A Message to the Class of 2020

Bright sun & long shadows

I haven't blogged in a long time, but now that we will be teaching our classes online during the coronavirus closure, maybe I'll have a little more time and motivation to get back into the habit. Online classes begin tomorrow morning, and I feel fairly ready for the first day. I'm taking it one day at a time. 

As soon as I woke up this morning, I was thinking about how this nearly-nationwide school closure will affect the Class of 2020. Years from now, you all will be telling stories about COVID-19 and how you got through it. It will be an instant bond amongst folks who were graduating this year. 

What happens now will create bright spots in your memories, and how you respond to the challenges of the coming days will cast long shadows into your future. Make sure that the stories you'll be telling are good ones--you have the choice and the ability to respond to these extraordinary circumstances in good ways, ways you can be proud of. I guarantee that your future self wants to be proud of how you responded to what's happening right now. 

See the bird's nest? 

Just like the Class of 2002, that was at Camp Manitowish on 9/11 as seniors (or the Class of 2005 which was also at Camp as ninth graders when 9/11 happened), your class will have a way of connecting instantly with other folks from other schools who were also experiencing this. You'll trade anecdotes and memories; you'll compare and contrast your experiences with theirs. I hope you will be proud of the education you were still able to get during this time. 

I know you have lots of questions about the next few months, and no one has all the answers right now, so we all have to deal with the uncertainty. We all need to take good care of ourselves and each other. 

I spent a few hours hiking at Jay Cooke this morning. The State Parks are still open, as of today. (I really, really hope they don't close them to hikers.) I think getting out in the woods helped clear my head a bit. I recommend you get outdoors as much as you can during this ordeal. (Yeah, I thought #NaturehasNOTbeencancelled was a great hashtag--I'll probably think it's lame in about 5 minutes.)

You'll be leaving the (family and Marshall) nest soon, so take this opportunity to learn some life skills. This would be a great time to learn how to cook, how to do laundry, to how clean, how to grocery shop, how to keep to a budget, how to do taxes, etc. Help your family out, if you're lucky enough to be living at home. Help out in the dorm, if you're living there. Practice being both independent and a good community member. Be creative. Make sure you spend time online with your friends. 

Scarlet Cup fungi at JCSP, taken some years ago

This time each spring, I hike some of the trails in the Park, looking for things that grow under the retreating snow. I keep my eye out for Scarlet Cup fungi. The last few years, they haven't really appeared until April, but I always start looking in mid-March as the snow begins to melt. They grow on fallen tree branches, and the cups start to form under the snow. I didn't see any today, but I have lots of photos from past years, so I'll include one in this post. 

I also saw a few exposed Hepatica leaves, and I made a short video about that. Like the Scarlet Cup, Hepatica thrives under snow-cover. Its leaves stay green all through the winter. It's really amazing that a little plant like Hepatica can survive our harsh winters. I think Hepatica is a good role model for these times--no matter how deep the snow or how cold the temperature, it flourishes and stays green, just waiting for its time to bloom, which will come soon enough, I promise. 

Hepatica in bloom, taken last year