Power schools have always been, and still are, the veins and arteries of New England.

We are now in that time of year where the summer groove is on autopilot, the straightaway from the on-ramp that was the Fourth of July. While there are still yacht club regattas and beach club talent shows and tennis ladders going on, more and more, our minds are drifting to the off-ramp labelled “back to school.”

The always savvy, almost Machiavellian New England prep schools and colleges know this better than anyone. Those quintessential and idyllic academic buildings and grounds, which have held onto a bit of the bloom from their May graduation spit shine, are starting to get refreshed within an inch of their lives. They know their continued existence depends on it.

In some regards, the upcoming Autumn window is narrow. Before the impending onslaught of never ending snow banks and icy granite steps, there is that all important triad.

Parents dropping off their kids – important. School tours for prospective students – more important. And Homecoming festivities to shore up donations – most important of all.

This is how the game is played.

Growing up, my family and my husband’s family embodied two different flavors of New England-y-ness, tangential to schools in some cases, dead on in others. My parents were very social in that low-key, more salon-like informal gatherings that consisted mostly of intellectuals and academics. Sitting around, literally drinking good scotch and smoking pipes, talking about the latest bird sighting or the latest (or oldest) books written by various naturalists or philosophers or poets. Sometimes, once in a while, maybe, I found it interesting. But more often it was a bit of a yawn for me. Though I did enjoy the smell of pipe tobacco, despite the obvious.

But with my husband’s family, it was really all about power of schools and the power players.