 “Volcanic" action 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 Some arrive unsure, withdrawn, buried under layers of hurt — but the spark is there.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. Every Thursday, DRC heads out on an excursion. This past week, we were invited to the very horse farm where that above student is an apprentice. Eight kids piled into two vehicles — mud boots, winter gear (on most of them) — for the short drive outside of Canton. A few of those kids are, to put it plainly, horse-obsessed. The others couldn't care less about horses, but will never say no to fresh air and room to run. This story is about one of the latter. The farm's owner brought us to the paddock to retrieve Blackberry — a small black pony with a mischievous glint in his eye — and attached the cross ties to his halter inside the barn. She talked about safety, cleared up a few myths, then picked up a curry comb and handed it to the boy standing closest to her. What happened next is hard to describe any other way than pure, unadulterated love. An immediate and wordless connection between a kid who came for the fresh air and a pony who apparently needed exactly this boy. He had no interest in the other horses brought out. When Blackberry was eventually returned to his paddock, the boy followed to the fence and stood there, continuing whatever quiet conversation they had started.  Many people — including prospective students — don't fully grasp that DRC runs entirely on volition. Every student chooses when to show up and what to do while they're here. And many don't believe us when we say the kids arrive as early as they possibly can and sometimes have to be asked to leave at the end of the day — until it happens with their own child, on the very first day. Each student understands something essential: they are genuinely responsible for building this community. Its warmth, its safety, its spirit — that belongs to them. I believe this happens because of one thing we never waver on: we trust them. We support their choices. We hold them — and what they care about — in genuine respect. The only guideline we have ever asked anyone to follow is this: Respect yourself, everyone here, and this space. My most important job — despite everything else on my list — is to stop talking and truly listen. Not just to words, but to what goes unspoken. To body language, to energy, to the quiet cynicism that sometimes sits just behind a student's eyes when they first walk through our door. Those observations — gathered in initial meetings, mentoring sessions, quick check-ins, and passing moments throughout every day — tell me what each person needs right now: something physical, something inspiring, or something that simply says you are seen. At the center of every one of those connections is trust. I believe, without exception, that each of my students has a good heart and an open mind — that curiosity and talent live inside every one of them, however deeply buried they may be in the moment. The proposals we make are suggestions, nothing more. There are no ultimatums, no guilt, no coercion. Every class, project, excursion, and conversation happens by choice. And those choices matter more than we can measure. Sometimes an opportunity becomes the key that unlocks something powerful and completely unexpected. Other times, it simply confirms what a student already knew — and gives them the confidence to stay true to their own path. Both outcomes are exactly right. DRC NewsWeekly Wrap-up It has been one of those weeks! I don’t say it often, but in this case, I am very happy to leave it behind. And, unfortunately, we have very few photos to share. Monday: The boys moved a table from the garage into the music room to hold a PC that has been retired from the Seedlings Room and replaced with one that has been refurbished by a DRC parent. Thursday: We finally exploded our volcanoes in Kitchen Sink Science. E, E, and K made the volcanoes with papier-mache over a bottle. They also gave us a quick earth science lesson about plate tectonics and the formation of volcanoes. This lesson expanded on our KSS from a few weeks ago when we tested acids and bases with purple cabbage juice and pH strips. Our cooks made chicken noodle soup and garlic bread for lunch. The basketball hoop saw lots of action all week.  Volunteer Opportunities: We are looking for 8-10 volunteers, for the 26/27 academic year, who are excited to spend time with our youth for 2 days each month. If you have any of the below skills or any other interests that you would like to share, please get in touch.
 Homeschool Support  In-Person Enrollment Enrollment is open for the 26/27 academic year. We are here for kids who are anxious to take charge of their education. Contact Maria for more information. 
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 Gratitude for early sunrises filtered through the rising mist. When DRC first opened in 2014, I told people the ideal age for a child to join was before 12. After that, we're fighting an uphill battle against school-induced trauma, the suppression of innate curiosity, and the apathy that follows. I've since revised that age down to 10. The piece below, written eleven years ago, celebrates the boundless possibilities open to children who are eager to explore their interests and follow their imaginations. After years of spending my days alongside young people in this environment, I'm more convinced than ever: curiosity is the backbone of self-directed learning — and the place where real learning begins. A Celebration of Curiosity May 4, 2015 Where do artistic, imaginative, or inventive ideas come from? And why does a particular concept ignite passion in one person while leaving another completely cold? Curiosity, I believe, is the root answer to both questions. An inquisitive person sees the world as full of questions worth asking. That comfort with wondering — with not yet knowing — exponentially expands the possibilities for learning and engagement. And once engaged, the creative mind is unleashed: free to interact, invent, and explore the very things that first sparked their wonder. Creativity grows from the exploration of personal thoughts and ideas, grounded in an understanding of the world around us. It is hands-on, experimental, and often gloriously messy — because the only way to truly learn something, to carry it for life, is to do it. Picture a child splashing happily in a mud puddle, sailing a twig-and-leaf boat. A child perched on a stool in the kitchen, carefully peeling apples alongside Grandpa as a pie takes shape. A girl who decides she wants to learn to weld and walks into a shop to ask for an apprenticeship. A teen so captivated by auto mechanics that they build their own derby car. These are the experiences that answer the questions waiting on the tip of every child's tongue — and the ones that stay with them for a lifetime. So let's honor the people, environments, and spaces that celebrate curiosity — that fundamental starting point of all self-directed learning. Celebrate the person who sat patiently, listened to a child's questions, and offered paths to explore rather than simply handing over the answer. Appreciate the place that puts tools of all kinds within reach, for all ages. Thank your librarian, your local artist, and the professionals in your community who generously share what they know. When we show appreciation for those who understand that nurturing curiosity is the foundation of raising whole, creative, inventive kids, we are doing something larger than we might realize: we are building a vibrant, healthy community for those children to grow up in — one they will carry forward, and one day model for the generation that follows. DRC NewsWeekly Wrap-up We love a calm Monday to ease us into the week. This one didn't disappoint. We spent tons of time outside soaking up the sun before the chilly weather returns. T made his family's favorite ham and cream cheese pinwheels for lunch with B's help. K&K got the DRC Little Free Library reinstalled on the new cement pad and bracket, and J helped refill it. E shared some delicious grape juice he brought with B. And, we took some photos for our annual memory book. Yes, the DRC Little Free Library is back in business on a much sturdier base. Come on by to take or leave some books. Thank you to Logann Law for graciously hosting the DRC Crew on her farm on Thursday. We had a great time meeting the animals, playing with baby goats, and helping with chores. This field trip was made possible by the Badenhausen Grant through the Northern NY Community Foundation. On Friday, we celebrated Chris’s Birthday! And, the day’s walk on the SUNY Canton trail included a bike ride.  Seeking Volunteers As alluded to in this week’s essay, fostering community connections is one of the most important pieces of what we do. We are seeking 8-10 volunteers who are excited about mentoring youth by sharing their interests and skills in our self-directed learning environment, two days each month. Contact us if this is something you would be interested in exploring.  Open Enrollment Enrollment is open for the 26/27 academic year. We are here for those youth who want to follow their curiosity and imagination to explore new ideas within our supportive environment. Get in touch if this describes your child.  Deep Root Center Exchange We have started a Facebook group called DRC Exchange for homeschool families. This is a private group where parents can ask questions, offer suggestions, and find a supportive community with other homeschool families. Check it out today.   Testing Paper Rockets Every spring, as the leaves begin to unfurl, a hazy softness falls over the world. Gaze into the distance, and you notice it — something yielding in the light, the edges of things not quite decided yet. We find ourselves in that same in-between. The year has moved faster than it should have, and now four weeks remain: too few for new beginnings, too many to let slip by without intention. There's a palpable anxiety in that, and it's worth naming honestly. We see it in the student members around us — in behaviors that test boundaries, in a restlessness that can’t be named, in the quiet fear that the year didn't add up to what was hoped, in worries about what comes next. The end of our year is not a neutral moment. It carries weight. And yet there is also an invitation here. What does it mean to finish well, without the pressure of finishing big? We are all tired, and there's no use pretending otherwise. Summer is close enough to feel: the slow mornings, the warmth that asks nothing of you, the particular freedom of days without a deadline. That rest is earned, and it's coming. But it's worth remembering that rest isn't only what happens after the work ends. It's part of the work itself. Cultural habits are hard to shake. We live in a world that prizes momentum, and slowing down can feel like falling behind. But stillness is not the opposite of productivity — it's the condition for it. Our best ideas don't arrive under pressure. They surface in the unguarded moments, when the mind is free to wander into the quieter places where creativity and curiosity live. Four weeks remain. Not enough for everything. Enough for something. Stay tuned. DRC NewsWeekly Wrap-up Our Monday was pretty chill as we eased into the new week. We made up for it with a non-stop action Tuesday. In Kitchen Sink Science, the crew made paper rockets on straws to see how far they would go. A few of them extended the lesson to test out various theories on ways to make the rocket go farther or spiral. The cooks made tacos for lunch. The beaded spiders made another appearance. E, E, and K decided they wanted to make spiders and beaded bracelets to sell. Thank you to C for painting the backboard and to Chris for hanging it on the garage railing. The boys hung out in the backyard for the last part of the day, playing hide & seek tag. Holy Cow, it was a wild energy Thursday. Some kiddos were in a mood that infected the whole crew, but somehow we still got a lot accomplished. B wanted to make a carrot cake, but the only carrots we had were already cut up, so they were too hard to hand-grate without nicking our fingers, and our blender gave up the ghost. Instead, they made a delicious yellow cake with a few carrot bits floating around, topped with real whipped cream. C made his famous Chicken Alfredo for lunch. Thanks to Chris and the triplets, the hole is dug, cement poured, and the bracket is set and leveled for the Little Free Library. Stay tuned for the reopening. It was finally warm enough to get some sustained outdoor time. The basketball hoop is a hit. And a few kiddos found some old kinetic sand to play with. Heading into the weekend, we had a very chill and much-deserved quiet Friday. Our walkers spent some time on the SUNY Canton trail and the Grasse River.  As mentioned, we have four weeks left before summer break. Our last day is May 22nd, when we will have a year-end party to honor our two members who are finishing their high school career and celebrate everyone's accomplishments. Looking toward the 26/27 academic year, we 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, please get in touch to schedule a time to visit and let us know how you would like to help.
We are now enrolling for the 26/27 school year. Contact Maria to learn how we can help your child.  Thanks again to Janine for sharing her passion for crafting beaded spiders with our crew on Friday. Flexibility has always been a defining trait of DRC — perhaps our most valuable one. We are small enough to adapt quickly and open enough to encourage every voice to challenge assumptions, explore all the possibilities, and chart an entirely new course when the situation demands it, from the organizational level all the way down to each student member. This innate ability has served us well and, as we look ahead, it will remain the engine of our growth. In the coming year, I want to deepen our already vibrant community and intergenerational connections — bringing in more businesses, organizations, and individuals who share our vision. To that end, I am seeking eight to ten people from our wider community who are eager to share their skills, talents, and passions with our students at least twice a month. Their involvement will enrich hands-on learning and forge meaningful relationships that last well beyond the classroom. Please get in touch if you would be excited about exploring this opportunity. The revised archival piece below — drawn from our second year — speaks directly to both of these strengths. It illustrates not only our flexibility but our enduring commitment to community engagement. The original can be accessed via the provided link. Pivot, Turn, Stretch, Bend ... 3/29/2015 When I put together our Top Ten list, flexibility came in at number five — but only because that is the order it occurred to me. Given the chance to rearrange it, I would move it much higher. It may be the most important thing we do. At DRC, we believe almost anything can be education. More than that, we believe every student who walks through our doors deserves a path that fits them — not the other way around. When a child tells me what they want to learn, my job is simply to connect them to the person or experience that will make it possible. Their curiosity does the rest. The past few weeks have given me some wonderful examples. One of our email subscribers got in touch after reading a recent post. Her eight-year-old daughter had a passion for making things — she wanted to learn to sew and to knit. It turned out my first college degree was in Fashion Design, so sewing was easy to say yes to. Within the hour, I had also reached a friend who was glad to offer knitting lessons the following week. Since then, this little maker has sewn a bag, a skirt complete with a fancy train, and a vest with a cape — all on her own sewing machine. She has had her first knitting and crochet lesson, shaped a clay sculpture, and dictated a story to go with it. We are putting the finishing touches on that story now, typing it up and turning it into a real book. A dress from one of my old patterns is next. A student who joined us about a month ago is twelve, nearly thirteen, and she already knows she wants to be a neurosurgeon. She dove straight into anatomy, starting with the bones of the human skeleton — using our brand new half-size model, generously donated by Nature's Storehouse — and is now working her way through the carpal and tarsal bones by name. She is also taking an online biology course through SUNY Canton. In one of our early conversations, she mentioned she wanted to learn Arabic. Three hours later, after a few calls to the Modern Language Department at SLU, she had a tutor. Three lessons in, she is well on her way. Then there is our thirteen-year-old, who came to me one afternoon and said, plainly, that she was done with online math. I asked what she wanted to learn instead. Every day math, she said. What followed was one of the best classes we have had all year. She and the future neurosurgeon pulled out a household budget sheet, researched their dream careers, looked up the cost of a one-bedroom apartment in Canton, and worked through what life might actually look like. It was fascinating to watch them think. This student's dream — the one she has carried for years — is to open a bakery. Cupcakes are her specialty. We talked about culinary school and apprenticeships, about what it means to run a business, about the kind of grit it takes to build something from nothing. I am absolutely rooting for her. Canton needs a great bakery. What makes all of this possible is that DRC has no fixed agenda and no defined curriculum. We are not limited to what our staff can teach because we have always considered the broader community our extended faculty. Every student builds their own program, sets their own goals, and shapes an education that is entirely and perfectly their own. When interests change — and they do — we change with them. We sit down with each student every week to listen, brainstorm, and support whatever direction they want to move in next. These three kids — eight, twelve, and thirteen — are living their dreams today. They may grow into something entirely different from what they imagine now, and that is perfectly fine. What matters is that they are engaged, purposeful, and learning how to learn. They are in the driver's seat, and DRC is proud to be along for the ride. DRC NewsWeekly Wrap-up We are back from Spring Break. Monday was a chill, rainy day with a small group that slowly eased back into our regular routine. And we forgot to capture photos. The DRC Crew had a hopping Tuesday. In Kitchen Sink Science, they used purple cabbage juice to determine whether ten different liquids are acids or bases. Then, they used PH strips to back up their findings. Our cooks made BBQ pork and potatoes for lunch. T made an elaborate Lego creation at home and brought it in to show everyone. Thursday was another busy day with plenty of creativity.  Friday brought these two core values together — community engagement and inter-generational opportunity — in the best way. A huge thank you to Janine Dolley for leading our kids through a beaded spider craft, complete with "adoption certificates" so every spider went home with a name and a “gotcha" date. This visit was funded by the Badenhausen Grant through the Northern NY Community Foundation. Later in the day, some kiddos then taught our SLU CBL volunteers how to make spiders.   The DRC Little Free Library is out of order for a bit. We need to dig a hole and set the post in cement for a long-term solution to the instability issue. Stay tuned for progress reports and its reopening. DRC has open enrollment for the 26/27 academic year. If your child is seeking a flexible, hands-on learning environment where they are free to explore their interests and work toward their goals, get in touch today.   Some of the DRC Crew enjoying the Grasse River I trust kids. I have said it hundreds of times over the years — in conversations, in essays, in rooms full of skeptical adults. It is the simplest explanation I have for why self-directed education works, and somehow, still the most surprising to people. It is not simply a value I hold. It is the foundation on which Deep Root Center is built. I often think about how this looks from the outside — to those shaped by a system that has collectively decided that children cannot and should not be trusted. That what I practice is naïve. Sentimental. Maybe even reckless. But the damage runs deeper than how we treat children. Culturally, we have also learned not to trust ourselves — our intuition, our guts, the quiet knowledge that lives below the noise. We have been taught to outsource our certainty to experts, institutions, and algorithms. To doubt the one voice that has known us longest. This is not a call for blind faith. I have learned, over time, to hold trust and discernment together — to stay open without being credulous. When something feels false, I say so. When I sense manipulation or deception at work, I name it. Skepticism, in its healthiest form, is not the opposite of trust. It is trust's most honest companion. That clarity has taken years to develop — and the writing has been a large part of how I found it. As previously mentioned, I am currently revisiting every essay I have written over the past twelve years, working toward a book. I have made it through only two years so far, and I have already flagged seven pieces that speak directly to trust. Seven. It will have its own chapter — not because I planned it that way, but because it has revealed itself as one of the most important concepts of this work. Sitting with all of that this week, something clicked. I finally understood why trust feels so radical right now. So counterintuitive. So almost transgressive. We are living through one of the most distrustful moments in modern history. We cannot take a single word from this regime at face value. They lie the way the rest of us breathe — reflexively, continuously, as if the truth itself is the thing that might kill them. To explicitly tell children that they are trustworthy — in a world that models the opposite every single day, from the highest offices on down — that is not a small act. It might be the most subversive thing I do. Below are revised excerpts from three of those seven pieces — one about trusting kids, two about the importance of everyone learning to trust themselves. Read together, they trace the full arc of what I mean when I say trust is foundational. The original posts are linked in the titles. From: Are You Crazy? 4/20/2015 Scanning the last fifty years of my life — I can only really account for about forty-five of them — I barely recognize the person I was even twenty years ago. I was the child who hated school but sucked it up anyway. A goody two-shoes, to be blunt about it. I was a timid kid, afraid of my own shadow. I have never liked rules. I have always chafed against control and restriction. And yet I spent decades toeing the line, deferring to authority, swallowing my discomfort, and complying. No one who knew me then would have predicted the life I am living now — least of all me. But nothing I have chosen surprises people quite as much as this: I trust kids. All kids. Explicitly. I trust that they know what they need to learn. I trust that they know how they learn best. I trust that they will ask good questions, tell the truth, and respect the earth and the people on it. I trust that they will try their best — and that when they fall short, they will own it and try to make it right. I trust that they will grow into adults who make change, do good work, and move through the world with care. This is not optimism. It is not sentiment. It is cause and effect. Trust generates trustworthiness. When each child knows — not hopes, but knows — that they are trusted to make good choices, they make them. They grow comfortable in their own skin. They become genuinely curious about other people's perspectives, because their own have been honored. When children are free to build their own lives rather than navigate the weight of someone else's fears and disappointments, they flourish — on their own terms, by their own definition. And this trust does not stop with children. I extend it to people broadly. I believe most of us are cooperative creatures at our core — except for those few who have been so thoroughly corrupted by power and greed that they have lost access to that part of themselves entirely. When given real freedom, genuine kindness, and meaningful options, people tend toward generosity. They look out for one another. This is not naïve — it is ancient. Our ancestors survived because they relied on each other. That impulse did not disappear. It was deliberately trained out of us. The operative words are freedom, choice, kindness, and viable options. Remove them, and people contract. They make decisions from scarcity and self-protection. Restore them, and something else becomes possible. From: Safety - (Illusions and Reality) 4/27/2015 When you encounter something new or unfamiliar, what tells you it is safe? What are you actually looking for? A government permit? A license? The endorsement of a large number of people? These are the signals we have been taught to read. They feel like evidence. They feel like protection. But what if they are not? What if the things we most commonly use to verify safety offer, in the end, no real guarantee at all? Think about that for a moment. Now consider this: what if safety had nothing to do with official approval or popular consensus — and everything to do with track record, integrity, and the quiet sense that something is genuinely good? What if the most reliable signal was not external validation, but your own intuitive sense of rightness? Safety has nothing to do with following the crowd. It never did. It has everything to do with learning to trust yourself — and then having the courage to act on it. From: Trust; Part 2 9/5/14 Reflecting on what I had written a while back, I realized I had missed something essential. It is not enough for kids to feel trusted by the adults around them — they also need to learn how to trust themselves. One grows from the other. When a child feels genuinely trusted and respected, something opens up. They begin to discover that their own instincts are worth listening to. This matters more than we acknowledge. The capacity to learn is directly shaped by self-knowledge and inner well-being. When you know what interests you — what lights you up, what makes you lose track of time — you naturally move toward it. You seek it out. You go deep. Trusting yourself is not the finish line. It is the starting point. But today's culture teaches something different. It teaches that achievement matters more than awareness, that acquisition matters more than growth, that the opinions of others are a more reliable measure of your worth than your own. Children absorb this. They learn to jump through hoops because the hoops come with rewards — good grades, adult approval, a sense of being seen. The cycle becomes self-reinforcing. Pleasing others gradually replaces knowing yourself, and most kids never notice the trade they've made. Every young person needs to hear the opposite message — clearly, repeatedly, and from people they trust. Trust that you know yourself better than anyone else ever will. Trust that your ideas and passions are worthy of serious exploration. Trust that you are learning and growing in every moment, even the ones that don't look like progress. Trust that you will occasionally fail spectacularly — and that those failures may turn out to be your most important teachers. Trust your decisions, and resist the pull of "I wish I had," because everything you have done has brought you here. Trust that your apologies, offered with genuine humility, will land. Trust that the people in your life love you more deeply than they always manage to say. And above all, trust that you are good — and that when you show up as your true self, the right people will recognize it. DRC NewsI 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!  My “girls” are free-ranging this week to hopefully(!) eradicate the local tick population.  First signs of spring in the NoCo. 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. 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.  Photo by Ian Taylor on Unsplash Perceptions 2/12/2015 There is often a dramatic difference between how others see us and how we see ourselves. About a month ago, I participated in an exercise that asked me to list my strengths. It took me a long time. I could have rattled off two or three strengths for every other person in the room, but when it came to myself, I drew a blank — until one thing surfaced: I am very good at appearing confident, even when I am anything but. On the surface, this might sound like deception. But what I've come to understand is that the willingness to jump in, figure it out, and get things done is itself a real skill — one other people have consistently associated with me. On the outside, I project a positive, can-do attitude. On the inside, I am a mass of quivering doubt. Which made me wonder: is everyone like this? Does everyone present one face to the world while their inner voice quietly picks apart their abilities, their judgment, their intelligence? I've written before about personal expectations, and I think they're doing a lot of work here. I take on difficult tasks because I am, by nature, what I call an optimal realist — a blend of optimist and realist of my own invention. I've pulled things off before, and I've always appreciated a good challenge. But the moment I commit, the internal questioning begins. I won't transcribe the full interior monologue — trust me, it can get discouraging and even petty. Somehow, though, the optimistic side always manages to win out. There's also the matter of ego. Not only does our inner self differ from the self we show the world, but our public self differs from our private, at-home self as well. We curate what people see. I choose to lead with the confident, decisive version of myself rather than the wavering one — not purely out of vanity, but because it allows me to contribute, to get things done, to be useful. The positive feedback that follows feeds the cycle. There's nothing wrong with that. Which brings it back, as it always does, to choice. We make decisions every day that ripple outward into other people's lives. Being true to yourself matters, but when a behavior would cause harm, authenticity isn't a good enough excuse. Choosing to be pleasant and upbeat isn't a performance I resent. I want honesty, integrity, empathy, and hard work associated with my name. I'm aware that how I show up can affect someone's day — sometimes more than that. Spreading good energy isn't a sacrifice. It's an honor. DRC NewsWeekly Wrap-up This Monday was the first day that the winter doldrums seemed to be swept away and replaced by a fresh perspective, new ideas, and explosive bursts of creativity. Tuesday included more cabin building. TS recruited a few teens to carry the pallets from the front yard for him. They may have abandoned that idea to create a teepee type structure from all of the very large sticks. CM spent hours building it. Sadly, there is no photo of that. Digby Doo decided to soak up as much attention and lovings as possible on the last day before our Spring Break. Although we pop in to check on him and keep his food and water topped up, he doesn't get the undivided attention he thrives on when everyone is at the Center. Have a delightful Spring Break! The DRC Crew will be back on Monday, March 13th.  Thursday’s Kitchen Sink Science involved a challenge to create a device that would shoot an aluminum ball into a "goal." We noticed that the brothers who worked together and combined their skill sets- one is an artist and the other is mechanically inclined- designed successful devices. Bonus: they learned what a fulcrum is and why it is important.  SOAR Presentation Thank you to all of the folks who participated in the Exploring the Possibilities through Self-Directed Education SOAR class at the Canton Free Library on Wednesday. It was such a pleasure to share the history of DRC and how SDE informs our everyday life at the Center. These are just a few of the slides from the presentation.
 Photo by Bankim Desai on Unsplash Unraveling the neurodivergent complexities of my own mind is a never-ending emotional odyssey — each new insight arriving like a small, life-altering revelation. The discoveries hit differently when you spend 57 years inside a spicy brain with no language for why the world never quite fits. I never realized that feeling different wasn't a flaw — it was just how I was wired. Take the internal narrator, for instance — something I assumed everyone had until recently. Mine never shuts up. This past week, I noticed that when I let it wander mid-task, it stopped talking me through the steps, and suddenly, I've lost my place, forgotten what I've done, or can't recall what I meant to do next. That same voice is also my interpreter: music, a podcast, a conversation — none of it registers unless I silently echo the words back to myself, or they dissolve into noise, crowded out by the ten million other thoughts already in rotation. It isn't a memory problem, as people often assume. It's a finely tuned system that demands close attention — one that's constantly being seduced away by the same stream of creativity that powers it. Scrolling back through twelve years of blog posts, I can see the quirks hiding in plain sight — documented long before I had any framework for understanding them. I just thought I was weird. Still do, actually. At Deep Root Center, that's always been a point of pride: we own our eccentricity, and I wear the title of head weirdo without apology. This piece, written the day after my 50th birthday in 2014, finds me committed to being fully myself — though it would be another seven years before I understood I had been masking my neurology my whole life. Even so, something essential has remained intact. The colorful stripe never fully disappeared, except for a brief time during the pandemic. It just shifted — hot pink quietly moved to purple, blue, and now teal. I probably won’t adopt hoop earrings or flowing gowns. Both would be a sensory nightmare; however, the tattoo has been on my wishlist for a while—I even have the design ready and waiting for me to find an artist and make an appointment. Analysis of the Hot Pink Stripe 11/19/14 The following disclosure may delight, surprise, or even dismay a few family members, friends, and acquaintances. As of Friday, I am sporting a hot pink racing stripe running through my dishwater gray hair. When I told my mother, her first question was, "Is this all about turning 50?" My immediate response was an emphatic no. Let me be clear: this is not a midlife crisis. I have always hated my hair — even when it was a perfectly respectable dark brown. What I'm working with is an unfortunate hereditary combination: straight as a stick (my Gram's term for her own), clumpy at the temples (thanks, Dad), and aggressively early to gray (mid-twenties for me, early twenties for my Poppy, who has very little left at 91). As the eldest, I could have landed the naturally curly gene, but that skipped a generation — you're welcome, MacKenzie — along with the male pattern baldness. Sorry, Ian. So what's the connection? I have spent years preaching about being comfortable in your own skin, about choosing yourself over the crowd. And mostly I've practiced what I preach — even as a teenager, when the herd was chasing the latest fad, I was usually headed the other direction deliberately. The list is long and fairly impressive. So why hot pink? Here's the contradiction: alongside that instinct to take the road less traveled, I am also someone who would rather work quietly in the background than stand in any spotlight. Bold choices, invisible presence. It sounds like a mixed message. This is an analysis, as the title suggests — and I'm genuinely thinking it through as I write. My best theory: my internal, non-cerebral, truest self has been trying to get out. She's been yelling, pitching fits of considerable creativity, and I have worked hard to ignore her from the comfort of my warm, safe, non-threatening comfort zone. It appears she is done being ignored. So we're trying this for a while. But hot pink — really? What comes next: large hoop earrings, flowing gowns, a tattoo? Now that she's out and making herself known, no one can say where this ends. The next fifty years are sure to be interesting — or, at the very least, a lot of fun. DRC NewsWe 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.  DRC Pop-Ups The Pop-ups Peeps had fun at Nicandri on Thursday, even though the Canton Crew could not join them.  Tromping through the woods at the Cornell Copperative Extension Maple Tour For the past year, these posts have mapped the gap — or the absence of one — between our national crisis and my daily life with kids in a self-directed learning environment. That work continues, because nothing has stopped: not the incompetence, not the propaganda, not the lawlessness, not the grifters. Just when the absurdities seemed impossible to top, this past week found new depths. A president clutching a miniature bomber like a favorite toy, celebrating killing in a war he engineered, lying about the economy, about immigrants, about voter fraud — treating the whole catastrophe as a game his handlers cobbled together to keep him entertained and from wandering off. Meanwhile the people his agencies cage and deport, and the children powerful men have violated, are still waiting for anything resembling justice. For fourteen months, I've returned to the same insistence: this isn't about politics. It's about who gets to control the story — and through the story, the country itself. Authoritarianism isn't just the enemy of democracy. It's the enemy of curiosity, of autonomy, of the belief that human beings are capable of directing their own lives and their own learning. Which is to say, it's the enemy of everything this work is built on. As mentioned last week, I'm currently reviewing and revising over twelve years of essays, posting one here each week with an eye toward a book. The connections between this nightmare and our commitment to that mission will run through all of it. This piece, like last week's, is from our first month of operations, January 2014. Our Philosophy in Action 1/30/14 Did you know a Lamborghini can travel 65 miles in 15 minutes? (Yes, we did the math.) Do you know what drifting is? (Nothing to do with last week's snow.) What about 4K? A thermostat called Nest that can run nearly your entire house? A wheelie bar — what it is, what it does? Did you know drag racing cars have rear-wheel drive and sticky tires? Have you ever heard a ten-year-old say, "I'd like to make a movie from a first-person perspective"? These are a few things I've learned from the two kids I have the privilege of spending my days with. Are the facts themselves important? Not if you're not into cars or technology. But the facts were never the point. The point is the why and the how. Our conversations have covered a lot of ground, but the essential thing — the thing underneath all of it — has been the listening. I'm not just collecting interesting facts. I'm beginning to know these two young men. I'm learning why these subjects grip them, how they think, what lights them up, and what makes them genuinely happy and engaged. That's the job: know them well enough to ask the right questions, open the right doors, and then get out of the way and cheer. I lost count of the mental yes-es and imaginary arm pumps this week. There were a lot. DRC NewsWeekly Wrap-up It has been a strange week with two inclement weather related days off and a field trip on Thursday. Monday passed in a blur with no photos taken. Therefore, all of the photos this week are from our field trip to the Cooperative Extension Farm Maple Tour. Thank you to the folks at the farm for showing us the entire process from tapping to boiling and for letting us play with the baby kids and lambs. *The DRC Explore the NoCo Field Trip Project is supported by a Badenhausen Grant through the Northern New York Commercial Foundation.  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.  TS drew the winning name. He insisted on wearing his hoodie backward to keep it completely fair.  From the Archives: photo taken January, 2014 It's surprising what you discover when you step back from the daily grind and look back at the past. This week I've been building a presentation for the SOAR class I'm facilitating on April 1st — and to avoid relying solely on recent photos, I started digging through the archives dating back to 2013. That is over 12 years of weekly essays! Many of those posts — even the ones written before we had many members — could have been written yesterday. My writing has improved over the years, but the core content holds up remarkably well. That realization was deeply gratifying. It means our philosophy and methodology have remained consistent from the very beginning, unchanged despite outside pressures: the misunderstanding of self-directed learning, funding challenges, and pushback that could have led us to abandon our core beliefs. None of it moved us. Reading through them, I realized I'm sitting on a treasure trove of ideas, stories, and insights — about self-directed learning, but also about how it quietly shows up in everyday life at the Center. Over the years, many people have suggested I write a book using these posts as a foundation. I think I might finally be ready to dive in. (I tried once before, during the pandemic, attempting to sort everything into categories — only to abandon it when the sheer volume became overwhelming. That was six years ago. There's considerably more material now!) Honestly, I've felt a bit unmoored this past year and need a big project to reignite my passion and creativity. This may be it. With that in mind, I plan to begin revisiting and revising older pieces. Some may be combined, others will need little more than a light polish, and several will likely be unrecognizable from the original. I will always reference the original post and its publication date. From the Deep Root Center Blog page, you can look at any of the archives from the past twelve years. They are listed on the side by month and year. The first is this piece, written in January 2014, the month that we opened. Trust January 18, 2014 This is a post I'd been trying to write for a long time. The bones of it existed for months, but it never felt quite ready. Looking back, maybe there was a reason for that. Around that time, I read a memoir by Elizabeth Marshall Thomas, an author well into her eighties, known for her observations of animals and indigenous peoples in Africa — including her early work among the Ju/'hoansi (also known as the !Kung) of Namibia. She is a remarkable writer, and in one of the final chapters, she offers six rules for writing she always tries to follow. The sixth is about revision. Her suggestion: remove the sentence you are most proud of. Brutal — and effective. Ego has no place in good writing. I'll admit, some of my posts were written at the last minute with very little editing. This one deserved better. At its core, this piece is about trust. I have to believe that what I put into the world is the best I have to offer in that moment — and that the people reading it will receive the message for what it is. I have been passionate about trusting kids for a long time. Trust that they know what they need to become the best versions of themselves. Trust in their abilities, their insights, the goodness of their hearts. Trust that they will make mistakes, mess up, and make bad decisions — and that, as with all missteps, they will learn from the experience and carry that knowledge forward. Trust that they are not wasting time when it looks like they're "doing nothing." They are learning, growing beings absorbing information every moment of every day, because it is genuinely impossible to do nothing. As parents and teachers, we cannot judge what learning looks like — or, more importantly, what experiences are valuable for a particular person at a particular moment. We grow frustrated when kids can't seem to motivate themselves to do what we consider important. But we rarely stop to ask whether we've allowed them to be self-directed. Many children are told what to do constantly — at home, at school, and socially. They are bombarded with instructions: do this, don't do that, hurry up, sit still. Is it any wonder they haven't developed the skills for independent decision-making? Society makes the decisions for them. And it is our fear for their futures — not their incapacity — that drives us to micromanage their lives. I wear both hats: parent and mentor/facilitator. I have two teenagers, one of whom is homeschooled and the other is in college. There are moments I have to physically bite my tongue to keep unsolicited, judgmental comments from escaping. I am not always successful — some of those comments have pressure behind them. But I try most of the time to trust them to make the best choice available to them at that moment. When they ask for advice, I learn to pause before answering: Does he actually need me to solve this? Can she figure this out on her own? The goal has always been to raise happy, empowered young people who can make important decisions confidently. It's just that solving things for them is faster. Easier. And that temptation never fully goes away. So how do we find the balance between controlling our kids and supporting them to become emotionally mature human beings? I believe it comes down to mutual respect and trust. When you genuinely listen to your children — when you have real conversations that include your own dreams and imperfections, not just instructions for theirs — they respond. Kids want authenticity. They need to know we aren't perfect, because none of us are; we are all learning, growing beings. They need space to think out loud without fear of ridicule. And they need, most of all, the security of unconditional love, consistent support, and the occasional moment of pure, unadulterated silliness. Because when everything else fails, a sense of humor will carry you through. DRC NewsWeekly Wrap-up On Monday, the DRC crew discovered that the Grasse River is high from all the quick snow melt this past weekend, and the sledding hill is a sheet of ice. B has enjoyed cooking lately. They made pancakes for lunch. On Tuesday, we did a quick Kitchen Sink Science experiment looking at the properties of Hydrogen Peroxide. We sprayed some on our countertops and cutting boards to see how much it bubbled. Then put raw potatoes in one beaker of peroxide and cooked potatoes in another. The raw ones bubbled and fizzed, and the cooked ones did not. It is because of an enzyme called catalase that gets cooked out. We also tested carrots because most plants contain that enzyme. The raw ones bubbled, and the cooked did not. The DRC Crew took another walk to SUNY Canton. Digby wanted to be sure he was the center of attention at the end of the day. This Thursday ended up being a very relaxed day after we had to postpone our field trip to next Thursday. The crew had the chance to dig some ditches to divert the water from our garage and the annually flooded cellar. We thought we had avoided it from the melting snow, but the heavy rain last night created a river running through it again. The two sisters created and played a game on their own that involved using plenty of math and ELA skills in the Seedlings Room with Chris. And everyone else stayed occupied with projects and conversations. Some of the crew braved the chilly spring breeze for a walk to the Grasse River and the SUNY Canton trail. We had Friday off.   SOAR Class As mentioned at the beginning of this post, I will be facilitating a SOAR class on April 1, 2026, at the Canton Free Library. If you are a senior and have wondered what Deep Root Center is all about, or want to learn more about the self-directed learning philosophy, I hope to see you there.   Engaging all of our senses during the Kitchen Sink Science Experiment this week Lately, it feels like we're living inside a slow-motion catastrophe — one that is somehow, at the same time, careening toward the edge. Every day brings fresh news from a government gone rogue that has abandoned any pretense of legitimacy: propaganda churned out on an industrial scale, accountability nowhere in sight, and the guardrails stripped away so deliberately it can only be by design. I won't pretend this hasn't taken a toll. I fight daily to stay balanced, calm, and hopeful — and I'll be honest with you: this past week, I lost that battle more than once. Tuesday's full blood moon didn't help. The big feelings it stirred were real and widespread — frustration, anger, fear, anxiety — all of it feeding into how we moved through the day. There was sniping. There were sharp, critical words that didn't need to be said. A low-grade discontent settled over the Center like a weather system, and by the end of it, we were all depleted and desperate for relief. Happily, it was just one day. By Thursday and Friday, we had found our footing again — equilibrium restored, the storm passed. But I keep turning over the same question: how much of that Tuesday, full moon aside, was collateral damage from the world beyond our walls? Our kids are taking in more than we realize. One teen asked, with complete sincerity, whether it was true that this was the beginning of World War III. They absorb everything — the anxiety threading through adult voices, the headlines half-glimpsed and half-understood, the ambient dread saturating daily life — without the context or tools to process what they're sensing. Without understanding that the chaos has architects. That propaganda is real. That we are all, in ways large and small, being played. So what do we do with all of that? We keep showing up. We create spaces where kids feel safe enough to ask hard questions and honest enough to sit with uncertain answers. We model the thing we're struggling to practice ourselves — steadiness in the unsteady, hope that isn't naive, nor defeated. We name the dread without surrendering to it. The world beyond our walls may be chaotic by design, but what happens inside them is still ours to shape. That feels worth protecting. That feels worth fighting for — especially on the hard days when we fall down and fully surrender to the big feelings. DRC NewsWeekly Wrap-up It was a full week! Monday passed in a blur with no photos taken. As mentioned, on Tuesday, we were feeling some wild full moon energy at DRC. Phew! Lots of action and big(!) feelings. Thursday at DRC featured tons of chill vibes and engagement. Our Kitchen Sink Science Experiment involved testing which carb makes yeast grow the best and making predictions. Conclusion: dark corn syrup, brown sugar, sugar, and honey all made significant CO2 in that order. Flour, corn meal, and milk had negligible growth after 45 min, and the control with just yeast and water had none. One unintended variable was the fact that the dark corn syrup contains molasses. Everyone was happily doing their thing, while cool conversations swirled all day long. B began making sourdough bread to be finished on Friday. They also made yummy paella for lunch. The three siblings were in the art room, buzzing with creativity. The middle sibling proclaimed herself the superhero maker and created her siblings’ superheroes, including a detailed list of powers, along with the youngest's costume, while the oldest designed his own. Digby even got in a few cuddles at the end of the day. We had a well-deserved, very chill Friday, featuring beautiful homemade sourdough bread and drop sugar cookies, and plenty of independent projects and activities. B was very proud of their first effort in their sourdough adventure. It was delicious!  DRC Pop-ups The Pop-Ups Peeps met at the Massena Library and had a good time playing UNO and socializing. They will meet at Nicandri this coming Thursday.
DRC Fundraiser  Author's Note: Pulling from the archives this week — too many competing ideas rattling around in my head, and not enough creative energy to wrestle them into something coherent. Enjoy this revised post from February 2016.  Kitchen Sink Science experiment on Friday After our most basic needs are met, two things stand between human beings and genuine contentment: affirmation and validation. Eastern philosophy reminds us that true happiness is an inside job — it cannot be bought, bartered, or commanded. And yet, we are profoundly social creatures. Connection and belonging aren't luxuries; for members of the primate order, they are biological imperatives. History has tested what happens when human interaction is stripped away entirely. The results — from institutional experiments on infants to solitary confinement — have been devastating, and widely condemned as a form of torture. We are simply not built for isolation. It follows, then, that genuine serenity and fulfillment are nourished by something deceptively simple: being seen, appreciated, and recognized by others — our gifts acknowledged, our essential selves accepted. Which raises an uncomfortable question: if affirmation is so fundamental to human wellbeing, why is it so often the first thing we withdraw the moment someone fails to meet our expectations? In conflict, we tend to reach instinctively for punishment, shame, or manipulation rather than conversation, acknowledgment, and understanding. We treat dignity and respect as something to be earned rather than something inherently owed. This impulse is rooted, I think, in a deep cultural anxiety — a fear that freely offering compassion and cooperation will produce a spoiled, entitled society. Here's the irony: we already have one. It just isn't coming from the people we're most worried about. A system built on carrots and sticks — doling out small rewards for conformity and harsh judgment for anyone who dares step outside its lines — is neither sustainable nor morally defensible. Strip people of their dignity, tell them explicitly or otherwise that they have no inherent worth, and they will seek that worth by whatever means available. We are watching this unfold in real time: propagandists and con artists spinning lies and making promises to those who feel most unseen and unheard. These are people who have already internalized society's contempt. Shaming them won't work. Arguing them out of it won't work—neither will change their thinking or their behavior. It is not our place to decide who deserves basic human needs — food, safe shelter, supportive accommodations, empathy, encouragement, respect. Every human being does. Full stop. Our collective epilogue is being written in real time, and I'll spare you the suspense: it is not trending toward the hopeful ending most of us want. But it doesn't have to end this way. So here is my challenge to you: roll up your sleeves and join me. Before the conclusion consigns itself to the inevitable, let's choose to reimagine it — with compassion, with kindness, with the courage to show up for one another. One honest conversation at a time. One unconditional connection at a time. One moment of genuine recognition at a time. The ending isn't written. But the window to change it won't stay open forever. DRC NewsWeekly Wrap-up Our first day back from break was pretty chill. We had an Economics class, multiple ongoing, intense conversations about a particular anime, and several hands-on projects, including sewing a stuffy and building a plaster of Paris embankment for the train set in the cellar. Tuesday: A teen showed up with a pristine box set of the manga books that the anime they were discussing on Monday is based on. One teen dove in and read two in quick succession, and others joined in and began reading too. And the conversation continued through the day. Three kiddos painted the embankment they made from plaster of paris for the train set. Thursday: Most of the crew went skating at the Canton Pavilion. Then some went sledding at the SUNY Canton hill after lunch. E found a very large stick on the walk there and pulled it out of the snow, declaring it the walking staff that he has been looking for. When they got back, he insisted that we should get the perfect photo of him holding the stick. The rest of the day was filled with various craft creations, computer time, and building with Magna-Tiles. A chill Friday at DRC included a kitchen sink science experiment that explored color. We made dots on a coffee filter with water-soluble markers and placed the bottom edge in water. And then watched the water wick through the colored dots. Some separated into the colors that were mixed to make that particular color, and others stayed the same. We should have used taller beakers because, in some cases, the separated colors traveled up past the stick holding the coffee filter. But otherwise, it worked well.  Fundraiser Summer Program Survey  The beginning of the storm on Friday evening in the deep woods. Author’s Note: A short one this week — because sometimes simplicity is the clearest path to being heard. On Thursday, two young women showed us exactly what it means to be a genuine good sport — bringing joy, authenticity, kindness, and warm generosity into the fiercely competitive world of figure skating for all of us to witness. It shouldn't feel remarkable. Yet somehow, it does. How we win and lose — how we carry ourselves when outcomes disappoint us — reveals everything about who we are. There is nothing quite as uncomfortable to witness as a sore loser, unless it's a sore winner. In a culture that glorifies cutthroat competition even in everyday life, treats winning as the only currency, and crowns ruthlessness as strength, simple decency has become a quiet act of rebellion. It doesn't have to be this way. What if kindness, generosity, and the courage to be wholly yourself weren't the exception — but the expectation? Thank you, Alysa and Amber, for leading the way. DRC News
The Pop-ups Peeps met at the Massena Library on Thursday and had an insightful discussion about the US Constitution. They will meet at the Massena Library again on the 26th.  Exciting News: I am facilitating a SOAR class this spring semester! If you are a senior and have wondered what Deep Root Center is all about, or want to learn more about the self-directed learning philosophy, check it out.  Fundraiser  DRC Swag
 Stirring the “ice cream" This past week had me silently screaming every profanity I know into the void—and inventing a few more. Not because of my DRC students, who’ve been doing great. But because I’m watching this administration run a protection racket with a presidential seal—in real time. Since last January, I’ve been thinking we are living a true-life version of Weekend at Bernie’s—people behind the scenes with actual power exploiting his narcissism, feeding him his lines (lies) and stroking his ego, trotting him out and propping him up while they run the grift, the cheating, the bullying, the exploitation, all of the diabolical actions. These are just three of those things that set me off this week: First, the SAVE Act—a pay-to-play scheme disguised as voting integrity that blocks women who changed their names from voting unless they have a passport, which this administration conveniently made harder to get by gutting passport office staff. Just another way to rig the vote after their gerrymandering scheme collapsed. The Republican Party has made it clear: they are very aware that the only way they can win is to cheat. As I write this, the SAVE Act has passed the House and sits in the Senate, where it will hopefully die. Second, the continued brutality unleashed on Minnesotans even after the administration announced ICE and Border Patrol operations were supposedly winding down. The real way to end this terror is through an appropriations bill that defunds ICE. I’m hopeful our representatives will stand firm and do it—because this isn’t just Minnesota, Chicago, LA, or Portland. ICE patrols are everywhere, intimidating and terrorizing regular people, even here in Northern New York, where local sheriffs are working with them. This isn’t, as they claim, a crackdown on illegal immigration, keeping us safer. They’re actively targeting and threatening anyone who disagrees with this administration’s bigoted, misogynist, ableist, xenophobic, homophobic, transphobic, white supremacist, oligarchic, fascist ideology. Finally, the Epstein files—the cover-ups, the lies, the lack of accountability, and the utter frustration that these horrors against children were possible in the first place, and that this still isn’t the thing taking this administration out. How is it conceivable that the monsters who hurt those children remain in power, still raking in money, and not behind bars at the very least? I’m constantly reminded that our kids are watching. Tuesday afternoon, two teens asked if I knew about Epstein—meaning the files, the revelations. Even without all the details, they know some people did some terrible sh*t and faced no consequences. I wonder if they may even, in some dark corner of their understanding, admire that kind of untouchability. What struck me wasn’t the question itself, but their assumption that I might be too sheltered, clueless, or just too old to know. I was caught off guard. I only managed “Yes, I know about him” before the moment passed. Looking back, I realize I probably missed a crucial opportunity to help them understand the inherent responsibility of leadership, the importance of accountability, what an effective, dependable, and trustworthy leader actually looks like, and why we can’t let exhaustion, and some people’s willingness to shrug and look the other way, stop us from demanding all those things from those in power. A lesson I’ll carry forward, even if I can’t reclaim that particular moment. DRC NewsWeekly Wrap-up We had a weird week before midwinter break. We had several kids out sick most of the week. On Tuesday, we closed early because of impending snow. On Thursday, a few spent the day on my land, playing in the snow, hanging out, eating chili, and entertaining my cats. And on Friday, we had most kids back and made “ice cream” for Valentine's Day in Kitchen Sink Science. The idea was to use packed snow with salt instead of ice to surround the bowl filled with the ice cream mixture. We did one outside, one inside, and the bag method, where you put a Ziploc filled with the ingredients inside another bag of snow and salt. The inside mixture came closest to ice cream, but that may have been due to CM's dedicated, vigorous whisking. At the end of the day, we poured our efforts into cups and called it a milkshake. Thanks to the SLU CBL students who helped kiddos look at snow, dish soap bubbles, and hot sauce with the microscopes. In case you were wondering: yes, there were very much alive, and wiggling, microscopic critters in all that snow you ate as a child! As mentioned, the DRC Crew is on midwinter break this coming week. We will be back to our adventures on Monday, 2/23.  Fundraising Raffle Purchase your chances to win $100 worth of NYS Lotto Tickets from any DRC family or online here. Drawing is on March 17th.  Thank you!  Thank you to Stewart’s Shops for the $350 grant towards essential needs. We are grateful for their continued support over the years.
 On the way to the SUNY CAnton Sledding Hill. When I think about authenticity, I consider how comfortable someone feels showing up as themselves. It's rarely straightforward—neurospicy people often don't feel safe letting their weird flag fly in unfamiliar places. Yet even when we're masking, fragments of our true selves slip through. Our core ethics, principles, and beliefs reveal themselves despite the mask. This applies to neurotypical people, too. Based on behavior—not what people say but what they do—it's fairly easy to determine someone's morals. Though maybe that's just my particular flavor of neurospicy giving me a knack for seeing through facades. I base my impression of how well a student is fitting into DRC on a few things, but the main one is their willingness to be themselves and stick to their moral compass. Sometimes it takes a while. Even though our environment is inherently designed as a safe space, we're working with real people who have real emotions, real history, and varied neurologies. Being genuine matters because it makes connection easier—it inspires trust and paves the way for meaningful relationships. People can detect a fake from a mile away. Most of us relate to those who more closely resemble our own messy, chaotic, real lives. Successful content creators and entertainers understand this instinctively. Bad Bunny—the Puerto Rican artist who is headlining the Super Bowl Halftime Show and won multiple Grammys—exemplifies this principle. Despite industry pressure to record in English for broader appeal, he sings every song in Spanish and celebrates his Puerto Rican heritage unapologetically. He was told it would ruin his career. Instead, his commitment to his roots, culture, and mental health made him a global phenomenon. The pattern holds true whether you're building a community, creating content, entertaining, or simply trying to connect with another human being. Authenticity isn't just morally right—it's practically effective. When we show up as ourselves, we give others permission to do the same. And that's where real connection begins. DRC NewsWeekly Wrap-up This week flew by—filled with plenty of activities and projects, such as a kitchen sink science activity that included making insulated containers to see how long they would keep snow from melting, and which material worked best. Each cup got 2oz of snow. And we have a control set out at room temp. One of our Chromebooks had the black screen of death, and KP began the process of fixing it with the help of YouTube videos. He figured out that the OS was corrupt, uploaded a new one, and thought he had it, but then found an additional issue with the battery. We purchased a new one, and he installed it. We discovered that the scruffy old fake leather chair in the seedlings room, which had been shedding fake leather pieces for years, had beautiful upholstery underneath. J helped take off that ratty outer layer to reveal the new aesthetic. On Friday, we welcomed our three SLU Community-Based Learning Volunteers for the Spring Semester. In addition to going outside, they also had fun playing UNO with the Crew. Oh, and on Monday, we celebrated the triplets’ 16th birthday!  The Crew even got in some quality outside time. Besides sledding earlier in the week at the SUNY C Hill, K & E decided to try out the cross-country skis. On Friday, K took them out again, with E (who had not skied in a couple of years), and two of our SLU CBL volunteers agreed to join them. After a bit of struggle to get the skis on, they enjoyed their very first ski adventure.  Fundraiser It is time for our annual Lotto Ticket Raffle. You can purchase tickets from any of our families or online by clicking the button below. Thank you for supporting DRC!!!  Author’s Note: This is not the fun piece I had intended to write this week. Sometimes, real life has a way of changing plans and creating opportunities. This is one of those times.  Having fun with a coin toss physics lesson in Kitchen Sink Science class When someone retreats to "I'm just joking" or "it's just a joke" after being called out, they're not offering the defense they think they are. These phrases are a transparent cover for cruelty—an attempt to repackage unacceptable behavior as harmless banter while posturing as tough for an audience. The disguise fools no one, and no one is laughing. We recognize it for what it is: another tool in the bully's arsenal. Authentic comedy can be a powerful device to discuss controversial issues—but it should never turn vulnerable people into punchlines or use language that demeans them. Period. The questions I'm left struggling with: How do we teach empathy to those who reach for this excuse again and again? How do we break the cycle of peer pressure that reinforces it? How do we get them actually to care? What drives the desire to hurt others in the first place? Those of us who can't imagine intentionally harming someone struggle to understand those who can. I know I'm not alone in lying awake, replaying my day, wondering if I inadvertently hurt someone. This is probably why I can't easily answer my own questions without considerable thought and research. The other variable complicating these questions is the Deep Root Center's Self-Directed Learning philosophy, grounded in trust and non-coercion. When a student betrays that trust, I feel it deeply—while knowing I can't force atonement. Coercion doesn't create genuine remorse or lasting change. It breeds resentment. What I can do: discuss the impact of their actions, acknowledge my own disappointment and anger—because I'm human—ask them to take responsibility rather than make excuses, involve their parents, and offer opportunities for meaningful growth through restorative practices. Ultimately, the decision is theirs. They know that if they can't uphold our one rule of respect in good faith to rebuild trust, DRC isn't the right place for them, and they will have to leave. I don't have answers yet. But after all these years, I know that changing hearts and minds is slow, uncertain work, especially when someone has built their social currency on making others feel small. What I can offer is consistency: clear boundaries, honest conversations, and genuine opportunities for repair. Some students will rise to meet that challenge. Others won't—at least not yet. All I can do is create the conditions where growth is possible and trust that the work matters, even when I don't see immediate results and feel the weight of discouragement. That's when I need to catch myself and remember to celebrate even the tiniest step forward, along with all of the good I witness every day. DRC NewsWeekly Wrap-up The DRC Canton Crew had another short week with a snow day on Monday. We were also missing Chris, who was out sick. For the most part, we had a positive vibe running through the Center—kids fully engaged and doing their thing, but as you can probably surmise from the essay this week, we had a few tough moments to work through. I also didn’t catch much of the action in photos. DRC Pop-ups The Pop-ups Peeps met at Nicandri Nature Center this Thursday and had a great time playing in the snow. They will meet at Nicandri again this coming Thursday, February 5th.  The Art Room - a center for conversations and fun experiments on Friday afternoon. Newton's Third Law states that for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. This might seem like pure physics, but as I was mulling over ideas for this week's post, I realized the principle extends powerfully into human dynamics. I began thinking about my home—the North Country of New York State—and the friction between generations-old residents and newcomers who arrive as students or professors at one of our four universities. It's a dynamic I've struggled to explain to people from outside the region. The best way to describe the mindset of native North Country folks is to reflect on the geography itself. As with most isolated places, the North Country has traditionally been cut off and left behind. In the early days, the wilderness of the Adirondack Mountains to the south acted as a barrier not only to goods but also to new ideas, innovations, trends, and fads. Many of the original settlers came from Canada, Vermont, and Massachusetts—including my own ancestors. These were stoically, resilient people, already accustomed to hardscrabble living (which probably explains why so many roads in this area bear that name), seeking the farmland and natural resources found in abundance here. As transportation options were invented and roads modernized, more people found their way here, and it became easier to leave. Passenger trains were an alternative, with stations in each small village, until the 50s or 60s, when these routes were discontinued as the interstate system was built. Today, a personal vehicle is essential to go anywhere. The closest airports have limited destinations and are heavily subsidized by the federal government. Most residents must travel at least two to three hours to reach a larger airport. All to say—though we are less isolated now, both geographically and through digital connection, that independent, survivalist, stubborn mindset endures. This is where Newton's Third Law comes into play. Direct resistance to new ideas, innovation, and progress—the action—brings inevitable consequences: the reaction. This resistance is so deeply embedded in our collective psyche that we continually make choices that work against our own best interests, including our voting patterns. The indirect impact of those decisions is devastating. This past week, Claxton-Hepburn Hospital announced the closure of all its clinics across the North Country. One hundred twenty people lost their jobs, and our already strained healthcare system took another blow—pushing us closer to becoming a medical care desert. With health insurance costs soaring, people will delay or avoid care altogether. The result will be preventable deaths. Other factors contributed to this crisis, but the root cause traces directly to the bill Congress passed this summer. This isn’t politics as usual. It’s cruelty dressed up as policy, sold to the public through lies and propaganda, while real people lose access to the care that keeps them alive. This is not an attempt to blame the victims—I place the full weight of responsibility for every tragedy on this regime and its propaganda machine. As an anthropologist, I'm trained to observe human behavior and identify patterns. Our resistance to change runs so deep in our culture that breaking free requires more than information or argument—it demands understanding the historical forces that forged it. That's my job—as a multigenerational member of this community, a writer, and a mentor at Deep Root Center: to illuminate the opportunities that emerge when we choose curiosity over assumption, when we ask questions instead of accepting inherited answers, and when we make decisions based on concern, empathy, and current realities rather than clinging to strategies that once worked but no longer serve us. Given access to information and permission to explore genuine possibilities, our young people can break cycles of poverty and isolation that have persisted for generations—while preserving what defines us: the resilience, independence, and deep connection to this beautiful place we call home. DRC NewsWeekly Wrap-up With MLK Day on Monday, it was another short week. We managed to pack those three days with plenty of activities, projects, and good vibes. Unfortunately, we forgot to document most everything on Tuesday and Thursday, but tried to make up for it on Friday. We said goodbye to Lilly, our DRC apprentice. We are grateful for everything she brought to our crew- her positivity, welcoming presence, love for books and music, and most especially her joyful laughter. We will all miss her, but we send her off with our thanks and very best wishes for a bright future. Besides the usual projects and activities, our designated cooks made chocolate cake with vanilla frosting for Lilly and chicken quesadillas for lunch. Maria's mom even stopped in unexpectedly to get help with an iPad issue she was having. Thanks, TS, for assisting.  Goodbye, Lilly  After another brutal news week, I'm done tiptoeing around the elephant in the room. Last year, in the days following the inauguration, I noted in my weekly posts that what we were witnessing transcended politics. On January 25, 2025, I wrote: "Understand, though appearances suggest otherwise—this is not politics. It is simply a means to an end, designed to divide the population and advance a vicious agenda." As we approach the one-year mark of this nightmarish hellscape, I'm reminded daily that bullies only know one language. When leadership is defined by abuse, criminality, and thuggery, it inevitably attracts every other bad actor eager to join the cause. We all know Project 2025 isn't an actual governing plan—it's a retaliatory hit list. Its architects are con artists and thugs who've weaponized the system with one purpose: punish dissenters, reward loyalists. Which brings me to my original point: how to recognize a bully.
These patterns hold true whether we're talking about a schoolyard bully or those currently running the country. The scale changes. The tactics don't. Families have flooded my inbox exploring homeschooling—primarily because bullying has intensified in local schools. This surge isn't coincidental. When those at the highest levels model bullying behavior, it cascades downward into schools, communities, and daily interactions. Standing up to bullies doesn't mean matching their violence or descending to their level. The most powerful response is often holding firm to your convictions while actively protecting the vulnerable. This is how we transform tragedy: by embodying the kindness, compassion, and care that leadership refuses to demonstrate. Every deliberate act of decency becomes resistance—and a source of hope. This is not the time for passivity, despair, or retreat into victimhood. The worst outcomes aren't inevitable—they only become so when good people surrender to silence and hopelessness. We prevent them by standing up—in whatever way fits who you are—and declaring: "Not on my watch.” DRC NewsWeekly Wrap-up The Crew had a short week with a snow day on Thursday. Among many other things, we had plenty of kitchen adventures and froze bubbles in Kitchen Sink Science.  Thank you! Shouts of thanks to the Northern New York Community Foundation for supporting Deep Root Center's Explore the NoCo Field Trip Project with a $1000 grant specifically for admissions to various venues & guest speakers. We will be going on a field trip every two weeks - a total of 18 over the next year. We have a list going, but if you have any ideas for where we should go, drop them in the comments. Thanks!  Author's Note: This week brought more heavy national news. I often struggle with concern and despair for our country and its most vulnerable populations, while balancing that weight against the good happening directly around me. Every day I'm surrounded by happy kids doing their thing. Four new members joined us this week, with one or two more likely next week. I've also been working with several new families who want to homeschool independently. Families are actively seeking alternatives to public school, and Deep Root Center is on their radar. That keeps me incredibly busy and feeling immensely fulfilled.  A walk back from the SUNY C sledding hill. Trust forms the foundation of self-directed learning. During initial meetings with new families, I make one thing clear from the start: I trust every child who walks through DRC's doors. This trust operates on multiple levels. I'm confident that each child intuitively understands what they need to grow and learn, and that they'll naturally pursue those things—including learning to trust themselves rather than what society tells them. I also trust they'll honor our community agreement, which opens with a simple phrase: Respect yourself, each other, and this space. Do they sometimes need reminders? Of course. But within a short time, it becomes clear whether a child is invested enough in membership to uphold that agreement. Sometimes this requires a conversation or two. Usually, it leads to self-awareness, taking responsibility, and an apology, if warranted. When I fully embrace trust—getting out of the way and allowing each child's curiosity to lead—things flow beautifully. Kids explore and discover, everyone engages deeply, and the Center hums with energy. That hum isn't always quiet or decorous. Loud and boisterous? Absolutely. I am often reminded that trust runs both ways. We understand, and take seriously, that every family is placing their child in our care. This often comes with hesitation and skepticism because our philosophy flies in the face of convention. But within the first day—sometimes within an hour-long visit—that uncertainty dissolves when they see how happy and engaged their child is. It's hard to argue with radiating excitement and joy. We're building a space where everyone feels comfortable enough to be themselves. At the end of the day, isn't that what we all want—to be trusted, cared for, and supported as we find our way to our authentic selves? DRC NewsAs mentioned above, this first week back from Holiday Break was a busy one. Welcome to all of our new kiddos and their families! To add another layer to our usual chaos, our T-Mobile internet went out for the last half of the week. Apparently, a router is considered a dinosaur when it is four years old. We received the new one on Friday afternoon; however, I fear getting it set up is going to include another lengthy phone call with T-Mobile, because it was not cooperating after the first few tries. I submitted to frustration and exhaustion but will go back to it Monday morning with a fresh brain and new perspective.  The DRC Pop-ups Peeps had a great time at the Massena Library this past Thursday. Janine reported a lot of great far-ranging conversations, fun, laughter inducing games, and shared thoughts about future plans, including college. They will meet at Nicandri next week. We are hoping to expand the number of kiddos who participate in the Pop-ups. All homeschool families are welcome. Learn more: here.  As we enter 2026, ambitious resolutions abound—healthy eating, exercise, reading goals, more travel. But here's the problem: when we measure our worth against societal norms or others' achievements, we chase a version of success that was never ours to begin with—and often can't be reached to our satisfaction. We're left feeling like failures, believing we're not good enough. This sense of defeat obscures a fundamental truth: each of us is inherently different. Our neurology, personality, upbringing, health, wants, needs, and environment are entirely our own—which means we each have distinct gifts and talents to offer the world. How I approach something may be completely different from how someone else tackles the same activity, project, or problem—and both strategies are absolutely valid. Take my recent foray into sourdough bread. Multiple social media groups share recipes and protocols. I found basic instructions for a starter and made my first loaf within a week. But then, over those first two weeks, I started obsessing over perfect feeding ratios and hydration levels—chasing what others deemed the "perfect loaf." I never stopped to consider that lots of open holes in the crumb isn't even something I appreciate in my bread. A few days ago, I realized I don't need to pursue someone else's ideal. I can make a delicious loaf according to my own criteria: solid, multi-layered flavor, a good rise, and a squishy, loosely packed crumb with just a few small holes.  My goal is to keep the process fun by experimenting with both the starter and the recipe, not following arbitrary hard-and-fast rules. The byproduct is delicious—or at least acceptably edible—loaves of bread. After all, winging it in the kitchen is my signature move. Why should sourdough get special treatment? My DRC Cooking Crew will tell you we rarely follow recipes to the letter. Understanding the basics, then experimenting and adapting—that's the key to intuitive cooking. It's a metaphor for life. Lofty aspirations matter—but only when they're truly yours and align with your needs and lifestyle. By all means, dream big, commit to growth, and dive into your latest hyper-fixation. Just remember to play, relax, make the most of the messes that will be made and mistakes that will happen, and enjoy the journey without comparing it to anyone else's. Because at the end of the day, the only version of success that truly satisfies is the one you define for yourself. Your journey is yours alone—and that's exactly what makes it valuable. DRC News
Is your child struggling with the thought of going back to school after this long holiday break? January doesn’t have to mean returning to a place that makes your child deeply unhappy. Deep Root Center is a viable alternative that supports each young person’s needs, interests, and goals. We are here to listen. Get in touch today to schedule a visit.  As 2025 draws to a close—a year that somehow stretched endlessly yet vanished in an instant—I find myself examining how we all were challenged to confront apathy, cruelty, and injustice head-on while maintaining our authenticity, empathy, and respect for others. Through it all, these ten foundational truths have grounded me and enabled me to move forward into 2026 with newfound knowledge about myself and the world.
Happy 2026 The DRC Crew will be back on January 5th, just in time to celebrate our 12th Birthday! Help Us Keep Our PromiseThank you to everyone who has contributed to the Deep Root Center 2025 funding appeal. To those who haven’t yet, but want to help us keep our promise, you still have time. Any contribution that arrives before midnight on Dec. 31 is eligible for a 2025 tax write-off.   From the DRC family to yours, may your Holiday Season be filled with light, kindness, and peace.
Author’s Note: Ten years after writing this post— when DRC was in its infancy—I'm struck by how these themes remain not only relevant but perhaps even more urgent in our daily lives. This week brought some challenges, and revisiting these words proved to be exactly the reminder I needed. With a bit of revision and polish, the message remains true. Building Up vs. Tearing Down December 21, 2015 I don't play computer games—not because I think they lack value, but because I'm extremely sensitive to visual and auditory stimuli. And, to be honest, they frustrate the hell out of me. My lack of coordination and inability to follow instructions are stories for another day. That said, Minecraft has captured the imagination of an entire generation, particularly school-age children. From my exceedingly limited experience (all five minutes of it), the game seems to center on one essential choice: building up or tearing down a world. This binary—build or destroy—offers a useful lens for understanding several heartbreaking stories I've heard recently. In each case, a child was emotionally harmed (and in one instance, physically) because unhappy adults responded to the child's behavior by tearing them down rather than building them up. Here's what I know to be true: The only way to help someone make positive changes is to build them up—to cheer them on, encourage them, and offer guidance, support, and choices. Tearing someone down and belittling them doesn't inspire change. It only increases their pain and, like in Minecraft, destroys their world. I recently encountered a story from South Africa that illustrates this beautifully. When a village member misbehaves, the elders bring them to the center of the village. The community surrounds them—not with condemnation, but with words of praise, celebrating everything beautiful about that person. Their belief? That love and encouragement inspire positive choices, for both the individual and the community. This practice reflects the African philosophy of Ubuntu. In their world, punishment doesn't exist because they understand its detrimental and irrevocable consequences. It's one more example of how Western civilization isn't nearly as "civilized" as many indigenous cultures around the world. I work with children who've experienced punishment, belittlement, judgment, and fear tactics—children penalized simply for being themselves. These negative interactions accumulate in their impressionable minds into one crushing conclusion: I am broken. There is something fundamentally wrong with me. People often ask what my role is at Deep Root Center if I'm not functioning as a traditional teacher. My answer is unsophisticated but essential: I build kids up. I appreciate them. I love them. I celebrate their accomplishments. I listen to their stories and ideas. I offer opportunities for meaningful work based on their interests and aspirations. I support them in becoming their best, truest selves—while maintaining the boundaries that keep them safe and accountable. It’s a constant balancing act between unconditional affirmation and clear accountability, grounded in reality. There are challenging days that make me question everything, and then moments of grace arrive—unbidden and perfect—reminding me that transformation happens slowly, quietly, and always on its own timeline. Together, we dismantle the walls of misconception and untruth, building in their place an internal foundation of self-love and respect—one that honors their authentic selves while extending empathy and understanding to others. My goal is both simple and subtle: to help students see themselves as beautiful human beings with abundant gifts to offer the world, and to help them recognize and celebrate these same gifts in each other. DRC NewsThese weeks between Thanksgiving and the December Holiday Break always feel a bit weird, almost disconnected from reality. Daylight has diminished, winter has effectively begun, and for some of us, a different kind of tiredness brings an overwhelming desire to hibernate for a few weeks. Additionally, some kids bring over-the-top energy that doesn’t always feel useful or welcome. This week was extra disorienting because of the snow day on Thursday. You will also notice a decided lack of photos for the week—oops. The exciting news is that we added three new members on Monday, and they seem to be fitting in nicely. The crew has also started creating their D&D characters. We got the official playbook from the library, and Lilly is facilitating this beginning process. We are looking for a DM to run our game when we get back in January. If you would like to help, please let me know.  Gifts Sometimes the perfect gift isn’t wrapped in paper or bows, doesn’t cost the earth, and won't take up much physical space, but can have an enormous impact. Contributing to Deep Root Center in honor of an important person in your life has far-reaching consequences for you, the receiver, and the children that Deep Root Center supports. Quite simply, your gift helps us keep our promise of offering our pay-what-you-can policy to the North Country. We are changing lives, and you can help. Thank you!  Perfection is my enduring aspiration. Unfortunately, my neurospiciness has other priorities—creativity, spontaneity, impulsiveness, flexibility, and the persistent belief that nothing is ever truly finished. The result? I spend hours checking, rechecking, and then checking a dozen more times for obvious errors, misspellings, grammar mishaps, and any slip-ups that might make me look less competent than I am. As I mentioned earlier this fall, one of my biggest fears is appearing foolish or incompetent. Case in point: I revised our funding appeal compulsively. I had multiple people review it. I checked the proof before sending it to the printer. And still, the moment I opened the package, there it was—an error staring back at me. I'd accidentally added a white version of the DRC logo in Canva, which disappeared against the white background in the digital proof but showed up plain as day in print. Despite all my efforts, the mistake slipped through. It's just one more in a daily catalog of "oops" moments that persist no matter how hard I try. Here's the paradox: I obsess over these details because I've learned I usually miss them—especially the most obvious and important ones. Yet I can walk into a room and immediately sense that someone was there before me, simply because something was moved an inch to the left. My brain notices everything and nothing, all at once. This quest for perfection extends beyond projects—writing, cooking, crafts—to my appearance, housekeeping, and even my behavior around others. A telling example: before a leg ultrasound this past week to rule out blood clots (negative, thankfully), I felt compelled to shave so the technician wouldn't encounter my very furry wintertime legs. I didn't end up doing it—the cold bathroom and mental exhaustion won that battle—but the urge itself was revealing. Why was I so ready to modify my body for a medical professional who's seen thousands of legs? The absurdity hit me: I'd internalized this need to preemptively manage other people's comfort, real or imagined. I recognize this people-pleasing urge for what it is—61 years strong, rarely useful, rarely healthy. But awareness doesn't stop it. What does? Inconvenience. A cold bathroom. The extra ten minutes. And that's what bothers me most: I spend my days mentoring young people, encouraging them to be unapologetically themselves, to embrace the quirks and differences that make them authentic. Yet I can't seem to extend that same grace to myself. As I've been writing this, something just clicked into place. The anxiety, the fear of appearing incompetent—it all traces back to decades of masking, of trying to pass as "normal," of constantly monitoring myself to hide the ways my brain works differently. This weekly blog continues to be cathartic. It lets me take whatever bubbles up during the week and work through it on the page. In the process, I'm learning to accept the whole package: the weird, quirky, unconventional, still-learning-and-growing human I actually am. And maybe, within all of that messy authenticity, I'll find what I'm really after—not perfection, but grace, acceptance, and gratitude. Not despite the imperfections, but because of them. Thank you for coming along on this adventure. If the lessons I'm stumbling through as I write resonate with your own journey, or give you permission to embrace your own messy authenticity, then that makes the fumbling worthwhile. DRC NewsWeekly Wrap-up The DRC Canton Crew had a full week. Some teens rediscovered the building toys in the Seedlings room and spent a good deal of time building towers. In Kitchen Sink Science, we are experimenting with several variables to determine which slice of bread grows mold the fastest. Lilly brought in a game to play. The kitchen was busy all week, making our lunches every day and baking banana-blueberry muffins on Friday. Digby supervised the action from his favorite spots. And, there is finally enough snow to go sledding! We had four teens visit on Friday. Two of them will be joining us on Monday.  The DRC Pop-Ups Peeps had a blast with a new game on Thursday afternoon at the Massena Public Library. Janine reports that they laughed so hard they were crying.  Good News It is official! Deep Root Center owns this old place - in all its glory! The discharge of mortgage came through on Thursday morning.
 This week the US celebrated Thanksgiving, and as usual it hit me with conflicting emotions and sentiments. As a child, I called this holiday my favorite—but honestly, I was all about the food. My family celebrated with my maternal grandparents, the ones I highlighted in last week's post. My mother was an only child, so it was just my parents, grandparents, and three siblings gathered around the table. As you can imagine from my descriptions of cooking with my beloved Gram, it was always a feast to behold. We'd watch the Macy's Parade, then eat and eat and eat. None of the adults were really football fans, so I wasn't exposed to that part of the tradition. As a child of the '60s, I was taught the story of the first Thanksgiving as a rite of passage, without question. No one—at least that I heard—thought to challenge it. It wasn't until my mid-30s, when I was majoring in Anthropology at SUNY Potsdam, that I fully understood the atrocities inflicted upon Native peoples by my own ancestors—atrocities we have so cleverly disguised through sanitized stories and selective retellings of history. I try to reconcile those facts daily: the people I come from made my presence here possible through hundreds of years of colonization—stealing land and lives from the people who were already here, destroying their culture, traditions, and languages in the process. Which brings me to the following truths that I believe with my whole being:
DRC NewsWeekly Wrap-up The DRC Canton Crew had a short week and most of it was spent in the kitchen prepping for the traditional Thanksgiving feast (with chickens instead of turkey) we served for DRC families. Thank you to everyone who came to hang out and eat with us.  Big News  Gratitude - This simple envelope that was sent Wednesday, 11/26 represents an enormous positive step forward for Deep Root Center. It contains the final payment to discharge the mortgage on 48 Riverside Drive. For those who don't know, because we are a small not-for profit and no bank would even consider working with us seven years ago, the previous owner graciously held the mortgage for us. He even extended the time period two years ago when we couldn't raise the balloon payment. Now, thanks to a tip from our accountant, Nathan Wray, we were able to secure a 5 year loan from AmeriCu in Watertown to make this final payment a year early. It brings our monthly financial obligation down to 60% of what we were paying, and we won't have a balloon payment to worry about. We are deeply grateful for everyone who has helped us along the way to this momentous occasion!  Despite this incredible boost, we still need your support during our fall funding appeal to fulfill our promise to the NoCo community. Our pay-what-you-can policy keeps DRC accessible to families who otherwise couldn't afford to send their children. Last year alone, we provided $124,000 in fee assistance, and we're on track to provide more than $64,000 this year. You can help us keep our promise to the folks of the North Country who rely on our services.
 Kitchen Sink Science - Experimenting with various slime recipes. Author’s Note: I spent several days searching for the right words to describe something specific: how my neurospicy quirks have sharpened with age, particularly this maddening inability to follow directions. Not rebellion—actual paralysis. Multi-step instructions, whether verbal or written, trigger something between confusion and a panicked state of overwhelm that stops me dead in my tracks. Saturday morning, when nothing came to me, I turned to the archives, hoping an old piece might get the creativity flowing. The search didn’t last long. I immediately found “Life Tales,” written seven years ago—three and a half years before I discovered I’m AuDHD. Reading it now, I was struck by how clearly I’d described my personal quirks without understanding their neurological roots: the stubbornness and persistence, the shyness, all of it. But here’s what moves me most: even without that crucial context, I was already honoring those traits as essential parts of who I am. That kind of self-acceptance took years to build. I spend my days with kids working through personal shame and disappointment—whether related to their neurodivergence, body type, or other natural traits. Some actively choose the victim role, making everything negative someone else’s fault. Others hide. Some instigate or lash out aggressively to deflect their own perceived flaws. Our daily conversations circle back to the same core truths: take responsibility for your actions and make choices that reflect who you truly are. Own your quirks and differences as the positive trademarks they are, the things others will genuinely appreciate. Blame, instigation, and aggression, whether toward self or others, only sabotages the authenticity and connections you’re trying to build. I hope you enjoy the below edited version that got the creative juices running this week.No matter what we’re experiencing at the Center, I can always look back and find something that speaks to our current moment. Life Tales November 25, 2018 I was reminded today that each of our lives is made up of the collective stories we create (live) throughout our lifetime. The most amazing part is that these individual tales are completely unique to each of us. I have three siblings, but the family recollections we share about particular events are completely different. In fact, I think I have fewer memories of our childhood than my brothers and sister, and I am the eldest. I can, however, reminisce about the insane amount of time I spent with my grandparents—I recall it being every weekend and weeks on end during the summer—but it probably wasn't that often. It is where I learned to cook and appreciate garden-fresh fruits and vegetables while standing on a stool at my beloved Nama's elbow. And where I could pick raspberries, eating more than ever went in the pail to make the most delicious pies and tarts. It is where I learned that perfection was not always required, when my grandma proclaimed, "It won't show from the road," after I had ripped out and resewn a crooked hem three times in the skirt I was making. I recall the smell of my Poppy's cigar and pipe smoke surrounding his massive recliner, crawling into bed with my Gram after he left for the early shift at Alcoa, donuts oozing with raspberry jelly from the Norwood bakery dunked in milky coffee, and sweet and gooey Sugar Daddy lollipops from Perry's market. Grandma and Poppy's was my happy place. It was where I was accepted and loved for myself without having to share any of that attention with my sibs, where the bedsheets were cool and crisp with the smell of summer sunshine, where I could read all day if I desired, and where ice cream sundaes with hard-crack chocolate syrup were a nightly ritual. I think we forget that our personal identities are often tied directly to the narratives that our loved ones recite about us, as well as the personal lore we tell ourselves. Some of those tales are positive and allow us to see ourselves as proficient and successful, while others have the opposite effect. Those negative anecdotes we tell (and believe) about ourselves are, I suspect, the most damaging of all. I recognize that my childhood stories have played a major role in creating the person I am today. I can say that cooking is an innate skill that I love because I had the opportunity to do so as a very young child. My tendency to do the opposite of everyone else—to walk my own path based on my unique ideas and to stubbornly persist until the very obvious end—was born right there on those five acres of pure and unadulterated childhood paradise. It is also where I recognized that I am extremely shy and that, if given the opportunity, I will hide out with a book instead of interacting with people. To this day, over ten years after her death, I feel my grandmother's loving energy surrounding me. I know without a doubt that she is my guardian angel and that she is so proud of all I have accomplished. I encourage you to take time to examine your personal narrative—are you telling it with a favorable and affirmative spin, or are you weaving your tale with negative vibes? If it is the latter, consider a revision that includes writing yourself in as the hero. Honor your idiosyncrasies, as well as your skills, and talents. Take ownership of all that is you. And celebrate. DRC NewsDRC Canton Weekly Round-up The Canton Crew had a fun week. Our diehard winter lovers tried to go sledding on the SUNY Canton Hill with only a dusting of snow - twice! In Kitchen Sink Science, they each took one slime/cloud dough recipe that came from social media posts to see if it would work. Once the discovered that the recipes were flawed, they spent time experimenting with various ingredients—but in the end found that the only way the recipes would work was to embellish them with traditional slime ingredients—glue and activator. This activity served two purposes - (a) you can't believe everything you see on the internet and (b) sometimes it is OK to play around and get messy to figure something out. We had a great time at the SUNY Canton Field House on our Thursday field trip. They played basketball with regulation hoops, practiced making soccer goals, and walked the track. We had a very chill vibe going on a rainy Friday. K made a cheesecake for our Thanksgiving meal this coming Tuesday when we traditionally welcome all of our families to join us.  Help us Keep Our Promise As we head into the season of gratitude and giving, I am highlighting, once again, the ways you can support our work and the promise we made to the NoCo community over a decade ago: to help any child who requests our services. You can make a one-time or monthly donation, or set up a sponsorship. Or if you're looking for alternatives to material gifts, a meaningful way to honor a friend, family member, or someone special in your life—is to make a donation to DRC in their name. Click the button below and simply provide us with their name and address, and we'll send them a note informing them of your thoughtful gift. You could also help celebrate my 61st birthday this past Tuesday by contributing to a Facebook fundraiser, which is live until the 28th. If you wish, you can also donate through Venmo - @WholeLearners, or send a check directly to Deep Root Center - 48 Riverside Dr., Canton, NY 13617 |
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Deep Root Center
48 Riverside Drive, Canton, NY 13617
315*323*1435/[email protected]
Deep Root Center
48 Riverside Drive, Canton, NY 13617
315*323*1435/[email protected]