To me, this post-election grief feels like a stone that has lodged in my gut. Even in moments of laughter and forgetting, it’s there: a toxic, ugly pervasive thing that cannot be entirely soothed or purged, seeping anger, disillusionment, and worry. I’ve even learned a term for what has been ushered in: kakistocracy. It refers to government run by the worst, i.e., the least qualified and the most unscrupulous. It’s an old word, dating back as far as the 17th century, but in a recent column on culture and language, The Economist has proclaimed it “word of the year” and points out that it encapsulates the fears of half of America and much of the world right now. We are watching a kakistocracy emerge in our country, and I know I’m not the only one feeling sick about this.
And yet I remain a fundamentally hopeful person, and that has been my stubborn stance since childhood. Some might call it foolishness or denial, but to paraphrase the great Irish poet Seamus Heaney, I walk on air against my better judgement. We must feel what we feel, but I believe we have some discretionary power as to how much we let the darkness rule us. So, although I was in a morose frame of mind on Monday morning, I pushed through my mood and set out to visit my friend Tina at her Buellton ranch. The plan was already in place, and I didn’t want to cancel. I listened to classical music on the radio instead of the news, and I began to feel better as soon as I started driving up the hill on Tina’s property and caught sight of a white schoolhouse gleaming in the sunlight.
Yes, Tina has a schoolhouse, a one-room schoolhouse that dates from 1869 and officially closed in 1935. Tina rescued the abandoned building in 2007, had it moved to her ranch, fully restored it in meticulous detail, and offers what she calls living history days. I think of it as time travel. Children from surrounding communities dress in period clothing and experience a school day much as they would have in the 19th century, with Tina conducting class, in costume and character. And as I approached the building, it struck me anew how extraordinary this is. Think of it. The woman moved a schoolhouse, made it real, and has kept it alive for the children.