The Classroom That Never Ended: From Cat Island to Olympic Valley

Some classrooms have walls, chalkboards, rows of desks, and bells that tell you when to stop learning. Mine had none of those things.

My classroom was Cat Island, in the Bahamas. And my teacher was Beverley Benner (in photo below).

Bev Benner with dad’s Tradewind N6640R

When I was a child, Bev tutored my sister and me in the ordinary subjects — math, English, geography, science, biology — things every child is supposed to learn. But what stayed with me wasn't simply the multiplication tables, grammar lessons, or the names of plants and places on a map.

Me learning to fly.

What stayed with me was the way she taught me to see. Cat Island itself became the classroom. The beach, bush, insects, plants, and foot paths... the weather, reefs, tide pools and ocean—all of it had something to teach us.

Lord of the “no-see-ums.”

Bev understood that learning wasn't something confined to a book, though she gave us a deep and lasting appreciation for books. Learning was everywhere around us, if we were paying attention. And this included paying attention to our elders and the natives of Cat Island, like Mr. and Mrs. Nottage (in photo below).

Mr. and Mrs. Nottage at their home in Bain Town, Cat Island.

On Cat Island, education wasn't abstract. The lessons mattered. You needed to know what plants were useful and which ones to avoid.

Deep sea fishing with dad.

Abby trying to outfish me.

Which fish were edible and those that were poisonous. You needed to understand the dangers of the island — the sharp and poisonous things, the weather and isolation. You needed to know how to protect yourself, be aware, and how to survive.

The Bar

Bev gave us that.

Mr. Nottage serving drinks at The Bar - a very popular place at Cutlass Bay Club.

But Bev gave us something even greater. She gave us a love of reading, writing, and learning that has stayed with us ever since.

Harry, dad and me on the Cutlass Bay Club deck.

She made curiosity feel natural, and helped us understand that knowledge wasn't just something you memorized for a test. It was something that could help you live more fully, more aware, and more awake.

Mr. Nottage looking for conch on the ocean floor.

Looking back now, I realize that Bev wasn't simply tutoring us. She was shaping the way my sister and I would move through the world.

The view from the salt water pool deck area.

Cutlass Bay Club was the unique place our parents raised us with Bev's help. Located at the southern, central end of Cat Island about 350 miles east-southeast of Fort Lauderdale, FL.

The only safe way to get there was by plane, the runways were too short for jets. Boats could get there, but the massive reefs surrounding the island made it treacherous at best.

N6640R getting engine repairs on the island.

This is why the typical tourist seldom visited Cat Island. Instead, we got to meet some pretty fascinating island hoppers and eccentric pilots - including Bill Lear.

Far off the grid. No TVs. No phones. No typical distractions of the modern world. A big day for us was when a plane would buzz the club to let us know they were landing on the dirt runway, and soon we would have new guests visiting. New friendships, new connections.

In the club were large round tables where guests would eat breakfast, lunch and dinner at the sound of a swinging bell out in front of the main entrance. We would share stories. There was laughter. Not one person was on their phones.

With my mom and sister.

I didn't know it then, of course, but those early lessons on Cat Island would follow me for the rest of my life.

The original Cutlass Bay Club logo.

They would eventually find their way into the mountains of Olympic Valley, into my writing and photography, into my work as a photojournalist, and into BlueWolfGallery.com.

In many ways, I'm still doing what Bev first taught me to do: still looking closely, trying to understand the place where I live. Still learning from the land.

Only now, instead of Cat Island, my classroom is Olympic Valley.

Like a William Blake sketch, the roots of this Juniper are dizzying.

The lessons are different here... granite instead of coral, snow instead of saltwater, Junipers instead of sea grapes, wildfires instead of hurricanes. But the deeper lesson is the same: pay attention. Know where you are. Respect the land. Learn its moods and dangers, its beauty and seasons. And of course, learn its stories.

Broken Arrow Skyrace runner passing a Juniper Tree. One measures endurance in hours. The other in lifetimes. Both know the same secret: keep moving forward when the path gets hard.

As a writer and photographer, I try noticing what might otherwise be missed. A tree sculpted by wind and time. A runner climbing toward the ridge. A thunderhead rolling into the Valley.

That instinct didn't appear by chance or out of nowhere. It began with Bev.

She taught us that the natural world isn't separate from education. It is education. She taught us that writing begins with noticing, and that noticing begins with reverence.

With Mr. Brightman Nottage on Cat Island.

BlueWolfGallery.com, in many ways, is an extension of that first classroom. It's my attempt to share what I've learned from looking closely at the world - the way a single moment in nature can become a story, a memory, a kind of reverence.

The same is true of my local writing. Whether I'm writing about Olympic Valley, a local legend, telling the story of a landscape, or trying to help neighbors see the value of stewardship, I'm still drawing from those early lessons on Cat Island.

Bev taught me that learning wasn't passive. You didn't simply sit and receive the world. You went out into it and studied it with respect. You asked what it was trying to teach you.

And then, if you were lucky, you found a way to share what you learned with others.

Long after I left Cat Island, a belief stayed with me that the best classrooms can be in the great outdoors, and the best lessons can be discovered through intense curiosity.

And the best teachers? They're the ones who know how to instill a joy of seeing... of encouraging a child to pay attention, be curious, and ask better questions.

For me, that teacher was Beverley Benner and that first classroom was Cat Island, where the lessons never ended.

All photographs by Michael Kennedy (unless otherwise noted) / BlueWolfGallery.com

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I’m Michael Kennedy, a resident of Olympic Valley, CA (in photo above). I’m a photojournalist and I love exploring nature and getting lost along the way. We live in a world that demands our attention and I just want to say thank you for your attention. If you enjoyed this post, please share with a friend. For more photos and stories visit BlueWolfGallery.com.