teeth and Tracks session. As a matter of fact, Lynne had to chase us out back to the parking lot.
Here all the groups gathered around Wally for the last few songs, and while I was turning in our check sheet, the kids in my group got together and decided on their own what to chant for their part in the HV Concert. Each group was supposed to shout, in rhythm, what had been the most special about the day. I almost cried when my kids shouted loudly, on cue from Wally, “Being with our guides.” All I could say was “You guys are great!” And give them a collective bear hug—I had three on one side, three on the other. They really were a terrific bunch, and it was warm and sweet to shake all of their hands and know they had had a wonderful day. Of course, I can hardly take all the credit, but I did feel very good about the day. It showed me what HV can be, and how marvelous it is when it does work.
And moments stand out. … Candace so thrilled when I gave her a band-aid from the band-aid plant. … all of them demanding more and more drops of water on their feathers. … little Tuesday, actually a fourth-grader, who craved so much a hand to hold, a physical touch, … the three boys, energetic little things but very into what was going on…Susie so proud to carry the weaving backpack … the exuberant scramble up the Big Rock … the spontaneous 100-yard dashes on the farm … Mike claiming to know all about beaks, until it was put to him bluntly… the five different bird calls … anxiously checking paper… the lovely, clear, sharp day making it all easy because everything was so beautiful.
This day taught me many things, also. … That it can work and I can make it work. That being relaxed is the single most important key to it all. That kids are smart and not to be underestimated. That some kids are wonderful human beings and maybe the future isn’t so hopeless after all!
And Candace turned to me and said, “Wouldn’t it be neat if we got up every morning and made the paper we needed for the day, and then used it over again when we were through?” Oh, dear God, I think she’s got it!
Nov. 20: The Day That Despite Everything….
We had a riddle for the morning—what is 90-feet long, 30-feet wide, weighs 180 tons and travels 2-and-a-half miles per hour? We came up with everything from a huge, giant, prehistoric chicken (Gabby, of course) to a very short creek. The answer: the Mayflower.
And so we began our day with the children, third and fourth-graders from Palo Alto. Right from the start, they looked like an energetic bunch. I was given five names—Judy, Matthew, Shawna, Simon and Dolores—and we began. I was immediately impressed by how loud these children were, but I just let them all jabber at once at first—not that I could’ve done much about it anyway. I led off with some general questions and such but found their attention span short even now. They were totally enthralled with the horses and asked the usual questions—Can we ride them? Etc. We were scheduled for Wilderness first, so I led them towards Disaster Trail.
My first strategy failed somewhat. I tried Magic Circle, and three children did well at it, but two spent the time climbing Big Rock; and Simon, in particular, practically ran away and paid no attention. I led them along the creek, telling them to be extra-specially observant. Already I found Simon to be a problem child. He cut in front of the other kids, ran ahead, paid no heed to my directions, and was in general obstreperous. Although the other kids got into their rocks as planets, Simon blithely tossed his planet away with a “so what?”, somewhat ruining it for the rest. He then wandered off while I tried—unsuccessfully—to catch bugs in a little pool in the creek. Oh, that first part was a struggle, all right. None of my children seemed capable of keeping quiet. Asking them a question and requesting that they do not say their answers out loud was a sure-fire way to get all five shouting at once. Oh, I shouldn’t be too hard on them—they were only trying to please. But it was taxing on the nerves.
We went up the trail, smelling pearly—evaluating—evaluating (fake pancake syrup, said one—most thought the smell was ugly), watching some ants from an ant’s eye view, doing a penny hike and building an ant pleasure palace; looking for holes, listening to birds, etc. I began to feel better—they were more with me now. But Simon still refused to play, his only comment was that he wanted lunch. I soon had trouble balancing push-ahead kids—Simon and Judy—and tired kids—Matthew and the rest. We were forced to take frequent rests, and even a short semi-lunch at one point. Shawna was hanging back to look at things, Simon pushing on, and the others in between. Things were OK, but just barely so. I was thankful to reach the top of the hill, where Linda and some very active children were “resting.” We didn’t stay long, but rump-bumped down quickly, stopping to look at a few things along the way. The kids liked rump-bumping a good deal, and I managed to teach them some things without their knowing it. We had to stop, though, when Shawna hurt an ankle—and I was appalled when several of my children, in total disregard for their classmate, pleaded to keep running anyway. I put my foot down. Next, I tried an alone walk, introducing Randolph, and setting it up in teams for everyone except Dolores. It was moderately successful.
We met at the bay tree amphitheater for a final lunch, to tell Randolph about the alone walk, and to read, in turns, the Giving Tree and thank the trees for all sorts of things. The kids were very good at this. I also did Apple World, which made a pretty big impression.
Things were altogether swinging towards positive when we approached the farm. The kids enthusiastically ran to meet the pigs with squeals. Next, we visited rabbits and held a little baby gray one, and then went in with the sheep. We thanked the pigs, thanked the sheep and dug our fingers into their wool, gave them a big hug—though Dolores and Simon were stubbornly more fascinated by the horses—visited and fed the chickens, hugged the calves—In all, the animals were all successful, as the kids loved furry contact and quite mutually came up with lots to thank all the various ones for.
I next headed for the hut and had them all riveted by keeping one “surprise animal” we were going to visit a secret. On the way, we saw some kittens and watched a mother cat bring in a scrub jay for its kittens. The hut was almost the most successful of all—none of my children were afraid of either the tarantula or snake, and they would’ve handled them all day if we’d had time. Dolores let a tarantula walk over her hand, although afraid at first—and the kids argued over who could get the snake next.
We were now almost out of time; as my final words, I told them that today was Thanksgiving. No, that’s next week, they all chorused. “Is it? What have you done all day?” I countered. Then each child thanked the one thing or animal they had liked best. Lynne did a little wrap-up, and the day was done. All the children shook hands and thanked me, except Simon, who was still determined to be obnoxious.
Some thoughts: it was a good day overall, and got progressively better as it went along. Simon disrupted the entire day deliberately and kept me hopping. I was concentrating on keeping track of him much of the time rather than guiding. But on the whole, I handled the situation, not expertly, but adequately. The children were, on the whole, pushy, self-centered, loud and inconsiderate of each other. I don’t mean to be hard on them, but it was true. Though Simon was the worst, he brought it out in the others too. Their attention spans were short and they were fond of interrupting. They never wanted to jell into a group—it was always “me first.” They promptly forgot many of my instructions about the animals. They were abnormally afraid of heights, a little dirt, and a microscopic scratch or two.
On the other hand, they were wonderful at thanking. They hugged the sheep and calves and were fearless of the snake and spider. They were often observant and always laughing. Even Simon found a feather to look at. Matthew carried his planet faithfully. Dolores walked alone. Shawna hung back to look more carefully. Judy spent all day with her hand in mine. They responded well to many things. On the whole, they got a great deal out of the day, even Simon. Shawna thanked “everything” at the end of the day.
Sharing with other guides, I decided my group must only have been of medium difficulty. Others were exhausted! I shared apple-cake, which was a big hit, and we did some role-playing to try to work out difficulties. What to do with problem children?
I feel as though I’m becoming a lot more sure of what I’m doing now, but I still need help on the trail, particularly on how to get things started. I resolved that, before Tuesday, I would try to organize priorities to give me a better framework to work within. What’s really important to get across?
Nov. 25, My Lord, What A Morning….
Things weren’t quite usual today—for a reason. It was a Tuesday, and I was guiding today to make up for not being here during Finals Week. So I didn’t pick up Betsy, but met Gabby, Sheryl, Lynne and Chris in the strangely quiet hut—we were it for the day because several guides had called in sick at the last minute. So it was going to be a relatively big-group day, with Los Altos fourth-graders from a Catholic School. But it was such a lovely day, and we felt ready enough.
Chris began with the Mayflower riddle and the big circle. In the mayhem after the riddle, I found myself surrounded by a cluster of little girls who for some unknown reason insisted that I be their guide. Official approval was given and off we went—seven giggling, beaming fourth-grade girls, and one fifth-grade girl, all holding hands and already singing.
This was the most unbelievable group. Eager, observant, sharp kids, yet all of them were very easy to handle, and they were very good about being a group. We headed up Disaster Trail by way of the pigs, initially thanking Frank at his sign. They noticed everything. Scat of all kinds, toyon and bay smells, lichens, moss to their cheeks (“like yarn on a rug”), turkey-tail fungus, rose-hips, turret spiders, etc., etc. They wanted to decompose everything, loudly and vigorously! We had a little water ceremony and initial thank-yous in the bay amphitheater and played a very spontaneous ranger on up the hill. (Thank-you, water, for rain, for my swimming pool, for drinking.) Toyon was deemed “cherries or lemons” and pearly everlasting “pancakes.” We walked silently as Indians and talked about whether deer would have heard us, and listened to the birds and airplanes. We speculated about holes in the ground, felt fluffy seeds, the inside of acorns, talked about buckeyes, and much, much more.
At the top of the hill, we had a snack and went through a lot of the lunch strategies. I read them “The Mountain” and they really got into it. “The color’s all gone!” We talked about smog, about dinosaurs, about land ethics, and on and on. On the way down we played rump-bump combined with the rocks, and oh, they were good about their rocks. Rump-bump, as always, worked well.
At the creek, we drank our tea with a little “Why are we lucky?” ceremony beforehand. I then set up the man-made scavenger hunt, which also worked (everything worked today) and aimed for lunch on the Big Rock. Kelly managed to fall down in the creek and bruise a hand and knee, but everyone gathered around, and soon her tears dried and she was fine. Many of the kids said they were lucky because of their teacher, or their parents, or their guide. It was really sweet.
The yellow toilet by the Big Rock fascinated my children. We read the Giving Tree, all of us, at lunch and talked about where “away” is. Danielle had fun dropping her sandwich off the rock once—it was pretty funny. They all ran off the rock into my arms, and we had a brief leaf-fight before heading back to the ranch. We saw a cat eating a mouse, and the bunnies, then went in to hug and thank sheep. No baby bunnies seemed apparent, unfortunately, and the calves were also out of commission. (They had been castrated that morning.) However, the sheep were good, the chickens so-so as always (goddam roosters always scaring them). We gathered feathers, thanked Frank again, and went to the hut for a tarantula and snake session.
The tarantula was a big hit with about half of them, but the snake was deemed “neat” by all. Time running out, we rushed to compost our garden and, singing “banana slug” loudly, regrouped at the bleachers. My kids absolutely crowded around me—I had Su-Yen behind me braiding my hair, and Kelly on my lap, with the others close by. Our “instrument” in the “orchestra” was “climbing the mountain.” We sang “I don’t know, “ and I, surrounded by little children, looking up into the chaparral hills and blue sky, with the sun warm on me—I smiled and realized I really don’t. How somehow primeval it felt, to walk back with children hanging all over me, singing…
They were a great group. Kelly, Kelly, Nadia, Su-Yen, Danielle, Ann-Marie and – ? (The face is clear, but the name escaped me totally.)
I shouldn’t make them out to be angels, because they weren’t. They were fussy about some things and once or twice shrieked around the animals. But in general, they were the neatest, most loving, most responsive group I’ve had yet. “I’m lucky because God made me,” said Ann-Marie slyly. They all wanted to know if I’d be their guide when they came back in the spring—they were such an ego trip! They kept repeating what a wonderful guide I was and so on—heavens, no wonder I liked them and they liked me. I still wonder what made them choose me so fervently. … But for whatever reason, I’m glad they did.
(OOPS—can’t forget hugging the big, big old oak tree, and “Oh, Mrs. Guide! Mrs. Guide! Look!,” and the story of the gall-wasp nursery…
Dec. 4: The Day We Expected to Get Wet and Didn’t….
It had rained steadily the entire previous day—winter had arrived. Though the sky didn’t look bad, we fully expected to spend the day in rain, and hauled along ponchos and ideas for indoor things. As it turned out, it was sunny most of the day, and we had a bright, fresh-washed HV to play with.
The children come from a school in Mountain View—a mixed group of third graders, who had all visited HV once before. So we were split into definite “Farm” and “Wilderness” groups this time. I ended up with a list of five little boys scheduled to do farm, but one didn’t show. Four is a small group. They were George, James, Jimmy and Enrique. “Some of them won’t speak English,” Lynne told me calmly right before I read their names. My mouth dropped open. Oh–my–God… but I was in luck. They all were perfectly fluent. Jimmy was white, Enrique and George Mexican-American, and James vaguely Oriental—not that made any difference, of course. I was a little nervous about all boys, but it turned out that my fears were unfounded.
We began in the garden, picking comfrey for the animals and thanking the plants, and moved to the pigs—a shock as always. (Ugh! Why do they live in the mud like that?” “She’s so big!” They were pretty good at knowing that bacon, etc. came from pigs. I then took them on a very short hike to Hollow Oak Campground, telling stories about buckeyes, toyon, bay (“the spaghetti tree!”), decomposers, and such things. It was a magical morning, the rain having given “diamonds” to all the plants. (My boys reaching up to gently get their own diamonds from the branches.)
In the amphitheater, we thanked trees for everything we could think of, and then moseyed back, walking quietly like Indians, feeling moss against our faces, marveling at the smoothness of buckeyes and the thorniness of a seed coat. They were a marvelous group in the woods, responsive to nearly everything. Someone noticed an old rusty plow near the pigs, prompting a discussion on farming and wheat and the differences between brown and white bread.
I then asked my boys if they were ready to be very brave. “Sure!” I then went for the chickens and found them to be the most affable ever. All four children fed the chickens by hand without fear. “Does it hurt?” “No, it doesn’t hurt! It tickles!” This was the first time I ever felt that the chickens really worked. Hint: go to chickens early in the day— they’re not all stirred up that way, and you have more initial authority over the children. My boys also loved the peacock and the Chinese pheasant.
Next we traveled down to the sheep and rabbits, but unfortunately, there were not babies big enough to hold. My children had seen the sheep on their first trip to HV, which was a good thing because unexpectedly they were slaughtering two sheep in the barn just then. Donna warned me, so since we were already inside, I had them quickly hug and thank the sheep and tried to get the hell out of there. My boys wanted to watch the slaughtering, but I refused and herded them reluctantly away. Not only would it have shocked them, it would’ve affected me; and besides, it’s HV policy that the kids can watch the butchering but not the killing itself. I got out of there and warned Betsy on my way.
By this time it was nearly lunch, so I headed up the path to the birdhouse. Screams told me that a group was in there, so we stopped on the sunny hill for a brief snack and the basic lunch strategies—the boys helping me along into a very nice tangent on trees and paper, and how wasting paper means we have to cut down all the forests, and chain-cutting, etc. Since Leslie’s group was still not done in the birdhouse, we came back down to visit cats and cows—my brave boys walking right up to Summerday, patting her, marveling at her runny nose, listening to her four stomachs grumble, etc. After thanking the cow for milk, meat, leather, etc., we were going to fetch our things and go up to the birdhouse, but we then got our first (and only) sprinkle of the day. So I took them in to see the calves, and feel Little Mac’s long furry coat in contrast to his Mom’s. (“They’ve got big brown eyes.”) By this time it had stopped raining.
One of the cats was extremely friendly, so much so that she followed us up the hill. In the little house, we first looked at bird beaks, then ate lunch while examining wings and feathers, listening, looking with a magnifying glass and the ever-popular shingle theory. (“It’s not wet!”) In addition, a little on bird underwear vs. flight feathers.
At the bottom of the birdhouse hill, we ran into Fran and Lynne’s group playing Simon Says, and joined them for a few moments. We played a short dash down the road—I forgot to mention Peanutbutter River in the morning—then looked at bones and teeth in one of the cabins. “What is it? What is it?” is the perennial question, but once I got them to start feeling teeth, they were fascinated. My boys were still as full of energy as could be, so in the 45 minutes remaining, we ran up Hostel Trail—we must have set a new world’s record. All but poor James wanted to race, but James hung in there and didn’t complain. After this calmed them down, I got in front of them and quickly taught them a few more things, re-emphasized other—toyon, mustache plant, cowboy cologne, Allen and Fredericka, lichen, decompose, etc. We were up the mountain to the view past Buckeye Corners in no time. Because of the rain we had an extraordinary view – we could see San Francisco and there was no smog. I was blown away. We then rump-bumped all the way back, my boys falling down almost on purpose and having a grand time altogether. Quickly we visited the compost pile and shared a carrot around the circle, each thanking whatever was the nicest thing about the day. “The mountain.” “The bones.” “The animals.” “The carrot.”(!) I’m glad the poor carrot got some thanks! We then reconvened for bleachers’ entertainment (Black Magic), shook my boys’ hands, and they were gone.
It had been a trying day for many of the other guides, so I felt especially lucky. My boys were energetic, interested, and extremely cooperative and responsive. The only time I had any problem toning them down was when they were within the four walls of the birdhouse. Outdoors, I couldn’t have asked for a nicer group. They weren’t especially knowledgeable, but they were very sensory and were willing to try anything. I think many things made a deep impression on them. It was interesting that although rapport was good and they obviously liked and respected me, these boys weren’t as starved for personal contact the way some of my other children have been. They weren’t constantly clinging to my hands, asking for hugs, singing, spontaneously talking to me all about their lives and asking endless questions about mine. Yet in a funny way it didn’t really hurt the day—it, if anything, made me able to actually guide and teach more. It was a great day overall, for I felt like they learned a lot while having a huge amount of fun.
What more could I ask?
Dec. 22, The Final Exam—and I Passed!
Today was a test, in a way—we, at last, had the third-graders from East Palo Alto, the Cavanaugh kids. That is the children from Palo Alto’s infamous ghetto. It was a cold, clear winter’s morning, with thick frost everywhere. We were all a little worried about how cold our children might be, for they wouldn’t exactly all have wool sweaters and down vests. However, the sun hit the parking lot, and after a few games to warm us up, we were ready for them. Chris taught us a great chant that goes like this:
“Wearing my red-tailed feathers
As I fly (repeat)
I circle around, I circle around
The boundaries of the earth.”
That we sang while weaving a circle. 68 children arrived—most of them black with a few Hispanics. No Caucasians. Leslie did a Mayhem HV game (I, as Sunset, was mobbed) and then we simply split into groups, with each of us walking up to a bunch and taking them. I managed to innocently walk up to the most problem children of the bunch—well, they didn’t look fearsome—but Lynne warned me and we agreed to a trade. I would take her somewhat larger high-energy bunch and she would take these real problems. Since I now had seven, I was also given a high school CEBA girl, Kelly, to help and follow along.
Johnny, Cedric, Nicole, Brian, Cilan, Carmicha, and Lawrence—all black except for Cilan; two girls and five boys. I took a deep breath—who was going to learn the most today, me or them?
It was to be totally a wilderness day today, as they had already seen nearly all of the animals on a previous trip. So we began by heading up the pig side of Disaster Trail. They were rowdy—many of the boys running ahead rather than wanting to listen. They were fascinated by buckeyes but wanted to throw them—however, I talked them into all planting the buckeyes they picked up, to grow a new buckeye tree. “Why do we care about a new buckeye tree if we can’t eat the buckeyes anyway?” grumbled Johnny. Which led rather neatly into the entire “thanking-trees” tangent—they began thinking about all the things that trees do give us, and they came up with a lot. I had to tell them about the air, and their eyes bugged wide, but they believed me. So we then thanked trees in the bay amphitheater, and trees became rather naturally a focus for the day.
On up the trail, we talked about milkshakes (which they came up with well), felt moss (which they had never heard of before), talked about erosion, picked and smelled Yerba Buena to make Trail Tea (a must on this chilly morning) and many other things along the way. Cedric at first refused to feel the moss, and I had to forcibly hold his wrist and make him feel it, but then he agreed that it “felt soft and neat.” During much of this uphill, several of the boys—Cedric, Johnny and Lawrence in particular—were definitely testing me. But I raised my voice (never shouting, but sometimes loudly firm) just enough times that I had ultimate full and complete control over them. If they ran ahead, I could call “come back, you guys” and they would, in general.
The tea-making had a wonderful impact, as did nearly all experiential, sensory things – feeling lichens, fungus, moss, tree bark, etc. They learned a whole lot about decomposers and soil-making. We soon climbed the mountains to a place in the sun with a view far, far down, where we stopped for lunch. Lunch prompted some terrific discussions about plastic, dinosaurs, mountains, tree, etc. (“We should recycle and use it over again” was the general agreement. Very interesting that these children’s first response was to reuse, recycle, not just waste—perhaps a connection to the more frugal [God, Gale, don’t mince words—the more poverty-stricken] lives they have? Quite a difference from my wealthy Wasps whose first response was “throw it away.”) Yet, very curiously, these children also didn’t have the concept of not littering as firmly entrenched—as Cedric and Johnny at first took their Welch’s grapefruit cans and threw them into a bush. I made them retrieve them, with peer pressure on my side. (“They’ll rust and they won’t decompose” proclaimed Nicole.) We also had a nice discussion on paper and wasting paper. (“Use paper bags over again, said Brian, and they all were in agreement that it was better to save trees and not waste paper.)
On the question of, “What would you do if you owned the land?” Cedric began by saying he would take a big bulldozer and clear the mountain and build a huge playground. Asking the others if they agreed with him, I got a loud chorus of both “Yes” and “No!” Why not? Why save the trees? “Because they give us air and stuff.” “Well, I’ll keep planting more trees when I cut them down,” amended Cedric. Do you know how long it takes a tree to grow?” “Yea, you’d be dead ‘cause of no air a long time before that,” someone piped in. The result: a wonderful, spontaneous consensus that we should be saving fossil fuels, metals, and paper… and the children didn’t even realize what a wonderful conclusion they’d come to.
Yet, also at this lunch spot, I was shocked by how completely ignorant they were of any notion of smog—what it looked like (though there was plenty right in front of me), where it came from (I finally got them to realize people—cars, motors, etc.), and that it was in any way unusual or bad for there to be smog over the places we live. I don’t think these children had ever seen a vista like that before in their lives—and they probably had never “looked” at smog before.
Anyway, we rump-bumped off the hill—rump-bump a huge success as always, with breaks to smell the “caramel” plant (a new smell for poor “pearly everlasting!”), feel fungus, hug a very old, big oak tree and whisper it a secret, wonder about a gopher hole, pass another group, and more. Oh, they soon wanted to feel and hug every tree, and smell everything. Down at the creek, then, they all wanted to go exploring, so I let them for while, gathering them back together for a tea ceremony, which they all took very seriously. I had them do the “say why you are already lucky” part before drinking the good-luck tea, and they said things like, “for going on a hike; for being able to walk in the woods; for my girlfriend” (God, these were 8-year-olds).
I then set up the manmade scavenger hunt, really my closest thing to failure all day. I was surprised by their relative inability to follow careful instructions when I wasn’t physically with them. As soon as I gave my yelp, they ran and saw almost nothing. I made them do it over and salvaged something, but that kind of restraint just didn’t come naturally to them. We then went on to the Big Rock, which we climbed, and then while they rested and drank (what ferocious water-drinkers they were!), I read them the Giving Tree. To my complete astonishment, I had their attention every second of that story. They were riveted. I’ve never had children listen that well, and it was a marvelous experience, for it’s such a good story, and tied in so well to the other things we’d talked about all day. We then ran off the rock, had a quick race to the farm, briefly inspected the rabbits, and headed down toward Hostel. I filled up on water and let them all take a bathroom break before we began. Two boys—Lawrence and Cedric, in particular, had literally latched on to me and wanted me to be their girlfriend. I teased them that my boyfriend might not like that, and they bragged that they’d just beat him up.
Oh children, children, where did those thoughts come from? … Anyway, it was at times difficult to walk because they were hanging on me, but on the other hand, it promoted a lot of hugging and I got backrubs out of the deal! Of course, they began by running, but Hostel is steep enough to daunt anyone. We took frequent rests, as I wiped off Carmicha’s pricked finger, admonished Johnny, pointed out lichens and fungus and moss and bedstraw to feel, smelled the “cherry” smell of toyon, had a great discussion about “Would you like to live here? But …” (By the way, interestingly enough, all of these children would’ve liked to live at HV—not what I would’ve originally expected.) I then did a “Walk softly as Indians,” which they did OK but not great, so I talked about deer and we tried it again, and this time they were wonderful. … So quiet…it was a magic feeling.
They were all somewhat subdued afterward but in a good way. We crossed our toyon hill and did a good north-south slope comparison in leaf size, then rump-bumped in combination with the rock strategy down the hill—and they just loved the rocks. A little pushing and impatience with each other here—but it was definitely getting towards the end of the day. Cedric slipped and only Johnny thought it funny—the rest were quite concerned. We rubbed cowboy cologne and crossed down into and over the creek, burying our rocks in a special place, then giving the trees one last big hug and whispering to the tree the “best thing you’d done at HV.” Oh, what great tree huggers.
We sped back to the garden for a brief carrot ceremony (once again, simple listening difficult for them—it was simply too tempting for them all to pull their own)—and we met back in the hostel for soup— a true mob scene. Leslie’s group had made a friendship soup the day before, so now we fed it to these kids—who, of any kids, could use the extra food. Even Carmicha, who had cried and been miserable going up Hostel, ended the day smiling. Wally had a long singing session (because of late buses) on the bleachers, and then they were gone.
My Lord, what a day. An extremely full day—we covered a lot of ground, figuratively and literally. But oh so worth it. Bright kids, lively kids who needed a firm hand, but also kids with a lot of capacity for loving and cherishing things around them—with some guidance. I was surprised at the lack of brutal discipline needed—I could just feel all my intuitions rising to meet the challenge, with in-general good results. I survived the initial testing and I had their respect—maybe even their love, in some fashion. The boys, of course, were enthralled with me at the latter part of the day, and the girls I remember were absolutely fascinated with my hair—they might not have ever seen long, straight brown hair up close enough to touch it and play with it, I realized later. So far as racial or cultural or socio-economic business or any of that other crap, there wasn’t even a twinge. It was interesting, however, to see my own approach alter—no longer the meek-mannered, wide-eyed innocence that one can get away with in some groups. I had to be loud back at times, or maintain a kind of easy jocularity in confronting their direct questions and challenges. I even found myself unconsciously slipping into “their” lingo—proper English sometimes went out the door in favor of easier-understand “ain’t nobody…s.” Also hillbilly Ohiya in all its y’all glory came back, too. Kelly must’ve thought I was faking it, but it was completely unconscious!
Not an easy day in many ways, but so rewarding and so positive overall that I came away feeling super. Better yet, they all did too. How much info will stick is questionable, but the fun and wonder and imagination stirred up can’t help but linger awhile. And in these children… oh, children. So few of you will even know to read well. How many of you will be in this ghetto all your lives? There’s so, so much that I can’t even try to understand about these children’s lives—no more than they can understand mine. Yet the paradox, the mystery is that we could all be together for a day and do nothing but share.
Gale Warner
Unpublished, 1980