Lets Have A Think About Education

As many of you might know, K-herms and I went to a Waldorf school from Kindergarten through middle school. If you don't know what that is, think Montessori. If you don't know what that is, think hippy artsy-fartsy. Or is it? I am constantly surprised with the irrationality of some of our systems and institutions when we claim to be such a rational, western society. Here is an amazing analysis of the shortcomings of public education and our outdated factory mentality of education. Presented with one of those cool Story of Stuff type animations.

Deletion

There are some really good trees out by the Sanctuary. More on them later. Right now though, check out negative Africa in the sky.

Take the Time

K-herms has been spitting some wisdom about observing and internalizing so here is an experiential study on those concepts:

January 2012

My brother, while exploring, happened across a stream on my neighbors property one day and so appreciated it that he brought me there the next time I was home. I go now to revisit the place in order to observe the area.

It is a cold day in January at our location in the Albemarle county of Virginia. It snowed earlier in the day, but the ground was not cold enough for it to stick. Now it is cold, not too cold that can see your breath, but a wet cold that chills you to your bones. Everything is wet and the tree branches are covered in a thin layer of ice. The sky is a uniform grey, and limits visibility.

The stream lies at the bottom of a hill, between the base of the hill and a farmers open field. As I entered the forest on top of the hill, the forest natural alarm system sounded a few calls. A bird tweeted “zweeuh” “zweuh” to my left and was answered by another on my right. Soon after another bird of a different species entered the conversation. As I tromped down the hill I noticed the different stages of life the forest was in. The trees were all barren, a few had some brown, withered, leaves and the rest carpeted the ground. Many deceased trees littered the ground, their trunks and limbs in various states of decay. Mosses and lichen were the only green organisms to be seen in the background of blacks and browns. As I approached the stream, a few patches of tough grass, yellow and greenish stalks pushed through the dead leaves and mosses. I observed an interesting phenomenon. Although the ground was wet, snow/ice lingered in the deceased branches and trunks. Is the ground warmer than the deceased trees? Or do the dead branches conduct heat at a slower rate? I do not know. As I approached the stream, I began to hear it’s gurgle, and as I sat and stopped moving around it became the only sound; the birds had ceased the alarm. That, and the sound of vehicles whizzing down interstate 64 in the distance. Maybe all the moisture present is magnifying the sound. It sure is difficult to get away from civilization for good. On the other side of the stream a dilapidated barbed wire fence has grown into a few tress and fence posts, which are the only things that separate the field from the stream bank. The stream bank is eroding on both sides. The stream itself has healthy curves to it, but he amount of exposed roots and clay/dirt on each side show that it may straighten over time as the curves erode. I scour the stream bank looking for tracks. I find a solitary pair of deer tracks in the sandy soil. The only observable life in the stream is a school of miniscule fish darting back and forth underneath the overhang of the bank. A few birds started chatting again after a period of silence. The birds that initially greeted me began their “zyweeh’s” and a few others shoot a machinegun burst of “tse-tse-tse-tse-tse”. Ice dropping heavily from tree branches breaks the sound. Another bird streams a non-stop call of “guh-ge-guh-ge-guh-ge-guh-ge-guh”. I feel as though I am no longer a threat and the birds do not fear to talk freely. There is a log sitting next to me that has been decaying for quite some time. I know this because of it’s dark appearance and it’s interior structure beginning to be exposed. Most of the branch has disintegrated away leaving mostly the hardest wood intact. This is an interesting phenomenon because the knots of the tree protrude like the bulbs and pods from the rotting core. It reminds me of some bizarre alien architecture.

Speaking of architecture, I remember when I was a child we used to imagine ourselves as master architects. Our materials were twigs, moss, stones and bark. We would go to the riverbanks and create elaborate fairy houses. Our idea was that if we designed a beautiful enough home, fairies would come live in it. We used to try and sneak down to the fairy houses when no one was around to see if we could observe them (we knew they were scared of humans so we tried to observe them secretly).

Sitting here I wonder… where did the magi in life go? When I was a kid there was so much excitement in day to day activities and I feel as though I have almost lost that. And some are worse off than myself. I am sitting here on a cold day, in the middle of winter, where the skies are grey and everything is wet and frozen. And I am sitting in the middle of the woods writing observations on a piece of paper as butt gets wet from the rock I am sitting on and as the cold seeps through my extremities to the rest of my body. And I am thoroughly enjoying myself. I cannot help but think that the greater number of my peers would laugh and make fun of my current activities, much less leave the comfort of their warm home to embark upon a similar expedition. “F-------- hippie” they would say in half judgment and half laugh, I can hear it in my head.

To me there is a great stillness in nature. My brother and I visit our “spots” frequently in order to take a step back fro the stressful rat race of a college life all tangles down with homework, research, part time jobs and dramatic social lives. It just feels great to take some deep breathes and gain some perspective. Take the time to realize what is truly important in life and laugh at the silly stress patterns that we constantly let ourselves slip into.

It also saddens me because it is at these moments I realize I don’t know the names of the birds gossiping in the tress. I couldn’t tell you the type of grass under my feet. And some part of me feels guilty and asks myself “How have you gotten so disconnected?” “You should know things like this”. I always tell myself when I have more time I’ll learn these things but I know it won’t happen until I make the time. And all my time is caught up in this rat race.

Ahhh another one of those negative worrying thoughts! They bring awareness but then they pass through the mind like a breeze clearing out the stale weather and bring in new space for the future.

Life in Flower

I have a great friend who reminds me of this.

Some Things You Need to Know

Look Ma, No Hands

Ink tusche. Let her ride, she'll go. Horizons become endangered; the sprawl is on. Assist by water.

We've got ourselves quite a little soiree here. Double check for animal shapes, it's fun. You might find yourself too.

Down by the River

Recently, while on an early morning Nook and Crannying session out at the parentals, the woods yielded a new spot. Go past old Ellen’s house, scramble down a knoll past all sorts of trunky ruins, cross an earnest little length of field, and behold: a live creek runs. At times, it seems to be running for long distance, and at other times it might just be frolicking with its shoes untied, tripping over itself in a series of splendid faceplants. It all depends on how you listen. As John Berger says, “Receptivity is everything.”

Good man.

On the bank, a throne beckons. Sit. From there, watch as an aerial bird ballet accomplishes itself. A tree sways, still drunk from imbibing in last nights moon drench. A myriad of rustles, crunches, and amorphous babel (was that a bird fart?) abound. The air is vigorous; it carries January’s bite in its wake, and despite the warmth of Spring’s recent encroachments, the cold teeth serve to remind us of winter’s vitality. All of these things are gifts, and to not accept them would be to wage war against the giver. That’s why Berger is so right. To truly receive is an art; to appreciate, to observe, to internalize, maybe even to become. There’s nothing passive about it; to accept oftentimes requires more energy and awareness than to bestow. Sometimes it’s harder, like accepting another person for who they are. And sometimes, all it takes is a little jaunt down to the creek, to soak up some A.M. goodness, and to listen to the bird farts.

Nest

When the rocks start to crunch under the wheels, just after the last right turn, we all recite in unison: “home sweet home.” Cliché? Maybe, but it makes me beg the question: what’s so “sweet” about the 5665 Wyant Lane abode? For once again we find ourselves here - four Hermann pieces of the puzzle, reconvening at the center of our universe for the Holidaiyez. I reckon we should all take a step back and reconsider what makes us return home. ‘Tis the season, nay?

Before you even enter “The Sanctuary,” heed the path’s subtle introductions; the steadily expanding fairy garden metropolis on your left; the prayer flags above the door perpetuating our hippie stereotype. Self-deprecation aside, you are welcome here. They say (yeah, those people) that turning the handle of a door is the handshake of a building. I’d like to point out that ours doesn’t have a lock, which Gareth “G-Spot” Hermann sees as a greater metaphor: “the door to our house is like the door to our hearts – it’s always open.” C’mon in folks, t’aint nothing to hide here.

Yup - Momma’s got baked goodness bangin’ in the kitchen, Sinatra’s croons are drifting lazily on woodstove heat waves, while opaque tissue paper transparencies quietly allow the outside world in. The knick-knacks have completed their annual pilgrimage from the woodwork, and now replace the junk mail and various clutter of old with neat scenes of nativity and hand-made simplicity. When I come home, I look more deeply at the things that surround me. Oma’s embroidery feels just right between the thumb and forefinger. The baby pictures breathe carefully on embers of the past, and squirrel wars beyond the worn sliding glass door are played out with valor and shocking passion. It’s here that things normally taken for granted step forth and demand the awareness of our wayfaring, fickle consciences. In a mad, mad world, this place pays homage to authenticity’s last stand.

When we pause for the appreciation of details, it becomes clear that we also gather again because the conch shell has been raised and sounded in the name of Chill. Repose is the name of the game, and thus the pace of activity has slowed to a crawl, and finally passed out (we’re not sure if it’s the woodstove or the frequent food comas). The ottoman’s “no vacancy” sign will maintain its status, playing host to visiting feet. Cups of chai, hot chocolate, and tea will occupy our hands—if we can get off the couch to make them. The place is one massive pit stop, a collective moment to sit down, kick back, and think out. Eyes glaze over, and cozy reigns supreme once more.

The distinct elements of this down-home atmosphere are drawn and threaded to one another by our shared experiences, and thus, every time we return, this place gently places a historical quilt on our shoulders. This is especially true for my brother and me. As Rebecca Solnit says, there is a “tangible landscape of memory, the places that made you, and in some way you become them too. They are what you can possess and what in the end possesses you.” Our parents created this place and it, in turn, shaped and molded us. That’s not to say that our parents didn’t mold us; rather, the creation of our identities is tightly wound in the feelings and emotions associated with events that have transpired here. All around us are wisps of memory that delineate the landscapes within us. For the bros. Hermann, to be Home is to return to the source, to realize a life full of meaning.

Our parents live that life year-round, as fulfillment tops the to-do list, creating a paradigm that us younglings look up to with wide eyes. My dad points to a carved wooden bowl on the bottom shelf, the first one that he made in 1973. He rubs his hands over the worn edges, turns it over in recollection. He’s lost in his own landscape; one that he shares with us, yet that also contains wilderness known only to him. Together, the terrains of our four memories form one world. One sweet, sweet world that continually calls us back. One world we call Home.

So American

Us and Them

There is something mysterious about space. Gazing at a starry night sky reminds us how small we are in grand scheme of the universe (or this universe... goddam scientists always making it bigger and more complicated). It reminds us how insignificant our day to day struggles and stresses really are and how silly we are to spend some much time fretting and worrying. Sometimes we just need to take a step back from our lives and see the beauty of the world around us. This is now made 10x easier because NASA has stapped a camera to a satellite orbiting the earth so now we can see it time-lapsed in HD with a click of mouse. Which you should immediately do.

Earth | Time Lapse View from Space | Fly Over | Nasa, ISS from Michael König on Vimeo.