Chewonki
My Semester Away From Home

By Sam Colt | VOX Staff

Photo by Sam Colt | VOX Staff

While my classmates spent second semester last year taking traditional classes—pre-calculus, American lit, foreign language and biology, I spent mine studying environmental issues, naturalist literature and wildlife biology at an alternative semester school for high school juniors in Wiscasset, Maine. At Maine Coast Semester (MCS), I struggled, learned and grew in ways that could have only happened away from home.
MCS has been the most formative experience of my life. My time in Maine is exemplary of how anyone can have a constructive experience in a challenging environment. But my story, one of incremental success, began two years ago at a confluence of unfortunate circumstances.

A Series of Unfortunate Events

My first two years of high school were rough. Freshman year was an unheeded wakeup call from my lacking efforts in middle school. For the first time, I was struggling academically. And sophomore year was going similarly. My grades were borderline mediocre, my physical health was deteriorating because of my unhealthy diet and my life at home was dominated by my fragile relationship with my stepfather.
I felt marginalized by my faults, powerless over my attitude and frightened by my future, specifically how my mediocre performance in school would limit my opportunities later. Nothing appeared to motivate me to change.

Then, one morning during a school assembly, my class met Libby Irwin, MCS’s assistant admissions director. I wasn’t interested, but as she spoke, her photos caught my eye. The wooden buildings, open pastures and snow-clad roofs were more or less the opposite of Pace, my home school, which is a dainty centerpiece on Buckhead’s suburban, manicured table.

I was particularly attracted to the rural, quiet location that—on a subconscious level—probably reminded me of good times spent with my biological dad in coastal Rhode Island. I picked up some information, and later, as I flipped through the viewbook, I was convinced that this program was just the kind of experience I needed. MCS appeared to be an environment that was simultaneously safe and challenging, and I believed that the only way I was going to grow was through an alluring and radically different experience like MCS.

That night, I pitched the program to my mom and stepdad. They were surprisingly sympathetic. My mom was not deterred by how different it was, how challenging it would be or how much it would cost. She was encouraged by my initiative.

Introducing MCS to my dad was a different story. I was apprehensive because I didn’t know if he would be supportive, but I care about what he thinks. As it turned out, he loved the idea of having his son go to school in New England for a while.

Before I knew it, I had submitted my application, and three months later I was accepted into MCS to attend the following spring. Being accepted was thrilling and reminded me I was actually worth something.

Second Thoughts?

I spent months thinking about the pros and cons of leaving Pace for six months. Things weren’t going swimmingly. On the other hand, I genuinely worried about distancing myself from my closest friends and my class. How would it look to the rest of my grade if I left Pace for a semester? Would they think I couldn’t handle the academic rigor? I didn’t consider MCS a silver bullet to my problems, but knew I could use time away from my stepdad to contemplate our relationship.

Ultimately, I decided to go because I knew the experience would challenge me in new ways. I knew I needed to grow into a functional adult if I was going to make it out of high school in one piece. It was only later that I realized how much the values that MCS emphasizes—sustainable living, hard work and academic independence—mirror my own values.

The Adventure Begins

If it was any indicator of what I was in store for, I arrived on MCS’ 400-acre campus on Chewonki Neck peninsula last January in the middle of a snowstorm. The biggest challenge of my first day was convincing my mom that it was OK for her to leave; I would be fine. She was crying, but I felt empowered by the independence.

That day I met a group of boys who would become some of my closest friends: my cabin mates. MCS is a very small school. I had only 38 classmates, less than half the size of my class at Pace. I lived with five of them in my chilly wooden cabin.

My first few weeks in Maine were admittedly awkward. My classmates were all ostensibly nice and looking for the same holistic growth as me. Despite this, my initial interactions with them were terse and uncomfortable. In retrospect, I attribute this to my own discomfort with my new surroundings. Chewonki was nothing at all like Pace. Maine was nothing like the paved and mowed suburbia where I have been raised. The average temperature was a bone-chilling 24 degrees. I had no cell phone and initially no computer to communicate with my family. I spent the first week quietly convincing myself that being there was what I wanted.

Classes eased my discomfort. We had classes four hours a day on most days and field trips to nearby wildlife refuges once a week. Some days we had work program, where each of us had a duty that involved manual labor and the upkeep of the school. I particularly enjoyed farm chores, splitting wood and cleaning the dining hall because it allowed me to get my mind off my difficult schoolwork, if only for a while.

Into the Wild (Briefly)

If I could crystallize my entire time at MCS into one transformative experience, it would be the wilderness trip we took during late February. MCS designed the four-day trip to be a bonding experience, but my friends and I considered it a welcome reprieve from our rigorous course load. We didn’t immediately perceive the challenges entailed in the journey.

Speculation filled nearly every conversation before we left. Some students were skeptical about the camping, but I was looking forward to the gritty adventure I had imagined when I first read about the wilderness trips in the MCS viewbook.

After a full day of packing, five of my classmates and I began our trip to Baxter State Park, a large park in central Maine notable for containing the northern terminus of the Appalachian Trail (AT). After nearly six hours of driving with two guides from Chewonki’s Outdoor Classroom division, we reached the entrance of the park. We unloaded the van and set forth, single file.

As expected, the trails were laden with drifts of snow, forcing us to drag our gear behind us on sleds for around four hours until we reached out campsite.

Our first few hours were indicative of the entire trip. Our travel was slow and our successes hard earned. Despite the significant difficulties we faced breaking new trails through untouched snow, what motivated me throughout the trip was the overwhelming beauty of the park.

We were removed from the chaos and dissonance of our day-to-day lives. We could hear ourselves breathe and listen to our thoughts. The clarity and perspective I gained made me seek other opportunities to let my mind and spirit wander outdoors.

When we arrived at our campsite, a frozen pond covered with four-foot deep snow and flanked by two small mountains, I was overwhelmed and thrilled by the adventure that lay before us. As darkness enveloped the cool sky, we set up camp—a task deceivingly difficult and strenuous.
We compacted snow with our snowshoes to set up two canvas tents on the pond. Then we set out to the

center of the pond where we used an ice pick, a steel rod with a pointed tip, to break some of the pond’s ice and collect water with which we would prepare our meals. After dinner we were all exhausted and went to bed quickly.

The following morning we collected wood from fallen trees to burn in our woodstoves and discussed the next day’s activity. We were to hike to the nearest intersection of the AT, a trail that spans the mountain range from Georgia to Maine. Then we romped around, exploring nearby ponds and clearings.
The next day we set out on snowshoes for the AT, unaware of the physical fortitude in reaching it. The debilitating cold and inhospitable trails made our journey difficult. Each of us took turns leading our single-file line and breaking the trail.

After three or four hours of painstaking hiking, we reached the AT. It wasn’t the trail that was significant to us, but the journey it symbolized. I think our journey that day has many parallels with my own journey at MCS. I began both with a vain naiveté, was challenged by my surroundings and circumstances, and overcame those struggles by finding the strength within myself to continue onward.

The Return Home

Although I like to imagine the Wilderness Trip as indicative of my entire experience at MCS, it was, in fact, only one of the many challenges I struggled with and only one facet of the person I became. I realized I am capable of reaching goals that even I didn’t think I was capable of.

Since returning to Atlanta, I’ve gained a revised perspective on what’s important to me, whether it’s exploring the outdoors or pursuing my interests at Pace. Most importantly, I’ve gained the ability to motivate myself when I need to, an ability I lacked until going to MCS.

Although I still struggle in certain subjects at school, I’m able to make better choices because I understand that I have the power to control my actions and my future. The difference in the quality of my life since I’ve taken control of my own actions has been dramatic, especially at home where I’ve been able to put my actions into perspective. I’ve learned to cope with problems at home by devoting attention to my own interests that I’ll keep long after high school.

As it turns out, my friends had been waiting for my return, and they all had their own struggles that spring, too. I will always cherish my time away from Pace and away from home because I think it’s essential to the bolder, focused and conscious person I am now.

Sam is a senior at Pace Academy. When not in school, swimming or writing, Sam attempts to sleep.

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