A fickle New Hampshire winter grips us. Rain this week, record December and January warmth, tendrils of snow instead of banks – these are not promising signs. Global warming? El Nino? Pinning the blame doesn’t lift spirits of the powder hounds. We know it’s bad when the Weather Channel’s “mixed precipitation” forecasts look…well…promising.
Last week, I talked in assembly about being in the White Mountains, years ago, with a group of students during a brutal March storm when the temperature swung from the upper 20’s to 15 below zero. The winds screamed at the base of Carrigan, snapped tarps, drove snow everywhere, and buried gear. I talked about the necessary skills to be comfortable – relatively – in such an environment, and the people in my life who had made a difference, forged a connection, inspired a love of wilderness, and imparted those skills. I talked about former teachers, old Outward Bound and NOLS instructors, listing some of the adults who guided me towards wisdom and helped me with skills.
It’s not easy standing up in front of your classmates in an American Literature class to deliver a speech, but when you are chosen by your peers to speak in front of the whole community and be judged on your performance? That’s a whole different matter. That takes courage to push through as legs shake and stomachs lurch. I could have no more delivered a speech like the Hays than run a four-minute mile when I was sophomore.
For stretches, long stretches at times, travel for the school takes me out of New Hampshire and across the country: last week, DC; this week, NYC. I meet alumni from different moments in Proctor’s history like the graduate from the late 80’s who worked for Newsweek and now is a chef; the entrepreneur who graduated in the 90’s and works out of a Manhattan shared space office; the parent who is watching their child slowly build executive functions.
At some point in December I start carrying it – no definitive date. I slip it, small and silver colored, in a vest pocket or the pocket of my canvas jacket. It jingles quietly, muffled, as though coming from a distance. It’s periodic, but I can count on its definitive sound when I shake out of my jacket and hang it on the walking stick in the corner of my office. A small bell.
On December 6th, deer hunting season came to a close in New Hampshire, and that means that running on the Proctor woodlands trails becomes a slightly different endeavor. Gone are the orange hats or the reflective vests strapped on dogs. Gone is the worry of taking a high trail along Ragged or even one of the Nordic trails across the river. Running becomes a little simpler once again.
Proctor is a school that believes character emerges through experience, mentors, and self-reflection. Character cannot be mandated. It roots and grows from within in accordance to the environment without. Its emergence is no small source of anxiety for parents and educators who watch character emerge quickly in some, painfully slowly in others. It is clear that boundaries play a part in character development, but rules are not the definitive means to that end. Still, discipline matters.
There is a shift on campus, a transition that is more than the collective relief of exams completed. Some students will be back on campus in a little more than a week, while others are getting ready to head to France, to Spain, or to spend a term on Mountain or in Costa Rica. This is the break that reveals the tidal rhythm of the school and reminds us of our constant motion.
