This is the old Tibbetts homestead, which has preoccupied us these final weeks of the summer institute. We are learning the story these walls might tell us, and what a story it is... Follow our progress on our wiki!
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Home sweet home
This is the old Tibbetts homestead, which has preoccupied us these final weeks of the summer institute. We are learning the story these walls might tell us, and what a story it is... Follow our progress on our wiki!
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
The big picture
Monday morning came fast and the day filled with lots of big-picture conversations. And I mean the big stuff, the all important question of what are we trying to accomplish as environmental educators and why is it important? This searching, thinking, questioning, mapping, articulating, arguing, questioning, searching and thinking, thinking, thinking and thinking some more is all in an honorable effort to define our pedagogy. What do we value as an educator and, more importantly, how does our teaching reflect those values?
At some point in the middle of the day, weary after a full weekend and needing an afternoon nap in the sun that we so craved last week, I found myself thinking what I really know for sure is that I need to spend some time reading up on Oprah-isms.... all of this questioning is something she has made a fortune advocating, and for good reason. Stopping to consider one's values, and then considering how one honors those values in practice--is an obvious step in the right direction. How often we get trapped in the business and busyness of daily goings-on that we tend not to pause and consider whether the road we are traveling is right for us for the larger reasons beyond basic needs. It's that higher level of self satisfaction. What is important to us, and why, and is what we are doing honoring what we value? We are unearthing those guiding principles that often lay hidden under the surface and inform choices we make, sometimes without realizing them. Lots more thinking to do on this one. I have a lot of ideas, but boiling them down to one big idea is a good and welcome, but very tricky, challenge.
Late afternoon we shifted gears and began brainstorming our group projects. Rachel and I are going to pick up where an earlier group left off and explore the story of John Tibbetts and his family, many of whom are buried in the hidden family plot on the Barrington Headwaters land. I am really excited about this because my most memorable, lightening striking moment last week was spying the small headstone in the cellar hole of the assumed Tibbetts family homestead. I instantly wanted to know more about baby Alice, and her family. Rachel and I believe that their story will be representative of the larger New England story of mid 19th century families who once worked the land but then got caught up in the Civil war and westward expansion, and the industrial age. The Tibbetts family seem to be forgotten in this neck of the woods, but for the next two weeks, we will be thinking about them a lot, and hopefully will be able to honor them by telling their story.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Tracks and Signs
On Wednesday we returned to the headwaters and set out to explore, off trail, lots of things we likely missed on our first pass through. Dan Gardoqui of White Pine Programs spent the morning with us. In our introductions, he said a line that sticks with me now, almost a week later. He invited us all to find our authentic passion and follow it, and realize the content and knowledge needed will come in time. This is such a simple statement but hard to truly trust, or know, as one leaves the safety net of undergraduate coursework and spends time beginning to build a career. It is not always easy to know what one's true passion is, or to see what is often right in front of us, until in time, on reflection it becomes more clear. And then, once known, it is often even more challenging to understand or have the courage to follow that path without fully knowing where it leads or how to travel onward.
But it was easy, on this gray morning, to follow Dan down the road through the forest. For more than an hour, we took us on a great adventure looking for tracks and signs that animals had been here not long ago--some only minutes ago. We saw a popular tree where woodpeckers had been feasting on ants. We saw fur and bones, evidence of a small fawn that was eaten by something larger, perhaps a coyote, we noticed browsing and moose tracks, scat and bones. We identified bird calls and far into the forest, the grandest porcupine home I have ever seen. Dan was a fantastic guide and filled us with great tales and insight into a whole layer of forest ecology otherwise unseen by the untrained eye.
In the afternoon, we feasted on tasty fresh-picked strawberries as Randy Warren shared with us tales from his farm, which borders the Tamposi Land. We were all soaked from our morning walk, and the wind skipping across the fields chilled us to the core, but even still, it was not hard to stay focused on what Randy had to say. While we were warned to take what he had to say in the context of one man's opinion, his passion for his farm, and his sense of place were palpable and respectable. What most intrigued me was his dislike of branding food as organic. Instead, it is better to buy local and support local farms. This was an interesting message to hear on the day we would read some of Barbara Kingsolver's book, and to really consider, where does the food that we eat come from? I had never paid much attention to food source in anything but seafood. I have always patronized local, or at the very least American, seafood. (It is amazing how imported seafood can so subtly be passed by and appear local.) I believe in supporting local fisheries, so of course supporting local farms is an easy to accept principle, but why is it that I never hesitate to go to a local fish market, but often don't make the extra trip to go to a local farm stand? Randy's passion was clear, and his stories offered lots of food for thought.
We have been doing a lot of thinking this first week, which is essential for laying the foundation of this education adventure and begining to conceptualize and articulate our pedagogy. I find myself circling back around on a few key themes and ideas, and values, and I embrace the chance to really go deeper and make sure what I think I believe is really on target with my actions, ideals and choices. Words that come to mind, and those that I sketched in class on a shield/coat of arms, are hopeful, heartfelt stewardship. It will be interesting to see how these ideas are refined in the days and weeks ahead.
But it was easy, on this gray morning, to follow Dan down the road through the forest. For more than an hour, we took us on a great adventure looking for tracks and signs that animals had been here not long ago--some only minutes ago. We saw a popular tree where woodpeckers had been feasting on ants. We saw fur and bones, evidence of a small fawn that was eaten by something larger, perhaps a coyote, we noticed browsing and moose tracks, scat and bones. We identified bird calls and far into the forest, the grandest porcupine home I have ever seen. Dan was a fantastic guide and filled us with great tales and insight into a whole layer of forest ecology otherwise unseen by the untrained eye.
In the afternoon, we feasted on tasty fresh-picked strawberries as Randy Warren shared with us tales from his farm, which borders the Tamposi Land. We were all soaked from our morning walk, and the wind skipping across the fields chilled us to the core, but even still, it was not hard to stay focused on what Randy had to say. While we were warned to take what he had to say in the context of one man's opinion, his passion for his farm, and his sense of place were palpable and respectable. What most intrigued me was his dislike of branding food as organic. Instead, it is better to buy local and support local farms. This was an interesting message to hear on the day we would read some of Barbara Kingsolver's book, and to really consider, where does the food that we eat come from? I had never paid much attention to food source in anything but seafood. I have always patronized local, or at the very least American, seafood. (It is amazing how imported seafood can so subtly be passed by and appear local.) I believe in supporting local fisheries, so of course supporting local farms is an easy to accept principle, but why is it that I never hesitate to go to a local fish market, but often don't make the extra trip to go to a local farm stand? Randy's passion was clear, and his stories offered lots of food for thought.
We have been doing a lot of thinking this first week, which is essential for laying the foundation of this education adventure and begining to conceptualize and articulate our pedagogy. I find myself circling back around on a few key themes and ideas, and values, and I embrace the chance to really go deeper and make sure what I think I believe is really on target with my actions, ideals and choices. Words that come to mind, and those that I sketched in class on a shield/coat of arms, are hopeful, heartfelt stewardship. It will be interesting to see how these ideas are refined in the days and weeks ahead.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Heading off the Trail
Hooray! Finally the long anticipated first day of the summer institute had arrived. I knew I'd be a fish out of water and hoped that the newness of trekking into the forested landscape would give me a feel for the new experience that others have when they follow me to the sea. The sea is such a comfortable and familiar place to me, and the Merrimack River, that I tend to forget what small things collectively add to the whole of the new experience for our program participants. Surely it is good to be pushed out of our comfort zone, because that is where learning takes place. For our students, the comfort zone is immediately lost once they step aboard the boat. For me, it was lost immediately upon stepping off the trail. Sure I've taken walks in the woods, and skiied and rode my snowboard down mountains, but always on the trail, and always, when in nature, I take the most direct route. It never occurs to me to step off the trail--it nver even occured to me nor did I think that it was OK to step off the trail. When walking sandy beaches of Plum Island, you cannot walk off the trail for fear of damaging the dunes, so to step off the trail on the first afternoon during a walk through College Woods seemed at once odd and obvious--of course OFF the trail is where the good stuff is. Off the trail is where I met my tree--a lovely half dead beech. One part succumbed to fungus and decay, the other limb still stretches off into the sky. Off the trail is where my new understanding of trees and forests has begun.
In just one afternoon in the woods, I learned how to identify trees, to measure diameter, to begin to look for clues as to what happened and learn what the story the forest, or landscape is trying to tell. Looking for the story in the experience is very familiar to me as a journalist, and something I preach to my students who often tend to try and use the experience as the story. But never before have I looked to nature and natural cues as to what has happened here. We learned that the Paul Bunyan tree had fallen during a winter gale, as evidence by the southeasterly orientation of its fall. I learned to distinguish a beech tree from an oak or maple, a white pine from a hemlock. All of these tree types are familiar only in how they manifest themselves in the types of woodworking my father, and boatbuilders I have written about, have referenced. It was exciting to be able to see the tress and be able to begin to know them, too. First we came to know them by name, and then to take ownership of our tree, which we sketched, and then our own plot, which we studied in terms of tree type, size and density. With just a few measurements, we were able to gather the cues to tell some of the larger story of College Woods. As the day drew to a close, I knew that I would begin to see the world around me with a sharper eye, and in a new way that would help me to better understand the landscape along my home waters.
On day two, we ventured into the Barrington Headwaters on a scavenger hunt. There would be five stops. At the first, we stopped to explore why the trees on the northern side of the trail were smaller, younger and more deciduous than the trees to the south. As the birds sang overhead, the constant traffic on Route 4 whirred to the south, and the wind rustled the leaves, we considered that perhaps there had been a fire, which opened up the southern size of the road. It was more open, more diverse and plentiful low plants, oaks and maple. Happily lulled into what we thought would be a pleasant walk in the woods, we set down the path. And we walked, and walked, and walked, and talked and talked and talked as we continued to get to know each other and share experiences looking for common threads and interests in our diverse and varied backgrounds. We told stories from Maryland's Eastern shore, Alaska and South Africa..and maybe a few sea stories. A half hour later, we reached marker 3, and the fun began. The road led straight, but the beaver pond to the north had flooded and blocked our path. We had to go off trail.
We had to go off trail.
This is where my comfort zone ends. I chose to go last, lingering for a moment at the waters edge, where the bullfrogs croaked and reminded me of the pond in our neighborhood. Three leapt into the water, and I wanted to linger longer, but the group pressed on and I didn't want to miss their lead. I wondered who was, in fact, leading, and how confident said leader was in the chosen direction. I considered my own wilingness to follow--how much trust is reasonable in this situation? Where does courage crash into sound judgment? Is it wise to follow blindly, or is it courageous to trust the leader? Or were we being foolish, pushing too far off course, when perhaps a more prudent path would have been closer by the trails edge? As a seafarer, I tend to look for the most direct route. But I knew that pretty much everyone in the group has more trail experience than I, so I opted to trust. And it worked out--just as I was beginning to second-guess the path ahead, we returned to the trail.....
Only to find another massive puddle.
Back off the trail we went for a shorter path around. An hour later, mostly back on the trail, we reached marker 5, and the open field of the power lines. My gaze fell to the ground where I spotted rosa rugosa, or beach rose. This immediately comforted me, because this is something I have seen at home, and the familiar plant species, reminding me of my many treks on the Isles of Shoals. This connection to something I knew, found in an unknown landscape, helped to connect me to it. I started to think again of the ocean, and the principles of ocean literacy, which we preach and profess can be applied and understood regardless of geography. I'm wondering what evidence one might find in the headwaters of the ocean's effect on this forest. How is the ocean connected to these headwaters?
And then the rain begain.
And the thunder, so like the great children's book stories of going on a bear hunt, a mile-and-a-half back we walked along the old logging road, back by the edge of the beaver pond, back past the hardwoods and conifers, the ferns and the downed leaves, past the moose tracks, the wood frogs, the broken branches and stems, toward marker #2. Here, we saw the evidence, as the sheets of rain fell, of a long ago homestead. There, cradled by three tall stone walls of an old cellar hole, lie a headstone for Alice, who died in 1865(?), age 11 months 10 days. It was so sad, and so beautiful. I immediately wanted to know the story of Alice. This discovery of a real person who once lived here, if only as an infant, fascinates me. As a writer, I am all about stories about real people. To know this land more, I want to know the story of who lived here and how they used it, and how they adapted to it. This is what kids need--stories of who walked this path before them immediately connect them to it because kids can relate to tales of other kids and families. I am hoping to learn more about the forgotten families of the Tamposi land. This may not be something that I can use in my own work, but the process is one that I could then transfer to a story-finding tale of the landscape along our home waters....
Today, in the rain, we walked the land again, this time with a tracker...and began to learn about the animals who live in the forest now....which is a great story in and of itself....
In just one afternoon in the woods, I learned how to identify trees, to measure diameter, to begin to look for clues as to what happened and learn what the story the forest, or landscape is trying to tell. Looking for the story in the experience is very familiar to me as a journalist, and something I preach to my students who often tend to try and use the experience as the story. But never before have I looked to nature and natural cues as to what has happened here. We learned that the Paul Bunyan tree had fallen during a winter gale, as evidence by the southeasterly orientation of its fall. I learned to distinguish a beech tree from an oak or maple, a white pine from a hemlock. All of these tree types are familiar only in how they manifest themselves in the types of woodworking my father, and boatbuilders I have written about, have referenced. It was exciting to be able to see the tress and be able to begin to know them, too. First we came to know them by name, and then to take ownership of our tree, which we sketched, and then our own plot, which we studied in terms of tree type, size and density. With just a few measurements, we were able to gather the cues to tell some of the larger story of College Woods. As the day drew to a close, I knew that I would begin to see the world around me with a sharper eye, and in a new way that would help me to better understand the landscape along my home waters.
On day two, we ventured into the Barrington Headwaters on a scavenger hunt. There would be five stops. At the first, we stopped to explore why the trees on the northern side of the trail were smaller, younger and more deciduous than the trees to the south. As the birds sang overhead, the constant traffic on Route 4 whirred to the south, and the wind rustled the leaves, we considered that perhaps there had been a fire, which opened up the southern size of the road. It was more open, more diverse and plentiful low plants, oaks and maple. Happily lulled into what we thought would be a pleasant walk in the woods, we set down the path. And we walked, and walked, and walked, and talked and talked and talked as we continued to get to know each other and share experiences looking for common threads and interests in our diverse and varied backgrounds. We told stories from Maryland's Eastern shore, Alaska and South Africa..and maybe a few sea stories. A half hour later, we reached marker 3, and the fun began. The road led straight, but the beaver pond to the north had flooded and blocked our path. We had to go off trail.
We had to go off trail.
This is where my comfort zone ends. I chose to go last, lingering for a moment at the waters edge, where the bullfrogs croaked and reminded me of the pond in our neighborhood. Three leapt into the water, and I wanted to linger longer, but the group pressed on and I didn't want to miss their lead. I wondered who was, in fact, leading, and how confident said leader was in the chosen direction. I considered my own wilingness to follow--how much trust is reasonable in this situation? Where does courage crash into sound judgment? Is it wise to follow blindly, or is it courageous to trust the leader? Or were we being foolish, pushing too far off course, when perhaps a more prudent path would have been closer by the trails edge? As a seafarer, I tend to look for the most direct route. But I knew that pretty much everyone in the group has more trail experience than I, so I opted to trust. And it worked out--just as I was beginning to second-guess the path ahead, we returned to the trail.....
Only to find another massive puddle.
Back off the trail we went for a shorter path around. An hour later, mostly back on the trail, we reached marker 5, and the open field of the power lines. My gaze fell to the ground where I spotted rosa rugosa, or beach rose. This immediately comforted me, because this is something I have seen at home, and the familiar plant species, reminding me of my many treks on the Isles of Shoals. This connection to something I knew, found in an unknown landscape, helped to connect me to it. I started to think again of the ocean, and the principles of ocean literacy, which we preach and profess can be applied and understood regardless of geography. I'm wondering what evidence one might find in the headwaters of the ocean's effect on this forest. How is the ocean connected to these headwaters?
And then the rain begain.
And the thunder, so like the great children's book stories of going on a bear hunt, a mile-and-a-half back we walked along the old logging road, back by the edge of the beaver pond, back past the hardwoods and conifers, the ferns and the downed leaves, past the moose tracks, the wood frogs, the broken branches and stems, toward marker #2. Here, we saw the evidence, as the sheets of rain fell, of a long ago homestead. There, cradled by three tall stone walls of an old cellar hole, lie a headstone for Alice, who died in 1865(?), age 11 months 10 days. It was so sad, and so beautiful. I immediately wanted to know the story of Alice. This discovery of a real person who once lived here, if only as an infant, fascinates me. As a writer, I am all about stories about real people. To know this land more, I want to know the story of who lived here and how they used it, and how they adapted to it. This is what kids need--stories of who walked this path before them immediately connect them to it because kids can relate to tales of other kids and families. I am hoping to learn more about the forgotten families of the Tamposi land. This may not be something that I can use in my own work, but the process is one that I could then transfer to a story-finding tale of the landscape along our home waters....
Today, in the rain, we walked the land again, this time with a tracker...and began to learn about the animals who live in the forest now....which is a great story in and of itself....
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