Cell Phones and Cows

Why is it that cows have such a way of staring at you with their dark brown eyes that communicates both ambivalence and mild amusement? A few weeks ago I was acting very much like a non-Vermonter and desperately searching for cell phone service down the dirt roads near my house. Having seen a promising online coverage map that revealed there might be service at end of the lane and into the woods (and over the river), I hopped on one of our rusty retro bikes and charged down the lane. As I balanced the bike while holding my cell phone aloft, I had no thought of who might be watching my silly attempts to receive one bar- just one bar! -of reception. Frustrated with the lies of the Verizon coverage map, I sighed and turned to find several sets of eyes staring at me. Four jersey cows watched me and blinked as if to say, "What are you doing, silly person? And why do you need that silly gadget in your hand?"

"What are you looking at?" I retorted to the cows. But they only smiled and continued to stare. A little perturbed at their rudeness, I continued my quest. However, it was to no avail. Spotty and shifting reception was all that materialized from my frantic bike trip.

Finally I had to laugh at what a perfect juxtaposition that this scene held- my desperate attempts to use technology even at the edge of a quiet pasture of cows. The Vermonter in me was appalled at my failure to take things as they come and actually enjoy my walk down the lane with stunning mountain views surrounding me. So I couldn't get a text at the edge of the field, so what?

Dully reminded of the limits of technology, I placed my phone in my pocket, waved to the cows and enjoyed the rambling walk home.

Lift

Gravity release me
and don't ever hold me down.
Now my feet won't touch the ground.

Listening to Coldplay on my run this morning. Life in Technicolor ii always gives me that sense of buoyancy- as though I could simply launch myself and step into the air.

The weather is a lovely mix of cool air, sun, and breezes that gather the leaves and scatter them around me as I run. How incredible that these mountain views can still take my breath away just stepping out my door.

This monday: enjoying the color of black coffee in a white mug, fresh and steaming, the sound of gravel road beneath my feet, the feel of cool air filling my lungs and the shifting shadows of clouds on the hills.

Peace Corps Update

Update for those interested: My Boston interview went very well. And I have been officially nominated as a volunteer. I also have a potential program that would start in this coming February. The position would be in Sub-Saharan Africa and would be in agriculture where I could hopefully use my beekeeping skills!

I still have to make a final decision and clear medical screening so pray for me in the process. I will keep you posted.

Autumnal Moments

You know it's fall when. .
-you have the urge to bake apple pies and fresh doughnuts
-you feel the need to shop for deals on mechanical pencils and line paper (even when no longer in school)
-you open the dresser drawer reserved for long sleeves and chunky sweaters
-you watch the backdrop of mountains around the house blushing with reds and russets
-you harvest the last armloads of yellow squash and string beans from your passing garden
-you find you are often stuck behind out-of-state cars going 35 on the way home from work
-you pull the fan out of your window and return it to its attic home
-you walk by the rock wall and smell a sweet mix of apples, fallen leaves, and damp dirt
-you find the beehives heavy with honey, ready for coming cold
-you pick up your knitting needles (or other crafty indoor projects)after months of neglect, and dream of ambitious projects like cable-knit sweaters and Swedish wool hats.

I find this fall different from any I can remember as it is the first September that I have not been entering a new year of classes and assignments. Instead, this autumn finds me looking towards a season of pouring coffees for leaf-peepers and preparing my resume for further adventures. I may be sharpening my kitting and well as sewing skills as I recently picked up a few more hours helping at a quilt shop in Londonderry. The shop is funky and fun with bright inspiring quilts that just might convince me to try my hand at my mother's Bernina.

Amidst work, my plans for volunteer service abroad move forward this week as I head to Boston on Tuesday for my interview for the Peace Corps! All my paperwork so far has paid off to get me a chance to meet with a recruiter and discuss opportunities and my qualifications. I only hope I can calm my nerves and that the journey will be free of car-problems. (You know the reputation that a Davis car has...)

Now I end with a fallish quote from Thoreau concerning autumn leaves, from the book I am working my way through, Second Nature: A Gardener's Education by Micheal Pollan.

"How beautifully they go to their graves. How gently they lay themselves down to turn to mold. . . . They teach us how to die. One wonders if the time will ever come when men, with their boasted faith in immortality, will lie down as gracefully and as ripe."

Which Side Wins?

"Have I told you about the tension of opposites?" he says.
The tension of opposites?
"Life is a series of pulls back and forth. You want to do one thing, but you are bound to do something else. Something hurts you, yet you know it shouldn't. You take certain things for granted, even when you know you should never take anything for granted.
"A tension of opposites, like the pull on a rubber band. And most of us live somewhere in the middle."
Sounds like a wrestling match, I say.
"A wrestling match." He laughs. "Yes, you could describe life that way."
So which side wins, I ask?
"Which side wins?"
He smiles at me, the crinkled eyes, the crooked teeth.
"Love wins. Love always wins."

Mitch Albom p.40 Tuesdays With Morrie

Are We There Yet?

As much as I wish this blog post told of adventures in far-flung places like Milwaukee or Dubai or Djibouti, it instead consists of my musings from a quiet breezy home, bees buzzing under the apple tree, peas slowly winding their way up a trellis in the garden, hummingbird collecting nectar from the wildflowers.

Somehow my life this summer- and perhaps for the next year or so- has slowed to a gentle pace. Perhaps this is time to let my living and learning in the past four years age a bit. Perhaps this is my time to collect thoughts, read what I want to read, develop my painting, and maybe in between I can write some insightful blogs. . . It seems also to be a time to dream- to keep my plans wide and free and let no idea be too wild. Beekeeping on a French Canadian farm? Teaching English in Ghana? Organic farming in Australia? Grad school in culinary arts? French pastry school? . . Life is full of possibilities.

In the meantime, I write. In a quiet house I listen to the cheery lilt of a robin in the backyard as a breeze lifts the tree branches and ripples the field in the front yard. I am tempted to ask the question- are we there yet? Am I closer to my goals? To finding a place to seek my passions and serve with my gifts? Will I be there soon? Why is waiting so difficult?

So these are my musings. My summer mood has been caught in periods of waiting. I suppose this lull suits me in a way. I have always enjoyed slow summers when I have time to explore recipes and new flavors in the kitchen, read novels by an open window, enjoying dips in the swimming hole on hot days. But this is the first summer when there is no definite end- no point to look toward when books and pencils and friends are gathered again into another busy school year. So instead, I wait to hear back from the Peace Corps and google travels ideas and dream of my next trip while looking toward a fall of work and bank savings slips. My life in the in-between.

Seeds and Memories of Africa

Amidst sudden showers, shadows of storm clouds, a tornado watch and patches of brilliant sunshine, Mother and I planted half of the garden this afternoon. Actually, I mostly planted- dropping tiny seeds into our black farm soil -and Mother did the hard work of turning the soil where high grass (Mom likes to call it "elephant grass") had taken over our little rectangle of cultivation. Every year about this time, I have to marvel at how the tiniest seeds, with simply some dirt, water and sun, can become deliciously fresh plump vegetables.

As I maneuvered soil, seeds and rocks, I was reminded of my day of planting on a sloping bean field with my Tanzanian family last year. The dirt was similarly rich and black, the hillside loose with soil and soft on my bear feet. (I soon realized a good reason to wear shoes was to avoid the hostile "siafu" or biting ants hiding in the dirt.) Alongside my homestay mother and sisters, we planted beans tossed from the pockets of our skirts, moving up the hill. My movements of dropping, pressing the bean and covering it with dirt where clumsy compared to the deft sowing of my homestay family. However, they allowed the contribution of my slow, careful planting, if only for a while before the "mzungu" (white girl) had to rest and I was given a mandatory work break. After a half days work we ate some sweet, small bananas for lunch from trees at the base of the hill. We washed out feet in the river and I was able to start a watercolor sitting on the steep bean hill in the glaring sun, with my Tanzanian sister looking on.

I remember the satisfaction of working in dirt and sun and the joy of helping in daily work. I remember noticing how unhurried and enjoyable the day's labor had seemed. My Tanzanian sisters had wandered in the field, alternately playing and planting with their mother. Our father had picked bananas and sat enjoying them with us in the field. Life seemed to flow as easy and lazily as the stream that trickled in the valley of two hillsides.

Perhaps this summer I am recapturing the pace of African life. And perhaps this memory could lead me back to the slower lingering, savoring lifestyle I learned in my months in Tanzania. May I learn how to live in the present- in dirt and sun and seeds and the miracle of growing things.

On An Evening In Roma

Since this is meant to be something of a travel blog, I decided I needed to tell more about my Italian rambles (and that's what they were- rambles around several Italian cities). Mostly, we took a map and glanced at it occasionally and were not afraid to get lost (which we did, several times). I think that's the best way to travel Europe anyhow. I mean, why not find your own way to things and create your own paths? You might just find the best little streets and restaurants right around the corner.

While looking through the pictures, I remembered one of my favorite most happiest moments in Rome. We were coming back from dinner of pasta and steak (Candace insisted on meat) and walking through the enchantingly lit streets of the Trastavere area (the quaint collegy area down the river from the Vatican). Candace and I each had an ear bud in one ear and we were listening to the tunes of Regina Spektor's "Far" album and regardless of the people walking behind us, we were singing out loud, perhaps out of tune, while winding through parked cars. Eventually we made it to a point above the river- through some cute streets with what looked like really yummy hole-in-the-wall restaurants -up to where we could see a city-scape. I love seeing city lights from somewhere out and above. It's like finding a fermata from the symphony of the city. You feel like you can breathe and pause and think. We paused in the afterglow before heading back to our hostel on the other side of the city. We were a bit giddy still- perhaps from the wine? But certainly, one of my favorite evenings in Rome.

Regina Spektor's brilliantly quirky and thoughtful album
http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=105518205

Shoes and Kindness

TOMS is awesome. Do something for someone else- one for one.

Birthday

All things come to an end . . even the Roman Empire

Still basking in the loveliness of an Italian holiday, the end of the semester came sweeping by and crashing to a close with finals and term papers seen in the dim light of computer screens at various hours of the night and morning. Somehow, now, I sit in the sunlight family room with Vermont mountains half-tinged in spring green out my window. I woke late, attempting to fulfill a fours year sleep deficit. I felt the need to write.

And now begins "real life". Diploma in hand, what comes next? The job search, the volunteer position, . . . I think the college president was right in asking parents and friends to pause before they ask the graduates that question. It can be rather hard to answer. Thankfully for me, I have a very supportive family and a house to stay in until I know the next step.

Is becoming a gypsy artist in Italy allowed?

Spring in Italy

There truly is no place like home. And no season so refreshing as spring. After returning from a lovely 12-day holiday to Italy just yesterday, I am joyful to see that western New York has blossomed into springtime while we were gone.

It was a full 12 days- Candace, my roommate and I had planned the trip as a sort of statement of independence and a graduation celebration. We had hoped to learn a lot as we planned and traveled, and learn we certainly did. We gained some travelers know-how about public transportation and a how to have a healthy mistrust of people pretending to help. We saw the big things one should see in a first trip to Italy- in Florence Brunelleschi's famous dome of the cathedral, Michelangelo's Sistine Chapel in the Vatican, the ancient Pantheon and the Colosseum in Rome . . . we even saw the Pope performing mass in St. Peter's square. We also got to see a few minor towns- Padua- famous in Shakespeare and where Galileo had his university, and the medieval town of Assisi, where St. Francis was from, set in the rolling hills of Umbria. We ended our trip in dreamlike Venice and soaked in the romance and beauty of a city on water.

Overall, a beautiful trip, Italy is lovely in spring, and a perfect escape from classes and papers. Pictures will be coming soon.
Ciao!

Thoughts for the New Year and Easter in Florence

“Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn’t do than by the ones you did do.” ~Twain

Someone found this quote for me and I believe it is quite appropriate for this time in my life. (Leave it to Twain to be so straightforward and wise.) As the new year begins and my life after college stretches in front of me, I ask myself, what opportunities and adventures will I have in these next years of my life? Then I say to myself, "Self, don't let life pass you by. Take advantage of the little things."

Someone once told me that the only things in life which are eternal are souls, so why wouldn't we invest the greatest amount of our time discovering other souls? One of my favorite songs about priorities and people is by Sara Groves. She sings, "There's always just one more thing/There's always another task/And everything is important/But everything is not/At the end of your life your relationships are all you're got/And love to me is when you put down that one more thing and say/I've got something better to do/And love to me is when you walk out on that one more thing and say/Nothing will come between me and you." Something tells me that this is true. I just forget it far too often. It's learning to linger, to overstay a welcome at the risk of self discovery, to prop up my feet and to slow down, learn the fine art of being who I am. (more Sara Groves).

My first step in this year of taking advantage of every opportunity is to go on a senior year celebration trip to Italy for 12 days in April. Candace and I will be in Florence for Easter. We hope to drink in Italy's beauty- Venice, Rome, Bolzano -and have a few adventures together before we graduate and head into our careers. We may be out of money when we fly home but as everyone says, you are only young once, right?