Pipers at the gates of dawn

by Wolf Pascoe on April 16, 2012

“Now it passes on and I begin to lose it,” [Ratty] said presently. “O Mole! the beauty of it! The merry bubble and joy, the thin, clear, happy call of the distant piping! Such music I never dreamed of, and the call in it is stronger even than the music is sweet! Row on, Mole, row! For the music and the call must be for us.”

The Mole, greatly wondering, obeyed. “I hear nothing myself,” he said, “but the wind playing in the reeds and rushes and osiers.”

Kenneth Grahame–”The Pipers at the Gates of Dawn” from The Wind in the Willows

I spent a whole, meandering day at Nick’s un-school last week.

It’s hard to believe we’re in our 7thyear at Fern Hill. I suppose I’ve spent whole days there before, or near whole days, especially the first year of pre-school, a year of supporting kids to gradually separate from parents.

There were other times Nick needed me to hang around as well, as he did the first day this year. But I wanted to spend a whole day at Fern Hill when Nick didn’t need me. I wanted to spend the day there for me.

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THE WALLED GARDEN

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Fern Hill is the kind of place where moms and dads are welcome. Sometimes a parent with a kid at the school decides to stay and help out.  Some stay more and more and in a few years wind up teachers.

That hasn’t happened in my case, but the same question always nags at me when I drop Nick in the morning and drive off to meet my agendas. The question is, what if I’m not supposed to drive off? What if this is paradise and I’m supposed to stay?

What if when my time is done I meet the Ancient of Days and he says, Bravo for all the accomplishments. But tell me, why didn’t you choose paradise when you had the chance?  Why didn’t you spend more time at Fern Hill?

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Paradise. from Old French, paradis, from Latin, paradisus, from Greek, paradeisos, from Iranian, pairidaeza: an enclosed park or pleasure ground. A walled garden.

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ARRANGEMENTS

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So I made arrangements.

“Dad,” Nick said, “I’m not going to play with you. I’m just going to do what I do.”

“That’s fine.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. Walk around, I guess. I just want to hang.”

“Well, I’ll be there if you need me.”

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MORNING MEETING

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Nick’s teacher Charity introduces me at morning meeting. This is the only structured part of the day, when kids share plans and problems.

“Wolf will be staying in school today,” Charity says to the group.

Most of the kids already know me. They’re used to parents being around, no big deal.

Morning meeting ends and I stay in the classroom and watch Nick and Jay work on a Lego space cruiser. It’s a normal looking classroom, with a blackboard and writing on the walls. There are bookshelves full of books, but nary a computer.

One of the younger kids, Justin, joins Nick and Jay at the lego table. Justin isn’t very good at Legos but he likes being with the bigger kids. Nick and Jay school him in the finer points of inter-galactic combat.

Nick wanders over.

“You have to be nice to little kids,” Nick says. “The good thing about being little is people have to let you do what you want.”

It seems the whole school is doing what it wants, which is the ecosystem here–kids doing what they do when you don’t make them do anything.

Throughout the day, teachers hold occasional classes based on interest, but they’re informal and optional. Fern Hill, it occurs to me, is like the little patch of wild, native growth in the middle of New York City, the one with the sign:

THIS PARK HAS
BEEN LEFT IN
ITS NATURAL STATE
OF HABITAT.

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CLOUDS

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I have fears that I romanticize the place too much, that I’ll be bored after an hour, the whole experiment a flop, a day spent looking at my watch.

It doesn’t happen.

What happens is the gentle rhythm of clouds.

I wander outside where most of the kids are and sit down at a table opposite a girl named Michelle, who is eight. The scuttlebutt is that Michelle and George, a boy of ten, are an item. George is off somewhere. Michelle is working on a yarn bracelet. She shows me how, and asks if I’d like to make one.

The writer in me wants to say to her, “What’s up with you and George? What do you see in him?”

I don’t ask this.

Instead I think about Heidi, a girl I was in love with when I was ten. I spent half a summer kissing a mirror pretending it was her. She is the only Heidi I ever knew, and she was enough.

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DIE DARTH VADER

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The sky turns, blue and breezy. I never once look at my watch. Children pair off, re-group, establish positions in the yard, play complex games.

Three girls climb to the top of a wooden structure, a cloud-capped tower from where they can keep a lookout. I’m told they begin every day this way.

Three other girls start a business in the sand kitchen. They send messengers with notes all over the yard. They’re looking for servants.

There’s talk of a Hunger Games plan, but one of the boys loses his temper and ends up in the mosh pit, hurling softswords at a wall in the company of a teacher. No Hunger Games today.

Nick checks in periodically. He samples my lunch. We hug and he runs off.

Three girls ask if they can show me their song. It goes like this:

I’m mean right now.
It always ends with a frown.
I’m mean right now.
But what I’m going to do later
is kill Darth Vader.

I think of the Opies, those wonderful anthropologists of childhood, and the decades they spent in the schoolyards of Great Britain, watching and recording the lore and language, rhymes and games, jokes and riddles, pranks and superstitions of school children.

. . . in our continual search for efficient units of educational administration we have overlooked that the most precious gift we can give the young is social space: the necessary space–or privacy–to become human beings.

. . .adults produce these dreadful playgrounds which are just sheer lakes of cement or asphalt, and what the child is interested in are the cracks in the cement; he can’t play his games without those.

– Iona and Peter Opie

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ON THE RIVER

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Two-thirty. Time for cleanup. The entire yard breaks into teams, some sweeping, some picking up trash, some stacking tables and chairs. I don’t know how this happens, but it happens quickly and with military precision.

Randomness returns. Parents drift in. Nick and I collect his things.

“Hey, Shirley,” Nick says to one of the arriving moms, “My dad spent the whole day!”

“I need to do that,” says Shirley.

In the car Nick says, “So, how was your day, dad?”

‘Swell,” I say. Swell it was in the yard, just watching.

I want to reach for a conclusion, something to tell Nick about why I needed to be here, a string to tie around the package. I can’t find it. The image of Ratty and Mole on the river floats by.

“Row on, Mole, row! For the music and the call must be for us.”
And Mole, greatly wondering, obeyed. “I hear nothing myself,” he said, “but the wind playing in the reeds and rushes and osiers.”

Nick is Ratty, and it’s the pipes of the great god Pan calling to him.

Hearing but wind in the reeds and rushes, I am Mole, greatly wondering.

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RELATED POSTS:

The business of childhood

First day of school

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YOU MIGHT ALSO ENJOY:

Pipers at the Gates of Dawn by Jonathan Cott. Interviews with remarkable children’s authors.

Iona and Peter Opie An overview of their books. But the best way to learn more about them is by reading their interview in Jonathan Cott’s book.

Image Credit: Children’s Games by Pieter Brueghel, 1560. The painting depicts all the children’s games he knew.

EXPRESS YOURSELF!

What’s your paradise story? Just Add Father is listening. (Add your thoughts by clicking a few lines below below, where it says comments or add one. I always respond here.)

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{ 21 comments… read them below or add one }

Pamela April 16, 2012 at 6:13 am

I have been so busy with moving etc that I am only now catching up on blogs… And what a gem this is!! Your school reminds me of Oak Grove school in ojai where my son went. Paradise!!

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Wolf Pascoe April 16, 2012 at 10:43 pm

Hi Pamela. Hope you get settled in real quick.

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Sirena April 16, 2012 at 1:42 pm

Your day at Fern Hill sounds heavenly! Nothing like being around children for a day to keep you in the present. I love the fotos and if you could find me a servant for my kitchen too that would be great – those girls REALLY have the right idea.

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Wolf Pascoe April 16, 2012 at 10:45 pm

I’m getting the hang of Photoshop. We’ve already asked the girls to find us some help, but you can be next.

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BigLittleWolf April 16, 2012 at 2:28 pm

Another gorgeous piece, Wolf. We only seem to fully appreciate childhood when it is gone from us, and of course, approaching it again is bittersweet.

I love that Nick offered to be there for you if you needed him.

A walled garden. Paradis. I didn’t realize. Sometimes we want those walls – and need them. At other times, their confines squeeze and we need escape, only to find worse constraints on the other side.
BigLittleWolf recently posted..Eight Hours, Six Sons, Two Dreams

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Wolf Pascoe April 16, 2012 at 10:51 pm

Yes, walls can be problematic. Maybe we need an infinity garden.

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Cathy April 16, 2012 at 5:19 pm

Wow – it’s a simple message for me – kids love it when you come to their school. It doesn’t matter what they say – they really do. Which is why i now feel suddenly guilty because I have not volunteered for anytime at my son’s school. Hmmm… Got me thinking…
Cathy recently posted..what do you think?

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Wolf Pascoe April 16, 2012 at 10:53 pm

I didn’t really get how big a deal it was for him until the end of the day when he told Shirley I’d been there. But don’t feel guilty. It would make me feel guilty.

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Privilege of Parenting April 16, 2012 at 10:56 pm

The garden is a quantum place, and anything can happen there. Perhaps the willows and grasses are primordial reeds and the wind itself a Zephyrus maestro. It is indeed those cracks in the concrete that are most interesting and game, home for grasses slowly returning every paved parking lot to paradise, they are where the light and song get into our world, whispering below the idiot wind.

“Believe me, my young friend, there is nothing – absolutely nothing –
half so much worth doing as simply messing about in boats.”

We’ll have to have tried that some eternal time :)

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Wolf Pascoe April 17, 2012 at 12:04 am

Well, then, I say let’s get ourselves on a boat! And the great thing about wind, I heard recently, is that it’s always new.

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Kelly April 17, 2012 at 12:55 pm

Sounds like a magical place. What would happen if every child was free to experience it?

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Wolf Pascoe April 17, 2012 at 7:38 pm

Complete chaos?

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Kristen @ Motherese April 18, 2012 at 1:14 pm

Do you think they have an opening at Fern Hill for my soon-to-be 5 year old? I suppose the commute would be tough.

We try to follow Nick’s axiom about little kids at our house – “You have to be nice to little kids. The good thing about being little is people have to let you do what you want.” The only problem is that we’ve got three little kids all Hell-bent on doing what they want. Chaos, indeed.
Kristen @ Motherese recently posted..Commutes

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Wolf Pascoe April 18, 2012 at 4:24 pm

Fern Hill is just a letter away from Fern Hell.

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Kate April 18, 2012 at 9:56 pm

I loved my daughter’s first school, where I did stay and stay and stay. But then it closed. Fewer school than I’d like welcome you for the whole day. There is an immediacy, an amazing flow to life of children.

And of course, tonight I just started reading The Wind in the Willows with my big girl. Such glorious language.

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Wolf Pascoe April 18, 2012 at 11:05 pm

Glorious, yes, those pipes, calling.

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Whit April 19, 2012 at 12:42 am

A) This is beautiful.
B) I need to dig out a copy of Wind in the Willows.
C) I didn’t realize you were doing the un-school thing. We, by which I mean my wife, are very interested in the concept. We’ll have to chat.
Whit recently posted..Nightfall for Spring Days

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Wolf Pascoe April 19, 2012 at 6:35 pm

Give a holler.

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Barbara April 19, 2012 at 9:41 pm

I’ve gotten behind again. What a great post! Love the part where Nick assured you he was there if you needed him. And I sympathize with that writer in you… I’ve spent quite a few days subbing at the high school and the elementary school. So many stories! Unfortunately, not all of them are happy ones.
Barbara recently posted..Totally. Blown. Away.

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Wolf Pascoe April 20, 2012 at 12:11 am

I’ve often thought about teaching. But I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s work.

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Barbara April 20, 2012 at 11:32 pm

It’s definitely work! I’m surprised they’re able to teach anything at all!

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