The Time Was Not Lost

Remember the “Cancel 2020” sentiment? Last April, a couple of weeks into Minnesota’s first coronavirus lockdown, a friend shared a meme that said “Wake me up in 2021” and I remember instantly disliking it. After the last nine months, I understand the feeling expressed by that meme a little more, but I still could never wish away a single day of my life, even in jest. As last month’s violent insurrection at the U.S. Capitol and the continued rise of Covid-19 cases and related deaths in the United States suggest, problems like white supremacy and public health crises didn’t end on December 31, 2020. These problems and the many others that have risen to the forefront demand sustained attention and collective action, not wishful thinking.

Recently, as my mind dwells on the halting and imperfect distribution of vaccines, as well as on the return of many Minnesota schools to in-person learning, I keep coming back to a piece by Dr. Theresa Thayer Snyder, a retired superintendent from upstate New York. (You can find Snyder’s original Facebook post here.) Writing to address concerns expressed by friends and colleagues about potential educational deficits when kids are again able to return to in-person schooling, Snyder urged teachers to

“resist the pressure from whatever ‘powers that be’ who are in a hurry to ‘fix’ kids and make up for the ‘lost’ time. The time was not lost, it was invested in surviving an historic period of time in their lives—in our lives. The children do not need to be fixed. They are not broken. They need to be heard. They need be given as many tools as we can provide to nurture resilience and help them adjust to a post pandemic world.”

Snyder’s argument— that the time was not lost—really resonates with me, and I don’t think it only applies to kids.

My mom met with her high school friends via Zoom this year for their annual holiday get-together. As an introduction, they went around the circle sharing moments of gratitude from a year filled with so much hardship. One friend, an introvert, mentioned that she didn’t feel like she missed as many things as she typically does. Most of her life, she has felt like she should be doing more. Even when she chose to “stay in” for the evening, she often had the irrepressible sense that she was supposed to be “out”—at a work event or a museum or the opera or something. This past year, she finally had permission to stay home. She spent time with her kids, who came back to their childhood house for a few months, long after they thought they’d moved out for good. She read and walked and gardened and did all the things she likes to do, and didn’t feel guilty about it once. I don’t think she was only one who was able to find peace in the absence of some conventional social obligations.

I was talking to my neighbor a few weeks ago as we shoveled snow from parallel sidewalks in the chilly grey dawn that sometimes lasts all day this time of year in the Midwest. He mentioned how much difficulty his son had experienced with distanced learning during the past semester. “He failed a class for the first time in his life,” my neighbor said, pausing and leaning on his shovel for a moment. “He’s just such a social learner, and that computer science class, online, from the basement, really didn’t work for him.” The challenge of distanced learning drove my neighbor’s son to apply for and gain acceptance into a semester of study at an in-person environmental learning center down in North Carolina. This year, the program begins with a ten-day backcountry camping trip, during which students will distance and mask as they work to create a virus-free community. Admittedly, the privilege to apply for, accept, and travel to an exclusive in-person learning program isn’t practically available to the overwhelming majority of individuals who have struggled with distanced learning over the past year. But, I still think it demonstrates mature and resilient decision-making in the face of challenge. Last week, my neighbor’s son headed down to begin the program. I’m excited to hear how it goes.

I’m still deeply disappointed about all who were unable to visit Wilderness Canoe Base this past season because we cancelled our traditional summer program. And yet, this cancellation made space for family getaways, in which cohorts of people connected with our site and with each other during socially distanced cabin stays. Last season, we were able to welcome individuals who visit our site often, couples who returned after nearly sixty years, and families who came up for their very first time. These retreats happened on a smaller scale, certainly, but in ways that were no less meaningful. As we currently prepare and plan to welcome people up for guided trips, we’re also working to continue to create opportunities for people to visit Wilderness in this family getaway style, even during moments when our site might be a little busier with traditional canoe groups.

More important, we’re considering the responsibility that we at Wilderness Canoe Base have in working to foster reflection, healing, and continued resiliency. I, for one, am looking forward to the chance to listen carefully to all who need to share, to be still and reengage with faith in community, and to run around outside with kids after so many months spent sitting inside looking at a screen. Here, I turn again to Dr. Snyder:

“When the children return to school, we will need to listen to them. Let their stories be told. They have endured a year that has no parallel in modern times. There is no assessment that applies to who they are or what they have learned. Remember, their brains did not go into hibernation during this year. Their brains may not have been focused on traditional school material, but they did not stop either. Their brains may have been focused on where their next meal is coming from, or how to care for a younger sibling, or how to deal with missing grandma, or how it feels to have to surrender a beloved pet, or how to deal with death. Our job is to welcome them back and help them write that history.”

The scope and scale of the trauma of the past year is greater than I could have ever imagined. In writing this, I’m not intending to disregard the grief of all those who have experienced and who continue to experience devastating loss; in fact, just the opposite. I was awake for 2020. If you’re reading this, you probably were too. How are we working to honor that by recognizing—and ensuring—that the time was not wasted?

Written By Dan Ahrendt, Wilderness Canoe Base Program Manager