Today was our first official day of compulsory homeschooling.
I feel like last year was a “test” year, since Mary Judah wasn’t actually required by law to be in school until this year. So last year, we didn’t file our private school affidavit, and we didn’t keep records, though we did do “school stuff.”
This year feels legitimately “for real,” for whatever that’s worth.
I’ve been hearing that the private school affidavit I will need to file in October will ask me what my school’s name is. I didn’t want to call our homeschool “Rudd School” or “Rudd Academy” or anything that had our name. I also didn’t want to use something that might embarrass my kids if we decide to homeschool all the way through high school. So “The Little Rudd School House” was totally out.
I decided on Cairn Academy.
I like using the word “academy” because it sounds, you know. More academic. More official.
I wanted something that had some spiritual connotations but wasn’t overt in that area - that could cover both the spiritual component and the academic component. I wanted something that was organic and natural and signified strength and an all-around good foundation for all of the things in our lives. I also wanted something Celtic.
So, Cairn.
Cairns are stone heaps or piles used to mark significant things - a path, an important event, a physical place.
I like it because homeschooling is a journey. As we go, we need and find markers for our path to show us the way, and to show others which way we’ve gone. Cairns used to mark hiking trails often are continually made by travelers adding stones to them as they pass.
They have a spiritual component as well - after all, altars are another form of cairns; ways to signify and show others something important has happened.
They are made of rock - something solid enough to provide a foundation if necessary, but not so solid that they themselves are immune to the shaping forces of nature around them.
Wind.
Water.
Time.
They are made from naturally-found substances, giving us a connection to the earth. And as such, they last, but are subject to change; to erosion. Just like us.
As we build a foundation of spiritual and educational life, the imagery and meaning of cairns comes alive for me. They are found across many cultures and places, and have a universality built into them.
We often pick up rocks when we’re out hiking or at the beach - jagged ones nestled in root beds under trees, or wave-smoothed ones with white veins running through them plucked from the sand. We bring them home and keep them.
This morning before Joshua left for work, we went out into the backyard, shrouded in fog, and built a cairn by the birdfeeder. Killian was into it, but it took Mary Judah a while to warm up to the idea.
It took several tries to find the balance of stones, but we managed to give it a little height.
There’s no guarantee that this cairn will last - the gardener might dismantle it, or an errant rubber ball kicked at the wrong spot, or a feral cat, or a wayward fence board might cause it to tumble.
The beauty of cairns is that if they are knocked down, they can be built again.
And again.
And again.
