San Lorenzo El Tejar and Mother Organico

30.1.10

Today we had the pleasure of visiting San Lorenzo El Tejar where a group from the Peace Corps Healthy Schools program is spending their training period. It was our “Community Exchange” where we get to see where another group lives. Their town is vastly different from ours..it’s much smaller (I learned that San Antonio is 10,500 people strong) and it is actually an aldea (which is the next step down in size from pueblo). The girls there showed us around, we saw the church and central square. They don’t have many tiendas (maybe three, while we have dozens) and the community is mostly made up of Ladinos, rather than the indigenous Mayan community that is brightly announced in the colorful clothing worn by the women in our pueblo. Nonetheless, I was smitten with the place, it’s very hilly and the houses are more spread out which leaves room for a plethora of lush green growth. I wanted to stay the afternoon and just plop down somewhere with my binoculars. They took us up to a hill that overlooked the aldea and across to the hillside fincas growing a variety of crops. Their river was a sore spot, though. Before it even came in to view, the smell was highly evident. The whole town uses it as their trash can and there is literally a section where everyone dumps their waste. Mortifying? Absolutely. Their water supply is a spring borne close to the overlook and the whole aldea only has about an hour of water a day with which they fill every vessel they have in addition to their pila basins to last until the next time the water flows (which is never truly guaranteed). The community pila has a constant supply of water from the river, which then is directed right back with all the soil and soap of the daily laundry. It seemed to us that this town seriously needed some environmental education volunteers. We were driven back to San Antonio with the San Lorenzo clan in tow so that we could give them a taste of our pueblo. We brought them first to the mirador at the entrance to the city. This looks out across the basin where our town and that of Santa Caterina lay nestled. It's a rather pretty vista with the volcanoes in the background (but it's been fairly cloudy the past three days so we couldn't give them the truly grand view). We also walked with them through the Mercado de Artesania which was fun because they don't have the traditional clothing draped all across their community the way we do. I presented our basurera, the trash processing plant. We are unique to be one of the few in Guatemala that actively employ the process of Lombricompost..or that of using lombrises, a.k.a. worms, in the composting process. For everyone's information, the worms do not get paid. But hey, it must be a good life, being tossed into a huge pila full of rotting organic waste (for a worm, anyway). All the trash of San Antonio is picked up in trucks that circulate around the city and, for 2Q a bag, they haul it up to the dump. In their homes, the locals are supposedly separating the organic and inorganic waste into different bags, but looking into the pila where they dump the organico, it's pretty evident that not everyone got the notice. Nonetheless, 80% of all the town's trash is organic, the rest is inorganic and separated out into 15% recyclable material (scrap metal, cardboard, plastic, which several companies pay to pick up) and the remaining 5% left is burned. But see, the stuff that's burned is what the environmental councelor Sergio, from the Municipality, wants to find a solution for. Basically the dozens of employees working there every day are breathing in toxic chemicals from the burning waste, not to mention the toll it takes on Mudder Earf. The Lombricompost, which goes through several stages of decomposition over the course of 6-8 months, becomes beautiful rich abono, or fertilizante natural. It is hefted into 100lb bags and sold for 40Q. These bags of organico, rich in all the nutrients that remain steady throughout the process of being picked from a tree, eaten to the quick, thrown out, and trucked up to the basurera, are returned back to the earth to lend a rich hand to the next growth of crops. Sustainability at it's finest...and the world keeps spinning round.

A Gift

27.1.10

Smiling little Stephanie was laying on her petate, a woven grass mat, as she worked on her homework. The grasses, which are used to make the mats, are themselves known as Petate. They grow tall in the lagoon beyond the far end of the city. The mats are often used to sit upon when the mujeres are weaving their ropa tradicional because the weaving loom is attached at eye level or higher and the mujer sits upon her petate on the ground, holding the base of the loom where she works her magic. But, back to Stephanie with her shining eyes..this is the host sister of Hilary, one of my group members. I stopped by their house before we headed up to the cancha de basketball and was talking to the girl about school and the cartoon character on her notebook while Hilary got ready to go. Well, before I knew it, the little 6 year old was tying a beautiful woven bracelet around my wrist, telling me she wanted me to keep it and nodding with determination when I asked if she was sure. Well sheesh! As we walked along the street, I decided I'd paint her a watercolor in thanks for the sweet gift. “Muchas Gracias Stephanie, para la pulsera tan bonita! Que amable! Tu nueva amiga, Stacey”.

Green Little Sprouts

25.1.10

Buenas!

So time is already flying as we newbies, rookies, green little sprouts make our way through the winding training road that prepares us to become legit: true “Peace Corps Volunteers”. In the past week, we've seen so much more of the country that we will be calling home and I can honestly say, this place is worlds away from the one I left twenty days ago. As I was riding the camioneta (bus) back into the valley that is my home for these eleven weeks, grinding shoulder to shoulder with a small woman on my right and my head bouncing against the stomach of the young man standing in the crowded aisle to my right, I peered through the mass of bodies to see out the window where Guatemala was whizzing by, trees with epiphytes, tin-roofed shacks, rotulas (signs) proclaiming their “fe in dios”, women walking with baskets filled with corn atop their heads..Sheesh! A mere twenty days and I'm already enormously attached to this place, these people, this world. But, despite all I've seen, I really don't even know a fraction of it yet. Only this weekend did I get my first taste of a feria, one of the many annual fairs. I think that every day of the year, in one city or another in this great country a fair is happening, I have no doubt. I stood among the crowd and watched the parade of huge decorated floats bearing beautiful winged child-angels, a jesus standing atop a globe (which, if it weren't for the men walking below him, lifting the telephone wires with ultra long sticks, he'd surely have been electrocuted..); children dressed as farmers, huipile-wearing mayan women, businessmen, even a drunk; young people danced in the streets masked as old men and ladies and random cartoon characters, music blasted from a truck out of the huge speakers that produced such a din my pants vibrated, fireworks in constant procession, day and night; men rode atop horses with capes flashing as they galloped up and down the cobblestone streets narrowly avoiding the crowds three persons deep on either side; the dancing lasted late into the night, cartoon characters and, amusingly enough, men unabashedly dressed in wigs and scantily clad women's clothing. Food vendors displayed their fried goods and hunks of hanging, chewed-up looking meat that was sawed off into writhing piles (that we saw still hanging the next day, wrapped in a woven cloth, awaiting a second..third..? night of vending..). Street food is a swear word in the ears of our lovely PC health officers. It was an experience indeed.

In other news, I've been fortunate enough to be in a group of PC trainees that love sports as much as I do. We have a great cancha (field) up the hill that we've played many a basketball game with any of the local kids willing to join us. We played once a game of soccer with some kids half our age and saw just how bad we non-futbol playing gringos really were. I didn't care, I love the running and the challenge of attempting to even get close to tease the ball away from those quick-flying feet that move with deft skill. Perhaps by the end of my time here I'll have learned a thing or two in the world of futbol.

Today we had a tour of Guate (which is how they call Guatemala City) and got to experience calling and taking taxi cabs within the city since PC forbids us to take inter-city buses because basically, as a gringo, you're just begging to be robbed if you do. We saw the American Embassy and the hospital and spent way too much time in the two malls which are about a stone's toss away from each other. That's two malls too many for me. I've been dying to get back into the forest which I got a small taste of, what a week ago? We hiked up into the hills the other weekend with Eduardo (our maestro) and Abner (my co-trainee's host brother)..the forests here aren't quite rainforests and I don't remember the classification (sub-tropical? It's definitely not wet enough here during the dry season to support a true rainforest) but I didn't care..I was finally under some trees again! I had my binox and bird book but didn't get much real birding in since the hike mission was to reach an overlook out across the valley and it was midday when the birds aren't wildly active. I was overjoyed nonetheless with what I did have a chance to drink in, two wintering warblers: a black throated green and wilson's warbler (both of which I saw this past summer on their breeding grounds back up in the states!); also saw a blue-headed vireo and some Guate hummers (“picaflores”)-Rufous and Lucifer. Now if only I could go back up there, it's really not far, and spend a whole morning with book and binox. I need to find a companion! Being small, female and gringa, I'm sticking to not wandering off alone the way I might back in more familiar territory. Plus the dogs up in the higher farmlands are pretty protective in a kind of scary way. My hope, of all hopes is that I'm placed in a sight where I have a forest reserve at my fingertips. They're teasing us with signs in the training center claiming that we could replace end-of-service volunteers that are leaving various national parks that I'm literally drooling over. Patience, girl. Seriously, though, I'm living in the now, sucking it all in, trying to step back at least once every day to appreciate that I'm here right now. Wherever you are, there you are and here I am. I have a post-it note on my desktop that says this “Love where you are. keep your eyes wide and your mind open. you've got everyone rooting for you. Love, you.” Cheesy, I know. But it's sweet to see on the rare day I turn this bugger on to write a thing or two. So yes. My eyes are wide, taking it all in, so thankful that I'm on this adventure, growing every day. My mind is expanding by the hour. This feels right, being here. Yes, yes, still the honeymoon period, still loving every second and having trouble imagining that the statistical highs really are followed by statistical lows. Blogs to come, I know, but for now I'm reveling in it. Better while I can, right? And when those lows come along, I'll have my friends and family rooting for me from afar and I have myself to rely upon. Sink or swim. I'm going to do my best to keep this nose of mine above water.

Hasta luego, mis amigos.

Guatemala Beginnings

Hola Todos! 20.1.10

Here goes for report numero uno from the belleza paiz de Guatemala! From the very beginning I had the tips of my fingers hanging dead tight..and luckily enough, because no one told how tight I would need to hold on for the ride that would begin the moment I set foot on that plane! It's been a whirlwind and time both flies and sparkles in front of my wide open eyes. There's so much to take in and I'm doing my very best. I can proudly say that so far I have (as is my custom) written down just about every experience that I have undergone since my parents and brother let go from those lingering embraces that now seem a lifetime away. From the window of the plane as we descended toward the land of Guate, I watched the conical tips of a line of volcanos press out of the thick grayness that blanketed the country. We dropped beneath and revealed was a lush landscape dotted with pueblos and cities filling the valleys. Deep scars opened sections of earth in the form of gorges and even along their steep walls houses or shacks rather, held on with nothing other than a prayer. From there the sweeping began. First we were swept to the training center, looking out the windows of the bus we drank sweet frescas and bleary eyes attempted to focus on the scene as it flew past. Guate City is just as you've always heard, the charm of it may or may not be revealed through much time spent searching. Cars and motorcycles and buses zoomed by and every curve was taken with abandon. Shops, people and trash lined the busy streets. We focused in on the Burger King with armed guards in the parkinglots and more Chuckie Cheeses than you care to keep track of. We got out of the city and passed through smaller towns and a valley or two, cooing over the sight of the volcanos. The training center was another world, far removed from the dingy city. We pulled in to a lush, beautifully landscaped eden that looked out toward Volcan de Agua, one of the more breathtaking volcanoes, right out of a child's imagination. A perfect cone. Nevermind the cell phone towers and whatnot on the top, to set eyes upon this landform invokes unabashed amazement and awe. Only minutes later do you look a little westward to the two, Fuego and Atetenango (I may be way off on that name). Fuego is the one you want to definitely take note of..this is the active one, puffing mushrooms of humo when it so chooses..somehow these three always seem to be in view no matter where I've been yet and Fuego has become my friend, endlessly entertaining and a rollercoaster of emotion. You only have to look west to know how Fuego is feeling any time of the day. So our first three days of training were basically an introduction to Peace Corps: welcome, we want you to truly evaluate throughout the next three months whether this is truly how you want to spend the next two years of your life, we're going to give you more vaccinations than you ever though possible and try to scare you about every last living thing that will surely infest you through oral fecal contamination many times over throughout your stay, spanish level assesment, separation into groups of 5 based on your level and whether you're lucky enough to be in Sustainable Community Tourism (the admitted, best by far, program to be in in PC Guate) or Healthy Schools. There seriously were two poster boards, one for each program and Tourism was all “You could be lucky enough to be in THIS park helping a whitewater rafting company or a zip line adventure tourism setup or a forest with the best birdwatching ever...!!” and Escuelas Saludables: “You're gonna be in a classroom teaching kids to wash their hands, not eat dirt, wash their hands, wash their hands, and wash their hands”). After 3 days of that and living with nearby host families in the town of Santa Lucia Milpas Altas (I was placed with my friend Hilary who ended up being in my Training Group as well) we were all shipped off to our various pueblos where we'd be spending the next 11 weeks in training, each in our own host family home. I was placed with Christina Giron in the pueblo of San Antonio, Aguas Callientes. The moment I walked in she welcomed me warmly and I knew right away we'd easily become close friends. She immediately told me that everyone called her Mama Tina and that I should as well. She is a beautiful, round faced, 60 year old abuela with high cheek bones and wavy dark hair. She wears the traditional huipile, a brightly colored, richly designed shirt that was weaved in the traditional way especially unique to San Antonio: “de dos lados” they call it, of both sides. It means that even when you turn it over to the opposide side, you'll find that both carry the intricate designs and there's not a stitch to be seen. It can take months to complete, and that is only if you spend all your days doing nothing other than weaving. So realistically, a single huipile may take up to a year to finish. And my Mama Tina makes all the huipiles and traditional belts and skirts that she wears. They are phenomenal, just breathtaking. There is no question, in looking at one, how much effort is put into such a masterpiece. And the women who weave in San Antonio are also known for dying their own thread, using rich colors that don't fade over the years. I'm sure every town has it's own unique wonders but, well, the bee's knees is what comes to mind. So my home is up a small hill on one of the many winding, enclosed, busy streets of San Antonio. The pueblo is larger than I anticipated as you can see from the mirador when you come to the city entrance at the peak before the valley. There is another city that ours melds into, Santa Catarina, where another tourism group is based and the two fill the valley and seep up into the foothills where a patchwork of various crops reach upward not completely overtaking the forests that cover the ridges that span out, emcompassing both towns in a wide embrace. Ever towards the west are our three faithful senturies, Agua, Fuego and Atetenango. The streets of the pueblo are dirt and cobblestone. Motorcycles, pickup trucks, camionetas (refurbished school buses from the U.S.) and tuktuks (little three-wheeled enclosed taxis) race entirely too quickly up and down the streets that are always alive with townspeople, selling tortillas, hanging out doors and windows, washing laundry at the public pilas, playing futbol, chatting, fixing their homes, pushing carts, leading a horse or a donkey, carrying firewood, walking with huge baskets upon their heads, there's no end to the activity! Every walk down the street as I make my way to clase de espanol is a new sight, a different face, another “buenas dias” with a wide smile. Some of the different things I've come across as I toddle along include a stray colt trotting along the cobblestone, neighing for it's mother; a drunk man out cold, laying on a stoop; a woman that strolls along every morning at 6:30 yelling at the top of her lungs “leche!”, the multitudes of stray dogs who hardly give you a second glance, the many street vendors that manifest out of nowhere at different times of the day selling food that we've been strictly told by our nurses NOT to even think about eating...Now we'll move from the streets back to my home, where I live with Mama Tina. It's not a huge place, two bedrooms, a small kitchen, a small, attached tienda where she sells a handfull of goods (toilet paper, matches, flavored icies, aciete de maiz, random things and people ring a bell at the door there that has bars they pass the goods and quetzales across), all of these lead to a wider open room between it all where there's a wood stove that she uses for cooking (to supplement her own small oven/stove in the kitchen) and the pila. The pila is a cement 3-basin set up where the middle, deepest one, has a tap and we are lucky enough to be in a town where water is available at all hours of the day. A small bowl is left floating in the water basin and you use it to scoop the water to the left basin where there's a drain and you pour the cold water over your hands or splash it on your face or wash the dishes that, dirty, are left in the shallow right basin with the soap and the scrubbie blue plastic tangle. There's also a bathroom with a shower that you reach from this room on the opposite side from my door. There is a light shower curtain for a door that dances in the breeze a toilet that luckily flushes on it's own (without chucking in a gallon of water) and a shower that runs only cold and therefore is my bucket bath haven. Oh and Mama Tina takes such care of me, sure she's paid a hefty stipend, but she seems to take great pleasure out of my 3000 “muchas gracias”es a day for all that she does for me: cooking all my meals, handwashing my clothing, boiling hot water and then adding enough cold so as to not scald myself during my bucket baths, bringing steaming cafe con leche in to my room for me as I get ready for the especially early days of training...and I'm really under the assumption that she likes me! I absolutely adore her, she's just too cute and very light hearted, laughs easily, and listens to me with great interest as I excitedly tell her about my day, babbling along with my mediocre spanish. We do talk for great lengths of time, she's lately really been opening up to me about her family and the amazing, eventful, sometimes tragic, life she has led. We've shared pictures of our families and she always sits with me as I eat, even when she's not (Peace Corps eating schedule and that of the Guatemaltecos are about an hour or more different). She's taught me “a tortear” (how to form tortillas by hand) and helps me with my spanish, speaking slower with me than she does with her family and correcting my grammar or describing words I don't understand. We have a very warm, friendly relationship..there have been times when I've resisted reaching out to hug her but I have a feeling it would be a welcomed gesture. She lives alone but her house opens and connects to a second section with all it's own amenities where her grown daughter Evelia and 15 year old son Hemery live. She also has 2 other sons with families, Walter lives next door with his wife Elsa and 4 children and Alex lives in the next pueblo over with his wife Cheny and 9 year old Steven and 9 month old Moices. Steven is around a lot, the first few days he spent here during his “summer vacation” to see the gringa. He's a little goofball spitfire who likes to tell me every word of every movie he's seen (“y dispues...y dispues..and then..and then..!”). Tina is the only one who really talks with me, I've only had small talk with the rest. They all don't tend to speak slowly and I'm just not at the level to understand when they're speaking so fast and so softly. It's a little bit tough, because I'd like to become closer with them, especially Evelia but they have their lives and aren't responsible for my spanish lessons. I hang with them occasionally and try to keep up and they are nice, just not as welcoming. I'm taking it in stride and am thankful to have the majority of my time around the house alone with Tina. The others are around after dark and I have had more homework than you might want to shake a stick at and so that causes the need to retreat to my lovely cave of a room. Ah my room, I sit here now and hear the dogs barking, the occasional rooster, kids laughing, church music, adults chatting, bombas exploding (Guatemala really translates to We Love Fireworks, all the time, any time, the louder the better). Back to my room: .only one fuzzy plastic window faces out to the pila room but it's very spacy, my bed is quite comfortable (no unidentified lumps), a great big dresser with doors, a mirror and shelves to put my clothes, books, toiletries and such. There's a long table I have my little suitcase on and put my “school work”, there's a tall, wooden, for lack of a better term, “hanging unit” that leans against the corner where I drape my towel, and shower stuff, a dirty laundry bag and drying clothes. All in all it's quite a nice set up and I've got everything organized and so happy. The only time I don't so much like it is when she's making tortillas and the woodstove smoke drifts into my room. One definite difficulty with Guatemala, I've found, is all the thick air you tend to have no choice but to inhale: woodsmoke, car fumes, volcano ash..if you were a smoker, you'd probably kick it in a month. But all in all, I'm quite happy here in the little town of San Antonio. It's a clean town with a pretty central park and is about 45 minutes outside of Antigua which is the touristy hip town that we've been to a handful of times. There you can find lots and lots of gringos, wireless internet (if you're brave enough to tote your laptop on the camionets and through the busy mercados), and coffee that isn't instant (all the good stuff that comes out of Guate tierra is exported, so the locals are left with the fake crap). While the mercado is demasiado interasante with more fruits than you ever thought existed, and all the blazing colors of the woven wonders sold by the Guate mujeres that just about literally blow your mind, and the true coffee that really is to die for, I can't say I'm much of a fan of Antigua. I watched a beautiful, old woman sitting on the sidewalk with her wares for sale set about her knees looking uncomfortably away as a fat man leaned over her holding a big camera, shoving it mercilessly into her face and clicking away, stopping to look at what he'd taken, and clicking some more before completely turning around and walking away. Not a word, not a cent, just some good ol' American ignorance. My blood curdled a bit as I watched her gaze at his receding hind end. But, that's what I'm here for, to turn tourism into something that I feel good about: something that benefits not the richest high-ups on the Guatemalan ladder that is overbearingly bottom-heavy, but rather all those who are putting all their straining efforts just to hang on to that crowded lowest rung. And, while I don't know just how I'm going to do it, the Peace Corps is fully (more than I could ever, ever have imagined) invested in making sure that I am prepared in every way possible and provided all the knowledge, information, resources, training and confidence that I can ingest in these preceding weeks. Like I said, just hanging on for this wild ride, and, to be sure, it already has completely become “The Ride of My Life”. Much love y buenas noches.

The Most Amazing Feeling

The dwindling days have been crawling by, is that possible? A whirlwind is about to begin, I'm about to jump on to a fast-moving train. I'm so glad that these last days have been laden with family and friends, the holidays have made it even more possible to leave for Guatemala with warm, perfect memories. On a S.I.N. (Sisters In Nature) trip, my mother and her two sisters Anne and Dot, my little cousin Chloe and I, drove to the Eastern Shore of Virginia National Wildlife Refuge. This is where I spent working as a biological technician for the better part of 2008. It was toward the end of that year that I began my application to become a Peace Corps Volunteer. I remember sitting in the refuge office, filling out the applicant questionnaire and wondering if this was really meant to be. Two years of my life handed to the winds. 2009 trodded past as I continued to put my efforts toward the vague, distant idea of becoming a Peace Corps volunteer. They ask for so much and as you continue to provide and wait and wonder and hope, your commitment builds and your determination strengthens. In the end, when you find out where they want to send you, what they want you to do, the feeling is like a burst of light: wild relief, pride, excitement, anticipation..

The countdown to staging begins and it's all you can do to distract yourself to make the time pass more quickly.

Anyways, at the Refuge, we walked all about and the snow geese are here en masse, on their wintering grounds. It was so wonderful to see my boss, the refuge biologist Pam. She wrote one of my recommendation letters toward becoming a PCV, and in addition to being my boss, she is a great friend.

The holidays were family filled, perfect for getting to see everyone in one place before I go. We had a goodbye potluck at Dot's with family and a handful of friends and I was able to spend a great last night with my brother here in the city. I'm going to miss that boy so much.

So now. This is my last full day before I have to meet at the hotel for staging tomorrow. We congregate at 12:30 for a day of orientation. The following morning, Wednesday, January 6th, we take flight, head south for Guatemala and life as a Peace Corps Volunteer. Life is a whirlwind, and my body is completely buzzing, through and through, in complete and utter anticipation of the wild and wonderful chaos beyond.

Sugar Plums..or Lack Thereof

Merry Christmas!

You know you've got the fever when, Christmas Eve, you've got visions of Peace Corps dancing through your head instead of those rascally sugar plums...

Pretty unbelievable how quickly the time is suddenly passing. It's Christmas day. December, and the year, are nearly over. Our staging date, is poignantly set just as the new year is upon us. How fitting, another page of life is turned as I embark on to my next adventure. Hm, any ideas for resolutions? How about, enjoy being in one place for longer than a field season!! My life is a culmination of bits and pieces- I really have felt never fully in one place, always just settling in right as I find that it's time to leave. Twenty seven months I'll be in Guatemala. Seems like a long time but the more I think about it, it doesn't seem like long at all.

Each year that you add to your existence makes the next one a little shorter, a smaller fraction of the whole amount time you've been a conscious critter (at least this time around) on this earth of ours.

It's scary, if a year flies by this quickly at the age of twenty six, what will it feel like when I'm fifty..sixty? Nonetheless, if I make it for the entire term as a Peace Corps Volunteer, I just want to make sure to take it all in before it all slips through my fingers. Meanwhile I'm taking in my last bits of life here with my family before I go. I'm so use to leaving and I know they'll visit...I have these parents that like to take advantage of the fact that their daughter has found some fantastic parts of the U.S. and beyond to spend time in, one or both have made it to most of my remote wanderings.

So after we unwrapped our presents I ran upstairs and locked myself in my room and a literal tornado hit. Clothes, art supplies, toiletries, electronics, journals, books, 50% off Chacos (yes Peace Corps discount!!), host family gifts, all swirled about until somehow I managed to reign everything into my backpacking pack and my daypack. It weighed out to around 60lbs (their limit is 80lbs)..I still need to get a few things but nothing too massive. Anyways, this was my means to figure if I'm going to be able to carry everything and if I need to rethink what I'm bringing. With ten days left, this is the kind of thing that I get embarassing amounts of enjoyment out of. Not to mention that I am constantly making and revising packing lists in my head and have been for about two months now. It's an issue, I'm dealing with it.

Anyways, the time is creeping closer and I'm ready..so, so ready. The unknown is so enticing! I have ideas, sure, but the possibilities that await are what capture my imagination and fill me with excitement and anticipation. I have an empty journal that's just aching to be filled with all that is to come!

Girl Woodcarver

So I decided, in order to distract myself from that constant buzz in my head otherwise known as Guatemala, that I'd treat myself to a week-long class at the John C. Campbell Folk School in Brasstown, North Carolina. Among the choices that included knitting, enameling, woodturning, cooking and blacksmithing (to name a few), I chose woodcarving. I figured that, in addition to being wildly appealing to learn how to hand carve a figure out of wood, this would be a practical skill to learn and use in Guatemala since the tools required are few and portable as well! Who knows, maybe I could even have teach a woodcarving class in my community there in Guatemala!

Well, it turns out the class was a bit advanced (which I of course realized after I signed up) and required "recent woodcarving experience". Hm. They didn't mention how much experience though, so I was, technically, in luck! On my drive south, I took the Blue Ridge Parkway because who could resist rolling smoky mountain scenery? At one of the overlooks, I pulled over and sat with a knife and a piece of black walnut wood that I'd dug out of a dusty box out of the basement. The tools belonged to my Grandmother and I was pleased to be able to put them to use across generations along the family tree. So there I sat shyly scraping away flakes of the hardened wood. I got as far as roughing out a nose and eye depressions. There! Recent woodcarving experience: check and check!

No one even asked, but I definitely was the greenest one in class. I sat on my stool and looked to either side as older men and women silently pulled out their materials, unrolling a leather satchel with many thin long pockets, each revealing the sharpened head of a differently shaped tool- knives of all sizes, gouges and who even knows what the rest were. On my other side, a confident looking man pulled out this huge lazy susan with about three times as many tools as the first guy and not only that, he gets out this professional looking leather apron (not kidding) and special carving gloves and finger bootie to protect from gouging himself (I was way too cool for such things, no comment on the fact that I may have rushed to the bathroom cupping the result of a gloveless hand while carving). I took out my little knife and put it on the table in front of me, looked around and rummaged for another kind of knife that I didn't even know the purpose of and placed it next to the first. Looked around again while the others looked busy with actual tasks and took out my piece of walnut and poked at it til the teacher started with the introductions.

I must say, though, as shaky a beginning as it was and as uncertain I was at the idea of 7 hours of carving a day for 5 days straight (would I get bored? hate it?), the week was over in a flash and I was exhilerated with my new found love! And I produced some halfway decent results! But seriously, woodcarving is a beautiful thing. I seriously would find myself grinning in anticipation at the little face as it slowly emerged out of the basswood block in my hands. By the end of the week I completed a little full-bodied pudge of a santa and two heads of woodsy woodsmen with beards and fun hats and I felt like a whole different carver than that girl up on the parkway..like, now that I've started, the possibilities are endless! Anyways, a great way to get my mind off of the wild anticipation for and obsession with Guatemala and, now that I'm home..holy crap I'm leaving in less than three weeeeeeeeeeeeks!!

And so it is..

Well, on Wednesday October 14th, I planned on getting out on the road early to head south to Asheville, NC to see my lovely ol' roomie from college, Ms. Alison Karr get married to Mr. James Smoke. So I woke up early, had a good jog, a shower, loaded up the cooler and packed up my car and, minutes before starting on my road trip south, I got online to check some directions when I saw an email in my inbox: "Peace Corps has updated your Application Status account. Log in to your toolkit to see the latest information." Achugugerlishkgrugack!!! Gack! Gah, ugh, holy mother of frickfrack!! I madly clicked away and got onto my online account and whuddyaknow, it said: "congratulations you have been invited to become a peace corps volunteer, your invitation was sent oct. 13"...HOLY MOLY!!!! But, but, where are they sending me? When do I depart!? Wha, whu..what do I do? I was just about to head south and now I know that there's a letter with my future sealed inside floating it's way to Matt's apartment in DC where I have all my Peace Corps mail sent. Will it get there today? I can't leave when I know it's so close, there's no way I can wait til I get back and I sure as hell want to hold that letter in my hands!! Will it arrive today willit arrivetoday?? Well, the status said the letter was sent the day before and they're based just outside of DC so it just HAS to arrive today, it HAS TO!!! Ohman, I called everyone..Mom, Dad, Matt, and NO ONE ANSWERED!!! Finally I got my Megan and she was there for me, so excited, so supportive, but aw she was sick and groggy but man she was just what I needed to intercept some of this insania! I'd just talked to her yesterday saying who knows when I'll know, poor me and suddenly it's in the mail! Woohoo! So I called Matt about three thousand times (it was about 10am at that point) and got him as he got up from dead sleep to go to the loo. I had to know "what time does your mail arrive??" Well he said it varied and I told him I'd head to DC to see if it came today, basically my life is flexible at the moment and I told Birdman Andrew that I was passing through his area and he invited me to stay tonight on my way to Asheville and Alison's wedding (which wasn't til saturday, 17th). Well I called and told him I might be a bit late, waiting for this letter that had BETTER BE IN THE MAIL THIS VERY INSTANT and I headed to DC. On my way I decided to stop for coffee and swung through an outdoor store since I didn't expect the mail to arrive til later in the afternoon. Well as I moseyed back to the car I got a call from Matt after reading 2 texts that said he was up and about (I was thinking I was giving him time to sleep in!) and when he heard I was in Rockville he was like "what the hell are you doing still so far away! I didn't want to tell you but the letter is here so get your butt down here!!!" craaaaaaap!! I dove back into the car and sped up the pike singing along to music blaring as I tried to drive not as recklessly as I so freakin wanted to. My wild energy went into my singing and yelling at slow cars and traffic and road work and pedestrians as I crept from one red light to another on Georgia Ave into DC. Gaaah!! I finally got to O st and was greeted by my smiling brother. We walked up to his apartment and I jiggered through the door over to the counter and there it was: a big white envelope. Uhguh..uh. I decided to go to the bathroom. And there I sat, thinking, "no matter what it says, this will be amazing, get ready for a whole new step in this wild unpredictable ride of life...and if it's Somoa (where they recently had earthquakes and tsunamis to which I imagine they'll want to route Peace Corps volunteers to help) I won't be sad, even if it means I won't learn spanish." Okay! So back to business! I took the package and Matt and I ripped it open, ahhhh! A big blue envelope that held my future "Peace Corps invites you to serve". I opened it and lifted out the letter in the front, shaking, Dear Stacey..blah blah, Guatemala, blah...wha..I'M GOING TO GUUUUAATEMAAALAAAA!!!!" I screeched it bouncing into my brothers arms!!! The feeling, the future, the wonder, pulled from my very depths, I couldn't believe it!!! Oh, it was unreal. I can't believe it. I don't know anything about Guatemala other than it's Central America, I'll not be too horribly far away for friends and family to come and visit, I'll be in the tropics, I'll learn spanish, there will be beautiful birds, oh my god. So back to the invitation packet: it had some other goodies as well..."Your Assignment; Country: Guatemala; Program: Sustainable Community Tourism; Job Title: Community Tourism Facilitator; Orientation Dates 1/04/09
Yes!! Jaaaanuaaarrry!!! I'll be home for Christmas! Parents will be so happy! Matt was so happy! And what the hell is sustainable community tourism?? So now we settled in to look over this fun packet...it explained the project: The overall purpose of the Sustainable Community Tourism Project is to contribute to the improvement of the quality of life of participating families, through the establishment of sustainable community tourism projects (nature tourism, cultural tourism, and agro-tourism) which also help to conserve the environment and expand understanding and support of Guatemala's cultures and agriculture" "The goals of the Sustainable Community Tourism Project are: 1. Communities will identifu and develop sustainable environmental projects to generate income (eg. tour services, crafts, recycled material, timber and non-timber products) and increase practices of sustainability principles. 2. The members of the community associations, education community (schools) and youth groups will carry out environmental conservation practices in tourist site and community. Activities can include (wait til you read this..)

a. facilitate the conservation and management of natural protected areas or reserves

b. gather info on the local flora and fauna species and attractions

c. train park guards on flora and fauna management

d. facilitate the implementation of community ecotourism projects based on local cultural, natural and social characteristics

e. train ecotourism associations on how to start, implement and organize ecotourism as an income generation and conservation activity; and how to prepare and implement quality standards for ecotourism and handicrafts

f. train local people and park guards in activities/services related to ecotourism such as: guiding tourists, human relations, orientation, security, information, lodging, meals, transportation, etc. also, train forest rangers, guides and local schoolteachers in the successful development of interpretive tours for students in nature reserves or ecotourism sites

g. train women/men's groups in small business

h. prepare pamphlets, posters or websites to promote ecotourism sites or regional routes. provide updated information for international publications such as the Loney Planet books.

i. organizeand train ecological youth groups on best environmental practices, leadership, self esteem, arts, hiv prevention in collaboration with counterparts

j. prepare with counterparts eco-camps for youth ecological groups based on their needs

k. train organized groups to write effective conservation proposals for national and international donors

l. help community groups establish annual work goals, activities, and indicators. Also, participate in planning, coordination and training meetings convened by their Host Agency, community groups and Peace Corps

m. take photographs and videos of ecotourism and income-generating projects (trails, attractions, crafts, etc) for monitoring and evaluation.

n. train and assist counterparts and work groups on markets and feasibility studies of ecotourism and income generation projects

o. carry out visits, demonstrations, popular theater and skits with tourism associations, tourist host families, guides and forest rangers and ecotourism services (preparing food, basic lodging, hygine and security)

p. make demonstrations and support the community, tourist host families and forest rangers in the practice of the 4 Rs with examples such as compost pits, art with recycled materials, etc.

q. train the education community on the creation and implementation of community or school emergency plans depending on local vulnerability

r. facilitate and train community leaders, associations, community development committees and teachers on small environmental projects and lesson plans

s. organize or facilitate community or school events related to environmental protection in the celebration of earth day, etc

t. collect info and keep records of changes observed in organized groups on environmental actions

u. write reports and submit them periodically to agencies and PC indicating participants by gender and progress mad in ecotourism or income-generating projects

...these things are all amazing sounding and what's more, they're things I was hoping to do in my free time but turns out, it'll be MY JOB!!!! Good grief good grief. I was so glad my brother was there, he made me coffee and I bounced around some more, looking up pictures of guatemala on the computer and maps and stuff and then back over to him and we looked at the assignment book and all the different handbooks, that for the volunteer as well as one for the family. So now I have 10 days to look over it all and decide that I definitely want to do it, haha. I'll be calling them momentarily..but seriously they like you to look over it all-no surprises. Nevertheless, I need to start heading southward. So I bid my loving brother goodbye and I drove of out DC into hideous traffic and 8 hours of pouring rain. Lovely!

Maybe We're Dreaming

So I'm sitting here and it's 2:20am. The thoughts running through my head are a stream that carries me ever toward the future. You never know what the water ahead will hold. I love this kind of life, ever plunging into new waters, rounding each turn with no idea of what lies ahead. Of course, I can't say that I've always been blissfully happy, in fact I've spent a fair amount of time in those dark depths where the water is stagnant and the banks steep. But despite it all, I look back upon the path that I've forged and followed, and I have no regrets. Part of what the great fun of this ride is not knowing what rapids lay ahead. Peace Corps is downstream and I'm rushing towards it, icy ripples of fear and uncertainty lap at the edges of the leaf I've caught this ride upon, but the excitement holds me afloat. I lean forward in my eagerness, attempting not to tip too far, knowing that a spill could happen at any moment. Well here I am now, caught up in the throes of anticipation and I feel like I'm at the top of the stairs of my childhood home, looking down and knowing that a huge christmas tree is splaying it's thick dark branches over mountains of wrapped presents. All I want to do is squeeze through the chairs set to keep us at bay and belly slide down the stairs in my footed p.j.'s to reach the gifts that bear my name and tuck in. I'm trying to keep my thoughts reigned in, not place expectations on where I may be sent or what experiences I may encounter. Every Peace Corps Volunteer follows a different path and there is no way to know what the future has in store for me. All I want is to know that I'll carry through, no matter what surprises, good or bad, await. It's sink or swim, that's life, and I love the challenges where you are tossed in and given just that chance-either flutter helplessly to the bottom or remain afloat, even if it takes every bit of energy, passion and hope that is inside of you. When given the choice, I'll put every effort towards remaining afloat. I love this idea of a challenge, I want to face whatever it is that awaits me. I want to take on life, to live and to be able to look back at what I've accomplished and feel glorious pride. But damn, there's always that creeping feeling of the unknown and what it may hold. But difficulty and pain, they're inevitable. I just never want to lose the wonder, that which stops you in your tracks in awe. Moments of wonder, awe and respect for the wild beauty make up the heartbeat of this earth, and these beats are what I live for.

Motivation

I want to go to another place and enter it fully. I want to become part of a new community and not taint it with the essence of my own. My one fear of becoming a Peace Corps volunteer is that I don’t want to tempt others toward the evils of my own culture: greed, over-consumption, and more choices than we even can dream of and that we in no way need.

My life goal is to make up for the dent in the earth- the gash-that my life has made in it. I am an American and I want to live a life away from here because, as an American, I am spoiled, lavished in luxury while a baby halfway across the world is starving and crawling with flies. I am spoiled as we continue to drill deeper into the earth, sucking it dry of the precious resources so we can wear a sweater indoors on a sweltering day. I am ashamed of how we are put on this pedestal and how easy it is to forget that there are others around the world living a life that we wouldn’t wish on our worst enemy.

I know I can learn many lessons from non-americans and I know that it is my deepest passion to help direct them toward a life by learning from our mistakes. I want to learn how to help them but I don’t want them to think that I see myself as some all-mighty savior. I don’t want to offend them, but rather see if we can learn from each other and join together toward a better future.

As a field biologist, I’ve seen nature in its purest form and I know that very few Americans have encountered this. I am sorry for them and I feel very fortunate for my experiences. Through my work, I’ve gained a great skill in observation and a huge respect for the unfamiliar. The differences are what make culture culture and I don’t want to erase that-I want to help it persist.

Out of the Woodwork

The summer of ‘04 I worked at an eco-lodge in Costa Rica as the assistant to the head landscaper. His name was Wilbur and he spoke no English. I had taken Spanish in high school, three years prior and recalled despising that class. The teacher was more concerned with my disobedient and horribly rude classmates than making sure the rest of us had learned anything. I figured I had gained little from that class and thought nothing of it again until I was faced with Wilbur, this kind faced, hard working man who made quick work of a pineapple and presented it to me like a popsicle. At first I was shy to make my attempts at his language until his patience and kind laughter won me over. The language came out of me like mice out of the woodwork. I didn’t know it was there ‘til I shook things up a bit. With Wilbur and the rest of the Tican staff, I became good friends. I entered their world and their culture with enthusiasm, respect and curiosity. I played soccer with them, learned how they dance, folded banana leaves into beautiful forms, used their slang words, we tutored each other in our languages, we became family. I loved the excitement of leaving my home behind, learning how people lived worlds away from mine. I treasure the aspect of community that seems to be held in such higher esteem than it is in the states. I look forward to visiting more in the future. 

Swallow Swarm

They are moving as one, a cloud, each vapor particle is another bit of life that makes up the swarm. They gather together and you cannot follow the movement of just one for very long before it is lost back into the amorphous movement of the whole. The fluttering mass is made up of golondrinas: swallows. Flittering beings with crisp white bellies and shimmering green backs. I am wading across the pond and I notice the light is starting to slant at the whisper of the turning autumn and the grasses at the edge are lit golden. When the last ducks fly away, I begin to hear them. Their light, soft calls catch the breeze, and get lost in it. Looking toward the horizons, you won't see them at first, not until your eyes adjust to the layerless depths of a bright blue sky do you see the specks as they converge. Suddenly you draw a long breath in anticipation and excitement at what is about to wash over you: they are arriving. They follow an invisible current and you stand still taking in the experience of so many creatures moving over you. They splash and dip, twist and swell in waterfalls of movement. They drop toward the water's reflective surface to take a thousand tiny sips before swirling back up into the sky and you are surprised at how so many birds can create such peace inside of you. They are numbering in the thousands and yet their calls are still soft, intermittent. It would be easy to never know they were there if you didn't look to the skies as a habit the way I do. [photo courtesy of Amanda Hackney]

The Call of the Clapper Rail

The eastern shore is buzzing with birds. Outside my cozy little house the robins and cedar waxwings filled the cherry trees, a shimmering of wings and red leaves. After a jog under a blue sky with dark grey creeping up on the western edge I rode my bike around this refuge that has become my home. The familiarity of it is comforting and yet there is always something new to see each time I make my rounds. The scene from the marsh overlook is now awash with orange, I sat on the rail and dangled my feet as the breeze brought in a sky rippled in shades of grey. A pair of hooded mergansers, maybe the same ones from last winter, rode the current of an outgoing tide following the twists and turns along the creek. The male, with a brilliant white crest stuck close to his chestnut lady whose distraction with diving led to his crestfalling. I heard clapper rails upon clapper rails as they struck up a rattling chorus, invisible souls moving through shrouds of spartina. I looked out at the marsh and while it's peacefulness enveloped me, I couldn't ignore how the quiet scene was forever edged in blaring trucks as they roared down thirteen, the highway that slices it's way all the way up the peninsula. I think of how close this destruction caused by humankind lies and yet how, despite it, the clapper rail still calls. If this marsh was not here, if we'd continued to paste parkinglots and mini-malls on top of these spongy edges of our existance, the shadow of the clapper rail, the fluting call of the yellowlegs, the quiet strolling of a pair of mergansers, none of it would exist. But it does. The clapper rail still calls. The tip of the delmarva peninsula is a refuge, a place of shelter that provides a haven for the marsh and it's inhabitants. The Eastern Shore of Virginia National Wildlife Refuge has been my home and I have had the honor of watching the turn of the seasons for nearly a year now. I've seen how there is such a reliance on this place by the birds-both the migrants and the residents. The reliance is on the fact that this land will be here forever, here to support these millions of bits and sparkles of life, here forever in it's natural condition. We are the ones that know otherwise and we who create otherwise. Humankind could have obliterated this land. But we didn't. So here it is. And do you hear the call of the clapper rail? I do and it brings me to tears.

My Drug

Getting lost in a story is my drug of choice. My escape. What I am escaping is the world and how depressing it is. It is comforting to just lean back and enter another reality where the problems you are facing are not your own. In the story, they are fighting the bad guys, saving the world, becoming heroes. In real life, our fight seems hopeless and there is no end. What good am I here? We are all just a single number, lost among the billions. Every single one of us is no better, no worse than another but, of course no one person wants to give in to that truth. So either they step upon others to raise themselves or they become the stepped upon. And everyone loses because we are all so jaded. And meanwhile the world itself begins to crumble. And we're all so caught up in our own struggle to truly ever be able to come together and do anything about it. So what is my place in this mess? What is anyone's responsibility and how far does one's responsibility span? What if I just want to escape? Am I a bad person for shirking a supposed responsibility? I want to be happy. I want to support myself and not feel guilty for how I live my life. Feeling guilty, this is a big thing.

Guilt.

Just by being born, just by living, I am adding to the destruction of the planet. We all are. We begin marching to our own death as we emit our first exhalation. It starts small but then we learn that we are a middle class, white, american, and we buy our laptops and our ipods and cars, live in our overly air conditioned and heated homes and throw away our masses and masses of package waste. What would it look like if it followed us, if we had to step through it, drag it, wear it? Would we try harder to make sure it never even began? Every girl and boy comes to a point in their live where they are capable of the realization of their detrimental contribution to the earth and they can either do something about it or ignore it. Either way, so much has already been done. Every day, think about how many children are being born. Think about how each and every one of us is another bullet through the earth's heart.

I need to go get lost again. In the woods, in a story, anywhere but here.

The Lesson from Steve Irwin's Death

This man, though he may have had a grand passion for nature, was steadily destroying what should consist of a respectful relationship between humans and wild animals. What he spent his life doing was showing the public exactly how not to approach and treat animals and claiming he was "a proffessional". His methods were successful at gaining the public eye, but at the cost of these animals. He portrayed wildlife in their natural habitat but he provoked them to act unnaturally. He put a great deal of unnecessary stress on animals and created situations dangerous for both himself and the focal animal. This only promotes the already wrong idea that human and animal should stand shoulder to shoulder, already we have adults going to lengths to approach a giant buffalo and pushing their children closer for a good photograph. Humans already have the wrong idea and a grand lack of respect for wildlife and here comes Mr. Irwin, ballooning that idea to the breaking point. Well I hope that people stop to think, as they mourn his death, that a lesson comes with it.