Do Something

DO SOMETHING

Thus reads a bumper sticker given to me by a friend.  It’s on my car.

But what?

Confronted with the pandemic, Black Lives Matter, the global climate crisis, economic inequality, political intransigence, public incivility, some personal family problems, and among other things, the edict to STAY HOME, I was confused, depressed, fearful, sad, marooned, stuck.

At some point, in early March, I joined many others with the resolution to build and cultivate a garden.  That may sound like a small thing, but to me, at least, it was something. I aspired to grow food for us, to share with friends and neighbors, and to donate to our local food shelf.  

From the action of building a garden, I learned a lot.

In the design process I relearned what we advocate in our consulting with schools:: collaboration and engagement in the creative process.  At first I staked out three raised beds in our south lawn…then four.  Louise questioned the location.  She also raised the idea of thinking of the garden as an outdoor room.  She found some images of gardens that appealed to her.  At first I resisted…thinking, a garden’s a garden…you grow vegetables there…to eat…a room?…with flowers, too?

But then, something clicked, and an image started to take shape.  I was intrigued with how two ideas worked together.  First, a warning from a couple of veteran neighbor gardeners that you have to build some sort of fence/barrier to keep critters out, otherwise you’d basically growing food for critters.  And, second, the room.  

So I created schematic drawings.

Again, my partner was not sure…it seemed too much…and she wondered where we should place it.  She called in a friend, a wonderful gardener from down the road a piece.  She had a great idea for where to site the garden.  From there, the schematic moved into construction.

During construction there were a couple more “tweeks” to the design to do with the varying depth of the beds and the width of the railing.  And there were some “tense” moments when what was drawn and what was being built did not align with what was envisioned in between.  Those resolved.

And now there has been the garden itself…the PLANTS in the SOIL.  I’ve relearned that gardening is a dance between humans and mother nature.  I’ve watched seeds sprout and grow…and some sprout and wither and die.  I’ve watered…sometimes too much, sometimes too little.  I’ve wondered about the fertility of the soil, and added organic fertilizer.  Some things helped.  Some did not.  I’ve seen seed from the same packet sprout and grow…and some sprout and sit dormant.  I’ve witnessed the hottest June recorded in Vermont weather history and watched spinach (a plant that thrives on cool nights in our early May/June) stagnate and die.  

I’ve consulted with my neighbor gardeners.  I’ve read religiously in the Bible…no, not that one, this one:  The Vegetable Gardener’s BIBLE, by Edward C. Smith.  I’ve sat on the garden bench and meditated with the plants.  

I am deeply grateful for this on-going garden experience.  I feel more in touch with the natural rhythms that surround us.  The garden is a provocation (in a good way…in the Reggio sense) to wonder more…to ask why?  And, in that wondering mode, I feel more connected to my life and more able to address the tragedies in our daily lives.  

The garden is a safe haven from the pandemic.  I sit in the garden and read How to Be an Antiracist, by Ibram X. Kendi and How to Be Less Stupid about Race, by Crystal M. Fleming.  The garden provides empirical data on our shared global climate crisis.  The garden offers us the chance to conduct our own small scale, organic garden experiment, the privilege of good food…and economic advantage, and the chance to share.  The garden requires of me vigilant responsibility.  There are benefits and continued challenges.  And most of all, the garden is grounding in a time when we all must find healthy ways to live, learn, and contribute to change in our turbulent times. 

An Act of Love Might Tip the Scales

Grandson Jack and his goats at the Farm

It is Memorial Day weekend and we have all been in lockdown for ten weeks.  The town of Middlebury is usually bustling during these days as it is the traditional time for graduation.  The town and the campus are quiet and almost empty.  Times like these feel especially sad and lonely. My heart goes out to all the graduates everywhere who are not able to be with friends and family and celebrate their hard work and accomplishments together.   

Instead of attending a Memorial Day parade this morning, I dropped off four dozen cookies at Bread Loaf Mountain Zen Community.  This community delivers bag lunches twice a week for the homeless in Rutland.  We make cookies and write notes of kindness so that we can contribute in some small way to brightening someone’s day.  I don’t make cookies as a rule, but now I am trying different recipes and learning how to make a good, firm, not burnt on the bottom, cookie as an offering.  It is a weekly practice. 

Hypatica, found during a spring walk in the woods

I have found that there are other practices that I have put into place and honored because I realize that they serve me and that they serve the common good.  I go to bed early, I wake early.  I start my day reading something inspiring and uplifting.  I begin by finding peace and centering with my breath in meditation.  I take care of our land, I plant, I weed.  I write daily.  I follow a drawing prompt that an artist friend offers every day to an open group where we share our efforts weekly. We connect with dear family and friends virtually. We keep in touch with the schools that we work with through virtual meetings and coaching sessions as we have done since we launched Cadwell Collaborative in 2008.  We read to our grandchildren in Boston and also share virtual drawing sessions with them.  We take care of our 18-month-old grandson Jack every Thursday so his mom and dad can work virtually.  I bake bread, even sour dough bread, and it is delicious. It took me a while to figure out how, but with the help of friends and my son, Alden, I did it and it is so satisfying.  I give loaves as gifts, following the example of a neighbor.  I walk, often in the woods, and sometimes with a friend at a 6-foot distance.  Life has become simplified, pared down to the most basic themes of tending, helping, moving, learning, loving, practicing, savoring, and living in the present.  

Exploring the Farm on Thursdays with Jack and the goats

I have felt so grateful for our family’s grounding in mindfulness from our shared retreats with Vietnamese Buddhist monk, Thich Nhat Hanh.  Because we have practiced for years, it feels natural to turn to practical wisdom and to seek out other opportunities to grow more solid and settled.  As my friend Olivia Hoblitzelle says, there is a virtual candy store of options for retreats, courses, and talks out there in the on-line world.  A few weeks ago, I joined a five-day retreat with Sharon Salzberg and Joseph Goldstein sponsored by the Insight Meditation Society in Barre, Massachusetts.  I have listened to the recordings of their talks several times each and am still learning new things and perspectives.  This week, Jack Kornfield is offering an online class. Many of these offerings are free or cost very little.  They are sustaining and calming, and practical! Hard to imagine that meditation could be described as practical, but right now especially, it is.  

Flower bouquets for friends and neighbors

We are selective because there are also so many podcasts, broadcasts, and blogs, all focused on helping us navigate this Covid-19 world.  I find, though, that focusing on this kind of input rather than too much news or social media is life sustaining rather than depressing, draining, and sad.  

One of our favorites is watching poet Billy Collins live in the evening. He reads his poetry and others’ poetry as well.  Jen Hoffman writes inspiring and hopeful blog posts.  I just discovered that Brene’ Brown has a podcast called Unlocking Us and I listened to one of her first episodes today which I found helpful.  Dan Harris hosts his Ten Percent Happier podcast, now with every episode aimed at helping us cope and even thrive during this time.

If you subscribe to the New York Times, you can receive a compelation of articles and resources called Well in your inbox.  Psychology Today has many articles that are to the point, and helpful.  

I will conclude with one of the Psychology Today articles written by my friend mentioned earlier, Olivia Hoblitzelle, whose article references the title of this blog post.  When I read it, I sent it out to friends and now have it tacked on the door of my closet to revisit often.  All very wise guidelines for the times that we are in.  

I count our blessings every day...to live where we do, to be a part of an extended, loving family, to have work that we love, to be able to find ways to cultivate peace and kindness. May we each offer whatever we can to our communities and to the larger world where there is so much grief and hardship. And may we all find ways to take good care of ourselves.

As Olivia ends her piece, I will close as well,

Take Care, Stay Well, and Many Blessings 

Louise and Ashley

One of the daily drawing prompts: Animals

Wisdom for a Pandemic: Seven Guidelines for Living during Turbulent Times

Olivia Ames Hoblitzelle

“This pandemic is utterly mind and soul-boggling. How do we even begin to live in such cataclysmic times? ” This statement from a friend prompted me to reflect on how we might respond to the enormity of what’s unfolding around us. 

The Greek dramatist Aeschylus wrote: “Especially in times of darkness, that is the time to love, that an act of love might tip the scale.” While still being realistic, I find myself wanting to cultivate some positive perspectives for living during these challenging days. 

1) Create pauses. Whatever you’re doing throughout the day, wherever you are, simply stop, pause, and close your eyes. Turn within for some slow, deep breaths, affirming that this moment, this breath, is what you’ve been given. Everything may be unraveling in the outer world, but you are held in the benevolence of your own breath and the momentary quiet. This way you can create moments of refuge throughout your day.

2) Reach out. Never before have we been so aware of our interconnected- ness with the whole world. This recognition may feel both overwhelming and strangely comforting: we’re all in this together. We may be temporarily limited by “social distancing,” but we can still reach out to loved ones by electronic means, through phone, email, Facetime, Skype, and Zoom. Or write a note to an elder who lives alone and would rejoice in your small act of kindness.

“An act of love might tip the scale.”

3) Working with fear. In addition to the corona virus, there is a secondary pandemic of anxiety and fear. We can take care of ourselves and those around us by addressing our fear and help others to do so as well.

         Start with a “welcoming practice,” a four-step process for working with fear:

a) Fear always starts as energy in the body. Although it seems counter intuitive, we need to open to the fear, feel it fully, and allow it to run its course. If we can stay with the cascade of feelings, they will diminish, because the less one resists, the faster that will happen.

b) Bring awareness to your breath, that ever-present ally. Deepen your breaths. Breathe into your belly to activate the parasympathethic nervous system and lower your blood pressure. Imagine the fear flowing out with your out breaths. Fear creates contraction in the body, whereas breathing through the sensations will invite softening and a sense of greater ease.

c) Repeat a mantra or short prayer on the outbreath. For example, “let go,” “calm ... ease,” “quiet mind,” “peaceful heart.” Feel deeply the meaning of whatever words you choose.

d) Expand your field of awareness to include others who may be experiencing fear too – a family member, friend, or even all beings.

Tune into this vast field of interconnectedness. Imagine that you are breathing with them and extend loving kindness to them. “May you be free of fear and have ease of heart.”

Every time you turn your attention away from yourself toward others, your heart will feel lighter. Whatever ways you find for working with fear, appreciate that it calls for self-acceptance, kindness, and great courage.

4) Seek solace in nature. Become aware of what distracts you and throws you off balance -- perhaps an overdose of news programs, too much time on  your phone, countless hours at the computer. Go outside and open to the natural world. Look up at the sky and notice the cloud patterns, see what has changed in the tree outside your apartment, walk in the nearby park. Breathe deeply! Yesterday, I heard the chipping sparrows hiding in the hedge, singing their hearts out. Then a display of snowdrops in my neighbor’s yard -- gifts from the natural world, reminders that at some level all is well.

5) Live in the present moment. In spite of this familiar exhortation, our minds are often lost in the past or future. In the words of Thich Nhat Hanh, a beloved Buddhist teacher, “The future is being made out of the present, so the best way to take care of the future is to take care of the present moment.” 

Don’t shrug this off as one more platitude! Really notice and bring awareness to whether or not you are fully living in this precious moment – the only one you have.

6) Cultivate calm. The simplest steps are often the most overlooked, or the hardest. Since we know how interconnected we are in subtle ways, it is truly a gift to yourself and others to cultivate calm. We can start to do that through the steps mentioned here. Be still. Be calm. Beneath the turbulent waves of this storm, we can always find the calm that lies deep beneath the surface appearance of things. That calm is within.

7) Living with the unknown. The fact is we’ve always been living with the unknown, but probably we’ve never given it serious thought. The enormity of this pandemic thrusts this reality into our consciousness. In these turbulent days, we have a choice: we can slip into a sea of anxiety and fear, or we can look into the face of reality and accept the unknown as a natural part of life. We can rejoice in the day we’ve been given and live it as consciously and lovingly as we can. 

         A wise one once said, “Fear creates the abyss; love crosses it.” 

I’ve always loved this statement, an invitation to open to the love in our lives. Who can we reach out to? What kind gesture might we make toward a neighbor? How might our cultivating calm be a gift to others? Our act of love might tip the scale.

Take care, stay well, and many blessings, Olivia

The land that we call The Farm, where Ashley grew up

Reflections from Week Four of #stayathome

This morning we woke up early to see a perfect, glowing, globe moon hanging just above the westerly horizon over the forested hills in the distance.  It is the Pink Moon, the year’s biggest and brightest supermoon.  It is thought to appear bigger because it is closer to the earth and it is not pink really, but called pink because this full moon happens around the time of the bloom of the Phlox subulata, a wildflower native to eastern North America.  Even though we are not seeing this carpet of pink at this time of year in Vermont, I love the name of the moon and will now always remember it.  I will also remember the name of the last full moon, the Sap Moon, as the sap is running in March and the steamy fragrance of maple syrup in the making surrounds sugar houses around Vermont and in our neighborhood.  It is a nourishing and wonderful thing to be in touch with the seasons and with the moon and the phases of the moon, our closest neighbor in space.  Wherever we are, city or country, in North America or South America, Asia or Iceland, we see the same moon in the same phase.  We are all, on planet earth, witnessing the rising and setting of this perfect, enormous, pink moon in the first week of April, 2020.

At the same time, we are in “lockdown,” practically everywhere around the globe.  We are staying home, keeping a safe distance from everyone with whom we are not sharing living quarters.  All non-essential businesses are closed, schools and universities and libraries are closed.  Concerts, plays, graduations, all cancelled or postponed.  And hospitals are overflowing and many, many people are sick or have died of the heretofore unknown virus called Covid-19.  All over the globe we are living in a strange, sad, and scary time.  

Our last blog post focused on many opportunities for organizing and finding learning experiences at home and online.  Since then, there have been many articles about how hard, if not impossible, it is to be a full-time worker, parent, manager of a home, cook, and teacher. 

I saw a post recently from Emily King, a family therapist, who writes: It’s not hard because you are doing it wrong. It’s hard because it’s too much. Do the best you can. When you have to pick, because at some point you will, choose connection. Pick playing a game over arguing about an academic assignment. Pick teaching your children how to do laundry rather than feeling frustrated that they aren’t helping. Pick laughing and snuggling and reminding them that they are safe.

Playing drumming games 6 feet apart.

Kim Simon writes in a Huffington Post article, “Parents: It’s OK if You are Barely Getting By Right Now,” Keep them safe, make them feel loved and feed them. That’s all you have to be an expert in. We show up. We try our best. There isn’t a schedule in the world that can teach our children that. But we can. Love hard and listen to your big feelings, parents.

In the midst of this tragic global pandemic there are uplifting stories…of reduced greenhouse gases, fish and dolphins swimming in the now clean waters of the canals of Venice, ordinary people helping people all over the world, the heroic medical workers and first responders, the brave janitors, grocery store workers, farmers, truckers, postal workers, and teachers.  All the people who are paid the least and overlooked in our society continue to do the unending work necessary right now, while the rest of us do the best we can to find some new ways of life that are helpful and workable or just, to survive. 

For some of us who are lucky enough to have a safe place to live, to stay healthy, and to have enough food and space around us, silver linings emerge.

Walking the Trail Around Middlebury

Alan Lightman writes in his article, The Virus is a Reminder of Something Lost Long Ago in The Atlantic:

In bad times, innovation can occur in habits of mind as well as in new technologies. The frightening COVID-19 pandemic may be creating such a change now—by forcing many of us to slow down, to spend more time in personal reflection, away from the noise and heave of the world. With more quiet time, more privacy, more stillness, we have an opportunity to think about who we are, as individuals and as a society.

We live in an old apple orchard and the buds are just beginning to swell.  Spring comes late in Vermont and this year we are home on our land most of the time.  Often, we are traveling, with our children and grandchildren, or working with schools.  March and April can be challenging months in Vermont.  This period is called Mud Season because the ground is wet, goopy, and brown and the weather is often cold and sometimes it snows.  This year, I am savoring every day, wet or warm, blustery or mild, delighting in the slow buds, the greening grass, the warmth of the sun and the necessity of the rain and snow for the earth to wake up and support new life. I feel so grateful to be able to walk outside, to take full breaths, to be healthy right now.  I feel such sadness for the world.  And at the same time, I feel the hope of spring, and the promise of possibilities that might grow out of our collective, forced stopping all movement and rush of the life that we have become accustomed to. 

I found 2 poems the other day that seem to fit our time and have sent them to friends.  The first is an excerpt from “Keeping Quiet” by Pablo Neruda:

Now we will count to twelve.

And we will all keep still. 

For once on the face of the earth, 

Let’s not speak in any language;

Let’s stop for one second,

And not move our arms so much. 

It would be an exotic moment

Without rush, without engines;

We would all be together

In a sudden strangeness.

The second is by Ada Limon, “Instructions On Not Giving Up”

More than the fuchsia funnels breaking out
of the crabapple tree, more than the neighbor’s
almost obscene display of cherry limbs shoving
their cotton candy-colored blossoms to the slate
sky of spring rains, it’s the greening of the trees
that really gets to me. When all the shock of white
and taffy, the world’s baubles and trinkets, leave
the pavement strewn with the confetti of aftermath,
the leaves come. Patient, plodding, a green skin
growing over whatever winter did to us, a return
to the strange idea of continuous living despite
the mess of us, the hurt, the empty. Fine then,
I’ll take it, the tree seems to say, a new slick leaf
unfurling like a fist to an open palm, I’ll take it all.

We are apart and we are all in this together…everywhere, in every corner of the globe. This experience is bringing us all to our knees and tragically many to their graves.  What will come of this time? What will we do with it? What will we take from it? How will we grow? How might we begin to live in balance with earth’s systems? How will we change? How will we change the world? So that we might go forward with wisdom, kindness, justice, fairness, understanding, and love…for all of us, no exceptions,…unfurling like a fist to an open palm. 

Family Life and Learning in the Time of Covid-2019

What at time! We live in Vermont where Middlebury College is closed, all the schools are closed, the yoga studio and the gyms are closed, bars and restaurants are closed, churches are closed, the bookstore and other small businesses are closed.  And not only that, we can’t see friends or family or be closer than 6 feet to anyone, even outside! And this is the case for most of us all over the world right now. 

If we ever doubted that we are connected and interdependent, that we are all responsible, that everything we do or don’t do matters, it is not possible to doubt that any longer.  We are interconnected in every way; we are a network.  This is the way our planet and our life on earth “works.” These are natural laws.  

As I become accustomed to home bound life, I am focusing on simple gifts that surround me like the birds at the feeder, the green shoots of daffodils pushing up through the brown, brittle leaves, the red fox stalking any small rodent who might be peeking up from the ground, my neighbor who I can see from my study window, pruning his apple trees this morning. 

I am also overwhelmed by the number of learning and uplifting experiences that people are offering for free online.  Because we are educators and lovers of the arts, we are linked to so many possibilities from generous individuals and organizations.  

Our own grandchildren are now being homeschooled by their parents. Lucky for them, their mother is a first-grade teacher and now she is their teacher, fully equipped with knowledge, resources, strategies, organizational expertise and patience! (You can follow her twitter posts of home schooling learning experiences on @MsCadwell1C) One of the first images she sent us was a flexible, movable daily schedule handwritten by Asher and Delilah including morning meeting, reading, math, recess!! science, choice time and so on.  I sent this schedule to my friend Laura and she sent it on to her son’s family and now, they have made one too. See below.

In order not to downplay the enormous challenge for parents during this time, here’s what a friend and former preschool teacher and director wrote to me yesterday…

It is clear that many parents are both trying to work full time from home, and that although they want to be 100% embracing homeschooling, simplifying, observing the natural world... it’s super challenging.  My son said yesterday that he now feels all teachers need a tremendous raise!  He said it’s day 5, but feels like day 80!  My daughter-in-law wrote about the push and pull feeling of loving this time with her kids, stressing a lot about work, and worrying about the world...

Planning the week of learning at home

That said, there are ways we can move forward. As grandparents, we have shared much more time than usual connecting virtually with the grandchildren.  Just yesterday, I shared a drawing experience with Asher, age 7, and Delilah, age 5.  I sent them a preview video explaining and demonstrating the idea and the technique of “bug drawing.”  This is not about drawing insects, rather it is a kid friendly way to learn contour drawing by pretending that you are a small insect crawling along the edges and interior lines of a leaf, stem, pinecone, shell, or other object.  We had fun together and are planning our next shared drawing experience.  You can read more about this idea here and here.

We are sure that there are many ways that grandparents might share virtually (or on the phone) with their grandchildren, or aunts and uncles with nieces and nephews, or friends of the family with children, …stories, simple recipes, riddles and word games, picture books, guessing games.  Give it a try.  We are lucky to live in an age where many of us have a virtual way to be together and to learn together. Old fashion letter writing is a wonderful practice too, to share stories and ideas and to exchange love and care.

We know that there are some families who will certainly struggle more with learning at home and there are families who do not have internet access. I know that many school systems are working hard to address this and to gain internet access for all families.

We will share some of the resources that we have received in the last week or so here, and then, in the next blog post, we hope to share more.  Share them with us too! We will pass them on. And pass them on to your friends, families, and neighbors. We are all in this together and we can create a positive wave.  

One of the first blog posts I read that inspired me was from Christina Greve.  She said this about being at home with children. 

 If you’re on lockdown with your kids, remember that this is a unique chance to spend quality time with them and be fully present. Slow down, bake, paint, play, draw, read stories and dance.

Help your kids focus on the positive parts of life. They need you to take leadership in the most optimistic way.

Count your blessings because there are so many wonderful things in this world. You can choose to be fearful or you can choose to be grateful.

The bottom line is that finding thankfulness for the “little” things like hugging your pet, holding hands, having a roof over your head, being loved, being alive, having friends, walking in nature and listening to music, is what will get you through this.

Spontaneous rendition of the “Undie Rock” this week for dad…

Christina’s words set the tone for all of us, not only parents of young children.  I take them to heart. To be present and grateful and to find joy…these seem to be the keys to life now.  This is not new news, it is just more important than ever. And, yes, it is a daily practice.

Here are some resources:

Penny Dullaghan is an illustrator and dear friend of ours.  Lucky for us: she designed our website.  She works from home and she home schools her daughter.  Her blog post a week ago is full of wonderful and varied resources for learning online.  I would go here first for her ideas and resources. 

One of the sites she lists is Raddish Kids.  It is all about cooking, learning about cooking, and healthy habits for and with children.  My son Alden made doughnut holes earlier this week with Asher and Delilah and posted photos of the process and the recipe on Instagram. 

Asher and Delilah making doughnut holes, recipe from Raddish Kids

This link came yesterday from a friend.  A wonderful list of nature experiences outside for this time of year. I am eager to try some of them myself…compiled by Four Winds Nature Institute.

Another friend forwarded this wonderful resource. So many art and science museums all over the world are offering online experiences for children and families including the Smithsonian and the Louvre! Please take a look at picture book author and illustrator’s, Mo Wilems Lunchtime Doodles. It is so much fun for all ages.

If you want a music class for younger children, try this one with Mr. Chris.

For yoga for all ages, try some classes by Yoga with Adrienne.

If you would like to connect with Mindfulness experiences for children, go here for weekly online classes. 

This Sunday at 4:00 EDT, there will be a family sing hosted by Revels Inc.  We have attended the Christmas Revels performance ever since our sons were small and now we go every year with our grandchildren.  David Coffin’s strong, melodious voice is hard to resist and we think that you will want to sing along. 

Be well, go outside and walk in nature if you can, do good things for people as you are able, (today I am dropping off bundles of pussy willows to neighbors as my friend Laura did yesterday, and we are contributing to local networks providing assistance to neighbors and our local businesses), cook good food, read, be present…and don’t forget to sing, dance and wash your hands.  For better or for worse, in sickness and in health, we are all in this together.

Grandson Jack stacking!

The Legacy of a Family Farm

The Cadwell Farm...this place...is in my bones...and heart...and soul. I know, intimately, just about every square inch of it. I played and worked on that land and in those houses and barn from birth to my mid 20’s...and periodically every year thereafter. The summer thunderstorms raging in over the Hubbardton ridge...the snowstorms blowing in over the Green Mountains...the midsummer moon rising over the mountains...the winter solstice sun setting at it’s most southerly point...they all make my heart sing.

There is a peace about the place that feeds my soul.

And, the Cadwell Farm is a place where my brothers and I get to pay it forward. I am reminded of what a dear friend, Peter Forbes, of Knoll Farm in Waitsfield, Vermont, wrote reflecting on his mentor, Bill Copperthwaite:

When my own life is done, my legacy might be a physical place, made sacred by care and attention, experienced together by people who can also find on that land their deepest courage to go forward and to create beauty, to love again in the dark hours. When my life is done, I want to have created a safe harbor on the land for my family, and others, to find and speak their truths, to practice creativity, and to use their imagination. I want to help others to believe in the land again and to believe in their own personal power.

My brothers and I are in synch with Peter on this. And Louise and my summer education retreat, with our colleagues Chuck Schwall and Michael Holohan, is one step in this process.

To better frame our connection to this place, let me give you a brief history the farm and my experience on it.

The Cadwell Farm goes back to the early 1800’s. My five younger brothers and I were the sixth generation to be raised on the farm, in the 50’s-60’s-70’s.

That’s me on the left…then Steve, Jason, Michael, Jared and Alden…in shirts and sweaters our Mother made for us.

The farm sits in a valley and looks up to the east to the Green Mountain ridge with Pico Peak the signature profile at just under 4,000 feet, and to the west at the Hubbardton hills. The valley was formed over the millennia by a river, Otter Creek, that flows north from the Green Mountains, over 100 miles into Lake Champlain. Otter Creek defines the western boundary of the farm; and Furnace Brook, a tributary of Otter Creek, defines the eastern boundary. The farm is about 200 acres in all, with 80 acres of tillable open fields, presently planted in feed crops for beef cattle.

The barnyard “piazza” is framed by two houses, north and south, with front porches addressing the street, Elm Street; and a great white clapboard, four story barn (30 feet wide and 100 feet long) that sits back from the road about 200 feet between the houses. For a drone and slide tour of the farm click here.

A sketch of the barn that I made last year….

In my childhood, my father’s Uncle Dan lived in the southern house. He owned the farm and ran it as a dairy farm that milked about 60 black and white Holsteins twice a day, at 5 a.m. and 3 p.m. We lived in the northern house, a typical meandering white clapboard farmhouse that began as a simple one story cape in the 1800’s and expanded through three additions (including the import of a piece of a church from up the street) to become the structure that my mother, an architect, renovated in 1960 to best accommodate her brood.

When I was old enough - about 10 - I was allowed to help with the chores: go get the cows in the lower or upper pasture, pitch down hay from the massive three story hay mow to the cows stanchioned in the milking parlor on the basement level, ladle grain to the same girls, shovel their manure. When I was in my teens I could help with the haying: throw bails onto the wagon, stack bails on the wagon and from there into the barn hay mow. If I was really lucky I got to drive the tractor or the truck.

However, most of my time on the farm was spent at play — in the woods, along the river, in the fields: engineering bike paths through the pine trees, building “cabins” of fallen limbs, or in the abandoned box of an old truck, or, in my early teens, constructed of real lumber with a tin roof and a wood stove!...fishing or skating at the Cove...sitting on the “big rock” gazing at the pollywog pond...inventing games...playing ball (all kinds of ball)...one summer we boarded two ponies, so, “Cowboys and Indians” was the go to drama...later my father persuaded his uncle to cede him a piece of the calf pasture adjoining our backyard and he built a tennis court.

Up and down Elm Street, within about a quarter mile, there were six other families (including the three families of my uncle’s hired farm hands) with 25 kids within a 15 year span. There was never any lack of companionship. We were free range chickens...contained by the boundaries of the farm, yet free to invent our own world there within. Actually, in affirmation of that domain, our mother had a simple, direct command to us boys whenever we got too squirrelly indoors. It was: OUT!

All this in the backdrop of a working dairy farm.

In the early 70’s my Great Uncle Dan died and in his will he sold the farm to my Dad, a life insurance and pension underwriter. All the cattle and dairy equipment were sold at auction.

Dad leased the open land to other farmers for crops and rented Uncle Dan’s house and the remaining tenant house. When Dad wasn’t “doing business” he loved to work around the land...mowing, chain sawing, digging...and always, he would round up one or two or three of us boys to “project” with him. My favorite project of his considerable legacy was the culling of a self seeded stand of maple trees on the knoll across the field east of the house. Today, some 70 years after his initial vision, it’s a sugarbush ready to yield many gallons of syrup.

When I first imagined hosting an education retreat on the farm, all these images from my past came flooding back to me. I feel blessed to have such a place to share with others. Just as this land has been a constant source of inspiration for me, it’s with delighted anticipation that I look forward to witnessing this place as an inspiration for our retreat. To paraphrase and adapt what Peter wrote above: Through a compelling learning experience on the grounds of our family farm I want to help others to believe in their own personal power.

To register for our retreat, click here.