THE SCHOOLS WE NEED
I hated school. The animal in me felt caged and beaten down by a curriculum that had nothing to do with what I needed, wanted and should have received if school was truly meant to prepare me for life.
Instead, public school was, and is, a conveyor belt preparing a workforce to fill certain job-functions in the diabolic industrial machine of modernity.
The lack of true education creates ignorance, addictions, and a dependency on money, jobs and institutions to fulfill our basic needs like feeding ourselves, lodging ourselves, healing ourselves, making and repairing the tools we use and resolving our conflicts. This lack fosters an environment that emboldens competition instead of inspiring collaboration.
Given the urgent need to rebuild a World that we have deeply damaged, it is crucial that we rethink the way of educating our children, and re-educating ourselves, in order to be equipped for the daunting task ahead.
Many great thinkers have equated our current enslavement, lack of real health, wealth and freedom, to our disconnection from the land. And I am not talking about just going hiking in the woods on weekends, but of a deep sense of belonging to a place. Having a keen sense of home. A place that we know and that knows us. A place that we nourish and beautify, and that loves us back in a thousand surprising ways.
The Juniper Titmouse birds coming in and out of our farm building obviously recognize us and the dogs, and see us as their family. Their undeniable comfort shows their closeness to humans. The Northern Flickers pecking at our metal building as if playing Gamelan, are obviously communicating a message unique to this place, and us, living in this space.
Three years ago, I put my bags down on this 30-acre strip of old and neglected farmland, knowing that I was here to stay and become one with the place. Continuing a journey of decolonizing my mind and reawakening the dormant indigenous part of my being, one that my formal schooling did everything to suppress.
For three years I have been baked, battered, frozen, melted, inspired, confronted, scared and touched in many more ways than I can explain here.
For three years I have been observing an environment that is wild, damaged and complex, yet deeply alive. I have stepped into the ancient Acequia culture, learning from having to manage not only my water quota water over our fields, but also from being a ditch commissioner in charge of the upkeep of a 12 mile-long irrigation infrastructure dating back to 1820.
For three years I have shown up at church, rodeos, communions, funerals, San Isidro feast days, community meetings, ditch clean-ups, and mingled with a traditional Hispanic ranching community that has made me feel at home.
As I have slowly and diligently begun building the foundation for a new agrarian settlement to serve future generations, I have been reflecting on all the things that this place can teach us as residents and to the people visiting.
The land itself is the real teacher and her myriad of voices speak must be listened to. It takes time and patience to hear them. The one and only thing the River ever said to me when I first arrived is “I am a being”. That alone can keep me busy thinking and feeling for the rest of my life…
The watershed, is also a great teacher as we have interdependence and responsibilities with communities upstream and downstream from us.
The weather is another remarkable teacher as one’s work must be adapted to the conditions present in each day since most of our activities are outside.
Away from the brouhaha and endless distractions of the city, the mind turns to a different rhythm.
The position of the sun is your clock.
Your body, your main tool.
Your imagination, the boss.
The community of residents and migratory birds, your friends and a source of endless entertainment.
The wind, a reminder of the might of the elements.
The cold, a reason to move to stay warm.
The drought a call to cooperate to share irrigation water.
The quietness, an opportunity to feel and listen deeply.
The distance from urban centers and conveniences such as gas or groceries, a reason to continually plan ahead and become better organized.
The neighbors, who have lived here their whole life, an opportunity to get to know them and draw from their wisdom.
The wealth of skills present within our extended community, a gift to be shared with our neighborhood.
Rebuilding our cities, villages, communities and farms is going to take a lot of imagination, drawing from ancient wisdom and new technologies alike.
We need new schools in the city where nature and life-skills are engrained and purposefully taught. We also need new schools in the country in the form of farms and settlements like the one we are attentively devising. Both models ought to nurture a true connection to the land and its complex needs, and give us spaces to learn the skills we need to prepare for an uncertain and most likely quite difficult future.
Designing such schools that can host a constant flow of interns, residents and visitors requires planning and imagination, and resources of all kinds. It requires patience, love and a determination to think of many generations down the line.
For the past three years, we have slowly been preparing the place for the arrival of interns, collaborators, visitors, teachers and funding, while building capacity, planting trees, creating a campground with kitchen, shower and composting toilet, repairing bridges and irrigation gates, mending fences, planting cover crops and pollinator flowers, harvesting medicinal herbs, growing a home garden, tending bees and nurturing a wild and loving pack of dogs that gravitated towards our camp.
We have written grants and developed protocols and systems to enable us to live efficiently and harmoniously as a small community of caretakers.
In working in close quarters, we have been confronted with the realities of entitlement and privileges, within ourselves and in others, and we have grown more aware of our needs to heal whatever is in the way of our becoming valuable guides, mentors and elders.
Three years have gone so fast that my arrival feels like yesterday. I have never had a dull moment as the needs of such a complex and ambitious undertaking always keeps me awake, and on my toes at all times.
It has truly been an honor to be here and strive to create a new form of farm school, or maybe to return to what a farm used to be. A community, an organism, a hub, a teaching center, a place of refuge for humans, animals and plants alike, a heartbeat in sync with Nature.
It is with gratitude that I write this year-end statement and reflect on all that has been done in such a short time with so few resources. I am grateful for all the skills I have acquired during a creative and engaging existence. I am touched by all that has been donated in terms of resources, skills, support and care. I am encouraged by the dance of Nature all around me as if she is saying, good job son, here’s another flock of Canadian geese over your head as a blessing of honking and grace.
As Covid has taken so many things away from our daily lives, I feel lucky to be here, always in the fresh air and on my feet, breathing life as intended-fully. Working diligently and passionately to find innovative ways to build, organize, promote, be engaged and in service to Life.
It has been a remarkable three years and the best years of my life.
I will leave you with a slide show of our accomplishments so that hopefully you’ll feel the vibe and be inspired to contribute and participate in the creation of a new center of learning for ourselves and our children. A center of birthing, transforming, metamorphosing and aging.
A place to call home when you live here, come to teach, learn or visit.
