A Blank Slate

Though our little “school that could” has gone through many iterations, edits, improvements, and resets, it’s been quite a while since the School has experienced a truly “blank slate” opportunity.

Alumni enrolled during the years, 1999 through 2002, will remember the purpose-driven scramble of purchasing 8204 Flower. Losing our lease at the church could have been the end of our cooperative school. It happens to so many cooperatives that rely on the kindness of churches. And that Flower Ave bungalow itself is almost the same age as the cooperative! Actually just a bit younger. The house was being used as a daycare, so we were able to step in pretty quickly though with A LOT of elbow grease and gumption. The parents and staff knocked out walls, refinished the floors, installed bathrooms, and painted inside and out.

Over the years, again with the labor (of love), parents and staff renovated the play yard, adding features, and changed the program to meet the World as it throws challenge after challenge. This year, the Board took our savings, collected from years of hard work in our Summer program and from our primary fundraiser, the Survival Guide (if you know, you know) and put those funds towards creating a space that would give voice to our intentions.

We hope to grow joy, hold sanctuary, and provide safety.

After intense months of slow steps, shifting timelines, and moments that tested our patience, I was reminded that what can feel like an endless process is often the very path that leads us back to our purpose.

I was doing some much-needed gardening in the front parking lot one morning when a neighbor stopped her USPS truck to tell me how “proud” she was that we installed an abilities lift at the school. She told me that it is a gift to the neighbors, a way to show that we cared. I invited her in, but of course she was working her route. She certainly has a standing invitation.

Here is what — I could suddenly feel a return of the hopefulness. The frustrations, the tangles of to-do lists, the navigating of relationships between builder, architect, and our own school community all melted away. Our building, not just the physical structure, but our intentions had been seen.

I put the rake down and I turned to look at what has been accomplished. So much.

Now, we are at that stage of the new iteration of our school where rubber meets the road. We’re fundraising for furnishings even as we pour our energy into daily life with children.

It’s a hopeful moment — but one that asks us to step up. Every generation of our community of families and staff has built something lasting for the next. Now it’s our turn to do the work that ensures future children will stand on strong, generous shoulders.