Chop Wood, Carry Water: Mud Season Layover

2026 Full Circle Semester Blog # 5

♪ “Let’s dance & sing & welcome spring!
Let’s dance & sing & welcome spring!
There’s only one thing the mother’s tryin’ to bring & it’s Spring!” ♪

That’s right, spring got here faster than we did, and now we’re left to reminisce on what once was: The Winter Trail. Now leaving aside an occasional spring snow, we’re left to look forward, living this seasonal transition with the land. As new work started here in Maine Local Living School we quickly chose new Big Jobs. Here’s a quick summary on who’s doing what:

Anna & Charlie are both making sure we wash our teeth & get checked for ticks everyday, they truly are living up to their medic & hygiene manager big job.

Jule & Rohan will ensure our canoes are clean and our bike brakes work! They’re the gear managers.

Kate has an important job; she’s the water manager, meaning she has to find us clean, drinkable water everyday. 

Noah & Ella are now our food managers, they’re gonna be organizing the food and keeping us in check whenever we want an extra handful of chocolate-chips. 

Emily is in charge of foraging for the tastiest of wild edibles in New England, like ramps, dandelions, and fiddleheads. She’s the wild food manager. 

Joaquin is the energy manager, he’ll keep our headlamps and bike lights charged and our stoves cooking.

Zahava & Oliver are going to set a bearing on their compass and take us all the way back to Kroka, they’re the navigators.

And we, Taio & Bernie, are the scribes. We’re going to share our semester spring stories with you from the field, and hope to keep you at the edge of your seat. 

***
Those are our new Big Jobs and while they’ve definitely kept us busy here at Maine Local Living School (MLLS) they’re not all that we’ve been focused on. Here we’ve learned about different ideologies and beliefs. We’ve explored different subjects related to the land, such as homestead systems, learning about carbon cycles, how sap flows against gravity, and why trees are incredible (so please go hug a tree, you’ll both enjoy it). We’ve been keeping a daily phenology log, tracking many changes we see in the ecology surrounding us as winter transitions to spring. Here we got to explore a new way to live, one we’ve all fallen in love with. So here goes a brief summary of the last month of our lives:

Upon first arriving at Maine Local Living School (MLLS) from small group travel, we were greeted by a gaggle of Earth is Our Home homeschool kids. Nearly as soon as our heavy packs were off our backs, we were invited to play a game, you might know it as “Sharks & Minnows,” but to these children of the forest they knew it as “Sap-Sap Up a Tree!” Instead of minnows darting across a field, the role is replaced by sap running up and down the Maple. Rather than a shark on the prowl, the tagger is a prospective tapper, looking to gather as much sap for sugaring as possible. 

This was our first introduction to Maple tapping at MLLS. Early on, as we were just getting settled in and had yet to understand the intricacies of life on the homestead, a horrifying occurrence transpired: while jumping between semester and his home life, the boiling sap had slipped Chris’s mind and in the short span of time it was left unattended, a significant portion of syrup burned. Fortunately, some was still salvageable as a darker grade, but from then on, we understood the risk of losing syrup and were always watchful when evaporating a batch, providing reminders whenever a fire was going. We became fiends for anything Maple. A bucket of sap with a dip cup for drinking, dry within 24 hours. Syrup for pancakes, gone in seconds. When Chris gathered us around the evaporator one night to inhale the sugary vapors, he passed out spoons for us to taste the processing sap, jesting that if we were given cups there wouldn’t be anything left for syrup.

 As much as we feasted, we didn’t consume without regard. We spent a lot of time on trail learning how to identify the different Maples, and got an in-depth class at MLLS on how trees utilize sap, its function and purpose, and most importantly, why it is that this elixir of life is able to flow up and down the xylem and drip its way to our metal buckets. We also learned how this practice is an indigenous invention from pre-colonial times and that has been adopted and adapted for the benefit of all, gratitude for traditional knowledge.

But as much as we love Maple syrup, the sap don’t run forever. Eventually, the temperature gets too warm, the nights not cold enough, and buckets hang silently without purpose. When that mid-April day came, and we students were hard at work on either our new Big Jobs or collecting empty buckets from trees, Chris made an announcement: “10 minutes to lick out the evaporator before it’s cleaned out for good!” Most dropped what they were doing, ran as fast as possible, and descended on that metal bin in a feeding frenzy. Whether with spoon in hand or barehanded, we scraped, wiped, and scooped that sweet sticky syrup straight into our drooling maws. In the matter of minutes, we had devoured whatever leftover residue we could in a manner indistinguishable from pigs at a trough. And so that was that, the end of Maple sugaring season. Aside from tapping a Birch to try its sap, our sugar high has crashed, and now we’re left to ration the rest.

Kingfield Elementary

During our initial introduction to Maine Local Living School, which in the first two days of our stay was simply to the living spaces (we had yet to even start on chores), Chris mentioned an upcoming educational commitment at an Elementary school in Kingfield, Maine. Prior to our arrival, he had been teaching their first, second, and fourth graders basic woodsman skills and outdoor education, working with the second and fourth grade in particular on how to navigate with a compass. On the second night at Maine Local Living School he prompted the question, “Who’s interested in driving an hour away to work with some unruly kids?” and after the vast majority of hands went up the decision was made: road trip to Kingfield!

We spent some time preparing, getting supplies together, and mentally readying ourselves to engage with the youth of today. The next morning, we ate quickly and packed 15 people into 3 vehicles, making sure to give gratitude to the gasoline for allowing us to make this opportunity possible. We arrived at a school straight out of nostalgia: Yellow buses, red brick, and ample woods to romp in. The air was cold and windy, with a fading blanket of snow still covering most of the grounds and Old Man Northwest howling. After milling around the playground for a minute, a horde of children came running and screaming over the hills. We gathered in a circle, gave introductions, and sang a song they’d been learning with “Mr. Chris” (as he is colloquially known) based on the cardinal directions. Then, we divided into small groups, two Kroka students per platoon of Kingfielders, worked with the kids to draw a map of their school grounds, a quick lesson on compass orientation, and went off with the goal of “getting lost” in the woods. 

Each group had their own struggles and successes with trying to direct the kids to follow their compasses without getting sidetracked by play. The fourth graders seemed more invested in understanding where they were going, while the second graders strived to ignore our teachings as much as possible, preferring to roll around in the snow. With much effort on our part to gather their attention, we wandered through trees and snowmobile trails, following the interest of the children while giving subtle input on cardinal direction. Upon getting sufficiently “lost” in the woods south of the school, we found a good spot to light a fire and roast mini apples while sharing stories of our winter adventures. Afterwards, we found our way back to the school, said farewell to the second and fourth graders, and sat down for our lunch of PB & J’s.

While huddled on the grass eating crumbly sandwiches, we had inadvertently garnered the attention of some first graders out enjoying their recess. Specifically, a group of girls that introduced themselves as the “Trouble-makers”. According to them, their names were Trouble, Double Trouble, and Triple Trouble, clueing us in on just how much trouble we were in for.

For our next activity, we had planned on working with Maple. First, giving them a go at identifying 3 different twig types apart from each other before building a fire to boil sap over for a sweet warm refreshment. After circling with their class and giving introductions, they were given to chance to choose which Kroka students they went with and there was a clear favorite: Taio, who ran around with them during our lunch, was instantly swarmed by half the class looking to be in a group with “Crazy Man”. Unfortunately for some, there wasn’t enough Taio to go around and the trouble makers in particular were sent off to make trouble with some other unsuspecting Kroka students.

We had a fun time working with the first graders who had a fun time learning about everything Maple. As our time came to an end and parent pickup edged closer, we regrouped around Chris to watch a demonstration on how the Wabenaki would boil syrup with heated rocks in dug out log bowls. Then, as parents arrived to pick up their children, and upon request from the kids, Taio ran back to the school as the entire class chased after him.

Homestead systems:
Here in the homestead some of us found a way of life and a way to accomplish it. Every single one of us was completely amused by at least one component from MLLS. Whether it’s the squeaky clean compostable bathrooms, the art of harvesting ice from a pond that’ll carry you until the next winter, the root cellar that preserves all of your veggies, the barn and it’s beautiful inhabitants, honestly I could keep on going. This homestead manages to live with the land in an exemplary way. And in a very, very, very simplified way this all comes down to a few key principles that intertwine and I don’t fully understand yet but I’ll try my best to explain them:

The Gift – The land gives us a lot of gifts; wood, water, food, everything is a gift. In order to live with the land you need to find a way to utilize the gift in a respectful and honorable way. There’s a cycle to keep in mind: you want to recognize the gift, capture the gift, store the gift, and finally transform the gift! Just constantly keep following and reusing that cycle, which perfectly leads us to our next principle…

Next Best Use – Here in the homestead we’re constantly transforming gifts into new gifts and no gift should ever be wasted! It’s also important to reiterate that it’s most useful to always keep energy in the highest level, a good example for this would carrot-heads; we don’t want to eat them and if we throw them in the compost they’ll take a long time until they’re food again, but luckily the goats want to eat them and then they’ll quickly turn into milk that we can consume tomorrow. This principle is always making us think about giving the gifts we have the best possible use and never settling for less. 

Stack Functions – In our first week here in Maine Local Living School we were learning about how the water heating system works for the outdoor shower. It’s basically an intricate system that makes the water move through different tubes getting heated up by the wood stove that is simultaneously cooking our food and heating the building. And that’s when Chris shared exponential wisdom with us (I’ll paraphrase): everything should have multiple functions. That’s another way to keep energy at the highest level. Instead of having one intricate system to cook our food, another one to heat the building, and another one to heat the water we’ll just use the Pioneer Princess, a beautiful wood stove that’ll do all three of those for you.

So that’s basically it, now we should all go and start a homestead somewhere along the world! I know some of us want to. While that may be a little bit ambitious, for now we can all make a small mess in the kitchen while we try to ferment some food or just finding a weird way to make these principles possible in our other lives. 

Parent Weekend:
When our two worlds came together with a blissful splash of hugs, laughter, and tears. This was the weekend that we skied through New Hampshire for. Finally we were going to be able to see our loved ones and share our anecdotes face-to-face instead of them having to read the blog or our letters. As soon as the Spring liveover began we got to work, we had a lot of things to do in order to receive everyone. We polished our singing voices, showered, washed our feet, swept the floor, combed our hair, and of course worked on our epic skit that we then presented in the Farmington West Grange Hall. Then, once Liz and Nathan were here from Kroka and all of our loved ones were merely hours away, we started to get very excited.

The first day of parent weekend cannot be better described than the way Joaquin did, “Today was the best day of Kroka, and maybe of my life so far. It was parent weekend. In the morning we did our normal things, like chores and sit spot, then the students went to hide in the winter tent while families started to arrive to MLLS. Then once everyone had arrived, we emerged from the tent singing. When I entered the circle I saw my aunt, then my cousins, and my beloved grandma. God bless me! It was such a blessing! The day before I was praying for a while, especially about my grandma. The next day she was there. I had an amazing time with them. We talked a lot, it was magical to see them. After spending some time at MLLS we went to the grange where we presented our skit and danced! My family and I had a great time dancing, it was so fun that we should do it every week. I will never forget this day, I wish that I could live it again and again, on and on. I love my family so much!” A few members of our community weren’t able to hug their parents or loved one’s or see them away from a computer. But they still had a few hours of chatting non-stop through a zoom meeting. I remember everyone’s smiles from that night; an uncontrollably contagious grin from ear to ear. 

The second day was also very special. We had a ginormous breakfast, where we definitely ate more than what our winter affected stomachs could take. Then we got the chance to spend a few hours with our families. This time was either spent walking through town, playing board games, making fun crafts, or simply catching up. The last few hours were spent having a slideshow presentation where we shared a few photographs and stories from our winter experience in detail. And then our goodbyes, they were as heartbreaking as they were epic. We formed a circle and slowly walked away to the notorious winter song, “Spanish River”. 

When we departed it suddenly became real; we were once again on separate paths, waiting to meet in the future as different people. We love all of you deeply, and have a lot of gratitude for all the leftover food we had (it kept us fed for almost a week)!

Solos:
We all know the woods are a magical and special place, for some the perfect place for enlightenment, but we won’t get to that. When we got here to MLLS we were told that we’d have the opportunity to go out for three full days and have the experience of being bound to place, completely alone in the woods for that period of time. As the date got closer and our to-do list longer we realized that it might be a better idea to make it a two day solo experience. So after a lot of talking, some contemplating, more talking, and then some contemplating we finally decided that two would be best. As we were finally preparing to leave we started cutting pieces of tarps as people decided whether or not they should build a shelter, or if they should take some food or fast. In fact everybody fasted except for Joaquin, Kate, and Bernie (personally, no regrets). Then most of us took off right after breakfast, except for Emily and Rohan who really wanted to have the dawn to dusk experience (they probably left at 04h00), but I wouldn’t say any of us were actually searching for enlightenment (not that we would’ve complained if it found us) but just for a nice, fun, wet, and reflective experience in the woods. And, that’s what we got. But I’ll let some folks share a little bit of their own experience:

Jule –  “I told myself I wouldn’t journal today until my solo ended, but last night was so shaping that I need to put it down on paper. I was scared of the dark, so as soon as the different textures of the bark turned into one dark mush I started to close my eyes and wanted to fall asleep. The forest lightens up – my imagination? Surely, I must be going crazy with my anxious thoughts. Rain started to make music on my tarp that both has holes and isn’t long enough for my body. I curl into a ball, trying to get as far away from the tarp edges as possible as the sky lights again and makes trees look like dark silhouettes against a white sky. No, it’s not my imagination trying to fool with me , this is lightning, but where is the thunder? A few minutes pass, maybe half an hour or so, the rain slows down, then gains speed again while I try to close my eyes to the constant change of light and dark. As I’m on the very edge of falling asleep a particularly bright light pulls me to consciousness, a violent crashing of air masses up high follows. I sit up. I wonder, how am I supposed to act in a thunderstorm again? – I sit and wait; lying down doesn’t feel good. My legs shake from fear and I pray for it to be morning soon. The sky alights so bright that I can’t see anything for a few moments after. The rumbling continues and I try to tell myself that I’m strong and capable and that this forest and the earth will hold me safe. After an hour I get too tired to stay awake and my mind makes its way into a different universe: I wake up and fall asleep, again and again, thunder becomes quieter but the lights stay until midnight. I’m kind of wet, trying not to be wet is making my knees hurt – sleeping in a ball formation isn’t very comfy. The rain stops at some point at some point and I straighten out my whole body into some more rest. I dream vividly as if I were still awake, lying in the same spot that I went to bed in. I dream that my dad’s sleeping bag, blue and red, is lying outside my shelter. I remember thinking that it shouldn’t get wet. My dad was with me, I believe, through the shaking of the sky and my bones. It feels good to know I’m not alone. That there is more that our human eyes can’t see.”

Anna’s poem –  “Solo:
I drift in and out of dreams
I am a hazy acrobat
I come out of my body and wander with the wind
The cacophonous frog choir mingles with the distant whistle of the fellow alone
Imaginary or memory
An apple would taste like a miracle right now.”

Emily – “I’m not sure what time it is and I’m not sure how much longer I have left out here. I can’t tell the time from the movements of the sun but I would think my time left out here is very limited. The only thing I am sure of is that I am very, very hungry. It’s been 48 hours since I’ve last eaten (assuming the time is what I think it is), and my whole body is very shaky, including my hands as I write this. I feel an empty pit in my stomach and I don’t have energy. I know fasting for 48 hours isn’t much, but for me it is a lot.

The hard parts of this experience are the most beautiful. I broke the glass jars of drinkable water as soon as I set my bag down at my spot, and then I cut my hand on the glass. The peepers ringing so loud, accidentally lighting the side of my shelter on fire because I decided to create a fire inside my dwelling, my matches not working because I washed them in the laundry, and the lightning while being so close to the pond.”

Oliver – “12:45: I won’t know what the time is until it sets dark. I have just been guessing all of the times I write before my entries because I no longer have my watch. Ever since I left behind my watch I have been viewing the day in this manner. When time is no longer linear things mush together – the lack of understanding the time has kept me more in the moment but it has kept me more in the moment but it has made the past hazy, indescript, a strange dream that is slipping.”

Charlotte reflects: “As an extra challenge for myself I didn’t bring matches with me, only my bow drill set from home. I really wanted fire. This was not like other times I’ve failed to get a coal, but those times there had been others around me to back me up. This time I was alone, dependent on myself. I knew this was my last attempt. I took my shoes off to better grip the board. I bowed for longer than the other times, until all the dust was black and thick smoke was pouring from all the cracks, and this time, I got it. A huge honking coal was lying smoking red and healthy in the notch. Carefully, with shaking hands, I moved it into the tinder bundle of thinly shredded birch bark. I tried with all my knowledge and skill to get it to light into flames, but the coal went out, turning only into black dust. I was so confused and frustrated with myself. Tears flowed from my eyes and my hands were clenched against the ground. Why, oh why, did the coal not come? Even when I wanted it so bad. After these intense feelings a peace flowed through my mind and I thought, “Ok then, if the earth does not want me to have fire, then maybe that’s the woods telling me what I need, telling be that it would have only been a distraction from the present.” That night I learned how different failing at getting a coal is when doing it alone, and how to listen when plans don’t go the way I wanted them to go.”

As we got back from our solo’s into a calm and peaceful space we were welcomed by some quiet and mindless chore-like activities. It was a beautiful warm, spring afternoon.

And on the chalkboard it clearly said, “Before enlightenment, chop wood and carry water. After enlightenment, chop wood and carry water.” 

Special Appearances:
During our time at Maine Local Living School we have hosted and visited multiple guest educators and different members of the community that have brought with them new wealths of knowledge for us to appreciate and absorb. Our time with them included interactive lessons, service work, lots of reflection, some music and of course a pizza party! 

First we have Janine, a fun and energetic woman that lives in Temple, Maine. A few of us got to meet her when we went to her house to clean the cellar, between sweeping and moving things she was sharing incredible stories that instantly grasped us and had us standing around a table wanting to hear more. 

Then we had a class with poetry teacher Noelle. Noelle led us through a close read of two different poems. They had us picking apart the language and structure, helping us realize the many ways words can be felt. 

Ray Mills introduced a reflective discussion on indigenous land rights and local history. She encouraged us to evaluate our views on land acknowledgement and cultural appropriation vs appreciation. 

Then another group got the privilege of visiting Lauren, “she was a true Maine Local,” like Oliver said. We helped her with some overgrown beds in her garden, getting her ready for planting season. 

Then came the Microbes and with them appeared Nicholas, aka Niko. A calm man that claims to drag on or speak for too long when he does but truthfully he entrances you, making it impossible for him to speak for too long. Nobody is truly sure if the microbes are speaking through him. Anyway, Niko’s visit whilst not limited to was greatly focused on Miso – how to make miso, why you should make it, why you should eat it, and why it’s great. This class was a follow-up on Kaleigh’s sauerkraut class, and reflecting on why fermentation is an art of survival. So those of you back home get ready for some microbe filled, fermenting kitchens when we get back. 

 

 

On our last Sunday here at MLLS we hosted some members from the extended community for a nice and delicious pot-luck. This included but is not limited to Farmington’s wonderful music duo Sagittarius Rising, Janine and her astounding knowledge, Noelle, and many more that had great stories to share and lots of questions for us. 

Finally, we must tell you about Father Paul. We first met Father Paul when some of us attended a Sunday service in Farmington. He was very excited about our expedition. He invited us to the parish community center in Jay, Maine to make and eat some wood-fired pizzas. Before we ate, we helped out with different projects at the center; tended to some garden beds, split wood, and prepared the pizzas. Finally, as we were sitting around a table with sourdough pizza in our hands and salad on our plates Father Paul started to share inspiring stories of the work he’s done to help feed the community nourishing food. 

 

Along the way we had the immense privilege of meeting one of Chris’s teachers, Grandfather Ray.

“Picture this – a man in his eighties, with white hair and piercing blue eyes. He wasn’t large, but filled with presence, totally at ease in clodhoppers, a red and brown flannel and chinos. The dude was so chock full of peace, it was literally pouring out of his eyes. He moved like he was part of the world, not simply in it. It came, he said, from a lifetime of work cultivating presence – of living, listening to the world with a connected heart and mind. It was bizarre – when he looked at you, he knew you. Then when he spoke to you, he spoke to what you needed to hear. He swore he wasn’t a teacher, but we really had no choice but to learn from him. He took us to the woods after telling us stories of his childhood, and we meditated together, and felt the calm beauty of a silent mind.” – Rohan 

Now stay tuned because we might visit him during our paddling expedition but for now, he left us to sit, reflect, and listen. 

Being able to share a space with such different and diverse characters from this community has been a great part of our time at MLLS and each one of them has had a great contribution to that. We send out our thanks to the extended MLLS community. 

Phenology and our month-long sit spot:
As we mentioned before, living this seasonal transition so closely to the land has been a very special experience. We even had the inherent opportunity to combine it with our daily routine of sit spot, when we spend fifteen to thirty minutes after chores in the morning with a spot practicing presence and observing the place where we are. Everybody has their own place where we breathe in the warm and fertile air that comes with spring profoundly focusing on different natural features. Some chose to intensely look at a bud, watch it grow, and in some cases flourish. Others focused on the layer of ice down at Mud Pond that slowly crept away from shore and now is non-existent. Every now and then we had the chance to focus on the Blue Jay singing or the Robin prancing around. This was our moment to slowly change with the earth as the landscapes became colorful. But our observations didn’t stop there, as the days moved on, the changes became apparent. The nights became concerts, with the Wood Frogs quacking and the Peepers peepin’. Honestly the change felt almost instant, like Zahava said,  “Over the past week the ponds have been blooming with life.” This wonderful practice of observation was incentivized by a phenology log that we’re constantly working on here. Our phenology log looks like an old piece of cardboard full of dates and the things we’ve observed. It Here are some phenology log highlights: 

March 30 – the goose calling towards Mud Pond. 

April 8 – Colts Foot blooming. 

April 13 – BIG FAT JUICY EARTH WORMS! 

April 18 – So MANY BUGS AHHHH! 

And of course, April 20 – snow, again (you know what they say about Maine, there’s winter and then there’s the 4th of July). 

Scouring through our journals we’ve also found some beautiful, more personal phenology logs:

For example Kate’s… 

“Thoughts on a gray April day: 

As the earth sheds its winter coat in the gray days of early spring a promise forms in bare dirt and fallen leaves and the pale plumage of the coldest months is transformed into princess pine and new green blades and all the tenderness of a fresh beginning.”

Paddles:
An art as old as father time himself, a tool that has led to the greatest discoveries in history. Our handmade paddles will help us travel across ponds, down streams and rivers, all the way to the ocean. Here on the homestead we started working on this craft project that took its sweet time but will be well worth it. Making our paddles has been a beautiful experience of carving, laughing, falling into bouts of  despair as our shafts turn too thin, and learning a little bit about the history of paddle making. Slowly our paddles were carefully sanded and then oiled, looking beautiful and (hopefully) functional. Now we’re left with the great suspense… will they make it to Merrymeeting Bay? Who knows, that’s for the river to decide.

Conclusion:
Finally now that this winding blog comes to an end we’re left to say goodbye. Remember our time here at Maine Local Living School was more than special, for most of us it was indescribable. We got to learn more about ourselves, as a weird yellow brick road to the future slowly makes itself apparent. In a way we’re all left with a fresh minty feeling in our hearts. Ella best said, 

“Today I went on a lovely run by myself. I stopped by the sap bridge over the stream, and dipped in. At first I was apprehensive —fearing the cold on my body. But I knew I would enjoy it—and boy did I. I waded down over some large rocks, until I was submerged up to my thighs. At that point I was able to bend forward, wetting my torso, arms, and head. The feeling of shock afterwards is so specific, cleansing, and present. I feel as though my entire body is bathed in mint.” 

For now we send you our love, as the next time you hear from us we’ll be avid paddlers and beasts on a bike. We say our farewells with beautiful poem from Anna:

“The Frog:
Glistening globes of silent silver spawn
The eye of the guardian mother gleams, unblinking
In God’s vast game of countless plays she may be just a pawn
But the fortune of her offspring is precious in her thinking.”

Your Scribes,

Bernie & Taio