My Journey

Floating Ideas at Northeast Open Air (NEO)

Not only did I attend my favorite gathering of the year, where we explore whatever kinds of ideas our on our minds, but I also watched this TED talk by Sarah Kay.  It was timely.  Her name is Sarah, my name is Sarah.  I had been reflecting over how I ended up at Northeast Open Air (NEO), standing in a circle feeling that sense of community, curiosity, and excitement all colliding at the same time.  My cheek muscles hurt from smiling and laughing.  My brain felt rejuvenated by the reminder to keep asking wild questions about things I do not know, and as Sarah says in her talk:

"If you have the ability to express yourself and the courage to express those stories and opinions you could be rewarded with a room full of your peers - or community - who will listen.  And maybe even a giant girl in a hoodie who will connect with what you've shared, and that is an amazing realization to have... You have to grow and explore and take risks and challenge yourself... infusing the work you're doing with the specific things that make you you even while those specific things are always changing... I would like to help others rediscover that [childhood] wonder.  To want to engage with it, to want to learn, to want to share what they've learned - what they've figured out to be true and what they're still figuring out."

To me, that spirit existed in the community of the people I spent time with this weekend.  How I ended up there exists in a handful of moments, some of which are as follows...

***

Sitting on the maroon couch of my living room, a part of my life lay broken on the floor.  I stared out the window across the room at the neighbor's house, considering what I believed in.  I had to incorporate nature, or the wilderness - a cultural shift - an intervention that plucked a person away from their usual world.  I asked Google:

"wilderness + therapy"

(6 months later)

Sitting at the small table in our apartment in Santiago, I felt pulled.  I hadn't known how long I would stay in South America, but the pull made it clear.  Fresh off the plane landing in Boston, I arrived at orientation for adventure camp.  With two suitcases and a chorus of welcomes, my world clicked.

(6 months later)

I was walking up the green grassy hill when a facilitator left his group to jog over to me.  I wasn't sure what he was doing at first, as he smiled big and wide.  He seemed so delighted to meet me that that I felt connected.  

(2 years later)

This was the day that one of my favorite participants was leaving the program.  His mother joined our group as we sat in a circle.  His mother was glowing and tearful.  As I sat talking with her, I shared that I hoped to be a wilderness therapist one day.  "Your face just lit up so much when you just started talking about that.  Oh that was so beautiful to see!" she said.  

(Last Saturday)

"I didn't even know what the topic was - I just came because of you." said the man who wrote the first book on adventure therapy to my co-discussion leader and myself.  Our Experiential Education Through a Feminist Lens discussion had just begun, and here this veteran of my field was saying he was there because of me.  The same leader in the field who had introduced himself to me on that grassy hill years prior, said the same thing. 

(Now)

There are moments when you believe in yourself.  The memory can only hold so many moments and those were some that stuck.  As I stood looking around at the circle of people surrounding me, I wondered how I got here.

It was through those little moments - every single one.

Sufjan & The Kelpies

Duke and Barron - The Kelpies of Falkirk, Scotland

In a country whose national animal is a Unicorn, it seems fitting to have two mythological creatures sculpted in steel to welcome river travelers.  Duke holds his head down as if drinking water while Barron stretches his neck to the sky to bask in the sunlight.  According to mythology, a water spirit would shape-shift into a Kelpie (water horse) who would lure weary travelers walking along a river or loch.  Delighted to take a ride, humans would leap onto the sticky back of the Kelpie, who would whisk them down into the depths of the water with a crack of thunder.

CRACK BOOM.

Sufjan Stevens played I am the Christmas Unicorn with enough confetti and smoke to set off the fire alarms.  We all had to file out without an encore.  In an interview with him, he mentions this fire-alarm-provoking imagination,

"My imagination can be a problem," he says. "I'm prone to making my life, my family, and the world around me complicit in my cosmic fable, and often it's not hard to manipulate the hard facts into a vision quest  But it's all an attempt to extract meaning, and ultimately that's what I'm in pursuit of, like: What's the significance of these experiences?"

His most recent album, Carrie and Lowell, was created underneath the backdrop of the death of his mother in 2012.  I recently was able to visit the grave of my grandmother who passed away in November.  If I were a musician, I would love to title my own album after my grandparents, Alec and Sarah, and create songs reflective of their lives and my own stories of them.  This time I left, I stood in the road waving from the car through the night, watching with blurry eyes the venetian blinds in the front window.  Thicker stripes of yellow light streamed through where my grandfather's fingers were pulling them apart to peek through.

I hope that our own spirits shift into different shapes when we die as resemblances in our families; our children; ourselves.  When we are most weary, may we find them to refresh us in the water of this cosmic fable.  That's what I like to imagine, which fortifies my heart and soul.

Oh be near me, tired old mare
With the wind in your hair
Amethyst and flowers on the table
Is it real or a fable
Well I suppose
A friend is a friend
And we all know
How this will end

- Death with Dignity Sufjan Stevens

A Fine Rain

Look it's an American with her wee doggie bag.

Today we walked into Wishaw with a fine rain coming down on us during part of the walk around town.  We had lunch in a coffee shop where the password to the wifi was pleaseleaveatip.  Patches of blue sky poked through here and there.  We laughed at the solar panels on the houses along our walk back in this dreary cloudy country.

Suddenly there was a beep that almost knocked us off the sidewalk.  We jumped around to the sound of a car pulling up and the driver inside saying, "Hey you guys!" in his best American accent.  My mother's cousin was headed to another paint and carpentry job.  He chatted and offered us a ride home but we wanted to stay out in the fresh air and walk.

The humor here can be either dark or daft - or both.  I noticed in the TV Listings that there's a quiz show called "1000 heartbeats" where they take your pulse and you have to get through all seven rounds before you hit 1000 beats.  We ordered curry from The Pink Turban the other night. When driving, a frown face lights up until the driver reduces their speed to evoke a happy face.  All around Glasgow there are pink signs up that read, "People Make Glasgow".

My mom asked me if I'm aware of my American accent here.  I could hear it coming out in the voices of the singers at the open mic where a man sang a Johnny Cash song and a woman sang Alisha Keys.  My cousin could imitate it as well, along with others.  I find my own intonation tends to go up and down "wee" valleys of sound waves in the air here.  I use their words and make fun of our words - while trying to find some good beer.

That'd be awesome.

I never feel more American than when I'm outside the States.  It's always given me perspective on how my flat nasal voice sounds to the rest of the world.  I can't fully see my culture until I leave it.

And I think that's pretty cool.

Dive in

Ruined

Ocean Art

Shark on board!

Clean up the sea!

Home of the Deep Fried Mars Bar

Hey guys!

Tea, Coffee and Castles

Dunnottar Castle, Stonehaven, Scotland

Nescafé.  Mmm mm mm.  The only time I drink it is outside the US.  Tea can't seem meet my coffee addiction needs as I thought it could.  This morning, finding a jar of Nescafe kernels in my grandfather's cabinet was further celebrated by  "best used by August 2015".  I knew my grandmother had often kept a jar both for herself occasionally and if visitors stopped by who preferred coffee to tea.

When in Scotland, one must watch the weather in order to have a chance of finding a sunny spot to visit.  We thought yesterday was the day of sun!  Therefore, my mom, cousin, and I drove along the twisty windy roads passed Fife and beyond Perth up to Stonehaven, where we visited the castle of Dunnottar.  Within an hour of walking around, the sea mist began rolling in.  It settled all around us between the time it took me to walk from one window to another.  Once it comes in, the scenery disappears: the castle and the cliffs are gone.

All you can hear is the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks.

The strategic location of Dunnottar had been used throughout the middle ages as property of the Keiths, a hiding spot for Scottish crown jewels, a refuge for the Jacobites, and the seat of Earl Marischal until he forfeited his title in the 18th century.   Through every window, one can look down at the rocky descent into the ocean.  We read in the admission booklet about how over a hundred Covenanters were imprisoned for nine weeks in a tiny windowless space, having to take turns to get air.  What a bloody history.

The mist stuck around while we drove to Stonehaven and found a respite to eat food and drink drink.  That's where I realized an americano and cappuccino can lift the fog in my brain better than tea.

Yes, I do actually order an americano - and yes, it feels cliché (a white americano, in fact).

After a walk around the harbor draped in a gray cloth, we drove back to my grandfather's castle: a tiny stucco fortress with all the comforts one could want.  Despite the striking scenery and sites to see, I find myself eager to sit in his own wee castle to drink Nescafé while he reads the paper.

What could be more epic that spending time with a walking history book?

glasgow's 50 shades of gray

Scotland looks good in gray.  Outsiders think it's atmospheric, especially in the highlands.  Insiders have various words for rain:

A wee spit

Spittin

Peltin

Bucketin

Stokin

A fine rain

Dreich

Spurtin

Those are just a few.  There's plenty more ways to describe the rain, mist, fog and shades of gray of this top half of a very big island.  Here are some photos from a city full of art, character and history:

St. Andrew's Metropolitan Church

Garden Outside St. Andrew's (the patron Saint of Scotland) Metropolitan Church

Down the street

Colorful bridge

No Parking

Shelter from the rain

Dome Designs

Salmon colored buildings

Church

Badminton

Walking

Hilghlander

Magical

Splash of color

Art everywhere

John Knox's grave on the hill

Straggly trees

Towards the Necropolis

Ivy

Bridge

Necropolis

Stone on stone

Dome

Stone

Get it!

Waffle

Symbols of Glasgow: Bell, Fish, Bird

Shopping

my childhood has strings from another culture

The decor of the hallway of Glasgow Airport is a forest (with sounds).  Welcome to creative, quirky and clever Scotland. 

On the drive down to New Jersey Friday, I heard an episode of Fresh Air with Ethan Hawke and Patricia Arquette talking about Boyhood.  Ethan Hawke described early conversations with Linklater of how the story was born:

"It's strange.  It was hard not to think about - when Rick first told me about this idea, you know, he was talking about how there's this lie in every film - even the best ones - about childhood, this little, tiny lie you have to accept that somehow, some enlightenment moment happens in one moment, rather than being in a series of moments when we come of age. You know, they may come to feel like one, but he was saying, wouldn't it be amazing to make a movie where we actually just captured all the little moments? The feeling of growing up could actually be tactile."

This morning, our plane flew over the green misty lowlands of Scotland as the Sun was rising.  This has been a familiar sight for me since I was six - when I first remember traveling over to Britain.  To many, heading to Scotland is an exotic vacation.  But to me, it feels like going home.

To conceptualize what traveling here was like for me as a child, I must start with ketchup.  I distinctly remember going for breakfast, once we were off the plane, and noticing that strangely the ketchup tasted more like tomatoes.  I remember my grandparent's house smelled like toast.  I rollerbladed in the street and ran out from the dinner table to buy a 99 from the ice cream truck.  We turned as red as lobsters with our cousins at the beach in England.  My mom's cousins made my brother and I drinks when we were in high school (shh).  We spent a New Years in the streets of Biggar, with gale force winds, as a bonfire swallowed the town, the bottom of my jeans freezing to a puddle.  I rode on the back of my uncle's motorcycle through the yellow rape flower fields of Kent.  I spent a week with my grandparents where I understood their WWII generation much better after scrimping in Uganda.  My mother and I have driven on the blustery roads through the Cairngorms and I've witnessed a mist hide a mountain within seconds.  There are so many bits that have shaped my girlhood over the years.

It's so good to be back.

Ode to Winter Vegetables

Winter VEGETABLES!

How you have provided us with such STRENGTH this season.  How your roots have rooted our immunity.  How your CARROTS have grown richer - your PARSNIPS!  TURNIPS!

I rejoice in being able to tell the difference between all of you.

And SQUASH!  How many of you there were.  How we had to look you up to know what to do with you!  From PIE SQUASH (what??) to BUTTERNUT to WHO-KNOWS-WHAT.  You were all there!

And ARUGULA.  Oh, it's been nice to see you come about.  So STRONG you are and so BITTER when I shove so much of you in my mouth at one time.  It BURNS!

And the WATERMELON radish!  What a delight it was to cut you to pieces - to find that you resemble a WATERMELON inside!

And the CABBAGE!  The purple cabbage; you were a tough one.  I didn't know what to do with you, so I didn't do much.  For this, I apologize.

And CELERIAC!  Same thing as the cabbage; see above.

And the RHUBARB... same thing as the cabbage and celeriac.

LEEKS!  I think you may have dried up in our fridge as well...

POTATOES!  How could we forget?  You came in all different colors: purple, yellow, and lighter yellow!  We roasted you time and time again.

APPLES!  I didn't know you could grow for so many months.  So frigid, so cold.

KALE.  Where have you been?  I haven't seen you in weeks.  I feel that you abandoned us.  For that, I am... sad.  I hope we see you again soon.

OH and the BRUSSEL SPROUTS!  I nearly forgot; you've disappeared as well.

That reminds me: CAULIFLOWER and ITALIAN CAULIFLOWER!  I love you guys.  Miss you.

GENERAL GREENS!  You tasted like grass sometimes.  I couldn't quite get excited about you.  But SPINACH I feel I failed you.  I know you went bad in our fridge.  I'm sorry.

What ELSE?!

FROZEN STRAWBERRIES!

TOMATO SAUCE!

ONIONS!

THANK YOU EVERYONE for joining us throughout these FIVE MONTHS.  You have all been so wonderful to have around.  I hope to see you again next year.

<3

Night Light

One of my roommates brought home a night light: three mushroom and two leaves fading through different pastel shades.  At a winter retreat a long time ago, someone gazed up at the sparks from the bonfire and told me that the sparks were eating up the darkness.  I imagine this is what the night light will do, too. 

Good things I did today:

1. Watched the night light eat the darkness.
2. Sped time forward. 
3. Saw Spring.

Seems like the night light is doing it's job after all. 

Here's to more darkness being eaten day by day...

Now it's time for bed. 

Biophilia/Biophobia

Almost that Spring evening light over the Beaver Pond. 

"Our annual melt is the wild, messy, glorious loosening of everything tight.  It is gravity's ecstasy, as water seeks its own level on every level, and the noise of water running fills day and night.  Down Ragged Mountain the streams rush, cutting through ice and snow, peeling away Winter's cold layers: rush, trickle, rush.  Busy water moves all day and all night, never tired, cutting away the corrupt detritus of Winter; fingers of bare earth extend down the hillsides; south sides of trees extend bare patches, farther every day; root-pattern rivulets, melting, gather downhill to form brief streams; dirt roads slog and driveways turn swamps.

Then it dries; last snow melts; trees bud green; soft air turns. Who can believe in Winter now?"

Donald Hall, Seasons at Eagle Pond

What a specific and glorious depiction of thaw.  It reminds me of the consistency and longevity of the seasons - how they smell, look and feel for us.

In my Theory of Adventure class the other day, we were discussing Biophilia (what?). This is a theory that holds that people have innate responses to nature.  There are nine of them:

Naturalistic - You can benefit from nature mentally, emotionally, physically
Dominionistic - You like to be challenged by nature and overcome it
Utilitarian - You use nature's resources
Negativistic - You are afraid of nature or don't like it
Symbolic - You resonate with spirit animals and symbols from nature
Humanistic - You have a relationship with nature
Moralistic - You feel we all have a responsibility to care for nature because we all belong to it
Aesthetic - You think nature is beautiful and benefit from flowing water, bubbling brooks
Scientific - You study nature in order to use processes to human life

It was easy to talk about how great it is to be Naturalistic and Moralistic about nature.  We even took tests which showed as a class that this is where we stood: Moralistic, Naturalistic, Humanistic and Aesthetic were somewhere around the top while Dominionistic, Utilitarian, Negativistic and Symbolic sank to the bottom.

We talked about other cultures that may identify these bottom values.  People who use the land all the time, are aware of the natural elements (and fearful of them), and work to have dominion over their land.  Farmers and people living in "developing" areas that depend on the natural resources around them and hope for good weather may share these responses.  We talked about fisherman who are famous for superstitions about the sea.  They hold to certain rituals in order to be successful, in a symbolic way.  But the conversation also shifted to how often these kinds of people do care about the land.  What I thought about in my own head was, "Probably better than we do."  People who live in it know how it can be; they are tied to it in a way that we forget.

As Outdoor Education students, we pride ourselves on cutting edge gear to deal with the outdoors, buy stoves so we can "leave no trace" in the wilderness, or invest in water-resistant tarps and tents for nastier elements.  Our sleeping bags can keep us warm in freezing temperatures and our backpacks are gorgeous.  These items all come from nature somewhere down the line - even Gortex - and we own so many of them.  They're probably from Taiwan.

We are so removed from so many things.  Many of us are removed from nature enough so that we can choose when we want to be in it and when we don't.  The moment the heat or the electricity go off in the winter, then we are brought a little closer to the reality of resources.

It's okay to live in houses that are warm and pride ourselves on technological advances.  But let's not forget how long it took us to get there and why we did - through generations of humans.  I believe that the presence of healthy fear can mean there's a space for growth.  I think if we're honest, we'll find how deeply terrified and awed we are of our ever-changing natural world.

I wonder how we can keep that fear alive.

Eskimo Snowshoeing

The ocean is one of my favorite creatures.  Although we classify only animals and humans as those who have physical hearts, I would say that the ocean has one too, somewhere, and is a living, thriving, terrifying creature who also has a calming presence.  The size of it alone reminds me of the vastness and depths of human experience and that there is always so much more to know. 

Snowshoeing along a rocky shoreline combines two beautiful colors on a sunny day: a blinding white and the boldest blue.  I wonder how many places you can do this type of walking in the world where two sides of the same compound of nature meet at the beach: water and snow.  

In Spanish, the word blue is azul and somehow that "z" does the New England winter blue more justice.  It adds an extra zealous quality.  It sounds stronger and bolder.  I can also see why tribes in Alaska distinguish kinds of snow with their words: 

Aput: Snow on the ground  

Qana: Falling snow  

Piqsorpoq: Drifting snow  

Qimuqsuq: Snow drift  

(+ up to 40 more)

Or sea ice:

Utuqaq: Ice that lasts year after year

Siguliaksraq: "Patchwork layer of crystals that form as the sea begins to freeze"

Auniq: "Ice that is filled with holes, like Swiss Cheese"

The words we use reflect the way we see the world. 

This winter, I noticed that the snow was very light and fluffy when it first fell.  I would term this "best-shoveling-snow" as an everyday resident but "powder" as a skier or "terrible-snowman-building-snow" as a child.  I've also noticed the flakes this year.  At times, they look more as how the flakes looked in Oregon: Dippin Dots, the ice cream that is made up of a bunch of tiny compacted kernals.  Or perhaps they are "tiny eggs from the sky" or "soft white beads". 

By the end of the day it compacts to a denser snow.  After days and weeks the top layer becomes a crunchy icy skin, like cake with frozen butter icing that you break into with your fork.  "Wedding cake snow", "nails on a chalkboard snow", "caramel topping" or "hardened icing".  

Crunch. 

This snow will be gone before we know it and my snowshoes will return to the trunk of my car.  Back to the ocean all of this snow will go - melting away and becoming water again.  I can only imagine the puddles that Spring will bring.  

The snow will reinvent itself into something new, just as we do everyday.