Eighteen of us—thirteen students from my
Emily Dickinson course, a daughter, a mother, a boyfriend, my husband, and I—after ten weeks navigating 20 pages
of school permission forms each (not knowing until the last week whether we
would be approved), with the gracious last-minute reservations at Amherst venues—spent
four days ideal for learning, bonding, creating memories that will last
lifetimes. We called it “The Emily
Dickinson Tour.” The first part—the bureaucrazies and university reservations
(literally, all the hold-backs of the insurance and legal departments, and
administrators thwarting professors—just because), would be what Dickinson
would call the “prose” of life in the introduction to a poem:
I dwell in Possibility—
A fairer House than Prose—
Yes, our tour experiences were a “fairer”
House—both in the sense of more beautiful and more just—than the litigious,
digitalized, quantified “educational” realm of Prose.
I
designed our tour for optimal Bliss. I did
not order a bus, or take attendance, or require the trip for grades; yet 13 of
the 17 enrolled students came voluntarily, and enthusiastically, although, for
some, this was a financial stretch. A boyfriend, a daughter, and a mom joined
us, too. They car-pooled and in one case slept seven in a hotel room. They arrived and left at different times—often
opting to stay longer.
When
we were not gathering for our scheduled dates with our hosts, everyone explored
on her or his own. Sitting with them at breakfast
in the HoJo lounge, I was grateful that Mali and Tori checked Yelp! for thrifting
opportunities—so even before our first date—at the Amherst Historical Strong
House—seven of us did Stations of the Thrift Store—including the purchase of
white clothing for our Saturday night candlelight reading. Tori handed me a $3
hummingbird feeder, to celebrate one of the Dickinson poems we read, “A Route
of Evanescence.” For their riff on Judy Chicago’s Dickinson plate, Destin
bought an antique, rose-motif serving plate and Tori a silver one. All the playing, finding each other treasures,
dropping Dickinson lines.
At the Strong House, students
cathected onto whatever caught their interest—Mali and her daughter Sam were
fascinated by the 19th century gowns and Millicent Todd Bingham’s
suit with a Johnny-Jump-Up motif; Alison pointed out the display of stuffed
birds under a glass bell; everyone loved Dickinson’s authentic white
dress. We discovered how tall she was
when 4’11” Angie stood up on the platform to measure herself against it. We were disappointed that we couldn’t see the
bed with horsehair mattress and tightening ropes (as in “sleep tight”), but my
students cared enough to ask about it.
There was a surprise
exhibit of Lisa Yeisley’s drawings at The Jones Library, which served as
appetizer for holographs of several Dickinson works; and Robert Frost’s hand-written
draft of “Stopping by woods.” Meanwhile, students were showing each other a miniature diorama of Dickinson’s bedroom, Dickinson’s
earrings, grim photos of her father, portraits of Sue Dickinson, and other
memorabilia. I didn’t have to know what
caught them—but caught they were. I was too busy oooing and ahing over my
own discoveries.
It was raining, parking
was impossible, no one had enough quarters for meters, and the walk was long,
but after some finagling and one Uber ride, we all found ourselves—found ourselves—at the Special Collections
of the Robert Frost Library at Amherst College, where Mike had brought out treasures: a lock of Emily’s hair. “She was a ginger,” Anastasia remarked; the original daguerreotype of Dickinson at
age 17, and a new one on loan that might have been of her and a possible lover,
Kate Scott Turner. (Later, we would see her portrayed in a film.) Both plates caught
reflections, so we couldn’t photograph them as clearly as on-line images, but
it was fun to catch our own faces mirrored in them.
So many holographs! Kathy
especially loved the one of a small open envelope on which Dickinson had
written a “house” poem—the peak of the flap was whimsically reminiscent of the
peak of a pitched roof. And there was a
practice rifle which Amherst college students used to practice for conscription
in the Civil War. I delivered a very
in-group comment about “Loaded Gunn” to multiple chuckles. Too many treasures
to enumerate here. At night, we saw a new film, Wild Nights with Emily Dickinson, which somehow, luckily (perhaps
because I had inveigled manager George enough), enjoyed its opening night for
us.
The next day we visited
the Dickinson Homestead, the Evergreens (her brother and beloved sister-in-law’s
house), West Cemetery, where, magically, the rain stopped when we opened our
car doors to visit Dickinson graves (which we decorated with white flowers); and
Wildwood Cemetery, where Janice, Alison, and I decided that we wanted benches
instead of gravestones when our time came.
In the evening, we had a candlelight poetry reading at Emily’s grave—and,
instead of the promised rain—we had the Big Dipper right above us, and white
puffy clouds—as if Dickinson, herself, had thrown her white shawl protectively
above us.
I don’t know which
images will stay with my students, or what will inspire them in time, but being
out in the field gave us all unique, irreplaceable experiences that made what
we learned embodied, multi-dimensional, and lasting. Between the cinderblock walls of overheated or
freezing classrooms, curtailed by time, too-often having no opportunities to
bond and socialize, learning can be sterile.
We had time and space “More numerous of Windows—/Superior for Doors.” Many
times, I have heard students say that they can’t even remember their teacher’s
names—that all they cared about what taking the test and then forgetting what
they had crammed into their minds the night before.
On our tour, we ate
together, we karaoke-d into the night at the HoJo, we talked about our lives
and hopes. Some went to see End Game
after Wild Nights. Several normally shy students emerged into
their confidence as they became fierce competitors at Taboo before supper. We explored and learned for the love of
learning, not for abstract get-it-over-with courses. Emily Dickinson became
real. One of the many moments I treasure
was when, spontaneously, we called out favorite lines of poetry at the end of
our candlelight reading. And I was surprised
to hear who spoke which line—and that they remembered phrases so well.
We dwelled in
Possibility. We had the experience Dickinson captures in her poem:
I dwell in Possibility—
A fairer House than Prose—
More numerous of Windows –
Superior – for Doors –
Of Chambers as the Cedars –
Impregnable of eye –
And for an everlasting Roof
The Gambrels of the Sky –
Of Visitors – the fairest –
For Occupation – This –
The spreading wide my narrow Hands
To gather Paradise –
I like to think that she would say
we were “Visitors—the fairest—”. In writing
this post, and on our tour, I and we, with her, “spread wide” our Hands, and
gathered Paradise.
Tour
participants, as a keepsake for us all, please reply here with your
favorite memories of our 2019 Emily Dickinson Tour, your take-aways, and your insights about how experiential learning
yields surprising and lasting benefits.
Post your favorite images and videos.
Works Cited
Dickinson, Emily. “I dwell in
Possibility” in The Poems of Emily
Dickinson. Ed. R.W. Franklin.
Boston:
Harvard UP, 1998. #466.
