He is retired.
“What did you do?” I ask.
“Serve others. Well.” The fly circles around behind his head and lands back in the water in front of him.
“I have no idea about what I will do for work,” I say.
“What do you do now?” The fly circles around behind his head and lands back in the water in front of him.
“Tread water,” I say.
“Exhausting,” he says. “Where does your bike riding take you?” The fly circles around behind his head and lands back in the water in front of him.
“Around the county, exploring.”
“What have you experienced, felt, in your explorations?” The fly circles around behind his head and lands back in the water in front of him.
“More relaxed, myself.”
“What else?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Pay attention,” he says. “Your feelings, now, in what you do, will bend your life in the right direction, suited to you. That deference to your experiences, what you learn, is rooting your growth. Stop trying to plan a future. Train your senses to take in your perceptions of now. See the fly, the water, the fish? Right now, that is all and everything for me.”
I think of Sarah, the joy of a three-year-old who is being allowed to explore her world with no thoughts of what will come later. I hope she never loses that opportunity to love her life.
Turns out I didn’t invade the fisherman’s space. He permeated mine.
Retreating back to my rock in the sun, the submerged memory pops out. I see Sarah born in a large tub of water in my parents’ bedroom, my mom assisted by a woman in nurses’ clothing. Seeing me in the doorway, my dad escorts me back to my room. I’m not sure what I actually saw until he confirms it. My shock is tripled by hearing him say I was born the same way. Dad says it is a family secret. There are no other scenes in the memory. We’ve never talked about it again. I’ve never even thought about it again until now.
As I launch the walk for Adrian, I follow the spirit of the fly fisherman. Instead of making energy-numbing to-do lists, I focus on having enthusiastic personal conversations with people at school. During lunch, I invade the table boundary lines. Plopping myself down, I explain my hopes for what I’m now calling EarthWalk on the Appalachian Trail, following Adrian’s lead of seeking calm in the awesome mountains surrounding us. I think, but don’t say to people, that a higher vision might help us all.
I always ask the kids I talk to what they think would be fun to do on the hike. Unsurprisingly, I get many sarcastic remarks. Like, “Maybe all the boys could walk along holding hands.”
Rather than respond with a counter attack, I try to think how to elevate the discussion. “Everybody is free to do what they want,” I say. “For example, I’m pretty good at hacky sack. Are you?”
Usually, there’s no answer to that kind of question, but sometimes another person jumps in to reduce the tension with something like, “We could see who can hike the trail the longest while dribbling a soccer ball.”
I know most of the people I talk with will not show up, but at least putting everyone in the position of making a conscious choice about whether they will attend expands the impact of EarthWalk that much more.
Chelsea is talking it up to people too. She is also trying something new in her Listener role: she listens more for emotions in what people say, and responds to those feelings. Like, she told me the other day that she has been spending a lot of time with a girl whose mother just found out she has cancer. Other people seemed to notice, and now they’re also consoling the girl. And a few people she’s talked to about EarthWalk have said they will think about it.
Adrian’s parents are, of course, inviting their family friends.
It’s EarthWalk day today, and I’m stoked to discover that nature has responded with one of those ten perfect weather days we get here each year.
We gather at the trailhead and hang around until everyone arrives. The atmosphere is casual; there’s no particular plan or agenda. Many of the Hilltop teachers Chelsea and I reached out to have come, including her government teacher, who says he came for her and to be part of an uplifting event, and my science teacher, who is a big birder. He hands out a flyer of area bird pictures and descriptions to everyone who wants one. And of course Ms. Carter is here.
When it seems like everyone who is going to come has arrived, I say a few quick words.
“Welcome to EarthWalk, a hike in honor of Adrian. Your participation in this walk shows the impact Adrian had on this community. He could not have arranged a more perfect, sunny day for us to enjoy ourselves and remember his lasting spirit. As you walk along, notice the many beautiful rocks along the way and select one to carry up to the top as a remembrance of Adrian.”
That speech was more than I thought I would get out. I volunteered to speak down here at the start so I could relax the rest of the day; Chelsea is responsible for speaking at our tribute at the top.
Our milling around transitions to wandering off in groups, up the trail path. Many students who arrive with their parents initially look apprehensive, suggesting that their attendance might have been the adults’ idea. I’m surprised the students do not gravitate to their lunch table cliques. The groups include people of all ages, even a few young kids.
As we walk, I hear one group chatting about this year’s World Cup. In another group there is a competition for who knows the best joke. A junior I recognize but don’t know is playing a ukulele and others are singing along. Sarah, who loves to sing, runs off to be with that group. My parents fall in with Chelsea’s parents, who they just met, and some other people from the college they all know.
The sound of human conversation, not the words but the tone, creates a reassuring atmosphere, like we’re a tribe with a purpose. My mom kept saying I should plan everything out, but I decided to go with the fly fisherman spirit. I’m glad.
The exclamation point of our two-mile hike is an overlook of the Rockfish Valley. A math teacher passes around her binoculars. Development in the valley is sparse, giving our little town an escalated air of civilization. Everyone pauses to sit on a rock or the soft grass, or to lean on a pitch pine tree. I’m standing, feeling the wind on my face, identical to an ocean breeze—except the smells on the wind here are of sap, dark dirt, and berries.
I share a look with Chelsea, and I know we’re both thinking the same thing: this is the time for our prepared remembrance of Adrian. She steps forward and clears her throat.
“Look around at the various rocks in people’s hands,” she says. “If your rock is on the larger side, will you please come up here and start the stacking? We’d like to build a cairn sculpture in Adrian’s honor.”
Having selected larger rocks on purpose, Chelsea and I go first. As the structure grows, people are more deliberate in selecting the perfect placement of their rock. It is a quiet, intentional process. By the end, the cairn has grown to a height of about three feet.
When it’s complete, there is a natural wave of people looking around at each other, making eye contact and smiling, some hugging and giving each other gentle slaps on the back. Chelsea’s government teacher holds up a bottle of water and says, “To Adrian.” Water bottles are passed around.
The ukulele player starts “Will the Circle Be Unbroken” and heads back down the trail, others following. New groups of hikers form, even more diverse than on the way up. People are taking selfies with Adrian’s monument.
His parents are the last to leave, wobbly but holding each other up. I hear a high-pitched gasp. Turning around, I see Adrian’s mother pick up what looks like a piece of an old lanyard kids make at summer camp.
Adrian’s father says, “Fella’s collar, broken.”
So low I can barely hear, Adrian’s mother says, “Fella would never have resisted Adrian and broken his collar.” She looks at her husband in that older person’s way of determined conviction.
I’m the only one to observe this scene; fog
surrounds my brain matter and every nerve ending in my body goes on charged alert. Walking on is automatic. I have no idea how much time has passed, when I become aware of Chelsea’s voice, which sounds light and lively for the first time since we became friends. She is talking with her English teacher. “Have you ever read Clan of the Cave Bear? It’s a novel dealing with pre-Neanderthal people and a young girl full of different spirit than the rest of her tribe. One of my favorites.”
“Sounds like a book I would enjoy reading, too, Chelsea. Thanks for telling me. And, it’s nice to hear this interest of yours.”
Chelsea asks, “Will you be staying at Hilltop for another year?”
The answer is a slow, sad headshake—no.
Thank goodness Chelsea did not hear the exchange between Adrian’s parents. She deserves a chance to move on in her life. Me too. The uncertainty of what might have happened to Adrian is something I will have to learn to live with. How would he handle this situation? He would walk, move forward, building inner strength.
Knowing Chelsea these past months has opened me up to believe I can learn to connect with others and rely on them for support. I even connected with Adrian, as much as was possible given both our states. He gave me a model of interior confidence. And I think I gave him a sense of acceptance. He kept coming to me with something to say, and I think he knew I never judged him.
My dad comes up behind me, puts his arm around my shoulders, and says, “Sean, I’m proud of you. This was a great day.”
I would never have thought praise from Dad would mean so much. But it does. I can’t think of what to say so I just smile and punch him on the shoulder.
I walk the last leg of the trail with a senior from the athlete lunch table whose name I don’t know. After some warm-up small talk, he says, “A day like this makes you think about the meaning of life. I believe that Earth is a cell in the body of a greater being and humans are just one teeny, tiny speck in that cell.”
I am speechless, with no idea how to think about such a statement. Could be, what do I know?
The day after EarthWalk, Sunday, is the usual: off to church in the morning, and then a special meal cooked by Mom when we get home—today my favorite, standing rib. No vegetarians in this household.
When Sarah asks to be excused to play on the tire swing I put up for her last weekend, I seize the opportunity to talk with my parents about Stone Creek High School. I have to remember to go slow and not pressure my parents so much as reach out to them. That was Dr. Lewis’s advice, which I think makes sense—a lot more sense than the other stuff about it all being my parents’ decision.
“Mom, Dad, I want to transfer to Stone Creek High School this coming fall.” I stop and look at each of them, to let the news register. Mom instantly looks alarmed. Dad has what seems to me like a bit of a smirk on his face. I display what I hope is a reassuring smile. I don’t otherwise respond to their reactions.
“I know this is a surprise to you,” I continue, keeping my voice calm, “but I have been thinking about it for a long time. I need to be more involved in school and take control of my life.” I think about mentioning Dr. Lewis here and how he supports me getting more involved in things. But I decide it makes me look more grown up to speak on my own. Besides, Dr. Lewis didn’t specifically endorse me transferring to Stone Creek. He did say not to expect them to jump in enthusiastically and say, “Whatever you want, Sean.”
Continuing in my slow, almost patronizing, tone, I say, “I’m telling you”—not asking, I think—“about wanting to transfer now so you have plenty of time to think it over. I understand it is a big decision.” Mine. “Mom, I was thinking you could talk with the realtor who sold us our house about Stone Creek. Her son, Daniel, goes to school there. And we could all meet with the principal of Stone Creek so we could ask about any concerns we have.”
They don’t say anything, so I press ahead. “Also, I will be accompanying Chelsea to interview three Stone Creek seniors this week, and maybe she and I could get a tour at the same time. That will give me even more information to consider before making a decision.”
Mom looks both shocked and a little sick. But dad, surprisingly, has lost his smirk.
“I’m impressed by how you’ve presented this idea,” he says. “It shows a maturity I’ve hoped to see in you one day.”
“So you’ll let me transfer?” I ask, hopeful.
“We’ll think about it,” he says.
Of course.
Next day at lunch, I can’t wait to tell Chelsea about my conversation with my parents. She is impressed with the guts I showed in putting myself out there. But she is also consumed with her own news: she finally talked with her parents about her college acceptance letters and had a conversation with them about UVA versus Oberlin last night.
“I told my parents I could see value in both choices, but feel I’d be more comfortable in the smaller, more laid back atmosphere of Oberlin,” she says. “And I said another option could be going to Oberlin for two years and then transferring to UVA later, when I know what my major will be. My parents responded that UVA will have countless more careers for me to explore and that transferring is often difficult—sometimes you lose credits from the first school because the second won’t honor them. Then I threw out what I really want to do, go to Italy for the summer. I had trouble explaining a reason for Italy; in the end I told them I just feel drawn to explore archaeological digs there, and to learn fluent Italian. I said even if I don’t major in a related field, at least I will have the summer experiences to enrich my life right now and build on later in life. The positive experience will give me the boost of enthusiasm I need to be ready for UVA in the fall.”
“And what did they say?”
“My dad mumbled something about how I certainly could use a shot of enthusiasm for life before going off to college.” Chelsea rolls her eyes. “My parents were of course stunned at my proposal and wanted to know where I thought I would go in Italy and what I would do. I asked my mom if she would be willing to ask my aunt Lucia if I could stay with her in Florence for a couple of months—she’s not really my aunt, she’s actually my mom’s old college friend, but I grew up calling her ‘aunt.’”
“That was smart, bringing your mom’s friend into it!” I say. I know my parents would be way more likely to let me do something like what Chelsea’s talking about if it involved an adult they trusted.
Chelsea smiles. “I thought so. I reminded Mom that Aunt Lucia has invited me to visit many times. I also asked her to remember how important traveling all over Europe was for her after she graduated from high school. I said, ‘It’s time for me to grow up, Mom’—and Sean, they actually said they would think about it. So I must have been pretty convincing!”
I extend my arms over my head in touchdown pose, and say, “Whoa, Chelsea!”—in a loud enough voice that I attract the curious eyes of the rest of the cafeteria. Lowering my voice, I say, “You’re so brave! I just want to go across town and you want to go across the world.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not as brave and mature as I made myself out to be to my parents,” she says with a guilty look. “But it’s true: I have to take the plunge and grow up some time. And I like Aunt Lucia a lot. She is very warm and loving and has always been encouraging to me.”
“And the college thing?” I ask, realizing she never told me what she decided.
She looks down. “I don’t feel confident about going to UVA. But I’ve convinced myself that maybe my parents know best in this case. What do I know about how to make a decision like this? What if I make the wrong choice? And this way, I’m sure to get one thing I want: going to Italy.”
I don’t want to deflate her feeling of success, so I don’t tell her how surprising her drop in confidence is. Instead I ask, “What if your parents decide ‘no’ to your Italy proposal?” From what Chelsea has said about her parents, that seems like it could be a real possibility.
“I have no idea, maybe a deep depression. What if your par
ents say no about Stone Creek?”
“I’ll try to fight back some way,” I say.
It feels like growing up is about taking yourself seriously enough to put your deep wants out there, not to seek encouragement from someone else but because it changes you inside.
Chapter 4: Unleashing Energy
Once upon a time, a wise group of scholars turned a pyramid school upside down so students were in charge of their learning.
CHELSEA
Walking into Stone Creek High School with Sean, I can’t help comparing it to Hilltop. First, school starts an hour later—at nine—and there’s not one red-eyed student in sight. In contrast to Hilltop’s entrance sign, with its declaration of a drug-free school zone, we are greeted by an artistic, fear-free school zone sign when we walk through the doors.
Cora, who’s agreed to take us on a tour, appears next to us. “Hi Chelsea,” she says, giving me a hug. “And you must be Sean.” She offers him her hand. “Welcome.”
“Thanks,” Sean says. “A fear-free school zone, huh?”
Laughing, Cora says, “That’s the first of many slogans you’re likely to see or hear this morning. Our principal, Chief, encourages all of us to take risks and learn from mistakes.”
I say, “You call him Chief?”
“When he came last year he joked he wanted to be seen as the Teacher-in-Chief,” Cora explains. “The ‘Chief’ part stuck.”
Sure enough, the front hall has another slogan on a large banner. “One more thing … It’s your life. Build it with choices worthy of you.”—Chief
Cora guides us down hallways on the way to our destination, the cafeteria. I poke my head in one classroom: It’s quite large, with different areas delineated by computers, small round discussion tables, conference tables, soft reading chairs, thick rugs with floor pillows, and individual work carrels. Student creative work is displayed around every inch of wall space. Several adults are engaged in lively discussions with different individuals or groups of students. All appear radiant, lit up by the natural rays pouring through the room’s expansive windows. No hyper-pitched voices. And people are actually touching each other, a signal to me of a high level of comfort. A few of them glance my way with curious eyes.
School Tales Page 7