Partially Raised by Mark Twain: Thoughts the Night Before Intersession

My grandfather was a powerful man.

He wasn’t strong in a brash, bruising or bullish way, but he was the kind of guy that people listened to. He was sharp, empathetic and encouraging. He was interested, baritone-voiced and familiar. He was learned, read and he loved loved Mark Twain. Rarely a family get-together would go on without Twain quotes booming from his deep Kentucky voice box.

“What is the difference between a taxidermist and a tax collector? The taxidermist takes only your skin.”

“France has neither winter nor summer nor morals — apart from these drawbacks it is a fine country.”

“Anyone who stops learning is old, whether twenty or eighty. Anyone who keeps learning stays young. The greatest thing you can do is keep your mind young.”

I think he loved Twain’s cavalier demeanor. My grandfather had strong opinions and quick wit, but his kindness always kept him from being crass. Sort of like Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer, Twain gave him a chance to adventure out of his properness. This tension between gentility and adventure was the paintbrush and palette of my childhood. A paraphrase of Twain’s thoughts echoes through our family’s history.

“I have never let my schooling interfere with my education.”

Though I grew up in a family full of teachers, many of the most significant learning experiences of my life happened outside-of or even in-spite-of the traditional school setting I was enrolled in. I found immense joy in playing outside. Growing up on a small farm afforded me the luxury of space and simplicity. Throughout the open range of my “backyard” I built forts and skate ramps. I caught fish and learned to drive a tractor.

Since I began teaching at High Tech High I have cherished our tension. In many ways, the wildness of our school reminds me of home. The qualities that made my grandfather great are abundant in the work and people I see around me. I see kindness and thoughtfulness, wit and clarity. I also see the edge and wildness that he loved about Twain.

Tomorrow morning High Tech High begins our annual intersession. Throughout the school students will participate in two-week intensive courses ranging from cycling, building furniture, painting, sculpting and baking, to yoga, film critiquing, cooking and learning to swim. Teachers have designed courses based on their personal passions and fields where they might be pursuing their own learning.

For the second year in a row, my students will be exploring buoyancy before designing and building rafts that will be used to float down the lower section of the Colorado River. Floatopia! 2016 was a thrill. Much like Twain’s characters floating down the Mississippi River, our students were given a chance to be adventurers; to learn on the fly…or float. I am excited to further develop our rafting adventure with a new group of students this year. Floatopia! 2.0 is an homage to Twain’s famous comment about education being stifled by schooling and its also a celebration of the awesomeness that exists in “figuring something out.”

I feel blessed to have had people like my grandfather to guide me as I grew up. His character is still a model I hopefully strive toward. I also feel grateful to have had an upbringing that allowed and encouraged me to do wild and creative things. The little piece of me that was raised by Mark Twain is stoked about this project.

Track our progress!

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Summer ’15: Teacher Vignettes from the Woods Pt. 2

“The old man looked at him with his sun-burned, confident loving eyes.”
― Ernest Hemingway, The Old Man and the Sea

Waist deep with feet spread to hold me against the current, I carefully released line into my back cast. Making sure to avoid my daughter as she hopped to and from shoreline rocks, I swung the rod hard to dry my fly. After four or five overhead motions I set the floating lure down in gentle water next to a slow eddy. After a couple of moments I pulled the line away and set it again with all softness.

The Skykomish burst to life. A blitz of silver and iridescence arched out of the water, bridled itself to my hook and pulled my fly down into the clear and crashing water. Without any grace, I slipped from my perch on the rock and the waterline rose to my shoulders. The steelhead was on.

With as much patience as a freezing river and euphoria would allow, I angled the fish toward shore. After several powerful and nerve-wracking runs the animal slowed and finally submitted to the lift of my rod and the bottom of my net.

There is something very special about catching a fish. Over the course of my life I have had family and mentors teach me the patience and technique needed to be successful. I learned to fish the desert for largemouth bass and flathead catfish, fly fish the Sierras for golden trout, and troll the Sea of Cortez for billfish. The species I have caught, the places I have experience and the delicious meals I have eaten are all part of a lived journal of learning, trying, failing and succeeding.

Kids need these feelings. They don’t have to learn to fish, but they should have a “lived journal of learning”. I hope that my class provides some of this during our time together this year. I hope that sometimes they see me Like Hemingway’s Santiago (The Old Man and the Sea), a man who tries to be real and commits to an ideal while still being able to reflect upon his mistakes. I love that Santiago loves the boy so very much that, even though he needs his help, he wants the boy to be more than a simple fisherman. This was the hope of my father while he taught me to read and write and play guitar. This was the goal of my grandfathers while they taught me to tie a hook to fishing line and to read the water and shoreline to anticipate where a fish was hiding.

The school year is rolling and I am thrilled to turn kids’ eyes toward those things that amaze us.

Summer ’15: Teacher Vignettes from the Woods Pt. 1

“The mountains are calling and I must go.” -John Muir

Though each step seemed to demand a certain mustered discipline, we were ascending steeply and  steadily. With full backpacks we scrambled three quarters of a mile up a boulder-lined waterfall, balanced our way 2 miles across mountain peak shoulders and came to the foot of our final ascent. The climb was incredible. Seven hundred feet of class 3+ ascent beginning at an elevation of 11,200ft. As we reached the crest our weary faces morphed at the sight of the new and beautiful basin below us.

Hurd Peak Shoulder
Our final ascent up Hurd Peak. Notice the steep and unstable terrain…and ice!
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Exhausted, joyful and relieved at the top.
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View of Treasure Lakes, where we began our final climb.
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Bishop Pass Trail…the other side of the mountain.

Only a day earlier we were at sea level, departing San Diego for a few days in the Sierras.

Sometimes I need reminders like this. I need to be shown (not told) that amazing endeavor and adventure are always within reach. I can’t wait to share experiences like these with my new group of students. My hope is that they find value in doing “hard things”; that they accept challenges that will bring out the very best parts of their character and our human nature.

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