I landed in San Luis Obispo, bumping in plenty of turbulence on the last leg from Phoenix through remnants of the torrential “Pineapple Express” that hit California. Peering at slivers of dazzling Western geography through the barely breaking clouds, I was reminded of the spectacular gift of our nation’s geography. Its magnificence can barely be fathomed, even when one has studied, flown, or driven across it. The topography struck me even deeper this time, perhaps due to how often I cross the Atlantic in dark tubes (planes) with windows shades pulled down upon directives of the crew, so that people can watch movies on their screens.

Now, in the unaccustomed quiet of my hotel room, I’m gleefully searching through materials I’ve hoped to consult for a while: book reviews, conference descriptions, and, specifically, clips from the writings and talks of two colleagues whom I will meet soon: Jessica Hooten Wilson, Pepperdine University; and Phillip Donnelly, Baylor Honors College. Both are forceful, inspiring professors at the cutting edge of the battle for the real liberal arts as opposed to today’s “cultivation of inhumanity across university spaces” (a phrase used by another fabulous warrior, Prof. Jonathan Tran). Wilson, Donnelly, and I will form a trio of speakers for a three-day event designed for the faculty, staff, and parents of SLOCA—the San Luis Obispo Classical Academy.

My formal talk, to be given three times, will be devoted to expressions of the Sea in Music and Sound. The topic was prompted by SLOCA’s focus this academic year on Shakespeare’s The Tempest. The Summit’s overall discourse, though, will extend to several areas, including the poetry of the American bard Mary Oliver and (are you ready?) a lengthy consideration of Ferdinand the Bull.

Yes, that Ferdinand who sniffs flowers in the little red book you have on your shelf. For one, it has a fascinating history that I never had considered (starting with its publication in 1936 and its unwitting use in political and military affairs, not to mention its meteoric popularity, outselling even Gone with the Wind in the year of that epic’s publication). I hope to write up some reflections on what transpires in the next three days. For now, though, I need to grab my gear and meet my guide who will take me on a tour of SLOCA’s campus for the Lower School.

Conferences generally start with a committee selecting speakers and setting an agenda. That committee swirls and whirls onto the edge of exhaustion as the event draws near. But somehow, at the opening bell, events begin in a spirit of inevitability and gentle excitement. They blossom into a buzz of ideas and the promise of new friendships. They conclude with participants and presenters toting an unwieldy cornucopia of challenging ideas and renewed strength to use in restoring a place for classical education in our modern culture. And it is those friendships and that cornucopia that make such an event a noble endeavor and a testament to the inextinguishable, inborn desire that does lead us, when we listen, to seek the Good, the True, the Beautiful.

Yes, those words are easy to write, I know. But they must be sought after, lived, and cared for, in whatever form or fashion we can. They are ours to guard so that we can present them to those little ones at our feet, and to the little ones who, one day, will crowd around their feet. This mission is in our hands, even on our hardest days (and we all have those!).

And so, I’m grateful for this chance, once again, to endure the sometimes bumpy ride of restoring classical education and to glimpse such magnificence through the clouds.