I came in as a freshly minted high school teacher. I’d only taught a single year before that and my degree wasn’t even in classics or Latin, it was in philosophy. In the tail end of college, however, I’d fallen completely in love with the language, much to the detriment of any philosophy I learned beforehand. Yes, I did take the two semesters of required Latin at my Catholic university, but it didn’t stick. Not for love of the professor, whom I appreciate dearly, but grammar-translation wasn’t my preference. When a couple years later I came back for an independent study in Latin I can only imagine his interior bewilderment and amusement. I’m grateful he humored me. This is what started me down the long track which made a stop in Charles Town, WV.
I dreamed in Latin. One of the things that gets tossed around as a fun gauge of language proficiency is whether or not you’ve dreamed in your target language. Not just heard people making sounds that resembled Spanish, French, or Latin, but comprehensible speech. For me I imagined this was a hopeless endeavor; I seldom dream, and when I do they’re more often nightmares. But now, reflecting eight months later, I still remember how striking it was to have woken up from a somnium Latinum. I was ecstatic and shared with everyone I could in fledgling Latin fluency my dream. Everyone at Rusticatio was excited with me, asking me details over delicious labeled breakfast and coffee, the sunbeams trickling through the windows and painting our laughing faces with rosy hues, before we whisked ourselves away for one of our activities for the day.
Powered by the first night’s spell against the vernacular, we carried on every day only in Latin. I remember how awkward and halting the experience was for myself at first, constantly shocked at the proficiency of others while simultaneously interiorly accepting the challenge. “I can do this,” I thought. “I can show these people I know Latin, and when I get back I’ll show my students too!” So the days slipped swifter than I’d like to remember, interspersed with great meals and drinks, but all the time working together at this common trial.
And so, I kept going. The activities were the primary driving force of the operation. We’d gather ‘round and let the duces do their thing before we jumped in and struggled valiantly. When we made a mistake, it was okay, we would just look at each other and laugh. There’s no pressure. We were all there for the same thing. When we had downtime I would inevitably wander the halls of Claymont Mansion, seeking someone to talk to–to share my joys with, like the dream. The sharing of joys is really the crux of this whole thing, not the dream per se, but coming together to exercise this common thing, this passion, and to make new friends. I could do this, but not alone. I still talk most every week with friends I made at Rusticatio, and for that I will be forever grateful. I could not recommend this opportunity higher. It is one of the best decisions I ever made.