The Challenge of SDE: Our Arrogance and our Wisdom

Written by

I grew up at the Sudbury Valley School in Framingham Massachusetts (1985-97). It is one of the oldest and best known democratic schools in the world. This experience provided me not only the happiest childhood I could imagine, it also gave me an unshakable confidence in the ability of children to educate themselves and create meaningful and fulfilling adult lives for themselves. Sometimes I wish I could magically impart this confidence to parents who want to be able to trust the process more and to give their kids more freedom. I wish they could see that their kids are no different than all the kids I have known, both from my years at Sudbury Valley and my time as a staff at the Macomber Center, who have boldly and successfully tread this path.

The path of self-directed education is extremely challenging for parents because it triggers our strongest fears. There is nothing scarier than the idea that we might be failing to prepare our children for a happy life. And yet the desire for our children to be happy is what brings us to this challenging, sometimes slightly terrifying path in the first place. This leaves us in a state of limbo with one foot on the path and one foot off, not wanting to turn back and put our kids in conventional school but not quite ready to take the leap, not ready to put our kids completely in control of their own education. This can be a confusing, anxiety-producing, and conflict-ridden place to be, not only for us but for our kids, as well.

I fully respect the diverse spectrum of approaches within the wide world of self-directed education. I know there are parents out there who prefer an eclectic blend of some required activities and some time for free exploration. But for those parents who feel that the key to their children thriving is to be found in the direction of giving your child more trust and freedom, even if it means more pushback from friends and family, I want to encourage you to trust your instinct and to take that leap.

Embarking fully on the path of self-directed education requires a radical shift away from our usual way of viewing children. We have been taught to see children as bereft, in need of adult intervention of some kind. If that intervention is not carried out by teachers in school, or at home through formal learning activities, then maybe it just consists more in the gentle and wise guidance of children in a positive direction, towards experiences that will optimize their growth and development and away from the harmful influences of the dominant culture. But self-directed education challenges us to turn this view of children around.

We can learn to see our children as already rich in everything they need. My own kids, for example, who are ages 6 and 8, (and this could be said of many other self-directed children) know about things that I don’t even know to ask about. More importantly, they intuitively understand things about the world we are living in today that I will never understand. And they certainly know things about themselves that I will never know. When we pay attention and develop an appreciation of their knowledge, their understanding, and their wisdom, it is humbling and it can counteract our habitual, anxious tendency to constantly guide, advise and direct their lives. After all, their understanding of themselves, the world around them, and their place in it is going to be far more important to their lives than anything we can give them. So we should try, as much as possible, to get out of their way and let them figure out who they are, what they want, and how they will go about getting it. When they are treated with respect, trust, and non-judgemental care, we can be sure that they will ask for our help when it is needed.

The insistence that we must impart our hard-won wisdom by continuously advising, guiding and directing them is not wise; it’s arrogant. If we want them to benefit from our wisdom then we can try tapping into the wisdom that recognizes their wisdom. We can trust that they are making their own good use of our example, our experience, and our knowledge. Sometimes they ask for it, but mostly they absorb it in ways that we are not aware of, and in ways that they are not even aware of. Growing up at Sudbury Valley, I was deeply influenced by certain adults in my life. Seeing how they viewed the world and how they approached life had a profound effect on me, partly because it was never imposed on me. They simply lived their lives, treated us with respect, and trusted us to live our own lives.

If we can learn to see our children more clearly for who they are, free from our fear-based projections, we will recognize their capacity to live their own lives, make their own choices and deepen their own wisdom. If we really look, really pay attention, we will eventually see that they are experts in the area of their own lives, and in a much better position to direct their lives than we are. But we may have to take a few breaths, step back and watch. Maybe for a long time.

The Psychological Ecology of Sudbury

Written by

Faulty Assumptions

When I tell people about how Hudson Valley Sudbury School (HVSS) works, they sometimes ask if it’s like William Golding’s Lord of the Flies. They imagine a vicious world of savage children struggling for supremacy, gnawing on limbs, and skewering random stuff with sharpened sticks.  They even bring up anecdotes from their own experience to suggest that we should expect brutality to rein under the conditions we maintain at our school; they’ll say something like, “in my high school, if the teacher ever stepped out of the classroom, even for a second, a fight would break out.”  I understand – I’ve even worked in a school where that was indeed the case. If not a fight, something transgressive would happen – a champion would emerge from the rows of desks to make some raucous gesture of contempt for authority, to the hoots and applause of classmates.  And when we attempted to have unstructured time, like a recess, there was almost always an actual fistfight. At that school, the adults micromanaged the students as much as possible. The more control a teacher was able to exert over students, the more highly that teacher was regarded; power, and the control it afforded, was the highest good.  The most effective teachers were known for directing students with military precision, drilling them in posture and guidelines which sharply restricted how they could move their bodies, even while seated, and where they could direct their gaze at any particular moment. In such an excruciating and oppressive environment, tense but utterly boring, people find ways to rebel – not because they can’t handle freedom maturely when they find or steal a moment of it, but because they are deprived of it.  Their “transgressions” are hardly evidence of immaturity; they are, rather, evidence of an unhealthy ecology of relationships. The boys in Lord of the Flies were cultivated within a culture of mistrust and assimilated into a brutal hierarchy at their mid-20th century English boarding school.  Left to their own devices, they recreated the ecology of their native psychological habitat. Lord of the Flies is not a cautionary tale about freedom; it’s a cautionary tale about oppression.

The Psychological Ecology of Trust

In enrollment interviews at HVSS, parents sometimes ask about safety, like, how can the young people here be safe if adults are not necessarily monitoring them?  I love this question, because it invites me to explain the mechanism on which our school is built: trust. Everyone tends to understand the emphasis we place on autonomy, because the concept is so firmly rooted in the value-system of the western world.  But the active effect of trust in Self-Directed Education (SDE) programs is more obscure.  I like to point out the window at the little groups and singles, meandering about outdoors.  I say, they are actually safer because we are not supervising them.  They know they’re responsible for their own safety and behavior, so they take care of themselves, and each other.  Sometimes overzealously: there was a time kids would come zooming in to grab a staff member or the nurse anytime someone stubbed their toe.  They’ve relaxed, but they still comfort each other when they skin knees and walk each other to the nurse’s office or fetch her when necessary.  And when someone is taking a risk which others judge a step too far – climbing up to the swaying top of a white pine, for example, you can be sure someone will be standing at the bottom of that tree, checking in.

We all appreciate, so much, being trusted, and young people are no different.  They know very well that they deserve to be trusted and are worthy of it, so they’re delighted when it’s extended to them.  They take it seriously, and comport themselves differently than when they are unsupervised and mistrusted.  In other words, becoming ensconced in trusting relationships engenders trustworthy behavior, creating a psychological ecology in our community which would be unrecognizable to the boys from Lord of the Flies.

Expectations vs. Trust

Here’s something I can agree on with educators everywhere, including the most systematic micromanagers: expectations are powerful influencers of human behavior.  Everyone within a community is intricately and extensively interconnected, and our attitudes towards each other inevitably have their effect.  The more power an individual has, the more potent their expectations. This is fundamentally an ecological insight: it recognizes the extensive interconnectivity and interdependence between people, and between organisms and their environment.

Expectations seek to actively control the behavior of others.  Trust, on the other hand, is a kind of vote of confidence; it conveys a firm belief in the reliability, basic goodness, and ultimate success of the individual.  Like expectations, trust harnesses the interconnectedness of the community, but in doing so it bolsters rather than infringes on autonomy.

As much as we focus on the individual in discussing our school, the group ecology plays a vital role in the experience of each student.  The trust of the community (including parents) is an integral component of our program; it is what we do with the facts of our interconnectedness and interdependence.  We are not a loose federation of individuals which passively supports autonomy by neglect, ignoring our interdependence – we are a community which actively supports each other via trust and trustworthy behavior.

Self-Directed Education works because kids are capable, but also because trust is powerful.  Our students know it is their prerogative to direct their own lives; they know that their parents, and the staff of the school, trust them to do this.  And this trust is abiding. We know that every student will make mistakes, just as we continue to make them. This trust is not a contract, to be withdrawn upon failure.  It’s an impressive message for our young people, and for each other as adults working in SDE spaces, and a serum of strength, affirmation, and encouragement for all of us as we navigate and master the challenges of being free together.

It Feels Good

Written by

Yesterday was the second day of school at The Hudson Valley Sudbury School. For me it was an emotional start to the year. My youngest is now officially enrolled as a fresh five year old, and two of my oldest graduated last year leaving me to start the year without them. It’s been bittersweet. I know that they were ready to leave.  One is at Sarah Lawrence College, not too far from home so I can still lay eyes on him every so often. I look forward to watching him grow, I eagerly await the stories of his classes, his adventures and what it’s like to be a Sudbury grad, and of course to watch him serve as an alumni at various school events. The other has flown across the world to conquer the professional video game stage, signed as a well-paid, pro player on a team in Asia. He’s on a team that is navigating having players who speak 4 different languages; he’s training, he’s greeting fans, he’s keeping color-coded spreadsheets about technical play – the opportunity of a lifetime. They are both exactly where they should be, and they have taken these steps with a grounded confidence that makes me proud. And I’m doing what I can to miss them in a positive way.

My five year old has taken to the school with gusto. He wakes up early so he can take the school bus (even though I go in two hours later) and makes sure to check if I will be leaving later than the bus. He comes home exhausted after hours of make believe games, of running hard. He’s excited to tell me how he beat a new level in a game he’s been playing, bought something from the school store or was the first on his team to be ready for End of Day Cleaning. His confidence and independence are soaring. While I miss having my baby at home, attached to me, it is blaringly obvious how happy and ready he is to be there. He has also been a walking reminder of what my 17 year old was like when he enrolled just shy of 5. It’s a changing of guards as his graduation means we no longer have any students from when we first opened.

So many things have changed within these walls and on this campus since the day we opened 14 years ago. With the exception of two staff the entire student and staff body is different. The building has been painted, there is an incredible playground, a garden, and an entirely new building has sprouted up. The processes, for the most part feel well oiled and there is solid history behind law decisions and culture. It feels secure and grounded. It feels good.

Now, feeling that the school is stable, that the ship is in good hands, I can look toward the future. We have some exciting projects in the works: we’re looking at ways to build a strong endowment, maybe even so strong we could run the budget off the interest, and we’re thinking about ways to support the Sudbury philosophy worldwide – sending ambassadors out to help startup groups, etc. – we’re thinking a bit outside these walls. It also feels good.

Yesterday, as I sat on the swings and looked around the campus I was struck by how many things had changed and at the same time everything is the same. I watched a group of boys climb high into the trees, a couple of young girls walking arm in arm chatting, 3 young boys were playing hard in the sandbox – leaping from the boulder while battling imaginary bad guys, a group of teens were talking in the garden, surrounded by fresh veggies and flowers…. They were all so happy to be back at school. And I could feel it from the swings as I surveyed the campus. So I hopped up and took an hour finding each person in attendance, and I asked them one question and wrote down their unfiltered answers. It confirmed my beliefs. I am so grateful to be part of a school where feeling “good”, “great”, “awesome” or “serene” is at the forefront of their minds.

  • Their answers to “How does it feel to be back? (and for the new members of the community – “How does it feel to be here?”)
  • It so serene, cool and chill. Weird, but cool chill. I’ve never been so relaxed in a school setting before. It’s weird to get used to.
  • It’s like family
  • Liberating
  • It feels really good. I feel more grounded. I missed all the people more than I thought I would. It feels great to be back with people who feel the same way as I do.
  • Cool
  • Good, good, great!
  • Amazing
  • Good
  • Feels pretty good
  • Fine, great, it’s nice to be back
  • Good!
  • I like it!!
  • Weird
  • Good
  • Thumps up
  • Little bored
  • Good
  • It’s good
  • Pretty good, better than my last school!
  • Yeah, it’s gooood
  • Good
  • Why did it start so late??
  • Oh yeah, it’s great!
  • I had a great summer but it’s good…so what are you doing?
  • Good
  • Good, I mean, you can’t top good!
  • Welcome. And I’m not alone all the time, my life is back on track!
  • Energizing
  • Same old same old – I’ve got this one (pointing at a friend) and this one (pointing at another friend)
  • Pretty good, bored, a bit stressful
  • I never left, but for the most part it’s absolutely wonderful to have all the kids and commotion back. I like having kids back even if it’s harder to get work done.
  • It feels pretty good, but surreal not having the people who left.
  • It feels real great.
  • Good, I’m bored at home
  • LIT
  • Really awesome, best day. I’m really so happy. I’m glad to have some time away from my family and to be with my friends.
  • Awesome la vista, awesome ba bista
  • Awesome, awesome, for real!
  • Good, great
  • Great
  • Amazing, really! I missed my friends
  • It’s the cat’s pajamas to be back
  • Good
  • Meh
  • It’s good, I like it
  • It feels amazing, like I never left
  • I missed school
  • A hearty 7 out of 10
  • Cool
  • Good!
  • It feels like chocolate pudding
  • Hopeful
  • Invigorating – there are so many opportunities
  • Good
  • Good, I’m excited to have something to do
  • Great
  • Feels like a reset on my brain, a nice exhale, first stretch of the morning, first sip of coffee all at once, all day long.
  • Pretty good
  • Radical
  • Feels kind of like…something
  • Pretty fantastic
  • It feels like Christmas morning, lots of anticipation, bubbling excitement and surrounded by family

What are They Doing?

Written by

Well it’s the first warm day of March, and most people here are outside, climbing trees and rolling in the mud, building sandcastles and playing street hockey.  I just played a game a student created called, “Sharktooth.”  I lost.  I was also, for a time, the overburdened father of two very demanding young girls, busily making dinners to order (why do I let them get away with that?!)  while attempting to regulate their screen-time (the “screen” was a slab of bluestone) and mediate their conflicts (you’d have to be a saint to do this well, I assured myself). I had to quit that game after less than an hour.  People sometimes complain about “kids these days” preferring the virtual world to the outdoors, but I don’t think it’s true; when all the obstacles – obstacles that adults have created –  are removed,  they go outside.  A lot, and really in all weather, not only when it’s nice.  But the spirit today is more celebratory than usual.

So what else do “kids these days” do when the typical yoke of post-industrial childhood is lifted?  Well, it’s always different –  freedom tends to variety – but I’ll tell you some of what I’ve seen today. This morning in the office a student came bursting in explain to anyone who would listen that she had, unexpectedly, been moved to undertake the writing of a memoir; her friends had encouraged her, expressing fascination with her life.  She said she was surprised, because all of a sudden, filed with purpose, she felt she was a writer, and what’s more, she was getting some clarity about certain elements of her life.  There was another student in the office sharing the news of the impending birth of her brother, talking excitedly about her hopes.  Later, in the kitchen, there was a group of girls making and sharing lunch.  I was on tapping away on my screen (work-related, ok?) and they told me to put it away and “go outside,” so I did, deciding that was probably a good idea.  On my way out the front door I passed a teenager leading a crying six-year-old with a barely-scraped knee to the nurse’s office.  “He doesn’t need medical attention,” I said with the cold, calculating logic of a robot.  The older student rolled his eyes and whispered, “It’ll make him feel better, Matthew.”  Right.  I went outside and walked over to the stage.  There was a group of 8-11 year-old boys crowded around a tire swing, taking turns winding it up as far as they could and riding out the spin.  It was going crazy fast.  But some guys didn’t want it wound too far so they wouldn’t go too fast, and at first there were mutterings about “backing out,” that sort of thing, until the most adventurous guy out there, yelled, “Hey! Everyone responds to G-Forces differently! No one should be pressured to experience more “G’s” than they want!” and that fixed ‘em.  Meanwhile, there was one student sort of prowling around looking for people to mess with.  Everywhere he went he was leaving howling kids in his wake, “leave us alone!!!”  I was about to talk to the guy to see what was up when one of our oldest students came striding out of the building and right up to him and said, “what’s up?”  I’ll have lunch, I thought.  

So, our students are taking care of each other, putting their ideas into practice, getting into and out of quarrels, and having fun together, but what’s the point – what are they preparing for (assuming a school is at least on one level a place of preparation)?  They’re preparing for the new economy of the Creative Age.

As Thomas Friedman points out in this pithy piece in the New York Times,

Software has started writing poetry, sports stories and business news. IBM’s Watson is co-writing pop hits. Uber has begun deploying self-driving taxis on real city streets and, last month, Amazon delivered its first package by drone to a customer in rural England.

The robots are here, folks.  Already, not only manual labor is being mechanized, but mental labor as well. Even AI Dr’s which have all the medical knowledge ever created at their fingertips (“buttontips?”) may not be too far off. Friedman goes on:

In short: If machines can compete with people in thinking, what makes us humans unique? And what will enable us to continue to create social and economic value? The answer, said Seidman [author of the book How: Why How we do Anything Means Everything] is the one thing machines will never have:“a heart.”

Therefore, Seidman added, our highest self-conception needs to be redefined from “I think, therefore I am” to “I care, therefore I am; I hope, therefore I am; I imagine, therefore I am. I am ethical, therefore I am. I have a purpose, therefore I am. I pause and reflect, therefore I am.”

Our economy has moved from “jobs of the hands” to “jobs of the head,” and we’re on our way to “jobs of the heart.” Our students are free to study or engage whatever sets of knowledge and skills they want to, and the school does not privilege or value any one above the any other, but whatever choices they make, they’re learning their own hearts. They may roll in real mud and climb real trees – or maybe not – but everyone here ends up rolling in the mud of life, and climbing the trees of emotion. They learn to navigate the forest.  It can be messy, like birth and death and family and culture and- well, you get the point. But our students learn to make a life, and, in the rapidly advancing future, that means a living, too.

This one tip from Sudbury could save American democracy

Written by

[Ed: We, as a school, do not take any position on the candidates in any election.]

The 2016 presidential election has delivered us many novelties and peculiarities, and its outcome will likewise be historically notable, whatever it is, and will surely deserve prime real estate in all of Ripley’s Believe-it-or-Not museums.  Many political scientists believe the candidates for the two major parties are, as a pair, the most disliked by the American citizenry in any presidential election to date.  This aspect of the election, however, is not novel, and people have been griping loudly about it for several decades already.  Take this 1987 quotation from Hedley Donovan, then editor in chief of Time magazine, for example:

How did the machinery for identifying potential presidents, nominating candidates, and choosing winners come to be so seriously out of sync with what the electorate itself sees as the modern requirements of the office. From this literate democratic society of 236 million people, compare the political leadership we are now producing with …the leadership of the 13 colonies in the late 18th century.  For all its familiarity, the point is still a painful one – from 3 million people living on the edge of a wilderness, Washington, Jefferson, Hamilton, Madison, the Adamses.

The only difference these days is that it’s been going on for quite a bit longer, and therefore it’s gotten worse.  There is some good news, though, which is that it would be really simple to make it a whole lot better all at once (the bad news, of course, is that simple does not mean “easy”).  The Republic would be well served to take a page from the representative democracy practiced at Sudbury schools and implement a version of one of our basic electoral procedures.

One of the basic rights students at HVSS have is that of choosing the school’s staff members – and what other adults get to visit on a regular basis for any reason.  This is foundational to ensuring that the school belong ultimately to the students.  The process of “electing” staff is reenacted every spring, and all candidates, whether new or returning, go through it each time.  After vetting and evaluation, the first step is called the “YES/NO Vote,” in which school meeting members vote “yes” or “no” for each candidate.  Receiving more “yeses” than “nos” does not guarantee a job; rather, it certifies that the candidate is qualified and approved by the School Meeting to be on staff.  This step represents ultimate veto authority, because theoretically it’s possible that none of the candidates are elected, and the school would be compelled to recruit a fresh batch.  In other words, it’s not possible for our students to be stuck with a “lesser of two evils” situation – they have the authority to elect only candidates they actually approve.  

If our presidential ballots this November included a “None of the Above” option, there’s a chance a wide cross-section of Americans could get behind it, effectively hitting a “reset” button on this election and forcing party machinery to produce more desirable candidates.  That would be simple, and it would go a long way to ensuring that the Republic belongs, after all, to us.

School Meeting Dispatch: Bathroom Rules

Written by

And we’re off, almost into October, and Sudbury education is under full sail here at HVSS. I think of learning at our school as happening in three basic ways: formally – with instruction and structure, informally – with conversation, play, and individual pursuit, and communally – with collaborative problem solving in our Judicial Committee and School Meeting. Personally, I am most excited by the communal learning, and I think it’s a unique facet of the school. Here’s an example from September: last week, a motion to reserve one of the school’s bathrooms for the exclusive use of those aged 12 and up was brought before the school meeting, and a fascinating discussion ensued. Incidentally, I have a toddler, so potty humor is so hot right now at my house, has been for a while, and in fact I’m giggling this very moment, but I promise I’ll spare you, sophisticated readers, any ill-formed jokes in this post, although I will admit that the meeting was not similarly spared.

The raison d’etre of the motion was a claim that some school meeting members, in particular some of the younger ones, leave messes in the bathrooms, creating unpleasant circumstances for the more mature, considerate, and thoroughly trained members of the community. However, in this community any standard imposed by age immediately raises red flags, because we know that age is used in regulation primarily as a proxy for competency, even though it’s an unremarkable observation that each is actually independent from the other. One mechanism the school often employs to bypass this issue and ensure competence is the “certification,” whereby any user of potentially dangerous or messy equipment is trained, tested, and cleared to use. So, right away, the idea of a “bathroom certification” was floated. In this case, though, certification was considered inadequate and ultimately unenforceable. After all, everyone already knows what they’re supposed to do, and bathrooms are used privately behind locked doors. Therefore, the movers asserted, a more draconian measure was required. Still, most members of the meeting chafed at the idea of an age-based regulation, and several of them proposed alternatives: for instance, one bathroom could be locked, and the key kept in the office as it is at many coffee shops. Presumably, anyone who would bother to fetch the key would be likely to use the bathroom considerately. Or, one bathroom could be reserved for use by any member of a group which agreed to take turns cleaning it. Or, one bathroom could be reserved exclusively for those willing to “pay to play,” so to speak; even if the fee were very small, the assumption again was that only considerate users would go to the trouble. There were some less practical ideas too, like bathroom monitors and sign-in sheets. One staff member offered the opinion that the staff take turns cleaning bathrooms throughout the day, which was met with giggles from the students and icy stares from the rest of the staff. Eventually, the movers elected to withdraw their original motion to consider the alternatives they had been offered.

It was the kind of conversation I love witnessing here, or anywhere else for that matter: people identifying a problem and presenting a solution to the community, which carefully considers it and collaborates to find the best way forward. I’m fond of saying that our curriculum is responsibility and our method is freedom. Our students take responsibility not only for directing their own lives at school, but for figuring out how to share our resources and make the community work. We don’t cook up simulations of problems for them to solve, we just safeguard their right to self-governance, and they do the rest. If you attended our recent open house, I think you got a really good sense of the amazing things that happen here. It always strikes me, though, that the school doesn’t deserve much credit for any of it, because what you see here is just people, who we call “students,” taking ownership of their lives and their community, becoming themselves, and doing what people do when they are free and safe, which, simply put, is thrive.

Welcome Back to the Real World

Written by

Hark, the school year beginneth! The long, languid, dreamy days draw to a drier, crisper end. Time to get back to reality. How utterly gratifying to return to a school designed to support young people’s humanness. How invigorating to be able to focus on such a vital task, rather than on, say, sprawling tomes of byzantine standards. Hallelujah. Summer fades, yet my mood endureth.

You know, our school is often misunderstood (big surprise, I know). It’s true that we’re different, indeed we are the alternative to everything else. But sometimes we are accused of living in a kind of Rousseaun fantasy – summer forever. Time frittered away in reverie while the rest of everyone is busy learning how to dominate the real world. I mean the markets. Or whatever. Ideas like this might even pop into the heads of Sudbury parents from time to time, or staff, or even students. But this unimaginative thought ignores the complexity, the history, and the evolution, of our human reality. In fact, HVSS is the most real place I know.

I want to tell a story from my own summer, about learning – a personal learning experience. I was lucky enough to get to spend five weeks on the coast of Maine on property my grandparents bought almost 70 years ago. The spirit of the land remains strong; like our Mountain West, Maine retains its natural power despite intensive human habitation. It’s inspiring, and I find that it sparks the imagination. Early on in our time there, I decided to listen to an absolutely devastating history of the Western Front of WWI – not sure why, going with my intuition – I’m impressionistic with my interests, that’s how I learn. I remembered reading about it in high school, but I only got the dried out basics: trenches, gas, it got bad out there. Basically, all I learned was that WWI happened, and it was important. In July when I started listening to this history, put together by a passionate and insightful reporter, and which included lots of first-hand accounts of the combat, I couldn’t stop. I binge-listened. One day I did almost eight hours of audio. I wandered around in a kind of daze. I lay in the grass and stared vacantly into the vault, I watched the tide coming in, II stroked my baby’s wispy hair for hours. It was really horrific stuff, much worse than I had thought. A few times in the afternoon I went running on trails through the woods, and I couldn’t help imagine being in the forests of Flanders, shells smashing into the pines as I ran, faster and faster, men (and boys) on the ground everywhere, clutching at the rocks, the moss, the mud. At night, lying in bed, I composed letters to my family and wife and children from a bomb shelter in Verdun, where I was waiting for my turn to jump out of a trench, just as the apocalyptic German bombardment of that city began. A friend there, in Maine that is, not Verdun, gently accused me of appropriating the worst misery of millions of people for my own entertainment, but I didn’t see it that way. I thought of it as a way of witnessing, of honoring the people who were there, and of looking closely at what people are capable of. It was all very real for me. The quality of the history, along with the space and time I was afforded both to find what was alive for me and to immerse myself in it, allowed me to have an amazing educational experience, because that’s how I learn. This is what’s available to our students here at HVSS: we offer the “real world” insofar as our students have access to all the ways they “really” learn.

Wow, I can’t wait for the first day of school – what fun it will be! The staff here are so lucky to be able to interact with young people, who everywhere lead the world in play, enthusiasm, hopefulness, and closeness, in an environment of fundamental equality. How satisfying, and what a relief, to be permitted to treat them with complete respect instead of being expected to compel them to perform tasks and regulate their behavior with carrots and sticks. What an almost mischievous joy it is to protect their access to money and political power within the school, which they are systematically denied elsewhere. And- even that last, totally outlandish-sounding proposition is totally “real.” The hunter-gatherers from whom we descend knew that young people are sovereign, too – we lived guided by such principles for hundreds of thousands of years; it’s etched indelibly in our biology. Perhaps that’s why young people expect to be treated with kindness, to be cooperated with, and to be given assistance. And – how fascinating it will be to watch our students learn in all their myriad ways, many of which do not look to our narrow perspectives like “real learning” at all. But! But but but but – no time is wasted here. If you’ve ever been for a visit, you may disagree – perhaps you’ve observed loafing, television watching, and texting and tweeting and instagramming. But even during these seemingly trivial activities, though, something important is happening, at least and especially when it’s happening here, where young people are candidly expected to be powerful and intelligent, where they are trusted as a matter of course to direct their own lives. The marinade is mixed and set – would you suggest the steak wastes time marinating? An inelegant metaphor perhaps, but it gets the job done. Just being here, where their full humanness is seen and honored, is, at certain points in individual students’ process, enough.

Speaking of steak, marinade, and the real world, I recently was helped at Fleisher’s Craft Butchery by one of our recent graduates, Colin Thrapp. He had just returned from a solo foodie trip to Norway. Since graduating two years ago he’s worked at Outdated Cafe and now he’s with the butchers. He’s out there in the real world, being treated with the respect he expects, learning real skills from experts, and, I might add, offering excellent customer service (thanks, Colin). He may or may not go to college – I don’t know, I don’t care, I’m just happy that he sees options where I saw only college, that the world is his oyster, that he is guided by his own genius and not any arbitrary external standards. That’s what our people look like. They’re just so themselves, just so…real.

So everyone, it’s that time of year: September, back to school. The bells are tolling, and teachers and students all over our surreal country are waking up nauseous. But not us. We’re really quite excited for a nice little dose of reality. See you soon.

Playground Build 2016

Written by

I have to admit that I was nervous last Friday morning.  We had really paired down our plans for build day because most of our project leaders were unable to come on the actual date, and only a few people had signed up to participate.  Then, during the week, lots of people volunteered to come, which was great, but I worried we didn’t have anything for them to do.  I imagined little groups of bored and despondent, formerly hopeful people milling around in hats and work gloves, wondering why I was so unprepared utilize their talents.  I imagined them packed into the kitchen while it poured outside, huddling over styrofoam cups of instant coffee, staring grimly at the muddied floor, kindly offering their seats to each other, maybe even taking turns weeping bitterly in the far corner.  I imagined patiently trying to explain to each person the predicament, why it turned out like this, but being received, like a foreign diplomat trying in vain to maintain favor after breaking a promise, with icy silence, stiff nods, and untrusting-yet-firm eye contact.  

It turns out, though, that people don’t necessarily need to be told what to do.  When the time came, tasks and projects seemed to appear out of nowhere to fit the abilities and inclinations of those who were there. Imagine that.  The grounds were cleaned up and noticeably improved, new ground was claimed for the playground(!), and several creative structures were built by hard-working teams.  And it didn’t even rain.

People jumped right in, got to know each other, made new friends, and generally had a blast working together.  Try as we might to maintain our cool, nearly all of us were swept away in ecstatic waves of philia.  Human beings are made to band together to accomplish mutual goals; few things are sweeter or feel better.  I’d even claim that being part of such communal efforts is an essential nutrient.  Today we are well-fed.  To all who came out, please know that we are extremely grateful for your work, and even more so for your energy and kindness.  This school has always been a communal effort, built by many without centralised authority, the way a school should be.  Thank you all again, and see you Saturday!

See the Facebook Album for more pictures: https://www.facebook.com/HudsonValleySudburySchool/photos/?tab=album&album_id=10154287740028804

HVSS Theater Co-op Presents “Spamalot”

Written by

A surprising thing happened this semester for the Theater Co-op. Once we chose our spring musical, Spamalot, many of the older members decided not to take part. Thus many of the new and younger co-op members received bigger parts than anticipated. At first this was a bit overwhelming and nerve racking for many of them since they were not sure they were ready for such a big jump. But with some reassurance they happily embraced the parts.

Working on this show has felt a lot like working on my first show with HVSS; Arsenic and Old Lace in 2013. During our normal rehearsals I slip in acting exercises and games to support actor training while we work on our blocking. Little things to help with the basics you would get in an acting class or know from doing a previous show. However there is one very different thing this time around, two thirds of our rehearsals are for either dancing or singing, another set of skills new to some of these actors. Thus they have a lot more to work on everyday. Since it is a lot to take in, occasionally our rehearsals will become unfocused, but unlike 2013 I now know how to work with Sudbury students much better. We started to collectively make rules for what to do in rehearsal while you are not on stage; to keep focused on the show so that we are using the 10 hours of rehearsal time per week to its fullest.

I have very high expectations for these students and the work we put out as a co-operative. No matter their age or experience level (there are first timers in this show and ages 7-15). We keep working moments in scenes, songs and dance numbers until they are right. I also added a new facet to the show this year, which is that each student must assist in a technical aspect of the show. It has been a learning experience adding this extra task. Some students stepped into their technical roles with ease, such as our choreographer and vocal coach; while other have missed deadlines and worked a little harder to get their tasks done, but they did get them done. Needless to say being part to the theater co-op takes a lot of dedication.

The best part of this experience for me has been seeing these students, some of whom I’ve been working with for 3 years, gaining confidence and breaking out of their shells to take on leading roles, both on and off stage. It’s been a pleasure to get the chance to work more closely with them, and help shape their performances.

This show is very ambitious, our biggest yet. Much like the group in 2013 they are learning fast and working hard, and it’s paying off. Spamalot, (a delightful rip off of Monty Python and the Holy Grail) is a wacky, over the top self-aware comedy. In fact the choice to do Spamalot, a challenging show for any group of even adult actors is not out of the ordinary for this group. These students aren’t satisfied by run of the mill kids plays, they go out of their way to pick fun shows that are bold and interesting and push the boundaries of what most consider children’s theater. Which is one of the reasons our shows get such high praise, because we put on shows audiences want to see with exciting characters to watch.

These young people are doing a great job taking their new acting training seriously so that they can be totally ridiculous on stage. Right now we are putting the final touches on our wackiness, making our silly walks a little sillier; our crazy voices a little crazier; and our punch lines a little punchline-ier. You won’t want to miss it. I am excited to see this group perform; to see these fresh faces, and a few of our veterans, help us all find our grails’.

Sacred Acorns

Written by

There are times that I stumble upon an activity at the Hudson Valley Sudbury School that make my jaw drop in awe of the brilliance of children: their creativity, their simplicity, and their ingenuity. Coming upon The Sacred Acorn Civilization was one of those moments. I stood at the edge of our natural play-scape wide-eyed as I surveyed several young barefoot boys busily collecting acorns, carefully balancing bark, and finding perfect natural tools to build a civilization. Set amongst several stumps on a gradual hill, were intricate acorn and stick sculptures – balconies, huts, stone paths, and walls, all perfectly set in miniature style. It was beautiful. And it was clear these boys had been there for hours, not only by the exacting work they had done, but also by the dirt between their toes, the seats of their pants, and the expressions of their faces – calm and focused. The language they were using sounded to be a different dialect, familiar yet foreign.

Finally I was able to catch my breath. “What are you doing?” I asked. The response comes matter-of-factly: “We are currently mucking acorns. That’s taking the inside out. And then we put them in the Muck Store. You can smash them with rocks or hard sticks to get the goop out. We call it “mucking.” We try to smash them between two rocks so it doesn’t destroy the stumps. The lighter the goop the better it is. We use the muck as a building material, to keep things together.” With that they went back to work, gathering, crushing and balancing, young primitive workers using natural materials to create a culture.

 am not sure why I was surprised to come across this bustling civilization as it seems to be something each generation of children create at here at school. The first HVSS civilization popped up in 2005 and took over the majority of the playing field. Several kids had their own “worlds” built from rocks, dirt, sticks, moss, flowers, and acorns. In the center of the field there was a circular general store where items were available for trade or purchase. Hours were dedicated to perfecting homes and working out the delicate balance of trading.

The following year the back hill was home to a new miniature world. Two boys around the age of 10 began this new rendition and the general ideas were the same. They were quite literally the kings of the hill, decreeing trading values and where homes could be built. But after discovering a large shiny rock at the edge of the woods a 6 year old was able to “buy” the entire hillside from them and the power was re-distributed. The kids involved in these first two renditions have either graduated or are on the verge of doing so and the details of these games are but distant memories.

In 2008 a new set of children went back to their roots and collected acorns, mashed them up and made hand cream out of them. They sold the cream to others in the school. They also made cities, houses, and bowls from the acorn shells and little cities out of acorns and sticks. One participant looked back, “we had little jobs, you could crack the nuts with a flat rock or chop them if you could find a sharp stick. We would also use a round rock and stick like a mortar and pestle, adding a little bit of water and mushed up flowers.”

After a significant rainfall in 2011, the back gravel path was turned into a study of irrigation. A young girl made intricate paths in the stone, routing and rerouting the water. She created these streams, damns, and collection pools while barefoot, grounded by the earth, just like our ancestors.

Here we are in 2015, an age of technology and consumerism, and a new round of children have their toes in the dirt, discovering for themselves how we as a society began, by making tools, building with what is naturally available, creating commerce out of acorns, and teaching their elders to reconnect with the beauty of the world around us.

Why is this universal? Why do we, as a society, without being trained, without being taught, always come back to the most basic constructs of life? It becomes clear how innate it is to collaborate in the art of foraging, designing, and building. Their ingenuity when it comes to the creation of tools is both resourceful and creative. And there they sit, in a sustained and focused activity, perfecting the balance of bark and rock to create a balcony. They may have iPods sticking out of the back pocket of their Gap jeans, but these kids are connected to their roots, not indirectly, by lecture or assignment, but directly, by sensory experience and imagination, because they have the time and space to connect to the natural world and let the simplicity of life shine through.