It is 6:00 a.m. on Chewonki Neck, a few weeks into Semester 73. I’ve settled in here; the quilt and blankets on my bunk are rumpled, and a small army of loose items has amassed on the tops of my bookshelves. Not quite enough to cause a mess, but just enough to make me feel at home. The land seems to have adjusted to our presence too, as an early-morning fog sits comfortably over the cabins outside my window. It is quiet, and the warm light of the autumn sunrise has just begun to stream through the glass.
The silence is broken by the clashing ring of my cabinmate’s alarm, and the six of us roll out of our beds and into work pants, muck boots, overalls, and fleeces. It is time for our shift on morning farm chores—our turn in the rotation of cabins waking up earlier than the rest of our peers to collect eggs, care for animals, move fencing, and generally help prepare the farm for the day ahead. We walk over to the dining hall to collect yesterday’s compost and bring the full buckets to the farm. Here, our food scraps will go from waste to nutrients for the soil, allowing us to grow more fruits and veggies that can, in turn, feed us. At Chewonki (as well as everywhere else, I’ve learned), we are all part of a cycle.
It is now time for my chore: feeding and taking care of the poultry. This consists of letting the chickens and turkeys out of their coops, where they’ve spent the night protected from predators, refilling their food and water, and collecting the chickens’ eggs. As I grab my egg basket and walk down to the chicken coops through the long grass, wet from the morning dew, I am glad to be wearing my bright yellow boots. The turkeys coo softly as I approach them but go crazy when they see the shiny metal handle of the water bucket. I put it on the ground to keep them entertained as I refill their feed. The chickens, on the other hand, cluck loudly and peck at my feet as I open the door to their roost. Oh well.
Walking back, eggs in hand, the weathered shingles of the barn and the willow tree are backlit by the pink sky, light flowing through the windows and the gaps between the leaves. It is quiet here—quiet enough to hear the tearing of grass as cows graze in the pasture nearby—and the air I breathe in holds the beginnings of a fall chill. A flock of geese flies overhead in a V-shaped arrangement, heading south. I have a full day of classes ahead of me, but I am glad to be starting my day here.
I walk back into the dining hall for breakfast with the rest of my cabin, and as I eat a warm, homemade cinnamon roll and some scrambled eggs (from the farm, of course), I am deeply content. I feel so lucky to be connected to something greater than myself, even if that is just the system of growing, cooking, and eating food. There is something satisfying about the simplicity of it all—the ability to find joy and fulfillment in something that I wouldn’t even think twice about while at home. I go about the rest of my day at Chewonki with a lighter step and a mellow sort of fondness in my heart.
Newt Barletta is from Lincoln-Sudbury Regional High School in Sudbury MA
