On Saturday, Steiner School Spring Fair. Off we go, F. and I, in the car early in the morning with piclkes for the produce stall and a big garbage bag full of jasmine vines for the flower garland stall. We are almost at school when F. realises he’s forgotten his clarinet. Back we go, just stay calm. We both started the day feeling reluctant to to get out of bed at all.
Every year there is a Steiner School Festival - this is our seventh, and our second at this new school. Each year I feel a vague sense of guilt and dread as the day approaches. Weekly pre-Festival Newsletters arrive with their exhortations to bake cakes, make jam, grow plants, co-ordinate stalls, sell raffle tickets, sign up for rosters, participate in your school community.
And every year on the day itself I end up feeling all mushy and full of gratitude and spend half the day in tears because it’s all so beautiful.
The primary school children sing songs to celebrate the coming of Spring. The fantastic music ensemble plays a rollicking version of ‘Sweet Dreams’. Everyone sings ‘Shower The People You Love With Love’ And dozens and dozens of kids get up on stage and perform - from little seven year old angels with wobbly voices, through to teenage boys with hair over their eyes, thrashing electric guitars.
There are some pretty talented kids performing, but what really touches me is their poise and confidence, their obvious enjoyment of what they are doing, their comfortable sense of themselves. And their supportiveness of eachother.
‘Lovely young people!’, I cluck, like a doting grandmother.
Small children in white dresses dance around a maypole and young girls in their first bloom with flowers in their hair giggle innocently together. All the food is home-made. There are no advertising slogans from sponsors, just colourful handpainted signs and rainbow flags and flowers. No blaring canned music or jumping castles. Who needs the so-called ‘real world'? Not me.
Kids can do craft activities like making candles, felting or silk-painting. There is a rockclimbing wall, skateboarding and a soccer shoot out down on the oval, where F spends most of the day kicking a footy with his friends. That’s when he’s not stuffing his face with pizza, home made icecream etc.
People sit around in the Spring sunshine chatting over coffee and cakes, or lying on the grass, or dancing to the music. Even the teenagers look happy.
There is a songwriting comp with performances judged by the director of The Blues Festival. The contestants are mostly aspiring popstars ( some with very silly hairstyles, and black holey stockings) aged 13 to 17. I’m amazed by how good they are.
I have an easy roster this year, making flower garlands. I have some nice conversations among the flowers, with mothers of boys in F’s class, about how our boys are suddenly different, on the threshhold of young manhood.
And an intense little chat with S. & R. about parenting and boundaries for teenagers. And about how our kids’ creativity blossoms with encouragement, not criticism. Etc.
Last year the fete was just a couple of weeks after F. had started at the school. He skulked around miserably, saying that he didn’t have any friends, and wished he was back at his old school in Queensland. D & I felt much the same though we tried to put a brave face on it. We were among strangers.
This year the crowd was full of familiar faces - other parents from school, people I know from choir, book club, people I have interviewed for the paper, even therapy clients. Our new community. I guess that’s the real reason I’m waxing so lyrical.
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