Teaching Rites of Passage for 35 Years


Giving affects us all

"One touch of nature makes the whole world kin."
William Shakespeare

Scholarship Fund: Help us secure scholarship donations for 2019 programs:  Total needed: $7,000

General Fund: We are able to cover 80% of our administrative expenses through program income,

and rely on 20% support from our community.  Total needed this year: $15,000.

A Love Story: We are hoping to recoup some of the cost of producing a book on the history and lineage

of the school.  Grand total for production cost is $19,000.  We are hoping to raise at least $10,000 toward cost.

Total Goal:  $31,000 - NO AMOUNT IS TOO SMALL.  DONATIONS FROM $5 - $50,000 ARE WELCOME :)


A few tangible examples of what your donation can do:

$50: pays for electricity and keeps the lights on in the office for a month.
$275: A basic scholarship for someone who can't afford minimum tuition
$25: replaces one of our aging camp chairs :)
$1,000: funds a chapter of Meredith's book.

NOTE: Donations $100 and up will include a gift option for a free copy of The School of Lost Borders:

 A Love Story, by Meredith Little.  

Love Story copies can also be purchased separately at Lost Borders Press for $15.



These options are available for donations $100 and over.

News & Announcements


Die Before you Die: The Gifts of the Death Lodge

by Petra Lentz-Snow

I was grateful that timing worked out for me to be in our little desert home in the Owens Valley for the pivotal weekend of the expected chemo induced hair loss, and away from the buzz of the Bay Area, where I was going through breast cancer treatment.  “Fourteen days after your first infusion,” my oncologist in Palo Alto had told me, “you can count on it!”  My hair roots had begun to hurt a few days earlier, but it was all still there, the morning of day fourteen. Who knows, I thought, maybe – just maybe, it won’t happen to me.


But later that day, brushing my hand absentmindedly over my head while journaling on the patio, a tuft of blond hair silently floated by, touching down on the lawn for a brief moment, before the autumn breeze picked it up and chased it down the driveway. Damn!


Like most things, we can’t really imagine them until they actually happen to us. And we don’t really know what we are going to do with them until we are face to face with their physical reality. For me, that afternoon, as I was watching the first bushel of hair tumbling toward the street, it suddenly became clear that I would entrust my hair to this valley, this patch of earth that was sacred ground to me. I was going to give this loss meaning, rather than just enduring it. I would give my hair to the earth as a gift, rather than just having treatment take it from me.    (Read full article)