A Season Through the Classroom of Time

By Hal Walter

Summer is short at this altitude, and the beautiful autumn is even shorter. Blink and it is gone. The snow on the high peaks is just a reminder that the opportunity to get into the high country is running out at high speed, and winter is slinking down the mountain like a phantom.

This is a tale of two Thursdays.

There was a teacher’s planning day on the calendar, which meant no school. As the parent of a child with autism, these long days can be a source of anxiety and strain. For starters, there goes your workday. A full day of solo caring for someone with autism can also be an exhausting experience of trying to schedule constructive activities and redirect undesirable, repetitive or annoying behaviors.

Sometimes on these days I find salvation in the mountains. Golden aspens still hold some of their leaves. Fresh snow glimmers from on high. That morning I packed a lunch, loaded our burro Laredo into the trailer, packed some gear, and we headed for the trailhead.

The trail to Comanche Lake was lined with fall colors. It’s about 4.5 miles and 2,000 vertical feet of climbing up to the lake. Aspens, oaks and mountain alders were all changing at the lower elevations. As we climbed, the leaves began to give way, with some trees just barely clinging to the summer and others completely bare.

On the first pitch through the heavy timber, we ran into some snow. It was only about an inch deep so we trudged on, at last arriving on a ridge where a south-facing trail leads to the lake. Harrison wanted to ride so we alternated between hiking and him riding Laredo with me leading the burro. At last we reached the final pitch where stunted spruce trees clung to life just below the lake. Here, despite being out in the open, we encountered some deeper snow.

At last the lake spread out below us. The south side of the lake where I usually fish was blanketed in snow. A brisk breeze swept down from Comanche Peak above. We sat down on some rocks in a grassy area, and I unpacked the lunch. We ate. I had agreed to allow Harrison to pack his iPad along. And so while I rigged the fly rod, he played Angry Birds at 11,000 feet. And the wind began to gust.

I made a few casts, missing one strike and then nothing. I tied on a different fly pattern. The wind was getting worse and growing colder. Harrison was starting to yell at the wind. It struck me how futile that was, yet somehow in his mind he really seemed to believe he could make an impression upon Mother Nature.

I decided we should leave.

Within just a few hundred yards below the lake, the wind let up and we could feel the sun’s warmth again. Harrison wanted to ride, so when we got below the snow I let him climb aboard Laredo. On one section of trail with a steep side-drop there was an equipment malfunction  – my fault. The saddle bags fell off the back, startling Laredo slightly. I moved to help Harrison down, but as I tried to lift him, he flipped out screaming, wanting to dismount on the opposite side. I found myself in the awkward position of being between a burro and a cliff, straining over Laredo’s neck and lowering Harrison to the ground on the opposite side. I was thankful that Laredo did not freak during all of this; soon I had fixed the saddlebag problem, and we were on our way.

It’s always amazing how fast the sun retreats from the steep east-facing slopes. The Wet Mountain Valley remained in full sunshine below, with the sharp shadows of the peaks cutting into the fields. It seemed like evening, but it was still afternoon as we retraced our steps back down the trail.

At the beginning of the school year, Harrison’s 5th grade teacher Maegan Holycross had encouraged parents to share what they do with the class. I had volunteered to talk about burros and also mentioned that I do some writing and editing.

So one afternoon I drove down to the school with a few notes, a slide show, a copy of my book and two burros. I was amazed by the curiosity of the 5th-graders and their interest in the animals. One girl was so enthused that she had just checked out Brighty of the Grand Canyon from the library. I was also surprised by how many of them want to be writers when they grow up. I gave a short talk about burros and pack-burro racing, played the slide show, then read from Wild Burro Tales.

My little presentation was disrupted by Harrison having problems processing dad as the “teacher.” I noticed he was making faces and staring at the wall. At one point he stood up, tossing his chair backward in the process, and shouted “GAWD-DANG-IT!” Mrs. Holycross took him out of the classroom, and I continued on with my presentation.

Outside the classroom, Harrison related his concerns that I was not a teacher, and Mrs. Holycross told him we were sharing teaching duties this afternoon. He said he wanted to be a teacher and teach about doors, which have been a fascination of his since he was very young. She said that maybe someday he could be a teacher.

When she brought him back into the classroom, he rushed to the front of the room, past me, and began writing “doors” on the whiteboard. Then he shrieked and laid down on the floor in front of the class.

There’s really no preparing for such a situation. I was sitting on a stool in front of the classroom of 5th graders and trying to remain calm. I looked down at Harrison on the classroom floor and realized that trying to rein in his behavior was a lot like shouting at the wind.

Meanwhile, his classmates took these outbursts in stride. They kept raising their hands and asking questions. They wanted to know about the donkeys, the races, the writing. The clock was running, but I did my best to answer all of their questions and still leave time to meet Laredo and Farnsworth outside.

The sky was deep blue, and as the kids gathered around the burros, scratching their noses and patting their necks, Harrison ran back and forth from the animals and his classmates to check on nearby doors. I looked up and took in the gleaming mountains, the aspens now silver rather than gold, and the sun bouncing off the high peaks. Another season passing through the classroom of time.

Hal Walter’s new book, Full Tilt Boogie  – A Journey into Autism, Fatherhood, and an Epic Test of Man and Beast, is now available from him as a pay-what-you-want ebook. Contact him at jackassontherun@gmail.com. Paperback copies of the book will be available in November.