The Lighthouse, the Pine Tree, and the Lone Iris

This trip to Quoddy Head Lighthouse has renewed my hope, revived my freedom, and deepened my own faith in the path my life is taking.

Quoddy Head Lighthouse in Lubec Maine is the first New England lighthouse I have ever seen up close. I’ve seen movies, photos and paintings, but I had never actually stood at the foot of a real lighthouse until last Thursday.

I don’t really need to describe the trip to Maine or elaborate on my reasons for being there. I certainly don’t have to write about the technology aspects of the trip. It’s enough to say I was attending a technology conference and extended the trip one extra night just to do some sightseeing. I was with my fellow ACE (Alternative Center for Excellence) teacher Merf and Rod, a Maine high school teacher and new friend. The three of us spent Thursday afternoon exploring the coast of Down East Maine.

I want to remember this trip to the lighthouse because I am hoping that this summer brings a turning point in my life. Somehow seeing this Quoddy Lighthouse in person will be significant. This is my 50th summer - my jubilee, and to me this lighthouse stands tall as a token of hope and liberty - a time perhaps when some heavy burdens are made lighter.

The trip to the lighthouse was easy to make. Quoddy Head is a brief and picturesque 45 minute car ride from Machais Maine where we were attending the conference. Once we arrived at Quoddy Head, the lighthouse was a short walk down hill - even that was easy! It stands proudly overlooking the ocean. Its red and white stripes are typical of Maine. Most of the houses here are red and white.

After visiting the lighthouse and snapping photos, my two friends and I decided what to do next. I had a feeling that a hike was coming. Merf hikes and camps and fishes all the time. I do not. In fact, since my achilles tendon injury 5 years earlier, I have stayed far away from anything that could make me fall, stumble, or reinjure the leg.

There was a map of the hiking trails and we could choose from easy to expert trails. The easy trails were all inland; the expert trails were along the coast with the trails hugging the  cliffs. I knew what Merf and Rod wanted to do. I knew what I feared - falling - but I also knew the coastal trail offered a potentially stunning experience.

It’s hard sometimes to forgo the fearful habits that pervade daily choices. This choice actually became simple. All I had to do was look at the magnificence of the Maine coastline and overcome my fears with the anticipation of beauty. I am a lover of significant moments and I knew this would be one of the most beautiful of scenes. I like to capture moments like a camera captures scenes on film and hold the moment in my memory; then I like to keep the moment alive through my writing. This little narrative is an attempt to share a string of  moments with a larger audience.

The experience of seeing the lighthouse was intensely moving and exhilarating but the hike on the trail was much more so. As I look back, I see how much of the hiking experience mirrors my own experiences as a teacher. But I’m getting ahead of myself. I want to savor the hike on the trail first.

The first leg of the trail was easy. It was flat and well traveled. The view of the ocean was fabulous. From the very start of the trek, we noticed a creature in the distant water following our progression along the dirt path. We had forgotten to bring a pair of binoculars with us but Rod (he had the best vision) identified the sea creature as a seal. This seal was the only thing that we saw on the water during the entire hike. There were no boats or any other signs that man frequented these waters.

Once we were on the trail, it was like we entered another country and another time. Each view of the ocean and the coastline was more spectacular than the last. I felt in tune with my surroundings and very happy to be “in the moment.” We would leave the safety of the dirt path and walk to the edge of the cliff. Sometimes we would have to climb over rock covered ground to reach the edge. But even I made the climb because I wanted to get as near to the edge as possible because that was where the best view would be. I found myself eager to feel the excitement of the moment even if there was a bit of danger involved. Sometimes we must take risks to be fully alive and fully joyous.

After a short while - perhaps a mile or so - the nice little safe dirt path disappeared and we found ourselves at a fork in the trail. We could opt out of hiking the expert trail and take a safer easier inland walk through the forested terrain or we could persevere and follow the coastline. This trail was harder to follow and much harder to walk. We all agreed that the coastline experience was far more appealing. By now I was becoming a fearless traveler. I would just be more careful than my male companions and perhaps not quite as reckless. Fearless and reckless are not the same.

The more we walked forward the more we encountered a mixture of healthy thriving vegetation mixed with desolate and bare areas. It was strange. What would make a patch of ground die out? What would destroy the grasses, the mosses, the vines, the shrubs, and the powerful pine trees? It was like small patches of the cliffs and plateaus were scorched by some terrible fire or explosion. The land would rapidly change from being well-watered to being parched. I had rarely experienced such striking contrasts. I was reminded of my days at ACE. One day would be fruitful and alive and the next next day would be dead and boring. Sometimes I feel like I have multiple personalities because of the ups and downs, success and failures, good days and bad days at school. The devastated trees also brought to mind the everyday desolation of mind, body, and soul many of my students faced.

I think the most intriguing natural phenomenon for me was the vegetation actually growing on the almost perpendicular sides of the cliffs. The tenacity of nature is amazing. What makes a tiny pine sapling decide to take root in a stone cliff? I marveled at the mature pine trees that were growing out of the side of the cliff. They stood there in their radiant greenness surrounded by nothing else but the hard shades of grey of the rock side. These lonesome pine trees reminded me of some of my ACE students. I think of Heather who clings to the program for dear life. The program gives her a safe place to learn and grow up. But she exists at ACE in solitude because being included in any of the social groups puts her in danger of being hurt. Many of the kids who actually succeed academically at my school do so in isolation. As I looked at the lone pine trees, a sadness overcame my soul. They are majestic in their ability to grow and be strong, but they are so terribly alone and so vulnerable in their solitude.

As the hike progressed we once again returned to safer trails. At one point we could look back about 3 miles and see the lighthouse in the distance. There was comfort in seeing it and knowing that I could return homeward just by heading back towards it.  

There was a wonderful plateau at the point where we decided to head back. The plateau was green and lush - almost tropical in its greenness. Hikers had created an area where they built statues from the rocks they found lying around. It was interesting to see a sign of man’s creation appear in the midst of nature. But as I recapture the scene, it is not the mini man-made statues that I remember most vividly. All around the little stone statues were wild irises. They didn’t seem to grow randomly but they appeared here and there in groups of 5 or 6 flowers.

Just like the dead trees and the clinging trees, these irises brought to mind my students and my hopes and prayers for them. My hope is that they would thrive in good soil surrounded by healthy friends, family, and role models. My prayer is that their inner beauty would shine and overcome the pain and disappointments that have invaded their lives. I never want them to abandon their love of living or their uniqueness, but I do want them to come to peace with their inner beauty and discover the strength of their souls.

The return hike was cut short because the fog started to come in from the Atlantic Ocean. The fog horn sounded a deep cry telling us to return to the safety of the lighthouse. By the time we got back to our car, the fog had settled in like a heavy cotton blanket over the area. I knew the trip was over.

I think I know now why I want to remember this trip to Quoddy Head Lighthouse - this trip that seems to symbolize where I am this summer of my 50th year. The memory of the  red and white lighthouse is a picture of my foundational belief structures. Without a strong foundation, I would travel through life without a way back to a safe harbor. For me, the lighthouse is my faith in Jesus Christ. I can only pray that my students have a strong foundation - most do not - or that I can help them construct or repair their own foundation.

I will treasure the mental image of the wild irises. They so represent my hope for my students as well as my own hope for myself and my family. When I encounter the painful problems in my students, I think I will identify them with the desolated trees or the clinging trees as I help them effect positive change in the course of their lives. I realize with joy and relief that I am not the lighthouse for them, but that there is a lighthouse for each one of them to identify and/or discover and depend on.

The jubilee in this lighthouse trip is that I am no longer so heavily burdened by the problems of my students - their difficult lives, their wrong choices, their inability to say no to peer pressure. The burden has been lightened and my liberty is real. I am ready to be restored and renewed and to take on new beginnings this summer.

This trip to Quoddy Head Lighthouse has renewed my hope, revived my freedom, and deepened my own faith in the path my life is taking.

Joanne Tolles
July 8, 2004This is a travel piece about my trip to Maine the summer of 2004.  Enjoy. i wish I knew how to put more pictures in the story!

my grand adventure  - sorry I forgot!