Following Watershed tradition, several members of the graduating class and a Watershed teacher were selected to deliver remarks to the class. The 2021 graduation speeches are found here!
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Graduation Poem-- Michelle McConnell ‘21
To the Watershed community,
I share a poem,
An ode:
Another day has passed,
As the earth continues to age
And another day passes in the grand scheme of the universe.
This day may be forgotten by most,
But it will forever be engraved in the hearts and minds of those present
Who are here to witness this rites of passage
Of the fourteen marvelous beings who are in front of me.
They have fought by my side
And healed me in times of need
Even for the short duration of two simple years,
Endlessly
And with the strength and support of one thousand men.
I can and will trust them to continue doing so
Even from different destinations and new homes.
Distance is only a small obstacle
Compared to the memories and love we have for each other.
I am exceedingly grateful to this audience as I profess this ode,
An ode which came to me as I stared dreamily at a fire
With the beautiful landscape of Montana barely visible through the blanket of the night.
This poem tells of a love and respect so deep
For Watershed
As it transcends all understanding and logic,
For from my first day of school,
I have cursed the education system and all my schools,
Which I refer to as the “monarchy”.
It is the tale of a fallen angel
Who learned to trust only the darkness
And thrived on the idea of perfection,
But who has transformed into a white swan
Who dances in the sunlight
As well as at night
Knowing she is once again safe
In the warm embrace of life.
A dream has come true
A miracle of sorts,
An encounter with Watershed
Aided her broken soul.
Her story can now continue today and far into the future.
When I speak of Watershed,
I speak of a haven,
A melting pot,
And a home
For the weary travelers
Lost on the path of attaining a high school diploma.
We are left in a world with no map,
No idea how to use our resources
With only a faded path in front of us
And not even a promise to find our destination.
Watershed has offered us a place to rest and grow,
A place where we can learn how to dream once more
While looking at the stars
From the beautiful mountains of Colorado
Or the luscious Chinese countryside
Or even from the top of Machu Picchu in Peru.
Watershed is a place that helps us build our own unique inner compass,
Grow the confidence to question the world and all its complexities
And learn how to work in harmony with Mother Nature and each other.
This place is built on a fountain of love and light
And this very same light attracts the most amazing of instructors.
Thank you Watershed teachers,
Thank you Watershed staff,
And thank you to the benevolent king of Watershed: Tim Breen.
I would like to each teacher who has accompanied me on my journey:
To Pablo Stayton, my idol
Emily Graff, my soul sister
Robin Dilley, my leader
Jeff Osgood, my supernova.
To Chris Carithers, my healer
Mike Holmquest, my teacher of life
Janie Routh, my motivation.
To Claudia Hendricks, my warm fire
Peter Laffin, my angel
Becky Poore, my counselor
Jen Curtis, my guide
And finally Andrew Chernow, my beloved friend and advisor.
My heart overflows from the love I have received from each one of these individuals.
Without these people,
Without this school,
I wouldn’t be standing on this Earth,
In this universe.
I have found a monarchy
Which respects and elevates each one of its subjects.
It is monarchy I had not expected to encounter
But I am grateful to have done so.
Which is why I would like to part the upcoming seniors with a few words:
You will encounter many dungeons and dragons
Over this upcoming year
But know that only those capable of carrying that burden
Are tasked with doing so.
Your duty as a senior is not only to yourself, but also to your underclassmen.
Inspire them
Help them form new ideas
And take care of them
So they may continue your legacy.
With strength, comes a great responsibility.
New seniors,
I wish you the fairest of winds
On your journey to sea.
But for now,
Along with my fellow classmates and friends,
We have reached a new threshold,
A threshold full of uncertainty.
We seem to be ecstatic to move forward
Yet scared to leave a part of ourselves behind.
That senior self,
That Watershed self,
Will continue to live on, inside of us.
Extend your hand to that person,
Who is ever so special,
So they may follow you as you grow older.
To my classmates,
We are ready
For Watershed has prepared us for such a leap,
And such an adventure.
Let us bring our forces once again as the people we are today
To salute the rising sun
And our successes.
I am honored to stand by your sides and
Fly to the castle in the sky.
I love you all
And thank you.
To the upcoming seniors,
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Message to the Upcoming Seniors-- Liran Dor ‘21
About two weeks ago today I was on my may term trip that took me canyoneering in Utah's canyonlands. It was the third day of our trip and we had been going through a canyon for five or six hours. It was mellow, with few drop-offs where we had to repel, but still, nothing that riveted my pretty large fear of heights.
As we retreated from the canyon's long and very red narrows, greenery emerged from the distant exit straight ahead. Bushes and small trees appeared, but as we approached the green, it became apparent that it was not only far horizontally, but vertically distant as well.
This dropoff scared me, it was an 83-foot overhanging cliff, and if you don't know what an overhanging cliff is, it's a cliff that when you repel down it you have no contact with the wall, you dangle over the edge. It was unavoidable, there was no escaping rappelling down this one, I couldn't turn around, I couldn't go to the side, I couldn't climb up, down was my only option.
So, based on the two things that I knew, the first being that I need to get down the repel, and the second being that I have a paralyzing fear of heights, I devised a strategy. In order to get down, I needed to convince myself that I was not, in fact, scared to do so. I blocked the thought of it in my mind, I rejected my peers' sympathy for my fear, and I announced that I would be going first.
I tied myself in, double-checked my knots, got a fistbump, got my picture taken, and walked backward to start my descent downwards. Soon my legs no longer had a place to stand, and I let myself dangle, the wind spun me 180 degrees. With my hands clenching and unclenching the rope, I let myself down, within about 50 seconds, I was on the ground. That's when the fear hit me, my legs shook, I fell back, and I started crying. That was my breaking point.
Now let's look at the world today, due to Covid-19 over the past year and 3 months normalcy has become not knowing if the person you are looking at is smiling because their face is hidden, and normalcy is not knowing what most people's faces actually look like, that normalcy is, to have relationships, but at a distance.
The connection here between my breaking point story and the societal impacts of covid-19 is what I want to share with you today, it's that no matter how accepting you are of suppressing your true wants, there will be a breaking point, it is not sustainable. But the beauty here is this, you do not need to wait for your breaking point. As the real threats of covid retreat, the world is opening again. In the near future, you will not need to hold back hugging a friend who is down, you will not need to fear that you are putting your family in danger when you hang out with your friends, you will be able to hold someone's hand and support those who need support, you will be free to take your mask off and show your beautiful smiles to the world.
So, dear upcoming seniors, what does this alternate way of living look like? When you walk through the front doors of Watershed next year as a proud senior, do not let your pride get in the way of the impact that you can have. Help lead younger students who are worried about their first wilderness solo with open arms, walk into your first advisory meeting with a smile and hugs that welcome those who are feeling social anxiety, hold the hand of your classmate who's struggling with college applications, create change in your community by taking action and speaking up on issues that are prevalent, take a hard look at yourself and choose the character that you want to be in this world. Take a hard look at yourself and answer this question for yourself, how do I want to walk in this world? Internalize your mission, and be the change that you want to see, because as the dangers of this pandemic retreat, your missions will be the future, and they will soon be more than possible.
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Untitled-- Izzy Cohn ‘21
From canyon walls, broken hearts, a moment of silence, tall fields where the yellow grass grows, and hours upon hours of card playing
to eclectic teapots catching on fire, hard rain collapsing tarps, elders transforming truth, and trucks in art rooms.
Who knew, one odd building, lined with crosses on the floors and alarm clocks in the ceilings could have created and given the utmost stability
that some of us have ever had.
I am speaking to us,
the fifteen who are immensely intelligent, impeccably open-hearted, exceedingly kind, and perfectly hyper
and to those who have loved and supported us to get to this point in our journey where we have climbed one mountain and are on the cusp of traversing yet another set of woods, city, country, home, community, and ocean.
So as I read this, and as we seniors sit in this community for a few more moments and as our parents and loved ones join us today, I invite you all to stay as present as you can and hold this space.
As I have tried to get excited and big-eyed about leaving, there has only been one thought that has filled me with that exact feeling of
gold and dragonflies:
You are always surrounded by someone's favorite person, best friend, lover, partner, sibling, mentor, and so on.
The fact that we are all someone's someone.
At Watershed, we get to meet some extraordinary humans.
I can say that however different we all are, you fifteen beaming and victorious young adults are undoubtedly some of the loveliest people that I have ever and will ever get a chance to love and learn with.
As you get those butterflies and the nervousness of leaving or rather, seeing your person and people leave,
remember that wherever you go next year, and for the rest of your life,
you will always be with different individuals' favorite human.
And that alone is magic,
Things shift, end, come in and out like the tides, throughout change, you are accountable and to a certain extent, in control of how you live your life: our hearts and minds have learned how to have a tolerance for adversity.
Each of you has some form of power so great that it will make others drawn to you, laugh till they fall on the ground, change how they live or think, be or and get better, make them love wholeheartedly, take risks, look at living as an opportunity, and learn to apologize.
Because of those gifts that you have to offer,
you will not only be able to support those around you, but you will also be able to help and teach yourself.
You are on a journey where you are safe and incredibly grounded simply by just having yourself as your guide.
As you are challenged by grace and darkness, attempt to return to your childish roots and not live too seriously. May you feel immense dignity.
I invite you
to acknowledge that this has been a tremendously unexpected and strenuous year. As you merge back with this complex world, you can remind yourself to fight for the change you want to see. Slowness and groundlessness can be your companion. May you leave room for loss and may you allow yourself to grieve: I was told that is the best gift you can ever give yourself. May you listen to the rain and wake up early to hear the birds.
Kindness is key to all that sings, dances, and breaths. Relish at as many moments as you can. I have found that lighting candles, even for people that are still living, is important. May you have the ability to teach others how to love.
May you look at the simple but magical parts of your life. May you truly say thank you. I invite you to let the love fill you, through and through.
And if you lose your mind come back, come back, come, back.
As Robert Hastings once said, “The station will always come.” There will be hard and painful days, weeks, months, but it will pass.
Your station will come soon enough, and in the meantime have some dance parties, walk, call your best friend, kiss, play some video games, eat some candy and some broccoli, and live, live, live!
And when your station does come, for better or worse, the music will be loud and fill every part of you and the people will be crying and dancing.
And here it is, welcome to much serendipity and a felicity that you have never felt before. So keep on keeping on and allow delight and love but also truth and difficulty to be your wings.
One of my favorite people told me,
Go down as many
Decent
Roads as possible, once you have gone down it, you will be able to see what you think of it.
And the worst thing that could happen is that something unexpected happens, or breaks, or changes. In Japan, there is a tradition of when poetry breaks, you fill the cracks with glue and gold. To represent and bring light to imperfection. If you want I encourage you to practice having gentleness towards all that you are and those around you are.
So I will leave you with this:
Where's your heart?
go find it.
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The Banks of Freedom-- Pete Laffin, English Educator
I know what you seniors are thinking, that I'm going to open this speech with a horrible pun. But I'm not going to do it. Graduation is a solemn occasion. A very serious time. And I should know. I once struggled my way through culinary school. It's true. Once I got to the end, I realized that the final was a piece of cake. But the courses were tough. Especially the one on steak. I hardly got through that one. Almost couldn’t cut it.
My dog Roger also recently graduated from K-9 school. We’re all very proud of him. Upon completing his studies with a high level of pawficiency, he received a pedigree!
It says “pause for laughter” here. Oh well.
Anybody get that last one? Paws for laughter?
Before I begin my talk, I’d like to make a few acknowledgements.
First of all, none of this could have been possible--and I mean literally not one day of it--without the brave, steady, and patient leadership of our administrative team led by Hannah Nelson, Jen Curtis, Katy Hilston, and Tim Breen. You each stood firm in the face of relentless headwinds, and we are all grateful to you for that.
And behind our leadership was a staff of teachers who struggled through their own storms this year to give you everything they had, and they did. And I can say without any hesitation that there isn’t one person on this staff who wouldn’t drop everything for any of you in a moment’s notice.
I’m still old fashioned enough to think it’s a good idea to judge a tree by its fruit. And when I look out at this senior class made up of heroic, passionate, and brilliant young adults, I’m confident in saying that Watershed School, sixteen months after the world turned upside down, is thriving.
And now, our beloved graduates, it’s officially your turn to go out and give everything you’ve got to something greater than yourselves. What you choose to make of your newfound freedom will have ramifications beyond what you’ll ever understand. And so we have a responsibility to examine not only what we are to do with it, but to examine freedom itself, particularly in how it relates to the concept of responsibility.
Now on its face, it doesn’t immediately follow that the two can coexist. How could one be free to do whatever they want, and yet responsible for doing what they must?
To begin, I’d like us to picture a person who is completely free from all responsibilities, free from having to remain within any boundary, free from family, from work, from ambition, from friendship and romantic involvement, from community. Someone who has cut every chord from duty, which, in their minds, enables them to be free.
They can do whatever they want, whenever they want to, with no worries about hurting anyone else’s feelings, or suffering any kind of embarrassment. There is nothing holding this person down, no one telling them about right and wrong or purpose and meaning. This someone free of all that.
Is this person really free?
I find it useful to picture a river in order to see true freedom. A clean, rushing, mighty river. It’s strength carries it across miles of expanse, and it’s dexterity allows it to wind and rumble and leap through every impediment. It is utterly at one with itself and the earth. It is the embodiment of confidence and clarity and purpose. A river is free.
What gives the river these qualities? What enables it to flourish so freely? A hero of mine, John Henry Newman, once said that a river gets its verve from the firmness of its banks. A river is free because it is held together by its boundaries. Because something outside of itself provides it direction. Because it remains within the limits that allow it to thrive.
But how could that be? How could those things that bind us make us free? I submit to you today that banks set the river free in the same way that our responsibilities hold us together and channel our energies toward greater purpose. Our responsibilities keep us from (and I hate this expression, but it’s the right one) Petering out into puddles. Our responsibilities are what give our lives form and distinction. And further, the more responsibility we take, the more firm our banks, and the more meaningful and flourishing our lives become.
So what should we take responsibility for? With what should we firm up our river?
How about our responsibility to our families? To our home units upon whom we depend on for the essentials, and with whom live in a state of loving reciprocity; recall the words of Mother Teresa: “Wash the plate, not because it’s dirty or because you are told to, but because you love the person who will use it next.”
How about our responsibility to our friends? To willing the good of the other for no other reason than that it is good in itself. To putting yourself last so that others can have. To dropping what you’re doing to help a friend in need, because you love them, and because someday you will need help when it is inconvenient, too.
How about our responsibility to the world we share? To preserving this miraculously beautiful and bountiful home of ours for generations to come. And to the natural world itself, which is precious and holy even without us in it. To the air and the water and the birds and the animals and the creepy crawling things who foster life and allow for the possibility of our love.
How about to the poor? To those we look away from as we walk down Pearl Street. The pests who loiter about the gas stations and lower our property values. The broken and helpless who rank about twenty stations beneath stray dogs in our culture. Are we responsible for their well being? And if not, are we who we say we are?
How about to the truth? To affirming that pesky little voice of conscience, that Jiminy Cricket, that whispers to us in the still, small moments. And how about this: To not ever participating in that which we know to be a lie.
And finally, how about our responsibility to existence itself? We are alive; we are here instead of not here. We did nothing to deserve existence. We couldn’t have if we tried. We weren’t there when it was being worked out. And like every other thing that miraculously came into being from non-being, we will graduate, and we will move from one place to the next and eventually pass away. We, and everyone and everything that we love.
At this stark reality, we are presented with a choice, one that’s blinding in its clarity, if we have the guts to look at it. Mortality, the fact of impermanence, is either pointless and tragic beyond comprehension, or a gift so great that we’ll spend the rest of our lives in a state of thanksgiving. It is either the bitterness of pointlessness, or the sweetness that gives life meaning. If we were to go on forever, what would any of this matter? If nothing were at stake, what reason would we have to flourish?
And life is a miracle, if the passage of time is the sweetness, we have a responsibility to honor that. To hold nothing from it. To fall deeply in love and risk everything for greatness. To say yes to risk, and yes to failure, and yes to trying again. If this life is a miracle, we have nothing to do but pour ourselves back into the mystery, full to empty, empty to full, and full to empty again.
Beloved graduates, (and you are beloved, we love you, each of us) today your cup is full. We’ve poured out everything we had. From expedition teachers, to skills teachers, to the administration, we’ve filled your cup. We urge you to do the only responsible thing, and the only thing that will set you free; we urge you to pour it back out into the river for the sake of others. May your banks hold firm, and may your freedom always flow.
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