Weeks 1 & 2 2025-2026 in review
Our first two weeks back together this learning year were full of (re)connection, hope, and expansion.
We welcomed two new young people, who have been so readily and adoringly absorbed into the community already. We also welcomed back our summer camp facilitator E as a substitute facilitator during these first weeks back, and we have been so grateful for their gentle and seamless support. Upon our return we did not miss a beat before jumping thoughtfully and enthusiastically into (re)building culture together (how do we balance and navigate meeting the needs of individuals and the community as a whole, when they seem to sometimes be at odds?), plotting out plans for the year (a DnD campaign is already in the works), and launching into offerings (we broke in the Messy Room at The New Place [TNP] with a slime offering, and Singing and Dancing is back!).
Two stories stand out in particular as representing some of the magic of TCC, each relating to the literal fruits and roots of our garden. On our second day back together, R harvested a pepper he had chosen to plant in the spring, a Carolina Reaper - the second-hottest pepper in the world. He proposed as a pop-up offering an exhibition of him trying the pepper. This caught the interest of pretty much the whole group, who gathered to watch as R sliced off a little bit of the pepper and ate it. It seemed such a tiny bit of pepper, and still it was evident how potently spicy it was - R narrated the building heat to us all as he paced, and flushed, and followed it with yogurt. Then he tried it again.
At this point, multiple sentiments started moving through the group.
"Well, I want to try!"
"Oh, I definitely don't want to try it."
"Maybe a little bit."
"Okay, I want to try a little bigger piece now."
"Okay, I'm done."
Notably absent from this scene were phrases like: "Come on, just try it." "It's not that bad, you should do it." "What, you won't even do a little bit?"
An hour went by, and we didn't quite finish the pepper. Most of the group ended up trying a little, some multiple times, and a few not at all, confident and unharassed in their choice to abstain. At the end of the day's closing circle, E shared that their highlight was that when they said they didn't want to try the pepper, no one challenged that. It was striking to them how rare it is to be in a space absent of coercion. That same lack of coercion is what empowered some young people to make the choice to push themselves and try the pepper, to open up to an experience they may have been unsure about and in doing so, better learn themselves and their limits, rather than learning resentment or self-abandonment for being pushed outside their comfort.
The second story is about potatoes. We planted a variety of potatoes together last spring. When they sprouted, we remarked upon how cute the plants were, with their bouncy green leaves. We watched the plants grow through the spring alongside dill, bush beans, cosmos, and sweet alyssum as companions. We watched them start dying back during summer camp and knew the ideal time for harvest was approaching. When that time came, we weren't together in community. So, the potatoes sat and waited underground, through the heats of the summer, until we were together again. Grass grew and overtook the bed, as it turned out the straw we had set down to protect the potatoes from sunlight had not been thoroughly deseeded. Perhaps a happy accident, as the shade of the grasses may have protected the potatoes even further. At last, on the final day of our first week back together, not knowing what to expect as we took to the earth with a pitchfork, we harvested the potatoes. We were delighted to turn them up from the soil, grateful for how many had waited for us, discussing their quirks and imperfections and how we would process them. One young person saw the yield and excitedly remarked, "Anyone want to make French fries?" So we did.
We peeled and cut the potatoes, brined them overnight, and then fried up some delicious and salty fries in TNP's kitchen. With some hiccups. As the potatoes fried they released all that brine, and the fryer almost foamed over. We found that using less oil resolved this. When we tried the slices of potato, we decided that the overnight brine was overkill, as they were maybe too saltyβ¦we then balanced them with other seasonings and found that that really helped. And at last, we ate our fries together at closing circle as a community, made from the potatoes we had grown ourselves. One young person shared, "I can't wait to tell people I made French fries at 'school,' from potatoes we grew!" She also offered, "I'm so glad I helped to harvest these. It wouldn't feel real otherwise."
So much of our work here is in planting seeds and providing nurture - the conditions for growth.
The idea of harvest can often feel so far off, or intimidating. It can even seem unreal. We are grateful for these reminders from the land, that our labors yield fruit, that the roots we lay grow into nourishment, that everything we do is always for learning, that we will always be learning. Even when (perhaps most especially when) that learning happens underground, beyond our evaluative gaze, and along a timeline we couldn't predict or plan. And we are so grateful to do this work and this learning alongside all of you, and these amazing young people.
With gratitude and care,
Emily, Sarah, and Zoey