Dear Boundless Families:
Equipped with a PHD from the University of Curmudgeon, I tried to build my cabin at Boundless as far as possible from the students. That damn noise! My shovel went into the ground right at the extreme edge of our 600 acre property line. I figured I was safe.
It’s barely day two, and the OE crew has already violated my serenity with their shrieks and howls. They started sedately enough at 2:00pm yesterday, like a two on the audio-richter scale. But at 7:15 am, they reached six. I’m in trouble. And the more I’m in trouble, the better it is for the group itself. Ten is just around the corner. I can feel it.
It’s the girls, and a they, that are the culprits, or so I am told (I haven’t met the kids). They have that je ne sais quoi. Some vivacity. Some audacity. And the boys are probably just letting it all unfold.
And if the girls have been blessed with some effortless bonding, the group will have lovely tail winds and sweep the fellas along. It’s organic chemistry 101.
They have much to do. Three more days of training so they won’t kill themselves on the Dumoine River in Quebec, replete with 58 sets of rapids, one hundred foot waterfalls, sunrises that will bring tears to your eyes, and deer flies that are anticipating their feast on adolescent flesh. Leaving Thursday, they will be bye-bye. Out of range. Deep wilderness. Only a Sat phone in case of trouble. They complete the trip on day ten by paddling across the Ottawa river back to Ontario. The term “epic”, while overused, is no embellishment to describe their journey to come.
These kids have emerged from isolation and been plopped into an intense group process. On the best days, this can be daunting. But the OE group seems to be handling it all in stride so far. Which is to say that it has been a lovely beginning.
I have empathy for those parents who will forever be wondering how their kids are doing up here, and unable to access this info. My advice is to let go, enjoy your kids’ absence, and make the existential choice between red or white wine.
The adage of “no news is good news” reigns supreme. How nice for you. And how nice for your kids, who desperately need to flex their independence muscles.
Here’s to hoping that you don’t hear from me again until day nine, when I confirm your kids have pulses and will be arriving home to a reunion that will come ever too soon the next day.
Thanks for entrusting your kids to us. We’ll treat them as our own. Promise.
Steven
