The Igloo and The Walking Stick
Neil Mufson, Head of School

This week’s snow reminded of the year I was in fifth grade and we had a huge amount of snow outside of Boston, where I grew up. Mr. Mirasola, the boyish beginning teacher whose class I was in, was probably the only 20-something on a decidedly more “mature” faculty. He told our parents we would be going outside every day and that we should be sure to have warm enough clothing. He meant it — and we loved it. Other classes would stay inside, working away in their classrooms with steamed up windows. He would let us go outside, and for the first ten minutes or so — blessedly — we could do whatever we wanted. We could throw snow, run around, wrestle, build forts, whatever. Then, he would have us work together on some kind of project. The one I remember was the igloo.

In class, Mr. Mirasola had shown us the insides, exteriors, and construction methods of real igloos. After our initial outside frolic, he gathered us together and orchestrated ways for us to pack snow, cut it into blocks, and stack it. Leaders, followers, workers, and complainers emerged in that snow. We did this for days. I don’t actually remember getting very far, certainly not more than a few blocks of height, but it was memorable and exhilarating. Of course we never voiced it, but we felt Mr. Mirasola understood kids and knew how to get the most out of us. We returned to class refreshed, our cheeks red, our minds set free, ready for whatever more traditional learning we had to do.

Remembering those igloo days sent me to peruse the now classic book Last Child in the Woods: Saving Our Children from Nature-Deficit Disorder by Richard Louv. I was inspired to explore the volume again because of the snow and because over the break, while finally “finishing” unpacking, I unpacked an extraordinarily thoughtful departing gift a parent had given me. Jeff had had a series of very significant health challenges; he periodically would come in to discuss how his latest treatments — or his death — might impact his children.

Shortly before I left my last school, Jeff came in bearing something amazing: a cedar walking stick he had carved and finished to encourage me, as I headed into my next chapter, to get out in the woods or other natural areas to share nature’s inspirational and healing power. As he said in a note “I go to the woods to find peace. For me there is no better place to go to soothe my spirit. For me the woods are a place of rejuvenation for my soul, a haven, a refuge… I am at peace in the woods, and walking through a forest with a walking stick in my hand, I am at home… My goal is to share my sanctuary.” He also shared that many native people’s cultures hold that cedar possesses “powerful protective spirits… and is so sacred that no religious ceremony is done without it… Cedar branches are used to cover the floor of the sweat lodge, and tea of the young branches is used to treat fevers, rheumatism, chest colds, and flu.” Needless to say, I was touched deeply by this profoundly thoughtful and extraordinary gift.

Within a few days of unboxing my cedar walking stick, it was snowing. I dug out my copy of Last Child in the Woods and reread some of the passages I had marked. Louv states that the point of his book is this: “Within the space of a few decades, the way children understand and experience nature has changed radically. The polarity of the relationship has reversed. Today, kids are aware of the global threats to the environment — but their physical contact, their intimacy with nature, is fading.”

Louv goes on to document how “our mental, physical, and spiritual health” depends upon “healing the broken bond between our young and nature.” He discusses how time spent in nature inspires creativity, calms and soothes, promotes problem solving, excites the senses, focuses the mind, reduces attentional problems, and minimizes crime, depression, and other contemporary maladies. He states that just being outside in nature — even if it is not remote wilderness, a state park or the like, even if it is just green space with some trees — improves our minds, our moods, and our relationships. Certainly during the pandemic many have found these balms in nature. But Louv fears that too many intermediaries are placed between children and nature, even between children and just getting outside. He recommends that kids have daily outside time, really no matter the weather, and that we let them have unstructured time in nature, apart from adult intervention. 

Mr. Mirasola’s playfulness and belief in the power of nature was intuitive but prescient. And I am deeply grateful to Jeff, the parent who crafted the beautifully simple cedar walking stick for me and taught me many other lessons about grace, perseverance, and being alive to what surrounds us. It is a powerful reminder of the lessons I first remember benefitting from in fifth grade, that were later made by Louv in 2005, and that still carry me forward, when I use the cedar stick and even when I don’t.