Epilogue: Summer at Freeman
Hey again.
Just me, Ember. One more post before school starts.
I know Chapter 16 felt like an ending. But turns out, it wasn’t.
Not really.
A Summer Without Camp (But Not Without Plans)
I didn’t sign up for camp this year. Neither did Eva.
After everything that happened, it just didn’t feel right to be off at some ropes course pretending our world hadn’t changed.
So instead… we showed up.
At Freeman Environmental Center, the future temporary Thurston, where the school board had moved fast to get things ready for fall.
It wasn’t exactly beautiful.
The construction company that had been squatting there left a mess—plastic sheeting tangled in fences, cracked sidewalks, rusted signage, even a few sad little porta-potties that no one wanted to deal with.
But Ms. Alvarez got us in touch with the facilities crew, and because, well, everyone knew who we were by now, they said yes.
“If you want to help… show up Saturday. Wear gloves.”
So we did.
Operation Freeman Clean-Up
It started with just me, Eva, and a rake so old it probably came with the building.
Then Phoenix joined. Then Blaise. Then Ruby (yes, really). Then three other kids I didn’t know but who said they’d read the blog.
By week two, we were hauling trash, painting over graffiti, scrubbing window frames, and unearthing an actual metal filing cabinet from behind the gym.
Eva: “This thing has moss growing inside it.”
Me: “It’s a fernarium now.”
We made jokes, ate popsicles, and played music from someone’s Bluetooth speaker that only worked when held at a weird angle.
It wasn’t glamorous. But it felt like something real.
Blaise’s Bird House Factory
Meanwhile, at home, Blaise and my dad were running a whole operation in our garage.
My dad had a new 3D printer (because of course he did), and Blaise—who is six and already smarter than I was at nine—decided we needed birdhouses.
Not one or two.
Dozens.
“Every tree needs a bird house. And every birdhouse needs a landing pad. With texture. For claws.”
I don’t know what bird expected deluxe accommodations, but by mid-July we had twenty-three little plastic homes lined up on Dad’s workbench.
We hung them all across the Freeman grounds. Red ones, blue ones, glow-in-the-dark green (??), and one that looked like a tiny haunted mansion.
And guess what?
Birds moved in.
Chickadees. Sparrows. Even a house wren family that yelled at us every time we walked past.
A Dedication
It wasn’t official at first. Just a corner of the Freeman woods we kept cleaning up—dragging branches, pulling weeds, planting native ferns Eva found on sale.
We didn’t ask for anything. We just… kept showing up.
Then, one Saturday in August, the grounds manager called us over.
He pointed to a new plaque, set in a little cedar post at the start of the wooded path.
“In recognition of Ember J. and Eva S.,
whose voices sparked change and whose hands helped build this place anew.”
I didn’t cry.
(Okay, I cried a little. But only because Eva started it.)
What Comes Next
School starts in three weeks. We’ll be back in real classrooms.
New desks, old chalkboards, birds outside the windows.
Clara’s grave is marked and safe.
The Nature Center at Thurston is protected.
And Freeman—our now-not-so-temporary home—feels alive.
Like a place that remembers.
So no, this wasn’t a summer of campfires or swimming lessons.
But it was a summer of something bigger.
Not just saving something.
But growing something new.
✌️
Ember
(Future Heron Club President, probably)