Last Friday, 5 March, was, inexplicably, a year since we took off on our last student trip - and right as the world was ending. I remember 5 March, 2020 so clearly. We met at 8:00 a.m. as we always do, and, truthfully, I didn't see any way in hell that we were going on the trip. Mainly I used the class time to try and keep the spirits up before the official decision to cancel it. I had been in constant negotiations with students, parents, administrators, and my overseas contacts in the days leading up to that day - and there was nothing that led me to believe that we were going. Right after the meeting I had a meeting with our acting president and I assumed that was when the official no was coming down. In fact, it was my opinion that we should just go ahead and cancel it and give the students as much of their money back as possible (which, apparently, was not an option). Instead she asked if I could pull it off. I told her not to play to my vanity because of course I was sure I could pull it off, but even if I pulled it off that didn't mean the it was the right decision to go. So, as Champlain all too often does, the decision was dumped back in my lap, and so we decided to roll. Anyone who knows me know how much I love my students - and how, while claiming the opposite, I scrupulously plan everything in advance. It wasn't like we were winging it or taking any chances, but considering how little we knew about the pandemic at the time it was definitely stressful. By the time we got back on 15 March - having crossed the border from Canada into the US with eleven minutes to spare - the world had ended, and we never made it back to campus that semester.
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