I can’t possibly stay inside on a day like today. I sit on the dock as I write this entry, jotting down words on scrap paper and using a makeshift writing tablet which I swiped from the cardboard recycling on my hasty escape out the door. Though the sky is mostly grey and winter’s chill lingers still, I am warmed by occasional gleams of warm sunlight and cheered by errant breezes that carry the green scent of spring. The world is coming alive, and I am here to bear witness.
I began this journal-writing process with a careful reconnaissance mission (read: procrastination effort) in which I read some recent submissions from my fellow AmeriCorps members. I couldn’t help but be impressed with all of them; I am incredibly lucky to live and serve alongside such eloquent, extraordinary people. And I’m grateful that I may call them friends.
When I accepted this position, I did so primarily because I saw challenge in the work and adventure in the locale. I’m sure there was also some vague, nebulous notion of “networking,” as there is with any position. But I somehow didn’t see the community coming. It should have been obvious, in retrospect; when you share a tiny cottage space seven ways, it’s impossible not to get to know people. We came here from all corners of the country and—in extremely short order—became family. Every day I get to have meaningful conversations about botany, conservation, environmental policy, or can just geek out about how cool mustelids are (otters, badgers, and the like) with other minds that are both brightly inquisitive and thoroughly contemplative.
You never lack for hiking buddies. Even better, everyone’s special interests merge and broaden on the trail. If a botanist, mycologist, and ornithologist go hiking together, the individual differences soon vanish to produce a single group enthusiastic about the whole of nature. And while there’s a special delight in stepping outside to hear the first calls of red-winged blackbirds heralding spring, there’s an even fuller joy in experiencing that moment while surrounded by companions eagerly drinking it in, all racing to catch the first glimpse of a crimson flash through the trees.
The Squam Lakes Association often references its mission to promote the “shared enjoyment” of the Squam Lakes Region, which is a phrase that—I now realize—I didn’t properly understand before my arrival to Holderness. My initial interpretation of it was something to the effect of, “you go enjoy the lake over there, and I’ll enjoy it over here, thanks.” And while there is still a piece of my heart that soars highest when I walk through the quiet woods alone, I’ve become aware of a new part that is fullest when I can share a salamander find or glorious sunset with others (I’ll avoid a reference to a particular Dr. Seuss character here; you can make that connection for yourself).
Winter is only just beginning to melt into spring, but I find myself already looking ahead to summer, and to the second batch of LRCC members that will jump on board at the SLA. In very short order we’ll have longer days, a mob of new summer duties, and countless opportunities to romp around the trails with friends old and new. I intend to fully appreciate every one of these spring days that dawns with stronger sunlight and fuzzier catkins, and to enjoy them with others as often as is possible.
Micaela is a full-time member with the SLA. You can find her drawing, reading, singing, and writing- pretty much all things creative! You can read more about Micaela here!