This summer, I had the extraordinary privilege of making some new friends, who are building a primitive skills school in Down East Maine. I spent a few days with them helping them build their school in return for some lessons on primitive fire making, mackerel smoking, squirrel processing, and fiber arts. I highly recommend their school to others. This was my experience…
The eastern morning has arrived—the first light— the light used to name the local Passamaquoddy People of the Dawn. It’s golden and warm, like the sundrop primrose flowers scattered across the meadow.
Welcome to Way of the Earth School.
This is where your people are. Where you always knew you belonged. Among those who don’t just love nature, but feel nature within them. Those who seek out the primitive pathways in life, collecting their own food, carving and forging their own tools, spinning and wrapping their own fibers, living and breathing their own dreams, not the dreams manufactured for them on TV and video games. This is the way the Earth intended for us to be, the way it cared for us for millennia, like we cared for it.
At Way of the Earth School, Hannah, Colby and Kara combine their knowledge of traditional skills from around the world to deliver an authentic, personalized learning experience. The pedagogy combines the muscle of the feminine with the finesse of the masculine to empower eager minds of all identities. Whether you want to learn how to grow fire from a pine shaft or how to spin basswood into fiber using an Apache spindle, this is the place for you. The teachers are patient and filled with a nurturing spirit.
Spending time with them is transformative to the soul, demonstrating the depth of contentment that comes with practicing deep sustainability. Hannah, Colby, and Kara are not just teaching hands-on primitive skills, but they are also teaching a new culture, one of ancient origins re-applied to our modern ailing society.
After many laughs, many steps, and many hours, you rest on beautiful logs hauled from the forest and sit in front of the wild flame, smelling the sweet aroma of smoke from centuries ago, centuries forgotten.
And when the darkness wraps her arms around you, the frogs begin their chorus from the swamp, entertaining the tear-thumb plants crowded on the muddy banks.
The days here are full and the nights are heavy, covered in a blanket of fog. In the night sky, the trees gently brush their leaves back and forth, painting the stars. The ancient is alive here. And it lives within you.