Dear Families and Friends of Boundless,
On Friday, the second session of the boarding school began amidst a tempest of rain that finally brought relief to the Madawaska drought. This soothed me. Some neighboring tracts were ablaze. Imagine. In late October. Climate change? Perhaps.
The kids sure think so. All of them returned (an achievement in itself), plus two new fresh, eager, and slightly wary faces.
Late last session, the gang hauled me into their biology class and let me have it. They had conducted an environmental audit, they said. They had helpful suggestions, they said, barely concealing the knives in their scabbards. Dave, their science teacher, was grinning like a predator licking his chops.
Their first salvo was straightforward:
“What about composting? Why is Boundless filling the landfill with our food scraps?”
“OUR” being the operative word here. Indeed, this school now belongs to your kids.
Then they turned to the irreplaceably cute mini-creamers. “Aren’t those just for entertaining toddlers?” They accused me. Same with the sugar packets. They cited other heinous faux pas. They believed they had me dead to rights.
“These ideas can save Boundless money,” they said, with the forceful self-righteousness that defines adolescence.
So I dug in.
“How much money?” I asked.
Dylan shuffled through his papers with an air of sanctimony rivaling Trump’s, producing figures that added up to almost $300 annually.
“On a two-million-plus operating budget, that’s peanuts,” I responded. This enraged everyone. Now I was having fun.
When debating with teenagers (or life partners), one cannot win. Ever. Write that down. What matters is that they are taken seriously.
“On the matter of composting,” I said with manufactured solemnity, “I swear, we have tried. We suffered labour challenges, animals, and the question of who would use all the compost. But I’ll talk to Craig.”
This made them chuckle. They are appropriately terrified of our head cook, a grizzly bear in human form who will growl if you make the slightest misstep in his kitchen. Craig has not changed a policy since the last ice age. The kids make it a mission to get him to grin, much like I did with my own dad when he was pissed. “Dad, I know you’re smiling inside.”
I speculated aloud, “Perhaps it’s a remnant of Covid. Have you considered health and safety?”
“That’s absurd!” a bold Logan blurted out.
But the comment gave the general population of these acne-prone inmates some pause. They hadn’t thought of that.
I promised to bring Craig in to address their concerns. In the history of bad ideas, this took the cake – likely served with pre-packaged sugar packets. Craig’s communication skills make an amoeba eloquent in comparison.
Realizing my mistake in time to preserve dignity across this parched land, I promised instead to report back after consulting him.
And I did. For the record, Craig says it’s not about health and safety — it’s about portion control. Somehow he believes that meting out sugar and cream in small packets deters over-indulgence. “Who binges on cream?” I thought. But I will let the matter rest for now, and report back to the kids mid-session.
I gotta hand it to your kids. They went at me with candour and respect. They did their homework. They were genuinely concerned about the land and Craig’s pride.
These virtues were on display as they absorbed the two new students. While waiting for the evening program, this amorphous mass of ADHD amused themselves by knocking a volleyball around indoors, unleashing havoc. When one new student, Mikki (pseudonym), careened the ball off my bald pate, she withstood my revenge shot with such deft alacrity that bystanders were left in awe. Instant respect. She’s in. So is K., the other newcomer, who steadfastly tried to keep his card game safe from the volleyball missile. I was sincerely struck by the student’s open-heartedness.
The dark days of November will present big challenges. Less outdoor ed. More English and Math. There is only so much you can do about those subjects in the forest. And yet, we will try our best to keep the kids keen.
Thank you, dear readers, for sending your kids to us — and for supporting them to be here.
Take care,
Steven
(above image created using AI)
