Imagine being known as the rudest person in town. I cringe to think that anyone would willingly claim that identity—someone who moves through life with a sense of entitlement, always on the offensive, talking down to people they see as "beneath" them, generally behaving badly. And yet I know these people exist, because I've met a few, out there in the wild making life miserable for everyone around them.

I sometimes worry that my neurospicy, blunt, occasionally snarky comments might come across as disrespectful. But my internal people-pleasing chaperone is usually on duty, guarding every gesture, remark, and observation to ensure I come across as pleasant, witty, and respectful—even when I'm exhausted, stressed, overwhelmed, or angry.

These thoughts harken back to "Is It a Mask?", the post from two weeks ago. Is my people-pleasing chaperone holding up a mask that disguises my authentic self? Honestly, I don't think so.
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Even though I despise conflict, I'll stand up for myself and for others who need my support whenever it's necessary. Still, I always try to remain polite in those interactions while staying focused on what I actually want to achieve. 

These are the attributes I model for the young people I spend my days with. I want them to know I will always have their back. But sometimes I need to be direct and call a spade a spade—especially when behaviors are over the top and affecting others. They know I'll call it out, because I can't believe anyone actually wants to go through life known as the jerk (feel free to insert the less PC version) trashing everyone and everything they encounter.  

I want them to understand that their reputation matters. It shapes not only how other people see them, but more broadly, how they're able to positively contribute to their community and make it better. Alongside that, I want them to know that they can (and will) absolutely make mistakes—as long as they acknowledge them and work hard to make amends. 

That perfectly defines my goal: sending young people into the world who are known for their kindness, flexibility, and curiosity, a willingness to own their errors, to speak up for change when it's needed, and a readiness to use their creative problem-solving skills to make those changes happen—no matter how small they may seem.  

I am very happy to report a quiet week with no crises or other craziness at DRC. This is the time of year when I meet with student members and our many homeschool consultees, mostly by phone, to discuss specific information about what they want to study or accomplish this year so I can write their IHIPs.  I made a good head start on that this past week. 

Book Project
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I am slowly making headway on turning my blog posts into a book.  I have reviewed 10 years' worth and sorted them into their chapters; only three years to go! Once that process is finished, I can begin the actual writing and deciding how each of the posts fits into its assigned chapter. An actual finished book is a long way off, but I will be happy to move on from this tedious part to the point where I can begin to visualize it and use my creative energies. At some point, I will be looking for folx to give it a first read and offer feedback. Let me know if you are interested in helping. 

We currently have six volunteers lined up for this coming year, but would love to have several more to round out our schedule. Get in touch if you are interested in sharing your skill, talent, or general interests with young people eager to learn. Please share this opportunity with anyone in your network you think might be willing to help out.  The commitment is flexible; let us know what works best for you.  You can also complete the volunteer form here.

DRC is here for anyone who wants to join us. Get in touch if you think this may be the place for your child. Or learn more here.

One of the main lessons I've learned over my lifetime—but especially over the last twelve and a half years of running a not-for-profit—is the importance of staying flexible. Sh*t happens when you least expect it. Plans fall through, people don't behave as you anticipated, or a tree falls on the power line in your front yard. Sometimes it's as innocuous as an idea that just needs tweaking. This is why I'm always in creative brainstorming mode; nothing is ever finished in my mind. Everything is up for revision or total revamping—even if that means starting from scratch.

But flexibility and problem-solving aren't always innate, especially for those of us who are neuro-spicy and prefer things predictable, steady, and unchanging. Still, I fully believe these are learnable skills—necessary ones, even, because life can throw major screwballs, and the ability to navigate the resulting chaos makes everything a little easier.

So how do we acquire flexibility when it doesn't come naturally? Everyone's path is different, but I'd say openness to new ideas and the self-confidence to pursue them are key. I'm not saying it's easy to shift your mindset from stuck to receptive. But you can train yourself to notice how you react in those "oh sh*t" moments. Instead of accepting the inevitable and feeling defeated, you can treat them as opportunities to get creative and make change. Like anything, it takes practice—and eventually it becomes locked in, habitual.

Again, I'm not suggesting this mental shift is simple. But it's an exercise worth practicing. My perspective is that every adversity comes with possibility, even when that possibility isn't visible at the outset.

At the core of my personal educational philosophy is the belief that most things can't be explicitly taught—that knowledge and understanding don't come from being talked at, or from the abstract. They come from an equitable exchange between learner and mentor (or facilitator), one that offers individual support through modeling and hands-on practice. Each person learns something from the other.
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These are the relationships I strive to build every day. Learning together, inside a supportive community, is powerful—with the potential to change perspectives and, in turn, lives. 

This week’s blog was inspired by events of this week.  On Wednesday morning, I expected a calm day of admin work; instead, I awoke to find a notification from the  DRC security camera app that showed a video of a Canton police officer knocking on the door at 3:03 am!  As you can imagine, all the scenarios ran through my head. Then, as I was almost to town at 6:40 am, another notification came in showing a second Canton officer at the door. 

I quickly discovered why when I turned into the driveway and found a huge tree down, its top branches hung up on the power line. After several phone calls, the last one to 911 with the message that it wasn’t a huge emergency, someone from the Canton FD stopped by to determine that it was, in fact, resting on the power line to the house and that the main breaker in the house should be shut off. (He kindly did that for me.) He also called National Grid to report it. 

NG showed up along with a tree service. They made quick work of the tree, cleared the driveway, and even cut down other potentially hazardous branches.

​I am deeply grateful that the tree didn’t come down on the Center and that there are skilled people in our community trained to take care of these kinds of emergencies efficiently. 

Other Ways to Support Deep Root Center

Our Amazon Wishlist is filled with things we use every day to support hands-on learning, including art supplies, kitchen equipment, and household necessities. You can purchase items that you think will be the most helpful, and they will be sent directly to our door. Thank you!

Donations and Sponsorships help us keep our promise to accept any child who wants to join us. 

​Or you can order original DRC swag from our Printify shop.

Open Enrollment
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Is school no longer working for your child? Are you looking for an alternative? Deep Root Center is school reimagined, and it might be what you are looking for.
Contact us to learn more.

One evening this past week, at a social gathering, I reconnected with an old acquaintance I hadn't seen in a year. We talked for a while, and at one point the subject of communications and theater came up. They were under the impression that I'm someone who regularly and easily puts herself out there, with no shyness in evidence. I hastily and vehemently denied that label and voiced my intense introversion. They were aghast. For the nearly twenty years we've known each other, they were convinced I'm an extrovert. Of course, they've never seen the me that goes home and crashes from the weight of social interaction, needing a few days to recover.

This interaction got me thinking more deeply about how I present to the wider world. As someone who didn't understand I am neurospicy (AuDHD) until well into my sixth decade—at age 57—I have always been overly conscious of how I'm viewed, both in public and more broadly as a human being. I always attributed my drive to appear uber competent, capable, skilled, creative, witty, smart, and never an inconvenience to being the eldest daughter of four (and a Scorpio); being all of those things has felt ingrained since the moment of my birth. The contradictory piece is that I also want to be invisible. I don't want to be perceived at all.

So the question becomes: have I been masking my authentic self all these years? Is it all performative, or am I really what I present to the world? Is that the real me? If it isn't, I've certainly got people fooled—myself included. The answer gets muddied by the understanding that I need—actually crave—that solitary space to be alone with my thoughts and ideas. Disappearing into my sanctuary is when I'm most comfortable; there's no pressure to be that very long list of perfection.

Or are all the contradictions just my spicy neurology, defined?

Maybe that's the truest answer I have right now: I'm not one or the other. I'm not only the capable version people see out in the world, and I'm not only the depleted, needs-to-disappear version who spends the days after recovering from it. I'm both, running on the same circuitry, powered by the same brain that spent fifty-seven years compensating without knowing it had a name for what it was doing.

I don't think I've been trying to fool anyone. I think I've been doing exactly what I was built to do—performing competence because it kept me emotionally safe, then retreating because retreat is what let me keep performing. The mask and the face underneath it aren't as separate as I once believed. At some point, worn long enough, the mask becomes the authentic.
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So I'll stop asking which one is real. They both are. The confident persona they remember and the self-contained person I know myself to be were never in competition—they were just two settings on the same dial, doing their best to get me through a world that wasn't built with my wiring in mind. That's not a contradiction to resolve. That's just what spicy neurology looks like, up close, defined.

More fully understanding this quandary within myself can only help me support young people who are questioning their own authenticity and what it means to show up for themselves—and to hold empathy and kindness for others along the way.

It has been another quiet week of admin work and continued sorting of old blog posts. Once again, it included a medical appointment on Friday, when I had a laser treatment on my second eye to reduce the pressure.  I also learned that my shoulder surgery won’t be until well into the fall—I won’t know the specific date until September. 

Volunteer Opportunity
We are still looking for 6-8 more volunteers who would be excited to share their skills, talents, and knowledge with our student members for 2 days each month. 

This is an opportunity to build relationships with our youth and help them discover new ideas and fields of interest. If this is something you would like to explore, get in touch, or find the link to the volunteer application here. Please share this opportunity with your network. Thanks!

DRC in the Community

In early 2016, Jake R., a DRC student member, enjoyed a bit of local (and nearly national) fame for his invention, the Posibot, when we held an exciting formal installation in the upstairs lobby of the Canton Free Library on January 12, which the Watertown Daily Times documented.

Jake created Posibot with others in mind. It is a contraption made from an old desktop computer tower and other assorted recycled materials. A notepad sits in a holder on top, where people can write an inspiring or kind message and slide it into a slot on the side. When someone wants to take one of the messages, they can open the door in front and grab one from the basket inside.

For over ten years, Posibot has been an institution at the library. As the librarians have reported, it has brought joy to everyone who has participated in writing or receiving Posibot messages. I've met parents who say their kids insist on visiting Posibot every time they come to the library.

The other day, after checking out my books, Sam the librarian told me this may be the end of the run for Posibot. He's a little worse for wear. Thankfully, Sam and the other librarians have performed maintenance over the past ten years, but poor Posibot now needs a complete makeover.

I hope that some DRC student members will take on this makeover project in the fall-stay tuned! We will keep you updated.

The sunk cost fallacy refers to decisions driven by the amount already invested in something—whether money, time, or personal commitment—even when abandoning it would be the better choice. This "something" can be a project, a purchase, a social construct, or even a relationship. When I looked up the definition of the sunk cost fallacy, every source described it as an instance of irrational decision-making.

This can be found in the impulsive purchases that don't work as advertised, don't solve the problem you expected them to, or turn out to be one more thing you didn't really need, as well as in the mindsets and choices around political ideology, relationships, or education that no longer work for you. It happens to all of us; emotion drives your brain to ignore reality, and you continue to invest energy in the decision. Even though your stance is making your life harder, your heels are dug in, and rational arguments won't change your mind — this is the sunk cost fallacy in action.

I see this not only in the political arena of NoCo, but in the unwillingness to jump ship from traditional school when that model is clearly not working for a child. In some cases, it's because parents have never heard of self-directed learning or "unschooling"; in others, they're so deeply indoctrinated into the current system that they don't view anything else as valid.

Unfortunately, as with most things, in my experience, it's only when the child is in true crisis that parents are willing to cut their losses and break with cultural norms to give it a try. I cannot gloss over the trauma caused by this delayed decision-making. We meet some kids who are either completely shut down or, on the opposite end, belligerent and disrespectful. Sadly, in a few cases, it's simply too late for us to have any positive impact; the damage is beyond our capabilities, and those instances break my heart every damn time. 


When you're in the depths of a sunk cost fallacy, it doesn't seem like there's a logical way forward. So, how do we avoid this pitfall, not only in this example but in every case? I'd suggest that awareness is probably the first step. Every step after that involves the willingness to let go of the feelings that have been driving your decisions, so you can open your mind and think rationally. Once you can do that, the clouds obscuring the other available options will lift, and you'll see them more clearly as the exciting possibilities they are.

None of this means the path forward is easy. Letting go of a stance you've defended, a system you've trusted, or a plan you've poured years into requires a kind of courage that rational argument alone can't provide. But the sooner you can name what's happening — to recognize the sunk cost fallacy for what it is — the sooner you reclaim the ability to choose based on what's actually best, rather than what you've already spent. The investment is gone either way. What's still within your control is everything that comes next. 

It has been another quiet week of admin work at the Center. Once again, it included a medical appointment - this time, with the eye doctor in Watertown. 

Pay-What-You-Can Policy

For anyone who has been considering choosing Deep Root Center as an educational option but has hesitated because of the membership fees, the DRC Pay-What-You-Can Policy is designed to eliminate financial inaccessibility. Our promise to work with any family who needs our services is our commitment to our community.

Get in touch if you think DRC may be right for your child, or visit our website.

Can you help?
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We are looking toward the 26/27 academic year and are seeking 8-10 volunteers who are excited to share their skills, talents, and knowledge with our student members for 2 days each month.

This is an opportunity to build relationships with our youth and help them discover new ideas and fields of interest. If this is something you would like to explore, get in touch, or find the link to the volunteer application here.
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These are a few of the fields we would be keen to include in our programming:

While struggling to figure out what to write this week, I realized I hadn't revisited my old blog posts in a while. Rereading the piece below made me think more deeply about how we grossly underrate the importance of supporting kids to be happy — of letting them feel satisfied with themselves, rather than feeling like they've disappointed everyone in their lives, including themselves. If anything, this problem has only grown worse in the ten years since I first wrote it.
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Many will blame technology for the crisis we find ourselves in. We're told kids are too connected to their devices and not connected enough to real life. But along with Dr. Peter Gray, I'll argue that the real driver of this unhappiness isn't screens — it's that we don't allow kids to be competent. We rush them along, force-feed them information, and rescue them the moment they struggle, leaving them no room to discover what they're actually capable of. They aren't allowed to follow their curiosity, play, make mistakes, and figure things out for themselves. That's the real crisis: we're raising a generation of kids who aren't just unhappy, but less able to find their place in the world. 

What Happens When Kids Are Given the Chance to Be Happy?
2/14/16
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No, this isn't the setup to a joke every five-year-old has in their repertoire, nor is it rhetorical. It's one of the many questions we should be asking ourselves every day. What, indeed, can happen when a child is not coerced, controlled, diagnosed, criticized, punished, bullied, antagonized, shamed, manipulated, or afraid to simply be themselves? 

What if we celebrated differences instead of pathologizing them? What if every child was offered choices instead of directives and ultimatums? What if every student was honored instead of patronized? What if kids were given the space to struggle and learn from their mistakes instead of being reprimanded for making them? What if we revered cooperation over competition? What if we expected equality and justice, not entitlement? What if education became a conversation instead of a lecture? What if flexibility replaced rigidity? What if a young person's ideas and interests were affirmed instead of dismissed? What if no decision a young person made was born of desperation? What would our planet look like if every young person were free to follow their own spirit of independence?

I will argue, quite strenuously, as usual, that we would discover a world filled with people who are creative, intelligent, curious and interesting, witty, empathetic, emotionally healthy, funny, talented, generous, wise, passionate, intuitive, compassionate, resilient, imaginative, courageous, honest, real, ingenious, ethical, hardworking, dedicated, intrinsically motivated, out-of-the-box thinkers — people committed to ensuring others have that same chance to simply be happy.

This is where my work begins — helping young people to welcome challenges, ask the hard questions, prioritize play, discover their passions, and, in the process, discover just how capable they truly are.

It was a quiet week at the Center, interspersed with medical appointments and a visit to The Wild Center to see the Trolls. I spent my days focused on collecting info from families (both consultation and in-person) to write the quarterly reports due on the 30th.  

​If you have not had the opportunity to see the Trolls at The Wild Center, I highly recommend you go. We borrowed passes from the Canton Library and only paid $10 each.  Thank you to our library for offering one more valuable service to the community!

Volunteer Opportunity

As we look ahead to the 2026–27 academic year, Deep Root Center is expanding our hands-on projects and activities for student members — and we need your help to make it happen.
We're looking for passionate people who are eager to share their skills and enthusiasm with young learners. This is a meaningful opportunity to be part of a vibrant, community-driven space where youth and adults come together to explore, discover, and grow.

If this sounds like you, we'd love to hear from you! Reach out to [email protected] or complete the volunteer application linked here.

Defining DRC
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The best way to describe self-directed learning is to show it in action. At DRC, kids engage in projects and activities guided by their own interests, whether individually or as a group. We aren't confined to "canned" lessons dictated by some nebulous, pre-determined curriculum. This is what allows us to stay flexible and open to any idea that arises at any point during the day.

Learning here is organic and natural — not forced into a one-size-fits-all mold. We're more interested in the long game: fostering growth and the independence that comes with it.

Learn more about our programs by visiting our website.

No one likes a bully — or so the saying goes. Yet here we are, surrounded by them. When they’re called out, we’re met with intimidation tactics, gaslighting, and the familiar deflections: “I was just joking,” “Can’t you take a joke?” or “Why are you even asking that?” — along with whatever slurs and put-downs follow. 
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I firmly believe we find ourselves in this crisis of moral decay because bullies are now fully emboldened by the grifter-in-chief (and his enablers) — the con artist who plays the tough guy, the “big man” who has lied his way through life. He mistreats anyone who refuses to do his bidding, latches onto whatever trend promises him adulation, power, (safety from consequences), and brazenly defies any authority that dares to rein him in. The message it sends is clear: if he can get away with it, so can anyone else bold (man) enough to try.

So why this post, why today? This past week, I spent an entire night composing an opening paragraph in my head — because I am fed up with the blatant hypocrisy of this cult. (Once again, obsessively trying to solve problems in my sleep. The blessings of a neuro-spicy brain.) Their blindness to anything beyond the falsehoods they’re fed daily, their inability to think critically beyond what serves this cult of personality — it is equal parts baffling and infuriating. Which, in a roundabout way, is exactly why I’m writing this.
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These followers claim to be tough on crime — “Back the Blue” — yet when it’s one of their own facing charges, they close ranks, fight the case, and then demand apologies and reparations. Their crusades against trans and LGBTQ people, immigrants, women’s rights, and basic, proven scientific concepts are unrelenting. And yet, as has been well established, every condemnation from this crowd is, more often than not, an admission.

These are the same people who cheered loudest when DOGE made drastic, life-endangering cuts across the board in the name of eliminating government excess. Yet the staggering amounts of federal funding being funneled into vanity projects, unnecessary conflicts, and a mounting pile of lawsuits — all at the regime’s personal whim — go entirely without condemnation. The hypocrisy isn’t just glaring. It’s indefensible.
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Much has been said about what makes someone susceptible to radicalization — to being drawn into a cult. Isolation is often cited: a lack of genuine community connection leaves people vulnerable, open to any group that offers belonging. I believe that. But I also think these movements attract people who already carry a predilection for bullying, along with the phobias and prejudices that come with it — people who are simply relieved to finally find their people.

And yet, many of them would never apply those labels to themselves. They don’t see themselves as bullies, racists, homophobes, transphobes, misogynists, xenophobes, or science deniers. They simply hold — as they’d put it — a particular point of view. “Why can’t we agree to disagree?”

Because when your beliefs put other human beings at risk, disagreement is no longer a matter of preference. It’s a matter of consequence. 
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When faced with a challenge of this magnitude, my first instinct is always the same: How can I help?

I can’t fix this at a macro level. I have little power over how a bully moves through the world. But I can help one kid at a time feel a little less alone. I can build — and fiercely protect — a community where diversity and trust are the foundation.

And most importantly, I can model the world I want to live in: one where empathy, acceptance, kindness, respect, and critical thinking aren’t radical acts — they’re simply how we show up for each other as the wildly different people we are. 

DRC participated in the Spirit Faire in Norwood yesterday. It was great to chat with folx and listen to my husband, Mike Corse, play some awesome music with his friends Christopher Raymo and Lorna Zvingilas on our 34th(!) Anniversary. 

Volunteer Opportunity
As we look ahead to the 2026–27 academic year, Deep Root Center is expanding our hands-on projects and activities for student members — and we need your help to make it happen.

We're looking for passionate people who are eager to share their skills and enthusiasm with young learners. This is a meaningful opportunity to be part of a vibrant, community-driven space where youth and adults come together to explore, discover, and grow.
​
If this sounds like you, we'd love to hear from you! Reach out to [email protected] or complete the volunteer application by clicking the volunteer button.

DRC Swag
Did you know that Deep Root Center has a Printify Shop with original designs, and all proceeds go toward our programs?

Grab either of the newly updated "Jump in and Explore graphics," available in v-neck, crew-neck, and hoodie styles, in both adult and child sizes.

You will also find a variety of other original designs that celebrate Deep Root Center in our storefront.

At the heart of self-directed education lies a commitment to lifelong learning: the practice of following curiosity wherever it leads, exploring unfamiliar ideas, and continually weaving new discoveries into a rich, personal body of knowledge.

Last week, I had the opportunity to take another deep dive into the learner-centered world of alternative education, alongside colleagues and well-known professionals, at the AERO Conference (Alternative Education Resource Organization) in Manchester, NH — and not surprisingly, I came away with fresh insights.

There were definite highlights. Spending time with my Peeps — the folx from the Liberated Learners network — was number one. These are the people who get it; they're intimate with the joys, frustrations, and the whole spectrum of emotions that come with running a non-coercive, self-directed learning center. They fully understand why I pour so much energy into building and growing Deep Root Center, because they do the same at their Centers. There's really no other way to explain it except to say: they're my Peeps.

A close second was once again meeting and listening to one of my heroes, Dr. Peter Gray, developmental psychologist and author of Free to Learn: Why Unleashing the Instinct to Play Will Make Our Children Happier, More Self-Reliant, and Better Students for Life — speaking about his forthcoming book, Restoring Childhood: How to Set Kids Free in the Age of Anxiety, releasing this September. Yes, I have my copy pre-ordered!  And, I look forward to the next time I have the privilege to see Dr. Gray and have him sign it, like my treasured copy of Free to Learn.  I can’t encourage you enough to subscribe to his Substack to receive regular essays that center on his work around the value of play in children’s lives. 

Along with those highlights, the conference featured several keynotes and breakout sessions. Two had the most impact, both because they made me challenge what I thought I knew about myself and about self-directed education.

The first, led by Kim Swaffield, M.Ed., explored the balance between structure and freedom in educational settings. I generally bristle at the word structure, even though my autistic brain craves the safety of routine. I'd always viewed structure as rigid, coercive, inflexible, and uncompromising, something that is the antithesis of the freedom we offer at DRC. What I learned is that structure can also look like loving guidelines and skill-building scaffolding — the kind that offers the essential sense of safety all kids crave. And, to my utter astonishment, I realized those are things we already do at Deep Root Center. 

On the last day, I attended a breakout session by David Brown titled "Rebuilding Coherence: Designing Schools Where Belonging, Agency, and Rigor Align." After introducing himself, he asked us to define those three words as they relate to our personal views, in terms of education.  I think he expected the word rigor to stir up some conflicted thinking in this predominantly self-directed learning crowd — and we didn't disappoint during the discussion portion of the session.

Upon reflection, I realized that the discomfort and challenges I felt during both of these sessions traced back to how I define, or think about, specific words. 

My first instinct was to define rigor negatively. In my mind, it is a buzzword used in coercive educational settings — shorthand for making things harder than they need to be just to satisfy some nebulous standard, and for forcing people to do things they don't want to do.

Once I got past that initial hit of negativity, I pushed myself to think about rigor differently. I eventually landed on a definition where rigor is a way for self-directed learners to take charge of their own educational experience and seek out challenges that help them grow. In other words, I placed the responsibility on the individual, not on outside forces. Others in the room framed it positively too, but located the responsibility a bit differently — placing it on the instructor and the learning environment to create a space where individuals are then motivated to embrace rigor themselves.

The consensus was that embracing rigor can only happen when someone feels a sense of belonging and agency. Those two things don't happen in a vacuum, and they certainly don't happen in a coercive setting — they simply can't be forced. Most people feel they belong and have agency because the environment and the people in it invite them in as they are, and welcome them to simply be themselves. 

Which brings us full circle back to my original argument: it's only when someone feels safe, fully supported, and at ease with their own quirks that they're able to explore those awkward, uncomfortable places — to challenge themselves, ask questions, seek out fresh ideas, and embrace vulnerability (which, spoiler alert, does not come naturally for me and is definitely a topic for another day) — and find new ways to grow. In the words of Neil deGrasse Tyson, another hero of mine, "My view is that if your philosophy is not unsettled daily, then you are blind to all the universe has to offer.”

I left the conference with more questions than I arrived with — which, I've come to understand, is exactly the point. Lifelong learning was never about arriving at fixed answers; it's about staying curious enough to keep digging, even when what you unearth challenges the assumptions you walked in with. My three days at AERO didn't just reaffirm what I already believed about self-directed education — it cracked open new ways of thinking about structure, freedom, rigor, belonging, and agency, and how they all work together rather than against each other. I'm returning to Deep Root Center with a fuller, more nuanced understanding of the work we do, and with renewed gratitude for my Peeps, my heroes, and the colleagues who pushed me to think harder.

​That, in the end, for me, is what a personal body of knowledge is built from: not certainty, but the willingness to keep weaving new threads in, and ultimately to better serve all the young people who walk through our door.  

volunteeAs we look ahead to the 2026–27 academic year, Deep Root Center is expanding our hands-on projects and activities for student members — and we need your help to make it happen.

We're looking for passionate people who are eager to share their skills and enthusiasm with young learners. This is a meaningful opportunity to be part of a vibrant, community-driven space where youth and adults come together to explore, discover, and grow.
​
If this sounds like you, we'd love to hear from you! Reach out to [email protected] or complete the volunteer application by clicking the volunteer button.

I took one photo while at the conference. Not surprisingly, it was of the panel of inspiring teens from North Star: Self-Directed Learning for Teens and Bay State Learning Center, representing the Liberated Learners Network. Thank you to them and to Ken Danford, founder of North Star, for moderating the lively, informative conversation. 

As mentioned above, it was wonderful to reconnect with a good number of folx from the Liberated Learners Network,  whom I have not seen in two years. ​ We always have so much to catch up on; our time together is never long enough. We actually discussed visiting other Centers during the year and possible student exchanges. 

Other ways to help:
We rely on our wider community to keep the doors open so we can support all of the local youth who choose Deep Root Center. 

•  Straight Donations - one-time or recurring
• Sponsorships
  
•  Purchase items from our Amazon Wishlist

Did you know that some flat earth conspiracy theorists believe not only that the 1969 moon landing was faked, but that the Challenger disaster never happened — that those seven astronauts are out there somewhere living entirely different lives? 

When I learned that, it got me thinking about a piece I came across recently, a video or essay — I can no longer remember which — that examined the nature of stupidity. I've since tried to track it down, but without knowing the author or creator, it's effectively lost to me. It wasn't concerned with intelligence in the conventional sense. Instead, it focused on something more specific: the absence of imagination, a rigid mindset with the inability to think critically or creatively, and the failure to solve even straightforward problems. What struck me most was its portrait of the stupid person as an inherent follower — someone who cannot, or will not, think independently, and who clings to their beliefs even when confronted with plain evidence to the contrary.

The piece obviously made an impression. But I left it frustrated. It dwelt on the pathology of stupidity rather than turning the lens around and describing what genuine intelligence actually looks like. I understand it was built for a specific purpose, and it served that purpose well. I just wish it had done so by illuminating the positive rather than autopsying the negative.

Intelligence isn't simply the opposite of stupidity. It isn't only a high IQ, or the ability to memorize facts, ace a test, or follow instructions without deviation. It is something far more alive than any of those things.

Authentic intelligence is — in no particular order and not exhaustive:

• Admitting when you're wrong and apologizing when you've caused harm.
• Seeing problems not as obstacles but as puzzles worth solving.
• Understanding that the best way to learn something is to jump in, make mistakes, get messy, and try again, while exploring all of the possibilities.
• Knowing that learning is not a performance — it's a natural, lifelong process.
• Standing firmly in your authenticity without using it as a license for bad behavior.
• Possessing profound observational skills and insatiable curiosity, and having the courage to ask questions.
• The ability to take in new information, change your mind, and grow.
• Realizing that there are a multitude of learning styles and no one way is the correct way.
• Caring deeply about the earth and every living thing on it.
• Having humility and meeting others with empathy and kindness rather than judgment.
• Understanding that a learning disability does not diminish intelligence — and that using tools, strategies, and hacks to accomplish something is not cheating. It's resourcefulness.
• Recognizing that intelligence itself is wildly diverse, and that all forms of diversity are a strength.

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Many of the creative, curious, bright, and compassionate students who walk through our doors arrive carrying a deep and mistaken certainty that they are somehow less — because they can't sit still in a classroom, because their handwriting is a mess, because reading for comprehension feels like a battle, because math concepts seem written in another language, because memorizing anything feels impossible. They've been told, both directly and through the quiet cruelty of being dismissed, that something is wrong with them. 
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Our job is to dismantle that belief — with compassion, with affirmation, and by modeling what genuine intelligence actually looks like. When students begin to see themselves clearly, there is nothing they cannot do.

Summer Hours - by appointment only. 
Maria will be in and out of the Center all summer. 
​Please contact her to schedule an appointment to talk by phone or meet at the Center. 315-323-1435 (text or call) or [email protected]

At the river otter presentation, that same teen positioned himself right in front of the naturalist, absorbing every fact and again answering questions with far more detail than I imagined she was expecting. Another of our teens spoke up confidently when the presenter quizzed the large group of onlookers — no hesitation, no prompting needed.​​

Moments like these don't happen because someone planned them. They happen because these kids have been given the time, the space, and the trust to follow their own curiosity — and on Friday, that curiosity led them straight into the heart of everything The Wild Center had to offer. That, in a nutshell, is why we do what we do.

When asked to describe the young people who actively choose DRC, my answer is always the same: they are excited to be here. They arrive curious and creative, eager to explore every possibility, and hungry to spread their wings and chase their dreams. Some arrive unsure, withdrawn, buried under layers of hurt — but the spark is there. It simply needs the right conditions to find its way to the surface and ignite.

The adults here exist for one purpose — to create those conditions, and to champion every adventure and discovery that follows.

But there is one lesson we have learned, time and again: choosing DRC as a last resort — because a parent demands it, or because every other door is shut — is no foundation to build on. It will always fail.  And still, every single time, I hope — and every single time, my heart gets broken by reality. 

This is one of the reasons we built a month-long trial period into our membership process. But if I am being completely honest, we sometimes see the signs and choose to look away — because hope is a hard thing to set down, even when wisdom says you should.

This week, I am revisiting a post from ten years ago that speaks to this very topic — and polishing it now, I find it as true and as necessary as the day I wrote it. 

Offering Opportunities and Honoring Decisions
2/8/2016
Thank you for indulging my storytelling instincts as I share two moments from this past week — small in scale, but perfect in what they reveal about the heart of what we do here.

On Monday morning, a student who had been enrolled to audit a college class came to me with three words I wasn't expecting: "I want to withdraw.”

Honestly, my heart sank. I had quietly cast her as DRC's pioneer at SUNY Canton — blazing a trail for future students, opening doors, all of that. The story I had written for her was already half-finished in my head.

Then she kept talking.

​She explained that after honestly and carefully weighing every factor — including the very real possibility of disappointing me and her family — she had concluded that she belongs here, at the Center, working alongside the other kids, deep in her hands-on projects. She loves the horse farm and her mentor there. And as a sophomore, she has already pored over the catalogs and websites of colleges with equine programs — while leaving open the possibility that college may not be her immediate next step at all.

How could I possibly be upset? She had done exactly what I have always encouraged her to do. The process she followed — honest, thorough, entirely her own — is self-directed learning. There is no purer example of it.

I have enjoyed a quiet Spring Break.  Stay tuned for photos of next week’s return to exploits and shenanigans. We only have six weeks left before we say goodbye for this academic year.  Another one flew by in the blink of an eye! 

Until a few months ago, I had no word for it — that all-encompassing feeling when something external makes me clench inside and compels me to flee. My family will tell you I can't sit through a movie or television show without jumping up every few minutes to escape the storyline. It happens with books, too: you'll find me flipping to the last pages to confirm there's a safe landing. For years, I assumed it was simply an aversion to suspense.

But it happens in real life as well. Someone is oversharing an embarrassing story. A person talking too loudly. A drunk without inhibitions. An April Fools' joke — or any situation where the intended meaning is ambiguous to those of us who take everything at face value and will, without fail, take the bait before our natural skepticism eventually, belatedly, surfaces. Each one triggers that same interior flinching, that urgent need to be elsewhere.
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And then there's our current national nightmare — though there the discomfort is quickly swallowed by something rawer: fury, and a stunned disbelief that never quite goes away, no matter how many times the grifters and con artists prove themselves shameless.

Earlier this year, I heard some kids toss the word around casually — cringe, cringy — and something clicked. That was it. One small, sideways word for something I'd been carrying my whole life without a name for it.

There's a persistent myth that autistic people lack empathy — that a flat affect or averted eyes signal indifference. I'd like to set the record straight: most of us feel empathy in abundance. What looks like withdrawal is often the opposite. The cringe isn't detachment. It's empathy with nowhere to go, turned inward, looking for an exit.

I feel others' pain as if it has weight. When someone shares a struggle, something in my brain shifts immediately into problem-solving mode — fully convinced, with characteristic autistic certainty, that a solution exists and that I am going to find it. The wanting to fix things isn't detachment either. It's just empathy wearing a different coat.

Which brings me to its quiet twin: a lifelong aversion to being perceived. I can't bear to hear my own voice in recordings, or to linger on a photo or video of myself. Where most people seem to draw some comfort from being seen and known, I crave invisibility. The logic is simple, if a little bleak: if there's any chance I might be the one who's cringe, I'd rather disappear than find out.

I wrote the post below in February 2015, thinking I was reflecting on self-perception — on the gap between the self we inhabit and the self others observe. What I didn't realize at the time was that I was also describing masking, a concept I had no language for yet. That feels about right. My neurospiciness was always there, doing exactly what it does, hiding in plain sight.

We have had another weird week that flew by in a blink.  Several families were traveling, so we had a smaller crew than normal. We had to cancel our field trip to Nicandri and will have to reschedule it for September.  The kids who were here spent a good portion of their time on independent projects and cool conversations. Tuesday, we did a seed propagation experiment for Kitchen Sink Science. 

Congratulations to Leslie Carlin, the winner of our raffle of $100 of NYS Lotto Scratch-off Tickets. Thank you to everyone who participated.  We raised about $500, that goes directly toward supporting our student members.