fuzzy white caterpillars

The first day we pitched tents and raised tarps as it started to rain. I listened to the rain come down, lashing against the blue plastic so that it was hard to hear people raising their voices to speak.

The last night there were eighteen people sleeping in a ten-person-tent, like sprats. We smelled like smoke from the campfire, staying up until five with our voices and an acoustic guitar. Russian bard songs rose from everyone’s lips, and songs written after the 70’s only from the lips of those who don’t consider themselves adults. The port and boxed wine went quickly at night. By day we listened to lectures on ageing, social & neural networking, and the history of China. The younger kids rehearsed their plays: the Odyssey, Winnie-the-Poo, and Ciao by Marc-Gilbert Sauvajon. Thousands of photographs throughout the week resulted in a mystical stop motion video.

Before arriving we had gone to watch a theater production of “A Month in the Country” and in the middle of the week we went to Mass MoCa to see the exhibits there. For the first time I felt like the adults where taking us more seriously in conversation, and I spoke more to the younger generation as well.

Eloosha was jetlagged from Paris and I woke up early, so we did yoga in the grass and swam in the lake. I spoke about writing to Valya and Sasha, and about change, Liza recounted her drama for the year, and Kirill some of his. Esther surprised us by appearing on her birthday, a gift. We played zoo and drank tea and ate oatmeal. I only looked at the stars one night, and not for long; I only saw two shooting stars. The campground was full of fuzzy white caterpillars and bright orange salamanders.