The Magic of Connection
We sat under the raging heat of morning sunshine as the teacher’s voice overpowered the chirping of distant honeyeaters and the gentle fluttering of a warm breeze. A few cows grazed the field around us, never perturbed by the students engaged in the teacher’s words, for this was Marshmead, the off-grid farmland that is our school’s residential campus. The place where we suspend our fast-paced lifestyles in suburban Melbourne and adopt the mindful, slow life of remote living for eight weeks.
All my life, I have lived in bustling metropolises, where neighbors keep to themselves and strangers avert their gaze as they hurry along their path. I was the same, rushing from place to place, never pausing to build relationships with those around me. This all changed once I arrived at Marshmead. As I descended the winding gravel path and entered the farm gates, I realized how incredibly different the next two months would be. No more school, no more tests and assignments, no more social media. Fifty-two students, 15 teachers, and a few wandering cows would be everything in this small corner of the world. At first, the idea was nerve-racking. There were so many foreign and impossible tasks to complete: How am I supposed to cook for my housemates when I possess the involuntary ability to burn every meal I attempt? How am I supposed to manage without any internet for eight weeks? How am I supposed to live with peers I have never spoken to and teachers I have never seen?
I vividly remember the evening when I was in charge of cooking for my house. Ambitiously, I was set on making lemon chicken with a side of steamed vegetables. My housemates rushed to help me, cutting vegetables and measuring ingredients. After the preparation, I set the timer for the oven. Half an hour later, I optimistically opened the oven door to the absence of the usual blow of heated air. Perplexed, I examined the chickens and realized they were raw. After preheating the oven, I had forgotten to turn it on. There was no time to bake the chicken again, for the evening activities awaited. That night, seven of us gathered around the dining table, gazing at a single bowl of steamed vegetables. We burst out laughing as we each scooped a small ration of carrot and broccoli. As I tried to apologize through my own uncontrollable laughter, I was met by consolation and understanding. Afterward, our stomachs may have been empty, but our hearts were filled with so much joy. Because we were a community, the lows never felt too low. Perhaps this was the magic of this place. When we had the encouragement and care of each other, we were able to be challenged indefinitely.
This continued as we returned to Melbourne and slipped back into our regular routine. We have learned the value of connection, and it has become something we will always cherish.
Lily Wang is a 16-year-old living in Melbourne, Australia. Her passions lie in literature, politics, and philosophy. She can often be found in the realms of a novel, immersed in an article, or in deep discussion with friends on a topic that knows no bounds. Lily is also guilty of watching and re-watching sitcoms while working on her latest knitting project.