At a recent Parent Involvement Association (PIA) Meeting, our accomplished Division Heads and our amazing School Counselor shared our SEL curriculum with parents. We like to say the “the social emotional curriculum sets the table for the academic and cognitive skills in our program.”
On the raft with Polly Fredlund, Head of Westover School, CT.
One of the best benefits of the Salmon River experience this summer was the ability (and the need) to adopt the pace of nature. We knew when we paddled in the morning, the wind was at our backs. We knew when we paddled in the afternoon, the wind was fighting us. On my first day in a single kayak, I got caught in a combination of wind and current that literally just pushed me backwards. A little redirection from one of our trusty guides allowed me to get out of an eddy and ride the current the other way, paddling furiously. But for a few moments in there, I thought: “I am paddling as hard as I can, and it is not enough.” There are certainly days when school life can feel like that, for sure. But here, the answer was to attune myself to nature’s “currents” and acquiesce, rather than fight.
Our daily routines on the river were similar: We got up with the sun, we climbed into our tents when the sun went down, we slept to the sounds of the water lapping on the shore, and all the critters moving around at night. We respected the sun, we learned to appreciate and tame (sometimes) the currents, or at least how we moved in them. We adopted the pace of nature. We learned patience we used to know, but I, for one, had forgotten. That was the gift of the river.
Kari Ostrem, HoS at Riverdale Country School, and I, before we “swam” in the river.
By the time I found myself in a double Kayak with another Head of School, I thought I had mastered the art of “staying in the boat” through the rapids. I had shared my lessons learned with a few others, and we had been largely successful in navigating whatever came at us. Until we weren’t. One more time, we were almost at the end of the paddling session for the morning and had gotten through the roughest water, and we relaxed, without realizing there was one more wave ahead of us. We each bounced out of the kayak, and I easily drank a gallon of river water. We popped up, got over to the side of the river, and laughed so hard that we choked as we made our way to our stopping point. The two of us howled with laughter for quite some time after, and the endorphins released were almost medicinal. We thought we had. We did not. Thankfully, there were no injuries. And it was a surefire highlight of the trip for me…
This summer, I had the tremendous joy and privilege of joining 22 head colleagues on the Main Fork of the Salmon River in Idaho. Over five days, we traversed 88 miles through Class 2, 3, and 4 rapids. We either floated on large rafts with some paddling required, or we could choose a single or a double kayak. There was lots of deference for folks who might want the adventure of a kayak. When there was a kayak available, that was usually my choice. My first humbling tumble out of the kayak was right around the bend from our first night’s campsite. I had made it through the rapids, or so I thought, and I popped right out of the kayak on a final wave washing over me. I realized that my instinct was to seize up and fight the waves, rather than paddle into and over the waves, a strategy I learned to hone on subsequent days. Fight the river at your peril. Ride the river for your joy! More to come…
Me at the back of the kayak with Russell Shaw, Head of Georgetown Day School, in front.
I had the opportunity to see Paul Simon at Davies Symphony Hall in San Francisco this summer. His music makes up a big part of the playlist of my life, from Simon & Garfunkel tunes in my youth, to his first solo songs in my 20s, to his iconic Graceland Album during my years working in New York City. I remember seeing him perform at Radio City Music Hall for the Graceland Tour in the mid-1980s, and that album and his performances along with LadySmith Black Mombaza were a game-changer. This concert was quieter, starting with his Seven Psalms, a 33 minute contemplation on mortality. Then he played lots of favorites. It felt sacred as an evening of music, and I feel so fortunate that my husband and I got to bear witness one more time.
As teachers putter in and around their spaces, the promise and optimism of a new school year are in the air. I have always said that those of us who chose education as our vocation are eternal optimists, working through the cycle of a year, breathing over the summer, and starting up again, hoping to refine, refresh, or reinvent a lesson. It is indeed meaningful work that fills my bucket in so many ways. Here is to the start of another year filled with teaching, learning, and growth.
This is a big topic of conversation at our school, and so many others.
The right age to give a child their first cellphone is really up to you. Age isn’t as important as your kid’s maturity level, their ability to follow rules at home and school, and their sense of responsibility, as well as your own family’s needs.
At Seven Hills, we often say to students “when you have a choice, be kind…” This is a great distillation of the “why.”
There’s a difference between nice and being kind—even our bodies recognize the distinction. Kindness not only pours a lot of good into the world, but it’s also good for one’s own health.
https://www.cnn.com/2023/11/13/health/nice-vs-kind-difference-wellness/index.html
I am here in Africa for only the second time in my life, the second time in 12 months, as it turns out, preparing for a personal challenge to climb Africa’s tallest mountain. It is sunrise. I am listening to the sounds of Africa waking up. It is magical.
The other thing that I am celebrating is David Brooks’ Op-Ed. It is a walking advertisement for the Whole Child Education we espouse at The Seven Hills School.
“I have learned something profound along the way. Being openhearted is a prerequisite for being a full, kind, and wise human being. But it is not enough. People need social skills. The real process of, say, building a friendship or creating a community involves performing a series of small, concrete actions well: being curious about other people; disagreeing without poisoning relationships; revealing vulnerability at an appropriate pace; being a good listener; knowing how to ask for and offer forgiveness; knowing how to host a gathering where everyone feels embraced; knowing how to see things from another’s point of view.“
On this day, in this part of the world, against the backdrop of immense human suffering in Israel, Gaza, and Ukraine, juxtaposed with the fervent, unproductive divisions in our own government, this writing is a beacon.
Read it once. Read it twice. Know that this is what our children need if they will do a better job at leading, governing, and stewarding than we have done.
Thank you, Mr. Brooks.
I am not sure why it has taken me a year to get back to this blog. A year ago I was preparing for my sabbatical and planning to take time away, during a school year, for the first time in my 35-year independent school career. I was also very focused on writing during that sabbatical, and after. Which I did. But not here. I have no explanation. But, here I am back at the start of my 36th year in independent schools in the New York TriState area or the San Francisco Bay area.
On this 22nd anniversary of September 11, 2001, I feel contemplative. It feels like just yesterday that we were all navigating a typical and gorgeous Tuesday morning in Westchester County, NY, just north of the city. Our Parents Association was meeting in the cafeteria. We were in the second week of classes since school never starts before Labor Day on the East Coast. In fact, it was probably only the fourth day of actual classes that morning. In this sleepy commuter suburb of New York there were zero degrees of separation between the events unfolding in lower Manhattan and our school community: spouses of employees, parents of students, siblings, neighbors, cousins, they were all connected in some way.
I remember sitting in utter disbelief watching the news, trying to comprehend the magnitude of the events, while also ministering to colleagues looking for family, and watching parents come in and eyeball their children during the school day. Some brought them home, but many did not. Despite multiple losses in the community, we had 100% attendance on September 12. Parents felt school was the safest place for their children to be, where they knew we would not allow access to news and where children could just be children, doing their jobs of attending school.
That is the ultimate promise of an independent school: that children will be known and loved for who they are. IT helped us then. It still helps us today.
May we never forget that day.
Head's Up, Kathleen McNamara 