I'm lichen it.

Apologies to anyone who actually reads this; the internet has been down for a while and just got back up and working today...and I have just gotten around to updating this evening.

Between kids swarming in and out every week and weekends that can only be described as simply (or, to refrain from the oxymoron, extravagantly) bacchanalian, and those moments taken to soak in the fresh mountain sunlight after slogging through soggy weekdays when the clouds have emptied their abundance of water on us at a persistent rate, I feel at a loss thinking of a way to explain all that has occurred in a reasonable or cogent manner.

The days have extended into "tick weeks," a measure of both time and space and used liberally, especially when referring to troubling children or chaperones (who may or may not be troubled by ticks while hiking). I wake in the morning most days with the song "All God's Critters" or "She'll be Comin' 'round the Mountain" in my head, a few hours before we'll actually be singing those and other related songs after doing morning chores and having breakfast. Then, we're off to morning and afternoon activities. I started off teaching the Adaptations class, guiding a hike through a douglas fir forest, an oak woodland, and a riparian ecosystem, adding some related games and stories along the way to get across basic concepts of survival and evolution. Now, I'm teaching Pioneer Tools, which is a fun switch since I get a chance to do some historical re-enactment of the Gold Rush and tell tall tales, all while discussing the use of our natural resources. Then, after dinner, we have evening chores and evening activities, ranging from folk dancing and astronomy to a closing campfire.

My favorite day of the week is the day we get to go on a day hike with the kids, allowing some unstructured time to just explore and play in nature. These last few weeks we're incorporating Living off the Land during the hike, so there is still some plant identification and concepts involved, but for the most part it's just a fun day out. Sometimes, we've even played a scat prank on the kids, pretending to eat "bear scat" (a strategically placed energy bar), which is always a big hit. Watching the kids skip rocks in the river or swing on the wild grape vines is always one of my highlights of the week.

The kids ask so many questions, sometimes it can be overwhelming, especially since they never seem to run out of energy! I keep telling myself that it's just their curiosity and longing to understand more about the world around them, especially in an unfamiliar place and routine, but WOW. I guess I had gotten used to working with teenagers, and kids (especially American ones, it seems) LOVE to talk. When it's not overwhelming, it can be a lot of fun talking with them since they often come up with the strangest things to say or to ask.

I'm getting more interested in how outdoor education works; it still seems that there is a lot of transference of knowledge from the "guide" to the "students," although I have learned a lot of the information that I now share on the hikes through hiking with other kids and chaperones. It's a vibrant lifestyle that lends itself to learning and experiencing the world--I'm just starting to get into it. I'm a-lichen it.

In my spare time, I've gotten a chance to read Thoreau's "Walden" again, while jumping between Tom Robbins and e.e. cummings.

Beyond reading, though, I have jumped back into making music every day. Which feels soooo nice. Being surrounded by music lovers helps a lot. I find myself singing almost constantly, dredging up random songs from the well of musical theatre past and folk music present. On the weekends, we've gone on impromptu road trips that have often had music as their main motif, either playing music in the car (Willie Nelson through the redwoods on the way to Fort Bragg was definitely a highlight), playing music outside (memento: my blistered finger after playing cow bell and tambourine for a straight 3 hours at the drum circle in Golden Gate Park), playing on the instruments in music stores (FYI: an old electric piano and a steel guitar are on my wish list--both can be found at the Haight Ashbury Music Center), and buying music (I am in the possession of a David Bowie anthology songbook, and by association have access to the Beatles' greatest hits for harmonica and the Led Zeppelin complete songbook. Yes, we have played through all of them on piano, guitar, and harmonica). The centerpieces of these ventures have usually been concerts (David Grisman at Yoshi's Jazz Club in Oakland, "Pura Vida" at the irish pub in Willits), intermingled with visits to the local brewpubs.

These small trips will reach their zenith coming up this weekend, when we attend the Furthur (the band composed of Phil Lesh and Bob Weir, the remaining members of the Grateful Dead) Festival in Angel's Camp. Needless to say, some preparation has been required.

I keep being amazed by the sheer abundance and excess of everything here. Just the fact that I have been able to overindulge in music is exhilirating and shocking for me at the same time. Even out in the "middle of nowhere," we have pretty much everything we need. And Willits seems to have just about anything funky you can imagine--imagine a man wearing tie dye with a camo jacket with a mustache and dreadlocks; he has a dried mango seed hanging around his neck and probably drives a truck (I met him last Friday. And if it can't be found, the bay area is always right nearby).

I'm overwhelmed by all this. And I'm lichen it.