2026 Full Circle Semester Blog #2
“The woods are lovely, dark and deep
But promises I have to keep
And miles to go before I sleep
And miles to go before I sleep”
From Robert Frost’s “Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening”
We’re alive! A lot of miles down, and not a lot of sleep, sadly, but we’ve got deadlines to meet, and places to be. Making a home in the forest has been hard! There is always something to be done: wood to be chopped, boughs to be gathered, food to be cooked. The fact that it is all new makes it all the more difficult. Coming from houses with wooden walls to shelters with canvas ones isn’t comfortable. But regardless of the size of the dwelling and the insulation of the floor, home is forming. Routines are being ironed out – there may be wrinkles, deep and hard – but given time, they will be pressed smooth.
Waking up packed like sardines will be loosened, and skiing all day will start to slide easily. Melting snow for water will start to bubble along.
Even in the hardship, there is still laughter. It is the cackles of incredulity at schedules changing to routines, of backwoods bidets and somehow, burnt water. There is no doubt of completion, though. There isn’t any going back now, and as we put one foot in front of the other, the going will only get easier.
DEPARTURE
When we left Kroka, there was a bugle playing. We went marching, one by one, up the driveway with our heavy packs, ready to shoulder the burden of travel. Leaving the nest at last, it was time to soar. There was worry, though. Thoughts of inevitable hardship to come, rational fears that we were taking a leap of faith out of the frying pan and into the fire. But fire is life, especially in the winter.
Joaquin’s skier doodle
THE DAY
(We would include a schedule, but we have no concept of time on trail, as we are still learning to tell time from the sun.)
We wake up before the sun rises, reluctantly, rolling out of our down cocoons and packing away our mattresses. It is dark and cold outside still, morning stars twinkling. We pack as colors paint the horizon, then all break apart to walk the world in silent meditation. We watch the trees sway and grasses blow, just wandering in wonder.
We bathe from small tin bowls, washing ourselves with handkerchiefs and warm water that chills within moments of being outside. We circle in the tent for breakfast, singing a song while holding hands. The food is pretty consistent: a grain, some fruit, and a tasty bannock.
After breakfast we have class, sitting in the tent as we take turns reading “Braiding Sweetgrass” or “How To Love a Forest”. Our notebooks out, we jot down all the important information.
Then it is time to exit the warmth, packing the rest of the gear, cleaning and dismantling both the stove and the tent (occasionally the fly, on days with precipitation). We remove all traces of us being there, removing the boughs we laid, kicking snow over the burned sticks of our fire.
Skiing D Acres
We put our packs and skis on, and get ready to leave. We line up, thank the earth by touching it, and slide off. The day is spent climbing up hills, then zooming down them. It is hard, but a lot of fun. The moving warms us up, and the breaks offer us the time to talk as we snack.
This is how we spend most of the day, until we reach our next campsite, our next home. The spot is incredibly important: it must be flat, with firewood, tie outs, and boughs to insulate the floor with. We stomp the snow of the campsite flat, singing songs as we do so, jumping with renewed energy. We split into teams to set up camp:
FIRE SCREEN
We cook on a sheet of chain mail hung off a wire suspended between two trees, feeding it dry, fallen dead wood. It burns hot and fast, cooking dinner and melting snow into water for everyone.
LOG YARD
We identify standing dry dead wood, fell it, limb it (remove the branches), saw it into rounds, then split it into usable firewood for our stove!
BOUGHS
To insulate the bottom of our tent, we sustainably and ethically harvest spruce, fir and hemlock boughs, then lay them so they form a sort of woven floor. We take them only from healthy trees’ lower branches, or from areas that promote new healthy growth.
TENT SETUP
The tent is huge and often unwieldy, boasting a three-person setup crew, a million tie-outs, and the need to cut new poles every day. We’ve learned the bowline, sheet bend, taut-line hitch, and tent knot in this job!
STOVE SETUP
The stove is the center of life on trail. Each day, we unwrap it, assemble it, send its pipe through the wall of the tent, then light it. We use a stick called the chief or the matron to manage the fire.
By the time we are done, we are bone tired. We journal, eat dinner, and recap the day, decompressing in our togetherness by candlelight. We set up our sleeping bags, brush our teeth, and get ready to do it all again the next day with some much needed rest.
Noah’s drawing
FEBRUARY 7, 2026
DAY THREE: Finding Camp After the Late Train
They look far down the sloping hillsides, pockmarked by spikes of dark trees. Apartment lights radiate outward into the still night, the only movement the plodding of booted feet on the bumpy trail. Snow is falling, lightening the sky to dove grey. Packs sink deeper, weighed down by skis, pulling on shoulders and tugging at hips, delicate skin blossoming into bruises. Bodies start to fray at the edges: knuckles crack and feet rub raw into blisters on heels and toes. The travelers can only know that they will adapt, that their wounds will harden into callouses, that their muscles will strengthen, wrapped around aching bones.
As they crest each hill, their voices rise, too; in song, words float down with the tender flakes. Perhaps the people in their warm homes listen to the music of the cold drifters, or maybe no one is listening but the ghosts hiding in the hollows of trees. It is very late and spirits are trembling, unprotected from the wind within their worn shells of flesh and wool. But despite the hardship, a lone voice of gratitude speaks up: Bernie fills the emptiness of the night with thanks – thanks for his companions, that they are able to share in this experience with him, that he is not alone, that they get to grow through this together.
—
Prompt: Write a poem celebrating something beautiful from our life on trail
The snow is chaste, it covers your sins
With the cleansing crystals of holy water.
It forms in heaven, flakes downward spin
The frost giant whistles, wind his wayward daughter.
Ice and song bind in the storm,
A new world, a fresh one, born.
~Anna
—
FEBRUARY 7, 2026
DAY FOUR: Liveover
The first liveover day is a breath of fresh air, reinvigorating and rejuvenating to the senses, mind and body. A much-needed sleep-in is welcomed after camp setup the night before went into the early hours of the morning. Other comforts atypical to life on the trail, such as a full body scrub with a bowl of steaming water, a cooked lunch, hot chocolate, and extra time spent inside the warm tent catching up on academic work are enjoyed by the weary travelers. These periodic days of rest are necessary for continued living on trail. Without them, the symptoms of exhaustion would accumulate, and ultimately lead to injury, illness, or both. As of now, we are all still well!
“Bog vortex camp” by Joaquin
–
Today we have a liveover! It means things are different than normal: we didn’t put our sleeping things in the backpack, instead we stayed cozy and warm in the sleeping bag while Jo read to us [from How to Love a Forest], then we put our stuff away. When we came back to the tent breakfast was ready. Chocolate bannocks! Then we walked out of the tent and skied like 1km to meet Ethan [Tapper], the author of How to Love a Forest, but he couldn’t show up. I was a little disappointed, but thanks to that, we have the chance to bathe! After baths, we ate this amazing soup, it was so good, and it gets better – we drank hot chocolate!!! After that we talked and laughed for a while. And now here I am, waiting for dinner. I am really thankful for this day. I was really needing it and it is super nice to just be chilling! ~Joaquin
–
DISCOMFORT
Unsalted noodles, boiled carrots and lard: we devoured, wolfed it down with exclamations of glee. There is only cumin left to flavor it with, but smiles are wide and everybody joins in on the howling chorus for seconds as soon as we hear spoons scrape bowls. We have an actual song:
Ohhhhhh… the…Welcome Table is a mighty fine table,
Get up to the table as soon as you are able,
Oh the welcome table is a mighty fine table,
Get up to the table as soon as you are able!
Look at this dish that I just found: I’m gonna pass it around and around.
It’s a bowl of [whatever you’re enjoying!] Macaroni!…. YUM!
They are so grateful for the food, as simple as it is. It tastes heavenly, buoyed up by the power of hunger.
30 degrees Fahrenheit has become tropical – we walk out from the “warm” tent in sweaters, bare hands toughened against the cold. 20F degrees is chilly, but manageable. As long as we are moving, we are warm. 10F degrees, as always, is cold, but we have learned to manage.
Skiing on snowmobile trails
We wash our feet with snow. Without skis, we sink up to our hips in powdery white. With skis on, our feet discolor and prune in ski boots, or blisters form where skin is rubbed away. But it is necessary to move, so we put one ski in front of the other and carry on. To protect our base of support from crumbling, we wash our feet with snow, walking barefoot into the tent.
The walk to your toilet is different every time, threading through trees and wading through snow. It’s turned from a normal routine into a chore, one that comes with a guarantee of a freezing butt and hands. After you arrive, you dig a hole in the snow and squat. Trees are useful support! You do your business, and here comes the fun part: make a half dozen snowballs and wipe carefully – they might crumble. You can follow these up with a stick or bough for scraping (soft lichen if you’re lucky), then dry with your four squares of toilet paper. Slide your soggy crack back into your underwear. Don’t put your poopy hands in your gloves, though! Scrub with more snow, then hand sanitizer, and stagger back to camp as they slowly freeze, begging someone to help you wash your hands. That’s all there is to it!
FEBRUARY 11, 2026
DAY EIGHT: Bog Vortex
The Bog is a flat expanse, riddled with standing dead trees towering next to huge fallen ones. The wind howled over the deep snow, blowing smoothly through the dreamcatchers made by spiderwebs of snarled roots sticking sideways out of the ground. We chose to camp in a circle made by four of these fallen wonders. They had fallen outwards, uprooted as if by some great force coming out of the earth (hence the name Bog Vortex Camp). We stamped out our tent site, hopping in vigorous circles. The stars came out. It was beautiful. Wood was plentiful and boughs close nearby. There really couldn’t have been a better spot.
The Winter Tent!
CONCLUSION
The burden of their packs absent, their spirits soar along with their bodies as they barrel downhill, weightless, fearless, and free. They remember why they’re doing this in the first place, those familiar with winter sports rediscovering joy forgotten, those new to skiing uncovering treasure long hidden to them, now sparkling in the midmorning sun, its glow reflecting off the snowy crystals they glide upon. With time to spare this morning, they’ve dropped their packs and climbed the hills time after time, skiing for skiing’s sake. Today is the day they arrive at their first layover, the promise of rest a fluorescent beacon ahead, lighting the way. A hot shower, plentiful food, and constant warmth are promises made to the unclean, hungry and cold.
Just as they begin to settle into the comforts of life within four walls at Streeter Mountain Farm, they must turn their minds to the journey still ahead, the next leg looming. Anticipation and uncertainty intermingle in the simmering pot of thought and emotion, the flames beneath stoked by yet-unanswerable questions: “What will happen next?” “Where will we travel?” “How will we be changed?”
Change is already deeply felt within the group – they see themselves and their peers adapting and transforming to what the circumstances require of them. Their muscles are becoming refined and hardened, their wills solid stones, their minds toughened and their hearts swollen with lust for life.
To you and yours, from us and ours, your scribes,
Anna and Rohan
