In Love with Our Steps
Sometimes its hard to realize when you’ve found a special place.
When our feet first stepped on damp ground and into forests that smelled like perfumes of moss and trees and sunshine and life, the way we walked changed.
The steps we took became no broader nor shorter, the speed of our pace didn’t change- but instead the weight of our steps.
Trudging through muck became privilege instead of punishment, pulling up weeds and feeling dirt under our nails became more than something required and more than school and more than work and more than obligation.
using our bodies to accomplish and to live and to create and to nurture wasn’t optional anymore.
I think that’s when we knew, this place was something more than ordinary.
I think that’s when we knew that this place was somewhere different.
You can see it in the way the teacher’s eyes light up when they take us outside, you can see it in the way our mentors smile not at a day without rain, but at a day with lots to see. You can see it in the way our words jump off of each other and the way connections are made like honey dissolves into tea.
you can see it in the way the clicks of our heels sync up without a pause and the way the corner of one smile turns into the corner of the next and how one side of all of our faces got sunburned on the same day…and none of us noticed.
you can see it in the way we sometimes hold things that are a bit too heavy and show off the soreness of our backs because we’re proud of what we’ve done.
you can see it in the way that when one of us hurts, we all hurt, and that one of us has a good day we laugh together- even if its over the little things, like how you named your hammock something weird or how that package you got looked more like a boiled potato than a box, or how you had an encounter with a flying squirrel that ended up in friendship.
you can see it in the way that more often than not our whispers turn into talking that turns into screaming and shouting and exclamations and suddenly it gets so loud we don’t know even who is talking anymore.
I knew this place was something more than ordinary, when not knowing who was talking, felt special.
I knew this place wasn’t somewhere ordinary, when hearing a chorus of voices where my own used to be felt like privilege.
where we crawl together, we walk together, we march together, we stomp together. Where we used to look at our own feet, we now look at our foot prints, and this time, it means something.
This time we know what we’re doing, and we know what we’re doing together.
This time we know that we are not just ordinary.
This time, we let ourselves come together.
This time, we fell in love with our steps.
~This blog entry shares the words of CS 9 student Rowen Lohmann. Rowen shared this poem with the Conserve School Community during the Family Weekend Semester Showcase on Saturday, October 11th. Rowen is from Eau Claire, Wisconsin.~
You can help Rowen’s quest to attend the Woolman Semester in the spring by clicking here.