Last night, as I lay awake, I began thinking about the boarding school I attended as a child and how very different those days were in terms of simple pleasures and daily activities we enjoyed. Most definitely, it is a bygone era, one I’m not sure could be fathomed by our youth of today, lacking in video games, complicated gadgets and sophisticated electronics.
I attended Rose Haven School in Rockleigh, New Jersey.
http://www.rockleigh.org/history/Sites/RoseHaven
Rose Haven was a small, private girls school at which the seeds of mind, body, spirit excellence were initially implanted in my psyche. Our headmistress, Miss Van Strum, was the founder of the school and a woman I adored and admired. She had very high standards and expected only the best of “her girls” but she also recognized the importance of spending time getting to know who each of us was as unique individuals. I cherish the times she spent teaching me rudimentary gardening skills as we planted my very own patch of pansies, wandered the school grounds viewing and discussing the variety of plants and trees. She taught me important life lessons through those experiences. Since I can remember, I have always had an affinity for things of beauty, objects that feed my soul, flowers being one of those objects. She recognized my interest and cultivated it. To this day, almost 50 years later, I continue to make my weekly jaunt to purchase cut flowers for every room of our home. The presence of flowers provides me great joy, warms my heart and enhances my quality of life, gives our home a vitality like nothing else. Surround me with flowers and fine art and I’m in heaven!
The property at Rose Haven was quite expansive with many areas for contemplation. One of my favorites was the courtyard adjacent to what we called the “summer house”. I remember the old, gnarled and curled grape vines laced throughout the trellis canopy and most of all, the beds upon beds of lily-of-the valley that grew in rampant abundance. The bouquet was intoxicating and to this day remains one of my very favorite blossoms – those dainty little bells of white, the bright green lacy leaves, so delicate and yet so imposing with their pungent perfume. Nowadays , it seems that the lilies have lost their bouquet. Perhaps it is the accuity of my sense of smell that has dulled?
I was a tiny specimen of a child, all of 36 pounds by the age of six. (That is I second from right.) So of course, I was guaranteed the part of the attic mouse in our school Christmas play, The Fir Tree. 
I also was quite acrobatic and so whenever we had a spontaneous evening of theatre entertainment, I was the little acrobat who diverted the audience’s attention during the scene changes. With the greatest of ease I would sling my scrawny legs across the backs of my shoulders, crossing my feet under my chin like a bow. I was akin to a pretzel and loved the reactions my flexibility prompted.
On the side of the main house, we had a hill that was ideal for sledding. I often felt like I was the Red Baron when I was navigating my sturdy red sled down that undulating hill. I was fearless! Talk about MOJO! I felt invincible. But for the grace of God, not once did I crash as we did not wear helmets in those days.
I was also quite determined to learn to ride a bicycle. I may have looked like “Christ on the way to Calvary” as my mother described my visage on one of her visits, but I mastered the skill and was quite proud of it! My mother was horrified at the sight of me bruised on every square inch of both legs, but no matter, I showed off my new talent with great enthusiasm, oblivious to the battered appearance. The same energy and determination applied to my learning to roller skate, and quite a good little skater I became at that. I also mastered ice skating on the frozen pond a short walk from the main house. I loved to spin, carve arcs into the ice, glide free as the wind, arms outstretched held high, a free spirit.
At boarding school, each of the younger girls was paired with an older boarder who was referred to as her “big sister”. My big sister was Stephanie. She was in eigth grade. I remember being so proud because my big sister had been chosen as the May Queen for our annual May Fete. The May Fete was quite the society event, covered by the New York Times, and featured the beautiful May Pole dance, which we performed with acute precision. We all wore lovely white dresses and each of us was assigned a unique colored ribbon to weave around the pole as we danced. It was the epitome of a graceful spring celebration.
Agnes Boyd, a teacher at the school eventually bouight the school from Miss Van Strum. We called her Miss Boydie and she was bigger than life. Her partner was a lady named Miss Rayburn, a quiet reserved lady. Miss Boydie had a little grey poodle named Pom Pom who loved to come into my room at night. I can remember her looking for Pom Pom time and time again, and I just silently allowed him to remain on my bed, as he was quite content and I loved having him visit my room. I have no idea why he chose to come to my room but it was to my delight when his little snout appeared from behind the door that I purposely left slightly ajar, pushing it just enough to wiggle in and jump on my bed!
My Boydie was quite sophisticated. I remember our evening meetings – tete a tetes – she would sit on a small round stool, somewhat like an artists’ stool. She had the habit of crossing her long legs almost like a fashion model and she smoked cigarettes, which in those days was considered glamorous. She reminded me of Babe Paley in a way – slim, chic, white tailored shirt and slacks.
I know I drove Miss Boydie crazy. I was always taking off to the rolling fields and coming back looking like something the cat had dragged in. I loved to collect the cattails that were just about ready to burst. I called the filler in the pods “fairies”. I would pinch the cattail open and run in the fields as though I was carrying my wand, my victory flag, the fairies flying out, dancing furiously and permeating the air – and of course, totally covering me! That reminds me. We wore grey sweaters made of ORLON, magnets for those fairies and brutal to remove. Orlon was the newest invention in those days – the precurser to that awful polysester craze beset upon us for a while. Wrinkle free and dryer safe! My mother detested it. She disliked anything that wasn’t a natural fiber – meaning linen, cotton, cashmere. She was actually quite adamant about it to the point that wrinkled linen never bothered her because as she said, “it was the real thing.”
I really put Miss Boydie over the top when I built my “tree house”. It was my clubhouse. I furnished it with my doll’s tea set and various odds and ends to host small tea parties. Apparently some girls complained that my having a club house was unfair and I was shut down immediately upon Miss Boydie discovering my latest venture.
Some of the older boarders brought their horses to Rose Haven for the school year, as we had stables and rings to accomodate the avid equestrians. I’ll never forget one girl named Mary Ellen. She trained daily and was a very accomplished at dressage. One day she was thrown from her horse and apparently broke her back. She was away from school for a long period, returning with great fanfare wearing an upper body brace for the remainder of the year. I recount always knowing when Mary Ellen was nearby as her brace made a clicking sound as she approached. I admired her greatly. She had an aura of confidence and kindness about her that I found to be remarkable, an inner strength and determination that I will always remember, as clearly as the peculiar clicking of her apparatus.
Whether it was sliding down the bannister of the main staircase, much to the chagrin of Miss Van Strum, or catching butterfies to observe and draw in my room, dissecting “indian gum” from the field stalks, or making angels in the snow, I was fascinated by life, by nature, by the exhilaration of the experience. Yes, it was a different era, a simpler time, but I wouldn’t trade a moment of it. All I needed was myself and the breath of life, independent of anything or anyone to create my reality.
I could go on and on there are so many mind clips of that bygone era, my memories of those simple pleasures that just required my showing up. No electronics or fancy gadgets. Just myself and the outdoors, my toys were found in the wonders of nature.
The seeds were planted long ago when she whispered gently, “Who creates the life you want to live? You do, Janice!”
Yes, I do Miss Van Strum. Indeed I do!
Blessings,
Janice
