The Importance of Circles

Berit Brecke
September 1, 2023

Rounding the south side of Buck Island on the third day of our canoe expedition, my co-leader Ruby and I searched for any open campsites to serve as home for the night.

“I think campsite number ten is open,” Ruby said confidently. “Let me check.” I was the sweep canoe for our group and began rowing ahead while Ruby scouted the island. “It’s open,” they finally said with relief, and our flotilla of seven Wenonahs and Mad River Canoes docked for the night.

There was passion from the tent groups to find the flattest spot, ambition in cook groups to take the two best trees for their tarp, and everyone was eager to fill their afternoon as it was only 12 p.m. Many chose to swim, read a book, or write in their journal. My endeavor of choice was to boil water on the Whisperlite stove and prepare a regular routine of mine for the others around me. I called to my peers and invited them to form a circle. It was time to share maté.

Now, weeks later, as we settle into life at Arcadia, that maté circle on Buck Island still sticks out to my peers and me as we reflect on foundational moments from our trip. During that circle, we listened to each other’s rose, bud, and thorn, grew curious about our new friendships, and felt a keen admiration for the depth of conversation possible without phones. It was only day three, and initial dynamics were developing, so this opportunity to share space proved important to our community, as we would inevitably be faced with adversity farther down the river.

Maté is a simple practice functioning as a gift passed along to others. A traditional tea made in Patagonia and surrounding areas, maté serves as a vessel for comradery. I was drawn to the maté norm to always share what you have, to which unspoken gratitude is assumed when passing the cup around. The routine of sharing warmth and thanks with community sets a foundation for groups to build trust and appreciation as time goes on.

I was introduced to maté by a mentor of mine who grew up in Patagonia immersed in maté culture. The traditional form of maté he shared with me is very different from the common commercialized cans from companies such as Guyaki. “Orange Exuberance” and “Tropical Uprising” are the overproduced styles that contrast with the highly caffeinated but flavorful loose leaf of traditional maté, with its striking bombilla and designated drinking vessel. My mentor taught me about maté as a multifaceted ritual: a social activity to bond over after a long day in the backcountry, a sense of sipped solace on a quiet early morning, a quick pick-me-up during a hard day, or any other time for a feel-good taste of its earthy, grounding essence.

Arguably, the most important aspect of indulging in maté is the social etiquette around sharing, which can vary slightly among users. First, never move the bombilla, a kind of straw that acts as a sieve for the tea and uses the leaves as a kind of filter. If you move the bombilla, it will get clogged and result in grainy sips for all future cups. Second, always face the bombilla towards the person to whom you are passing the cup. This is a motion of respect for others and encourages inclusion. Third, you do not say thank you. The sharing of maté is rooted in gratitude so thanks is assumed by all. You may, however, say “mateché” in acknowledgment, but stating “thank you” indicates that you’re done for the day and want to be excluded from further passing. Finally, when passed a cup, it is all yours to have. You deserve to drink the whole cup before passing it back. These rules of maté allow for a seamless ebb and flow of the energy exuded from passing, sipping, and conversing.

Additional guidelines can vary from person to person; for instance, I will always encourage the creation of a circle. The formation of a circle allows for everyone to be seen and heard, and it’s easier to ensure that a cup makes its way around to everyone. The circle reflects natural inclusivity, regulating an even dynamic; its shape also represents exclusivity, implying that a separate community has formed.

Sitting together and sipping maté on Buck Island that afternoon, we were beginning to explore the values of our group, a necessary step in making our circle unique. Upon arriving at our yurt village a few days later, our circle had developed a comfortable amount of depth, and the diameter had lost a couple of inches. We had all become closer since that first maté circle, and the protective space between members had been reduced, translating into a tighter bond. The jubilation of arriving at the front dock for the first time was met with a reading from Evan Eisenburg’s The Ecology of Eden, explaining the purpose of the place that we were soon about to know: “You would look for a place nestled neatly in the trough of the wave of human advance. In a word, you would look for Arcadia.” Our circle was entering the space of a new circle, Arcadia, a loophole squished between tilled land and wilderness. We were introduced to the circles of the yurts and yurt platforms, the three rings in the hoop house, the log stump cookies lining our pathways, the big round cast irons that would cook us food, and the wooden barrel of our sauna. Among these spaces we were taught the vast network of systems looping around the village that allow for complex life to be kept so simple. The wholeness of the circle is abundant in Arcadia, so we immediately felt connected.

Later that first evening at Arcadia, we gathered under the hoop house with Adirondack Semester alumni and our team of directors to enjoy our first dinner in our new home. We were all one large circle of Arcadian dwellers, sharing the excitement of existing in the in-between. Although many students enroll in the semester for similar reasons, the culture of each year’s group is unique to the individuals that comprise the community. As for me, I had my maté, and I began passing it around our intermixed circle of twelve. Sharing the maté was a signal that our group had grown together over the past week and begun to form its own traditions, and so with unspoken gratitude, we effortlessly passed the cup around the table. Without words, we weaved maté between overflowing plates of food, establishing our new circle that would soon begin to interlock with the existing life in Arcadia.