Adrian Castro Summer 2010 Trails I cant remember my first ride up Savoy Mountain, my first tent talk, nor

my first schmoo. I can barely remember my first tent group, but to be honest those things really arent that important. What really matters is how these memories and experiences have integrated into me so well that I dont even notice them. They flow through me with each and every breath in no specific order; each memory is as important as the last. Ive never attempted to apply chronology to all these thoughts, experiences and emotions, but now, as I prepare for the next phase of my life, it seems like the perfect time to do so. I was a goofy looking twelve year old. I had a large afro, clothes that were either too small or too large, and feet that were larger than my head. Luckily, I was entirely ignorant of my awkward exterior and much more focused on having fun. Although I didnt know it, I entered session three as one of the youngest students. My first trip was on the Long Trailup and over Mt. Bromley. I completed the trip, and the one after that, which was a harrowing, exciting trip down the Battenkill River. To be frank these trips, while fun, were altogether unimportant. It was the last three days of the summer that really impacted me. On the day before Wacky Olympics, August 17, 2005, I was called into the directors office. I was nervous; the director always appeared omnipotent and mysterious. Mike, the current director, passed me the phone and said that my mom was on the line. Confused, I said hello and my mom responded with the usual pleasantries, but her voice sounded strained and thin, even through the phone. Slightly worried, I asked her what was wrong and she told me outright: Grandpas dead. I didnt moan; I didnt whimper; I didnt cry. A part of me didnt die that day. What I felt was beyond those contrite, TV like emotions. There are no words to describe the snapping of ones heart strings. By all rights I should have cried; I should have broken down, but I didnt. In retrospect, I know why. My field teachers never left my side. Jackies hand on my arm allowed me to center myself; Seans warm hug allowed me to breathe, and the love and comfort flowing from my group allowed me to live. I knew then that Manice was the place I was supposed to be. The next summer passed as a blur. I was the youngest member of LTC, and I enjoyed the session. However, I didnt grow, and I didnt learn very much. I hate to admit it, but my memories of the summer of 2006 are of a rare kind: fleeting and insubstantial. My memory picks back up in the summer of 2007. It was the first summer that I truly had fun, and I realize now that the cause of this was happiness. I dont know if it was hiking,

canoeing, learning about leadership, or solidifying friendships with people like Irving and Dyaami, but I am sure of one thing; I laughed a lot. It was the first session that I was in a group that got along so well, and just generally liked each other. This was the session that I learned a crucial lesson: time spent laughing is just as important as time spent working. After LTC I participated in the High School Leadership Training Program, and I was thunderstruck. I had never met such a laid back, calm and yet polarizing man as Nile. His quirky but gentle sense of humor was endearing and his silent intelligence was astounding, and he was only one member of my group. Everyone else was equally great that summer. Nothing, including Celis copious foot injuries, could keep us down. This experience left me determined to do my best and be my best, so I signed up for session five. Session five was the toughest week of my life. I fell sick because of my shortsighted laziness, and others suffered because of that. However, I learned from my egregious error; with the help of my group and the unwavering support of my field teachers I grew. I took my failure and turned it into a personal, and group triumph. Immediately after session five I began working at Manice. It was tough learning how to be less megalomaniacal and more extroverted, but I struggled through it. When the summer ended I felt decidedly different. I entered senior year with a stronger sense of purpose. My course load was tough, and I was constantly under duress, but I never lost sight of my two goals. I was intent upon being admitted to Amherst College, and becoming a TA for the summer 2010 season. When I visited Amherst in the fall, I was stunned. I became enamored of the school, and its relative proximity to Manice only sweetened the deal. I worked hard, rarely allowing myself a respite, and as a result I was accepted into Amherst and offered the position as TA. This school year was also bittersweet. While June marked the beginning of my tenure as a full-fledged Manice staff member, it also marked the end of my participation in New Youth Conservationists. For six years I have spent my weekends with Andrew Mittiga in the New York Botanical Gardens. NYC had been such a large part of my life, and it many ways it was my life. I cannot count how many weeks Ive had where the only thing to look forward to was NYC. I loved the work we did, and I loved the people even more. My friends at NYC, like Aumi, Stephen and Omari, were like my family, and Andrew was one of the first positive male role models Ive ever had. It was heartbreaking to leave, almost impossible, but in the end I really didnt have a choice. Its sad to leave, but I can take comfort in the fact that Andrew and NYC will always be there for me when I need them. This summer has been an interesting one. I reconnected with some old friends and the place I love. Because of my experience last summer, I was well prepared for the rigors of being a TA. I loved working with Stephen, Celi, Irv, Jevaun and Dyaami, and through them Ive grown even more. Ive learned that emotions cant always be cast aside, in fact they never should. Ive

always thought that emotion had no room in a working environment; I thought that the final product was more important than any hurt sentiments, that relationships were secondary to output, but I found out that I was wrong. Perhaps that is the biggest lesson Ive learned this summer. All my experiences this summer, from arguing to celebrating, have made me draw the conclusion that emotion and sentiment are important, and should appreciated at an equal, if not greater, level as output. Writing about my experiences in the past tense is weird. In my mind, everything exists simultaneously. There are no past, present or future experiences, instead it is one experience that is happening, and always will be. Manice is my home; it has housed the darkest parts of my life, and the best. Manice is me; it has helped shape me into who I am today. My trail to Manice isnt just my path here, its my life.