Years ago, one late May, I popped into Michael’s office when he was about to sign the seniors’ diplomas. It was quiet in Olympus; everyone else had left for the day. He told me that he had a system: he’d take each one in turn and consider, for a few long moments, that particular student–what she had brought to the community mix, what sort of maturity he’d come into during his time here, what qualities we’d witnessed years back had come to bear or bear fruit. Then he’d scrawl his John Hancock, put that diploma in the “OUT” box, and pull another from the stack.

I’m lucky–really lucky–to have a parallel experience every year. Mine comes at holiday season, when I haul out my biggest, baddest soup pot and begin churning out vat after vat after vat after vat after vat of hot fudge–ten dozen half-pint jars in all, each destined for the hands of a faculty or staff member.

Even more than licking the pot after each batch (a sort of pre-wash), what I love best is making the labels. With each name comes a wave of images: Robert Torres or Bob Lang barreling through the front door or the back gate to check a wonky electrical outlet or touch up a wall where the paint’s beginning to wear. May Adams’ reliably enthusiastic voice on the other end of x-217: “What can I do for you, Joy?” (“Ummm, well, could you please remind me whether or not I submitted a Costco receipt three months ago for Open House supplies? I just found one in a pretty old stack of papers. . .”) Carolyn McMahan’s eyes virtually disappearing when she smiles or her patient tone when she goes through my EDT med kit with me and pointing out the new thermometer she’s added simply because I’d asked after my last camping trip. Cecilia Ortiz exhorting the Assembly to do the right thing–another right thing, always the right thing. Mike Swan rumbling by in the feed truck, his little dog Tink also driving. Cindy Kosinski, broad-smiled and endlessly helpful, coping with the post-Assembly counter rush in the Student Store. Françoise Kasimirowski at a dining room table, helping a French student nail those elusive accent aigu (ou grave) marks. Oscar Luna lopping ebullient shrubs into shape above the Pergola. Yung Roman leading a small army of campus visitors up to the amphitheatre behind the Library, for the umpteenth time, though you’d never know it from the spring in her step and her gracious good cheer. Cal Jensen and Bill Vickery, perpetually in motion between and among endless technological needs all over campus. The roster of good workers accomplishing mission-driven work, day in and day out, goes on and on.

Thanksgiving was last month, but I’m still in that mode: grateful for the Thacher village far, far beyond what a small jar of chocolate can ever convey.