This morning we woke to the effects of yesterday’s storm. We have several inches of snow on the ground. It was deep and fluffy. The sun rose to a clear sky and the world was aglow. The low light slanted against the whitened firs, that air was still, our feet crunched as we walked.
When I was in high school I headed from my home in Connecticut to rural Vermont for a semester. That was on this date a whole passel of years ago. The experience had such an impact on me that not only did I end up living in Vermont, but I remember the day I started that semester.
I arrived with my parents in Vershire on a day much like this one. The snow was deep, the world was quiet. It was beautiful. After my parents got a chance to see the place and get oriented, and to offer me a solid goodbye, I began my four months in a new place–a school on a working farm.
I dug it. I learned a lot about myself. I made good friends. I came to love the world. I still do. And I came to ask lots of questions. I still do that as well.
I mentioned the place, the Mountain School, to a couple of students with whom I now work. I told them they might think about applying. It would do them some good. I suppose it isn’t for everyone, living in a small community and working hard and being pushed to learn, but, frankly, I think more of that would do all of us some good.