Having never done any real community service before, besides the occasional Jingle Bell Run or Leukemia Cup Regatta, I didn’t really know what to expect this week in Visalia. I knew it would be tough work, but I was unaware as to how much the service would really move me. Sure, I had heard from countless people who are involved in non-profits and such that community service is often a very eye-opening and meaningful experience. I had always shrugged off what they had said, figuring “well, that’s just what makes them tick. It’s very unlikely service could affect me in the same way.” Before this week, service had seemed like a chore, just another thing I needed to check off on my college application. Boy was I wrong.

I saw this week not only how important it is to give your time and help others, but also how gratifying, joyous, and refreshing the process can be. Yes, the days we worked were long and sprinkled with moments of both physical and mental exhaustion, but in the end it was so worth it. I am so proud of all the work our group did. We caulked, sawed, and conquered fears of power tools. In 5 days we sided 6 houses. It makes me feel good to know that because of the work we did the families will be able to move into their houses even a little bit sooner.

Not only did I learn a lot about the group’s abilities, (I had no idea we would be such super-siding-machines!), I learned a lot about myself. For one thing, I love the nail gun! Previously, I had always thought of myself as someone who was too scared or weak to use power tools. Not only am I strong enough to use the nail gun and “snapper,” I am strong enough of a person to not call it quits when I really want to. Whether it be forcing myself to get up and go in the morning (with a smile on my face) when I would rather be sleeping in, or fitting in the last piece of the siding puzzle, I was strong enough to block out the tempting suggestions of the sloth sitting on my shoulder saying “well, we could just call it a day.” Prior to this trip, I don’t think I would have ignored him. As I sit in the car driving back to Nevada City, I know I will be forever grateful of not only the journey to Visalia, but to the journey that brought me to a better understanding of who I am, what brings me joy, and that I am capable of things I had never previously imagined. Service is a way to help others overcome hardships, and find a place to establish roots, family, and a sense of belonging. Service brings people home.

by Jasmine Smith, Environmental Science Teacher
Water is one of the defining crises of the 21st century. In Environmental Science class we have looked at water issues through political, social, economic and ecological lenses, all shedding light on how we are dependent and connected to water locally and globally.

To culminate our water unit, students were assigned roles, representing a variety of stakeholders that would be involved if a hydroelectric dam were proposed on the South Yuba River. We held a mock court hearing where each representative stated their case and cross-examined one-another with pertinent questions, then, based on the validity of facts and presentation of the cases, a jury decided whether this mock dam proposal would pass.

Some students showed up in suits, some in their best fishing hats, depending on the role they were representing. Some came with operations manuals from their agency, and others based their case on real interviews they conducted with people in the field. Debate was lively, and in the end the jury ruled that this mock dam proposal would move forward.

The mock court hearing was based on initial proposals of damming the South Yuba in the late 1980s, which prompted the formation of the South Yuba River Citizens League (SYRCL), now a prominent watershed advocacy group. Through their efforts, 39 miles of the river became designated as Wild and Scenic, to be protected against dams and development under federal law.

Dam that River!

by Katherine Stone, student
I am here today representing Pacific Gas and Electric Company. PG&E has pursued initiatives, implemented programs, and advocated for policies that raised the bar on environmental stewardship in industries across the United States. We feel that Nevada County could greatly benefit from the installation of a hydroelectric dam on the South Yuba River.

We have carefully constructed plans that will provide needed electric power to the community, while complying with all environmental regulations. To protect wildlife resources, fish ladders will be installed to accommodate migrating fish such as trout and salmon.  The fish ladder will be engineered to fit the needs of all species taking the journey upstream.

We ask you to approve PG&E’s proposal for a licensed dam, to provide clean, renewable energy for Nevada County, and to demonstrate that the state of California can develop and support an advanced hydropower system.

Save Our River!

by Ruthie Hawley, student
For the last 150 years humans have manipulated the South Yuba River without relent. The earth, water and life in this blue-green river basin have been blown-up, washed away, and dammed. We at SYRCL oppose the building of a dam along the South Yuba River because it would be detrimental to fish populations, catastrophic to Native American peoples, and would violate guidelines set by the federal Wild and Scenic Rivers Act.

The South Yuba River is a rare home to one of the last remaining Chinook salmon runs. Fish ladder or no, a dam would inhibit the return to native spawning grounds upriver, with devastating consequences to the fish populations. This in turn will be culturally damaging to local Native American peoples, whose culture stems from a respectful relationship with salmon. The fish are more than just a food resource; their survival is a metaphor for the survival of the earth.

Contrary to the protections established by the Wild and Scenic designation, a dam would cause water quality to suffer and the river to change shape. We have seen it happen time and again. Please do not rob the Yuba and undo the work our organization has done to restore habitat destroyed by dams. Today you are graced with the opportunity to stop this manipulation. Think like a salmon, do not build this dam.

I am standing out in the bitter cold, chilling wind, and pounding rain. My nose is constantly running, my feet are numb, and my gloves are soaked all the way through. I have never before been surrounded by boxes of food and felt so incredibly miserable.  Standing at my assigned fruit and vegetable station, I let out a sigh. Last night I was reading about how food banks got started when Ronald Reagan cut a billion dollars out of the food stamp program.  Now I am waiting to feed elderly citizens, or non-citizens, who still may have a grudge against Reagan — I know I would.  With buckets of water now pouring on top of my yellow rain coat, I look over and see the line waiting to get food growing even longer. There are 40 plus people here waiting to get their share of weekly food in this miserable weather. One by one, different personalities come up to me, so grateful for me being there with food to feed their families.

Men and women who have lived life a different way than I could ever have imagined are standing in front of me, not being judgmental of who I am or the past I have lived. They are just happy for me to be there, greeting them with fruits and vegetables from weeks past. A feeling of selfishness began seeping through my limbs, leaving me with an emotion that I have yet to truly understand, but the miserable and longing feeling I had is far behind me. Nothing is as important to me now but the faces of pure gratitude now present before me. These remarkable people left behind their pride and dignity to face the fact that they cannot provide a meal for their family and I give them my true and honest respect.

Working with Soil Born Farms and the food banks of Sacramento have filled my soggy and wet clothes with the warmth and comfort I have never felt before in the way I experienced it. Looking back on that Tuesday brings a smile upon my face thinking about what I gave to those people and more important, what they gave to me. A simple “thank you” does not even come close to the appreciation I now have towards the hardworking individuals that deserve much more recognition for what they bring to a community.

by Rachel Bond, Student

When we say we are aware of our surroundings, why is it only in the context of others? After all, it is our surroundings, doesn’t that give us some rights to it?  I’ve started to realize a strange occurrence in my life: a craving, almost an addiction to the natural world. When I was little, there was no line separating the outside from the indoors. I would wear hiking boots in my living room and run bare-foot through forests. The world was my home and I felt at peace.

But as life goes on this wondrous philosophy fades and we start to cultivate, sacrifice, and discipline ourselves to stereotypes and patterns. Weeks become months and you find yourself driving on sunny days and focusing on the smell of your shampoo instead of the company that made it. The industrial world is shiny and captivating. It can become so easy to get mixed up in it and lose your once peaceful, clear way of life.  Some people never leave this cycle: morning showers, school inside, warm heater at home. Why change? But I have begun to see my shattered peace and discomfort in plastic walls.

That’s why I came here to the Woolman Semester. I came back to a place that resembles my roots, my home. I’ll try again to intertwine the lines that so thickly state our abilities and society as I had once done as a child. This is not an easy task, the ways of the city world are so taunting, so logical… so much in fact I find myself questioning my abrupt return to this world. Why not next year? Why not in college? I always have time later. This questioning becomes so tempting that the realism of this place almost disappears all together.

And then it happens, this occurrence, this dazzling phenomenon of utmost importance. A craving or need (of sorts) to have this lifestyle, this beauty. It’s a hard thing to explain but it’s very instinctual, very real. As if under all the materials, under all the comfort and temporary happiness of our destruction, there is still that bare human craving for nature, for life. It almost makes me feel more human, more alive to have this craving, this native addiction. It’s a hope for us in a way I never thought would come. This is what I would like to share through my work and my life. The cutting of all strings dividing this world from any other, making it just one… the only world where anyone, anywhere can have peace.

by Ruby Brinkerhoff, Fall ’09 Student

In the midst of our conveniences, entertainments, television shows, and movies, we may catch ourselves becoming less and less active.  It may become clear, after hours spent as a couch potato watching soap operas and reality TV, that life has become one big sideline bench.  No longer are we the actors in our lives, we have become a mere member of the audience, a spectator. Paul Smith’s, Spectatoritis, talks about this regression to spectator status, and how people lose control of their lives when they fail to be involved with any real activities.  Instead of playing in the soccer game, they will sit and watch.  Instead of putting themselves out there and seeing new people and places, they let others do it for them.  They watch life pass from their front step and don’t move to engage or participate in it.   I think in this day and age, it has become easier than ever to be plagued by this “disease”.  We are all infected to some extent, and it is up to the individual to recognize this mentality and deal with it accordingly.

I think it is important to recognize the existence of spectatoritis in all of us.  I am guilty myself of sitting back and watching the world go by for a bit.  I have been drawn in by the sensations of politics and entertainment from time to time.  I know people who have this lifestyle.  My neighbors are a perfect example.  They sit in their house every single day and watch commercial television.  They read the newspaper, and go to church on Sundays, but do absolutely nothing else.  They slowly fell into these daily entertainment patterns, and now it has become their way of life.  This is a classic example of spectatoritis, in which there is no action involved.

With all our current technology and the media, it is very effortless to be pulled into the spectacles offered on the TV screen.  People become addicted to that everyday ritual.  People gobble up the food that the media serves on a silver platter, and they do not really question what goes into the food.  They do not participate in making the food.  It seems that the industries have created a science out of spectatoritis. The more people they can draw in and control with the news, reality TV and mind numbing, non interactive, commercialized entertainment, the better off the industries are.  They make more money and get less opposition when people become avid spectators of  their productions.  I think it is brilliant and horrible at the same time that people are encouraged to sit around and be pounded by the media 24/7.   Smith points out that “victims of spectatoritis are susceptible to political manipulations, because they have no unique personal focus in their lives.”  I think people become brainwashed and lose their unique personal focus because media tells them what is right and wrong, and what is the “normal and fashionable” lifestyle.

I think the most important way we can battle the effects of spectatoritis is by stepping out of our comfort zones. It seems that the disease really takes hold when it becomes a constant, ritualistic practice that we root ourselves in.  Sometimes we do not have the courage to step up to the plate. It should be a goal to rise above our comfort levels and try to become more in tune with the world around us. Surpassing your comfort levels and testing the waters around you are the best ways to remove yourself from patterns and a spectator lifestyle. Then it is up to the individual to fill life with interesting and engaging things. Life should be fun and exciting, and not viewed from the bench!

The close of 2009 brought a sad and unexpected departure from the Woolman community: the Peace Van (aka Clifford the Big Red Van).

Our trusty eight passenger Chevy Astro Peace Van had been on the Mexico trip no less than a dozen times and was perhaps one of the most memorable components of Woolman Semester field trips and intensives. Inherited from the John Woolman school, the Peace Van sported flags of the world painted by students, turned heads from Oakland to Agua Prieta, held just the right amount of people for a service trip, and demanded that you close its door with a precise combination of oomph and finesse.

As our student and intern programs grow and we continue to develop the trip and intensive component of the Semester – and also remain active in the local Nevada City community – we are having to get creative with vehicles. We miss the Peace Van.

So we turn to you, our close circle of Woolman alums, family, and supporters, with the hopes that somewhere out there, perhaps in your garage, there is a seven or eight passenger minivan that can find a new home with us. We are covering all of our base, approaching local car dealerships and writing grants, but we think our best bet for a new-to-us vehicle comes from asking those closest to us. We would also be happy to accept cash donations earmarked for a vehicle. And all donations to the Woolman Semester are tax deductible.

The Peace Van gave us many steady and exciting years of service, and we hope to keep adventuring in that same spirit for years to come. To do that, we need your support.

When people ask me “how has Woolman been?” I’ll say “good,” “great,” “an experience.” That’s true. It’s also been grueling, heartbreaking, and horrifying. What an amazing, mysterious place in the woods that allows these emotions to coexist peacefully.

It seems when others ask “how has Woolman been?” I’ll be in on this secret of what Woolman really is. Of course it can’t be explained in words or text on a page because it wasn’t experienced that way.

How was it experienced?

In moments in time

Feelings in my gut

Colors in my mind

The most fitting way to describe Woolman would be to share the feelings, moments, and stories that were stitched together by time to make my Woolman.

Here goes…

Woolman is coming out of the woods before a pizza dinner, seeing orchard mists and a setting sun paint the sky.

Woolman is heaving chests, bikes thrown down, and poetry at the summit of Woolman Lane after a grueling ride.

Woolman is the lost structures in the Sierra Foothill forests, rotting and waterlogged, waiting in the undergrowth for future Woolmanites to discover them.

Woolman is singing,

SHOUTING!!

laughing,

stomping,

and banging pots and pans.

Woolman is lurking under Madrone Hall with mountains of snowballs waiting for the other students to come, so we can ambush them.

Woolman is thinking like a mountain.

Woolman is the satisfaction of chopping a pine log, smelling the spicy oils, and burning it.

Woolman is conversing in a hammock in a nighttime pasture, hearing the crunch of cows pulling grass from the ground nearby and the heartbeats of those with me.

Woolman is sweating on a hot summer night, shaking my body to the thump of an electric feel.

Woolman is hippies at the BriarPatch, and an old European man in a community garden.

Woolman is raw milk and kilts.

Woolman is talking in Spanish to children in Mexico, dancing for them and giving them rides on our backs.

Woolman is manazanita forests tickling your clothing and hair.

Woolman is cold at night.

Woolman is depression, rebellion, division, and suffocation.

Woolman is saying goodbye.

Woolman is bathing in the ice cold Yuba River, and then resting on warm rocks that hum with an unexplainable presence.

Woolman is crying in another hammock, feeling utterly alone but loved in the arms of a friend.

Woolman is scaling a friendly pine with bark falling on my head from climbers above, and relishing the view splattered with a bloody sunset.

Woolman is the scent of hot compost being carried by the wind to me where I rest on yet another creaking hammock.

Woolman is shaping clay.

Woolman is washing chickens in warm, soapy water, and then blow drying them next to a crackling fire.

Woolman is shoveling cow shit, and enjoying it.

Woolman is solitude.

Woolman is chaos.

Woolman is feeling like I’m in a glass chamber with no oxygen but lots of colorful smoke to distract me.

Woolman is gaining a connection to the land that’s tangible and ready to be expanded.

Woolman is being a tree, growing new rings as I battle rainstorms and blizzards.

Woolman is carrying on.

Pain.

Woolman is beautiful.

Woolman, I love you, as well as your…

turkeys
people
vegetables
sunsets
grass
cows
oxidation ponds

and patchwork of different lives, beliefs, and actions.

Goodbye, but certainly not for good.

Thank you.

The Woolman experience has filled me with memories worth remembering. This has been both the best and the hardest time of my life but I can honestly say that without this semester, and the intensity of its challenges and exuberance, I would not be who I am today, striving to be myself and live out my values. In the midst of the semester, I found little time to think through what I had learned and form my own opinions but I am coming out of this with a desire to grow as a person. I want to take my passions for music and change to make the world a better place.

During this semester, an important belief solidified for me – the idea that any system in which one person can have more power or influence than another is fundamentally set up for exploitation. I believe that if you have something beneficial to say, those around you will listen. In saying this, I want to portray the hope I have for the future in that we must all strive to live in a way that makes life worth living. We can never be solely responsible for ourselves but must feel the weight of society on our shoulders.

This semester I have been challenged academically and emotionally. I have been provided with a foundation to build from, and I see the future as an open door to take my voice and use it.