Written by Craig Gemmell
On Hildene and Its Many Teachers
Becoming acquainted with Hildene over the past few months has been a thrilling, full-bodied kind of knowing. It began with an encounter with the place itself—its scale and complexity: the sweep of the land; the profusion of structures, old and new, opulent and weather-worn; the braiding of wildness and cultivation; and the patient way these elements resolve into a single, breathing whole. I learned this geography with my feet and my hands, wandering in all weather, peering into sheds and barns, closets and basements, following trails both groomed and half-forgotten—wherever curiosity led.
Beyond the lay of the land, I have come to know Hildene’s deeper contours: its stories. I have read about Hildene, of course, but my truest teachers have been my colleagues, who have shared its history with me—often in ways that feel mythic, even mythopoetic. Through them, I have learned the origin story of the Friends of Hildene; the painstaking restoration of the home; the (re)creation of Hildene Farm; and the long, thoughtful evolution of Robert and Mary Lincoln’s private estate into a living, public-facing nonprofit devoted to engagement and learning.
Most moving of all has been listening to the storytellers themselves: a smart, eclectic, inspired—and inspiring—community woven throughout the organization. I have heard how generations of staff shaped the livestock program, putting the farm to work in service of education. I have learned of the promise carried in goat-kidding and Randall calving seasons, and of the unavoidable intimacy with loss that farming demands. Hildene’s historians have ushered me into the world of Robert Lincoln and his family through Socratic conversations that spark curiosity and send me back to books, eager to know more. I have been especially struck by colleagues whose responsibilities appear, at first glance, far removed from one another, yet who have helped me see how something as modest as Hildene-produced felt can become—through collaboration—a creative, versatile tool, transformed into objects of meaning, utility, and beauty.
In Crossing to Safety, Wallace Stegner writes that “no place is a place until it has found its poet.” Here, I have found poets in abundance: poets, storytellers, teachers, sages. Their verses echo as I walk the grounds, as I drive the pale ribbon of wooded road that winds toward Robert and Mary’s home. Any success I may have as a leader in the years ahead will flow directly from the power of these stories and from the people who carry them. When the work grows difficult, it is to these voices I will return, digging deeper because of them.
A dear former colleague wrote to me recently, asking whether I miss working in schools, surrounded by teachers and students. I smiled as I read his note. For I have not left education at all. I have arrived at a place whose core purpose is learning—deep, expansive, experiential learning—a place filled with teachers, and with students young and old, to keep us busy year-round.
Becoming so generously acquainted with the people and place of Hildene has been essential. In his “House Divided” speech, Abraham Lincoln observed, “If we could first know where we are, and whither we are tending, we could better judge what to do, and how to do it.” I know now where I am—a critical starting point for knowing what to do next. So, what am I doing? I am thinking daily about the stories we will create together in Hildene’s coming seasons. And how will we create them? By emulating my many Hildene teachers: their coherence of purpose, their spirit of collaboration, and their belief in the power of this place to shape lives. This is work with the capacity to shape the future long after even the stories about us have been carried away by the wind.
