Sunday, 14 September 2014
"You realize that life goes fast
It's hard to make the good things last
You realize the sun doesn't go down
It's just an illusion caused by the world spinning round..." - The Flaming Lips
It's been two days since arriving home from a five-day backpacking trip with Wood Street's C.H.A.O.S. Program. My big toes are still numb.
I knew that the trip was going to be a challenge for me, but I didn't anticipate all of the challenges that it presented. Physically, yes, it was a tough one, but I didn't understand that climbing up mountains is not the hard part. It's the downhill that broke me.
I was also faced with the fact that C.H.A.O.S., in all its awesomeness, is not Trailhead. It's not the program that I've been teaching in for the last two years, and I'm not in the same role as I once was. I assumed that jumping into another outdoor, experiential, grade ten program would soothe the ache of leaving TH, but instead it highlighted all the things that made TH so special. The silver lining is that I'm continually able to reflect on my own values and beliefs when it comes to education.
There was a moment on Day 4, a relatively easy hike compared to the Day 3 slog through stunning valleys, when we summited our tallest chunk of land yet. We were standing up there, celebrating our efforts with chocolate and watching a small herd of caribou silhouetted against the overcast sky. I laid down on the alpine groundcover of moss, lichen and rocks and turned my face to the sky. A student - known within the group as loud, and somewhat brash - came over and mentioned that when he comes up into the mountains it's important for him to take a quiet moment to really connect with where he is. I couldn't believe that I hadn't even thought about doing a Magic Spot, and that this particular kid was the one to bring the idea up.
As everyone settled into their spots for the five minutes of silence, I started admiring the view. I thought about how proud I was of the students (many of whom were ill or in pain, but had pushed through to get to the top), and how lucky I was to be there. Then I started thinking of home. Instantly, I was unable to see as tears flooded my view. I realized that I hadn't really thought about how far away from home I was since leaving on August 15th. It had almost been a month, and I hadn't stopped to think about it (maybe I hadn't let myself). It was the first time I was sitting quietly, alone, and with no other objective than to reflect. I was a mess. Then a raven called, and the five minutes was up.
I met back up with that same student on the walk down the mountainside. He said that he often becomes emotional when spending quiet time in nature, and that he sometimes cries. He expressed his sadness that there are so few people who actually know each other in his neighbourhood, and how he really needs his own time away from 'it all' to ground himself. It was a pretty special moment, and he seemed to really get why Magic Spots or sit spots are so valuable for mental and emotional well-being.
The rest of the trip can be summed up with: bear nightmares, frozen toes, warm drinks, laughter after dark, full moon rises over mountains, frigid creek crossings, unending ascents, painful descents, genuine validations, duct taping my feet, patching my thermarest, sleeping toasty warm, realizing how terrible I smell, enjoying my carefully packed snacks, the taste of fresh water, the sound of ravens, the smell of balsam fir as you cross the tree line, the colours of red and yellow on the hills, the footprints of wolves and bears, the morning sunrise over the clouds, taking tylenol to forget how broken my feet are, joking with kids all the way up the mountains, playing games while being engulfed in fog, laying in the sand and sun, feeling the chill of the air, knowing I'm alive.
"You realize that life goes fast
It's hard to make the good things last
You realize the sun doesn't go down
It's just an illusion caused by the world spinning round..." - The Flaming Lips
It's been two days since arriving home from a five-day backpacking trip with Wood Street's C.H.A.O.S. Program. My big toes are still numb.
I knew that the trip was going to be a challenge for me, but I didn't anticipate all of the challenges that it presented. Physically, yes, it was a tough one, but I didn't understand that climbing up mountains is not the hard part. It's the downhill that broke me.
I was also faced with the fact that C.H.A.O.S., in all its awesomeness, is not Trailhead. It's not the program that I've been teaching in for the last two years, and I'm not in the same role as I once was. I assumed that jumping into another outdoor, experiential, grade ten program would soothe the ache of leaving TH, but instead it highlighted all the things that made TH so special. The silver lining is that I'm continually able to reflect on my own values and beliefs when it comes to education.
There was a moment on Day 4, a relatively easy hike compared to the Day 3 slog through stunning valleys, when we summited our tallest chunk of land yet. We were standing up there, celebrating our efforts with chocolate and watching a small herd of caribou silhouetted against the overcast sky. I laid down on the alpine groundcover of moss, lichen and rocks and turned my face to the sky. A student - known within the group as loud, and somewhat brash - came over and mentioned that when he comes up into the mountains it's important for him to take a quiet moment to really connect with where he is. I couldn't believe that I hadn't even thought about doing a Magic Spot, and that this particular kid was the one to bring the idea up.
As everyone settled into their spots for the five minutes of silence, I started admiring the view. I thought about how proud I was of the students (many of whom were ill or in pain, but had pushed through to get to the top), and how lucky I was to be there. Then I started thinking of home. Instantly, I was unable to see as tears flooded my view. I realized that I hadn't really thought about how far away from home I was since leaving on August 15th. It had almost been a month, and I hadn't stopped to think about it (maybe I hadn't let myself). It was the first time I was sitting quietly, alone, and with no other objective than to reflect. I was a mess. Then a raven called, and the five minutes was up.
I met back up with that same student on the walk down the mountainside. He said that he often becomes emotional when spending quiet time in nature, and that he sometimes cries. He expressed his sadness that there are so few people who actually know each other in his neighbourhood, and how he really needs his own time away from 'it all' to ground himself. It was a pretty special moment, and he seemed to really get why Magic Spots or sit spots are so valuable for mental and emotional well-being.
The rest of the trip can be summed up with: bear nightmares, frozen toes, warm drinks, laughter after dark, full moon rises over mountains, frigid creek crossings, unending ascents, painful descents, genuine validations, duct taping my feet, patching my thermarest, sleeping toasty warm, realizing how terrible I smell, enjoying my carefully packed snacks, the taste of fresh water, the sound of ravens, the smell of balsam fir as you cross the tree line, the colours of red and yellow on the hills, the footprints of wolves and bears, the morning sunrise over the clouds, taking tylenol to forget how broken my feet are, joking with kids all the way up the mountains, playing games while being engulfed in fog, laying in the sand and sun, feeling the chill of the air, knowing I'm alive.