"Don't Be Ashamed of Your Age"

Disclaimer: This post is more of a public personal reflection of something that has been on my mind recently. But not to worry; a more complete misc"Elaine"ous experience is on its way to the internet soon. 

A couple of weeks ago I had the pleasure of experiencing my first Music Night hosted at the home where I'm staying. It is a modest weekly gathering of musically talented friends of Sylvia and Bernie's. The night kicked off with a new number introduced by Sylvia, the group's guitar player, called, "Don't be Ashamed of Your Age", originally written (I believe) by Willie Nelson. Bernie, the bassist, and John, the clarinetist, glanced over the sheet music and picked a comfortable key. They began to play together after a count of three, and Sylvia sang:

"Don't be ashamed of your age,
Don't let the years get you down...

That old gang you knew,

They still think of you,
As a rounder in your old home town.
Don't mind the grey in your hair
Just think of the fun you had puttin' it there..."

It was easy to separate myself from the group, this being the first time I had heard this toe-tappin' standard. I looked around at the others in the room with decades more of experience and wisdom than myself, and I made an 18-year-old note of how much I truly enjoy being with people who do not share my age.

I noticed this again last weekend, when I went on a walk with Sylvia and the dogs (that's Bo's dog, Midge, running above) along the shore below the bluff. Sylvia is 52 years old, and full of interesting experiences, with a knack for telling stories. We seem to never run out of things to talk about, from thoughts on evolutionary theories and literary preferences, to  familial tales and personal hardships. She noted aloud how I held myself in a more mature manner than most kids my age, something that I've been told my entire life. I shared with her my past difficulties in finding connections with people my age, starting very early in childhood. And to be honest, I cannot remember what she said after that, because at that point I had turned inward to look at this vocalized revelation. 

Why do I have trouble getting along with people my age? Attending or hosting social events with my peers has always had a tendency to make me nervous and awkward, but I usually look forward to speaking to an older family member at a holiday gathering or listening to a senile hardware store patron talk about the good ol' days. I started to fear maybe it was because I secretly consider myself better than everyone who is at my stage in life. But I figured that couldn't be the proper explanation for why my body seizes up as I think about clusters of young adults at young adult gatherings, drinking young adult beverages and saying cool young adult things that never seem to sound right coming out of my mouth...

The real reason is that I am ashamed of my age. I'm now working in the adult world, and am treated as an adult. However, when people discover that I'm only 18, something changes. There is an awkward facial expression that appears on the "real" adults, saying, "I'm acknowledging that you're the age of which you are not quite on your own yet, but you like to pretend to be. How cute." 

And I think, "This isn't fair! Give me a chance to show you how old I really am! You noticed before when you thought I was at least 25!" Always considering myself to be an "old soul", it is hard for me to ignore the fact that I enjoy reading, crafting, manners, limited usage of the word "like"(anyone...? Bueller...?), etc., and that these activities are not typical of most people my age. These are all practices that are normally socially associated with someone like Sylvia, who has years of experiences that put "grey in her hair" and a tone of wisdom in her voice. Why can't I just be accepted as that right away, a wiser, more insightful person despite my young outer shell?

It's because the truth is, as much as I don't want to face it, I am 18. I'm not wise beyond my years. I've never had to financially support myself, still have a tendency to think the world revolves around me (let's refer back to me daydreaming during Sylvia's advice on how to handle getting along with people my age, shall we?), and sometimes spend way too much time on narcissistic social media sites. But it's all part of my learning and growth, right? I'm trying to be mindful that there will be a time and a place for telling a young whipper-snapper the crazy story of a young teenage girl who decided to live in an unfamiliar state across the country to work on a farm for three months without looking back. But that time isn't now. At present, it is important that I acknowledge my immature tendencies as a young adult, be appreciative (not ashamed) of my age, and cherish this one-of-a-kind time and experience.  

Hello 18-year-old me. Thank you for taking the time to embrace the importance of where you are in this moment.

Life is Beautiful and Bountiful

My first work week in Washington is wrapping up, and I've felt nicely settled in ever since the plane landed in Seattle. 

I met with my boss, Nicole, after being dropped off at a shuttle station from the airport. She brought me to her little farm house on Sunfield's property and welcomed me with a nice basket full of house-warming goodies.  

I stayed there for the weekend and was shown around the farm by Nicole, her boyfriend, Blake, and their two dogs, Sis and Jim. Sunday was a dreary, rainy day in the area, but it was the first sight I got of the farm in daylight, and it was still proving to be a very beautiful place to me. 

Throughout the rest of the week, Nicole gave me many opportunities to get a taste of farm life. I separated old strawberry roots, cleaned out the front of the long barn for the CSA in June, made runs to local restaurants and grocery stores to deliver spinach, and weeded...and weeded...and weeded some more (much to weed on an organic farm). 

Every once in awhile Nicole will pause what she's doing and explain the process of a task and the efforts that go into it. She will talk about ordering seed and the problems with ordering too much or ordering too late in a season; what to look for in plant germination, making sure weeds don't choke out the roots of plants; the energy and planning involved in uniting the communities of the Waldorf school and farm with the people of Port Townsend. I am starting to learn quickly how involved farming is in many different skill sets, not just cranking up the tractor every morning to till the soil and flipping on a water hose (like I'm sure many of us imagine when we think of farming). 

Also, since the farm is tied to a Waldorf school, the kids have to be involved in farm work. Every morning at 11, Nicole and I get some of the kids for 45 minutes to help us do farm chores to keep their little hands busy, as well as educate them about the many efforts involved in farming. This seemed like no issue to me, since I’ve always been very good about being involved with children in the past. But for some reason, there is a gleam in these Waldorfian eyes that is full of unharnessed energy and spunk, and I can’t help but just want to observe their interactions with one another without interference. 

Starting on Monday, I began my stay with a family of the Waldorf school, who live on the northern end of Port Townsend, about 15 minutes away from the farm. Their house is a nice modern design in a rural property with a chicken coop and pathway that leads out to an open, grassy field. The mother, Sylvia, took Nicole and me out for a stroll in this rolling yard and told us it was her neighbor’s property, but he let them walk out on it as they pleased. Slowly, we came upon what looked like an edge to this field. Soon snuck up a massive body of water...Puget Sound.

I couldn’t believe it...for my first co-op experience not only do I get to travel across the country to live in a place unknown and work with a Waldorf school and farm, but my backyard is equipped with a perfect, breath-taking view of Puget Sound!

Lovely Sylvia and her caring husband, Bernie, as well as their charming son, Roland, and sweet friend, Bo, have been nothing but graciously kind to me in the past few days. They make the meals, and I do the dishes. They go out for a movie, and I stay to play a game of sword-fighting with Roland. It’s a wonderful place to make me feel at home, and I'm loving every minute. 

This evening, Bo brought over an apple pie that he made (he marked a "Ro" for Roland, an "E" for me, and an "S" for Sylvia. He said he dedicated his pie to the ladies and the only reason why Roland was on it was so that he would actually eat it - Ha!). As I sat there with the family, tasting the spices in the apples and sweetness in the homemade whipped cream, I paused for a mouth-filled moment and thought, “How fortunate am I to be greeted with all of these new wonderful people and experiences!”

Hello, new life here in Washington. Thank you for your beautiful sights and unimaginable opportunities.

A Metamorphic Cliché of Sorts

For the past couple of weeks, I have been preparing for a big move. Across the country, in fact. Tomorrow afternoon, I fly out to the Pacific Northwest for my first three-month co-op job on Sunfield Farm and Waldorf School. I've never lived that far away from home before, or for that long of time. To describe myself as "nervous" would be a bit of an understatement...

It has begun to dawn on me how intimidated I feel about the world and all of its places. There is not much I know beyond my white, middle class walls. This fact really started to creep through my thoughts this afternoon. My mom, brother Aaron, and I took an afternoon to visit the Franklin Park Conservatory to get a peek at the butterfly exhibit. The Conservatory is a favorite place of many in Columbus; one can come any day, no matter the weather, and experience a variety of indoor simulated climates and beautiful plant life. Every spring, the Conservatory releases an array of butterfly specimen to live amongst the plants and show off their beautiful transformations to the public.

As the butterflies fluttered around my head and through the tropical plants, I began to think about them...each one of those strong, stunning butterflies came from small and seemingly insignificant caterpillars. It was a natural process, for the caterpillar to build its cocoon and go through its dramatic metamorphosis.

It reminded me of my recent development and changes that I've experienced at Antioch in the past six months. In that time, I have learned how to pull away from many comfort zones; how to approach intimidating situations and people who don't share my perspective; how to build confidence to speak out about injustice in the world.

Sets up the perfect cliché metaphor, right?

Truly though, for the first time, this coddled caterpillar is flying from the cocoon of Columbus and Yellow Springs, Ohio, to embrace the world in her new form. She may not feel she is ready, much like some of the caterpillars might feel, but she knows it has to happen at some point. In fact, it is happening now.


Hello, Port Hadlock and Port Townsend, Washington. Thank you for providing a habitat for this new butterfly during the next three months.