Rain

It's been raining on and off all day here in Worcester, a marked change after a few days of lovely summer weather: mild sunshine, blue skies, cool breezes. The varying sounds– heavy drops sliding off the broad leaves of the shrubs outside my window, the percussion of the occasional fiercer downpour, the whisper of tapering drizzle– created a nice soundtrack for some work, reading, and prayer I enjoyed in my room this afternoon and evening. Amid the more laid-back schedule of the summer, I'm grateful for the gift of more time and energy to notice, meditate upon, and appreciate simple blessings like summer rain.

Excerpt from "Rain"

The rain is slow.

The little birds are alive in it.

Even the beetles.

The green leaves lap it up.

What shall I do, what shall I do?

– From New and Selected Poems: Volume One

By Mary Oliver

Much to Celebrate

O'Kane Hall

College of the Holy Cross

Worcester MA

After a long New England winter followed by a tardy and turbulent spring, it's the first day of summer here in Worcester. There's much to celebrate in addition to this turning of the seasons:

• At this latitude, solstice brings more than 15 hours of daylight, and for at least the next few weeks, sunset will be after 8pm, perfect for enjoying mild evenings.
• Today the Catholic Church, and particularly the Society of Jesus, honor St. Aloysius Gonzaga, who lived in Italy during the 16th century. As a young Jesuit, he tended to plague victims in Rome, and ultimately died of the same disease at the age of 23. His name has been taken up by a number of Jesuit schools, and he is one of the patrons of Jesuits in formation. I'm told that descendants of his relatives still gather at his shrine in Rome on this day each year.
• The College of the Holy Cross, where I live and work, today celebrates the 168th anniversary of its founding by Benedict Joseph Fenwick, SJ, the first bishop of Boston. Fittingly, the campus is filled with activity– construction projects that are upgrading landscaping and other facilities, a symposium on faith and the intellectual life, and more than two hundred accepted students and their parents for a two-day program of orientation to the College.

On a slightly more personal note, now that the hockey playoffs are finished (Well done, Bruins!), baseball takes the spotlight with the season in full swing. I'll be celebrating the start of the game's long summer arc by joining a friend for tonight's contest between San Diego and Boston at Fenway Park.

Have a wonderful and blessed summer!

Fenway Park

Boston MA

Notches and Peaks

As promised, here are some further vignettes and reflections from my recent hiking trip.

• While northern New Hampshire may be best known for mountains and forests, it has some incredible valleys as well. The two most famous such "notches"– Franconia and Crawford– are characterized by spectacular ridgelines, sinuous floors, and flowing streams that are mere remnants of the massive glaciers that sculpted this wondrous terrain ages ago. I spent a fair amount of time thinking about both the speed of flowing water and the glacial pace (an inescapable pun) of the natural forces on display, and seeing this as a reminder to be patient with my own growth and formation as a Jesuit, especially when I find myself eager to be further along the course than I am.

Claude visits The Basin

Franconia Notch NH

Ledge on Mount Willard

Crawford Notch NH

• With my love of exercise and exploration, I enjoy various forms of movement and mobility. Yet, amid these hikes, I found myself fascinated by images of stability– trees and flowers rooted in a range of landscapes, massive boulders haphazardly piled above the treeline, the neighboring mountains visible from the summit. I found something comforting about the reliability of tree roots as handholds, rocks as ledges, and ancient mountains as testaments to the longevity of subtly compelling beauty. Knowing that people return to these landscapes continuously, whether to climb mountains or marvel at them from below, urged me to identify the sources of stability in my own life, and to make sure that I maintain sure footing there.

Mount Willard Trail

Crawford Notch NH

Lion's Head

Mount Washington NH

• Completely by accident, we managed to time our expedition to coincide with Laconia Bike Week, an annual event in which thousands of motorcyclists gather from near and far to ride around New Hampshire for a week. The day we climbed Mount Washington was the same day that the auto road was hosting a biker-only "Ride to the Sky." Thus our five-hour, four-thousand-foot vertical ascent ended in the company of hundreds of Harley-Davidsons and their riders. Many of them were quite friendly, especially the fierce-looking man from Quebec who graciously took our picture, marveled at our accomplishment, and admitted to being quite scared during the steep, twisting, windy 7-mile ride up the mountain that leaves little to the imagination. It wasn't quite an experience of culture shock; if anything, the other hikers we met on the trail all shared a similar opinion– hikers and bikers each have a relatively healthy degree of obsession with a particular pursuit that rounds out our lives. And all of us agreed that the folks who ski in Tuckerman's Ravine– hiking up a snow-covered bowl prone to avalanches, making their own trails down slopes that can be almost vertical– are truly crazy.

"Ride to the Top"– A popular Laconia Bike Week event

Mount Washington NH

Bill, Claude, and I at the summit (6,288 feet)

Mount Washington NH

Above Tuckerman's Ravine

Mount Washington NH

Although swarms of bloodthirsty black flies added a significant degree of pain to the trip– my ankles were mercilessly nibbled upon all day– and the fatigue growing in legs, ankles, and feet wearied by some steep and challenging terrain gradually overtook the exhilaration of navigating the highest terrain in New England, the trip is one that Bill and I both appreciated deeply, and one in which the bragging rights (though important) are duly outdone by the friendship, patience, and perseverance manifested and shared during a full day on the mountain. As I continue to recover– whether from some sunburn, muscle soreness, or blackfly bites– I look forward to more opportunities to go walking in the woods with friends, and to continue reaching new peaks along some remarkable trails.

Mount Washington

Alpine Garden, Mount Washington NH

I'm still in the process of composing my reflection on a two-day hiking expedition in New Hampshire's White Mountains with a good Jesuit friend. There's plenty to talk about: boulder fields, undermined snowdrifts, hundreds of bikers, bloodthirsty flies, stunning scenery, wondrously favorable weather, and much more. Yet for now I'll post one of my favorite pictures from the ascent, an alpine garden that provided a tranquil and awe-inspiring respite before the final push to the summit, a climb that proved to be more arduous and much steeper than it appears here.

Katahdin Memories

As a Jesuit friend and I pack up for a few days in New Hampshire, and an attempt to hike up Mount Washington, I'm recalling the fun (and sometimes harrowing danger) we shared on Mount Katahdin, the highest peak in Maine, a year ago. If our trip is successful, I'll be only one peak away from my goal of reaching the six state high points in New England during my regency. So far, Katahdin has been the most challenging, and most rewarding, summit expedition I've undertaken in the course of this project. Washington might eclipse it; a thousand feet higher, only slightly less remote, and prone to some ridiculous weather. Summit conditions on New Hampshire's highest peak as I post this entry: 34 degrees, 36 mph winds, and near-zero visibility. Good thing we're not hiking today. I'll undoubtedly have some stories to share by the weekend; in the meantime, some images from last year's Katahdin hike:

Mount Katahdin and Chimney Pond

Baxter State Park, ME

J.D. the moose visits our campground

The aptly-named Knife Edge

Looking waaaay down from the Knife Edge toward Chimney Pond

The highest point in Maine: 5,267 feet above sea level

~1500 Miles

Destination: Washington DC

Since my last post a week ago, two separate trips have carried me nearly 1500 miles around the East Coast and upstate New York. All told, I was on the road for more than 24 hours in the span of 7 days, and spent as much time riding shotgun as I did at the helm. The first trip was a three-day odyssey involving school vans, fourteen 8th-grade boys, and the sweltering heat of our nation's capital in the midst of a heat wave. Notwithstanding some justifiable complaints about the climate, and one scary mechanical hiccup that briefly sidelined the lead van on the shoulder of I-95, this year's edition of a Nativity tradition was smooth, memorable, and a great opportunity for me to wrap up my time with a class whom I've taught throughout my time at the school. What most impressed me about the time we spent in Washington DC, from tours of monuments and museums to an afternoon at the zoo and an arcade, was the way in which each student had has own individual experiences and reflections regarding what we saw and did, while the boys as a whole really made this trip a class event, in both senses of the word. Despite the blazing heat, they took time to marvel at the changing of the guard at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. Though interested in a variety of animals, they toured the zoo as a pack and made sure that everyone could see what they wanted. The days in DC proved a fine prelude to last Friday's graduation ceremony, at which all were duly honored for their achievements at Nativity, and rightfully celebrated and encouraged as they prepare to begin high school in the fall. They've all enrolled in one of three local high schools that have accepted Nativity students for several years, so they'll be among friends and fellow graduated as they undertake the next stage of their scholarly and personal journeys. I'm proud of them, especially those whom I've had to push the hardest over the past two years.

Changing of the Guard at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier

Arlington National Cemetery

The day after sending off Nativity's fourteen graduates, I departed for Rochester to celebrate the medical school graduation of a close friend from Dartmouth. My traveling companion, a close friend of the honoree, inspired and entertained me as we shared conversations about scholarly work, literary and cultural interests, and sarcastic remarks about the scenery– whether visually stunning or aesthetically disappointing– along I-90 through Massachusetts and upstate New York. The graduation party, attended by a small number of Dartmouth friends and a large complement of family, honored not only my friend's achievements as a medical students but also her devotion as a family member and friend, her tenacity as a helper and healer, and her often dramatic and always genuine enthusiasm for life. A long journey– we traveled there and back on consecutive days– was well worth it for the opportunity to participate in another brilliant testament to the extraordinary accomplishments and gifts of a truly special person.

Where's the van?

Surrounding the intensity of the events that occurred at the destinations of these voyages, the long hours on the road offered an opportunity to pray, meditate, and dwell on the graces of those days and the lessons of the past academic year, those I've taught and those I've learned. Friendship is a powerful gift, a remarkable motivational force, and a tremendous source of support in both sunshine and shadow. I'm blessed with some wonderful friends, some of whom have been in my life for nearly 11 years, and we're all grateful for our visibly quirky yet undeniably strong network of companionship. I'm aware of how much history can teach us about our society and ourselves, and I see the presence of that truth in my own life much more than I did two years ago. A few of my students recalled a bet I made with them in February when I covered the Civil War and recited the Gettysburg Address from memory; when we reached the Lincoln Memorial, I turned my back to the wall upon which those profound words are inscribed, and watched with subtle joy as their eyes followed the text of the speech that remains happily lodged in my memory. My students and colleagues have taught me that required schoolwork has its place, but the real pedagogical power lies in awakening wonder that becomes concretized in curiosity that leads to reading, writing, and discussions that pursue the objects of one's interests. Although the arc of this progress can be as long as any road I traveled this week, reaching a significant waypoint– like some of the moments I've described above– happily breaks up the journey, and helps to keep one moving forward.

The Gettysburg Address

Lincoln Memorial, Washington DC

Please pray for the journeys of all those with whom I've journeyed this year, and accept my prayers and best wishes for your voyages this summer.

Cleaning Out

Today marked the last day of the school year; a half day, it was spent cleaning out the classrooms, conducting a group activity to reflect upon what the events and memories of the year, and heading outside for some pickup games of football, soccer, and frisbee. The pace of the day was somewhat chaotic, with students scurrying around the halls, books being gathered, and untold quantities of paper being pulled form desks, bulletin boards, and lockers to be recycled. Only out on a local field, under a mild June sun, did I have some time to settle after a hurried morning of reducing classrooms to empty shells, lockers to vacancy, and even my own desk to a barren expanse of smooth wood and empty steel drawers.

Watching the boys as they tossed footballs, worked on their soccer moves, tweaked their frisbee-throwing technique, or lounged beneath towering shade trees, I recognized again their amazing energy, their unbounded potential, and what they've accomplished with those gifts this year. It's something that, for all the efforts that I and others have made in the classroom throughout this year to channel and guide, is a force that must also be allowed to flow freely, though not randomly. The physical spaces that we've cleaned out look odd, wanting to be inhabited, aspiring to be more than the bare wood and metal of desks, the blankness of unadorned walls, the neatly framed rectangles of bulletin boards bereft of signs of inspiration and achievement. The school will not remain in this state for long; we'll fill the gym this evening and later this week with students and their families to celebrate a year-end potluck, awards, and the graduation of our 8th grade class– all of them bound for some fine high schools. But as it becomes cleaned out, I can only hope and pray that, after a long and intense year of activity, the vibrant students take with them all the energy and talent that they have carried through our building since last July, moving with pride and purpose into a summer of joy and peace.