10 weeks of Awesome

 

Today I'm moving back into my house after almost 3 months of living semi-off-the-grid. For three months I've traveled under southwestern skies, through moons and monsoons, set up and torn down camps, but mostly helped things run smoothly at our base camp. Now that this final day has come, I don't even know where to begin to process this experience...so I'll start with the data:

42 like minded peers with similar shared experiences and different perspectives on our adventures.

126 youth who I got to know by name, hike and explore with and learn from.

Over 70 nights sleeping in open air: 26 nights in a tent, 4 nights under the stars, the rest in my "cabin", the Shed.

About 18 showers. 6 laundry days. And 8 really good flossings (sorry Dentist).
3 star talks, one moon viewing through the telescope, 5 long walks in the rain, four walks through a burned part of the forest, one mountain summit, 3 miles of backpacking, lots of digging through outdated field guides, about 130 formal meetings and countless informal ones. 4 boxes of lucky charms. 8 games of bucketball. 30 nut butter and jelly lunches, two hikes up pyramid rock and two flea market stops. Over 75 "desert silvery blues," and many, many inside jokes. 2 new friends, dozens of wonderful memories, and renewed fortitude.

Top 10 moments:

1)Elliott missing Cordelia with the purple ball in Spud
2) Walter calling the cake slipping off Chet's plate.
3) Sitting with Palo and 2 cool kid hikers at dinner after second Rendezvous and hearing an 18 year old say, "speaking of dinosaur classification..." before launching an excited explanation of the Brontosaurus.
4) Outfit 2's rendezvous song.
5) Harriet the rat
6) Chris's late night bug show, "Cassiussss"
7) Chris and Lisa sitting super close to me for a "Cass-Sandwhich"
8) Chris "excuse me, you're on fire" during rendezvous mudgie
9) Mike's "food for athletes" and people in gulch jerseys eating ice cream out of a wheelbarrow during a game of bucketball, while MDT and WCT watched
10) Reunion campfire(s)

This summer has been full of growth for me. I have learned and been challenged by my lack of interpersonal skills. I learned some new bugs, and grew more confident in teaching. I learned that even if you say yes to everything and feel like you're going to drown in opportunity...there is Always a way. Honestly, after this summer, with all the death and a wedding and reunion and a family reunion and school field trips all stacked on one another... I have been reminded that no matter what, there will always be clouds in the sky...attitude is everything, and a little Grit goes a long way.

Reflections from Rafting the Rio

Today I rafter the Rio for the first time in my 2+ years of living right by it. Another woman on the trip, who had also lived in Austin before here, also expressed her surprise that most Burquenos' fear the Bosque, the unique stretch of trees and shrubs that create a home for hundreds of animal species, and the inspiration for all of the paddlers along the river today.

This is not my photo, but it slightly reflects the beauty I witnessed today. 

Today, we didn't fear the Bosque. We shook hands under the towering, spotting cottonwoods. We glided through the banks of our modern river, marveling at the ghosts of the old twists and turns, set straight by decades of miss-management. We marveled at the growth of willow, olive and cottonwoods on what used to be a sand bar. We heard from people who have spent decades of their lives studying bends in our river, planting trees on its banks, and comparing it's current CFS to historical currents. We bumped along 1500 CFS, wondering what it was like to paddle it at 300, dodging sandbars, or at 3000, when the raging rio floods some of the newly planted plains.

We watched New Mexico shed her skies like skin, shining her sweet rays of sun upon us, and then scattering some simple drops down upon us.

We dined on a deliciously contrasted meal of fritos and potato salad-- with silverware that was dumped out of a river rat's dry bag, and Perrier bottled water served in metal bowls by the resort who had set out the clothed tables and golden chairs for us. We watched a show of the Sandia's getting showered with sleet and snow, wondering if it would blow back to us, as we sat in the sun, then the shade, and the sun again. The ever changing New Mexico skies doing their passionate dance above us.

First time on a SUP on a river! 9.5 miles.

On my way home, reveling in my fear-conquering and powered by Enya's Boadecia while driving through the leafing grapevines in humble Corrales, I passed a brightly colored parachute waving in the breeze above a sign that read Garage Sale. Three mustashed men with relatively cheery attitudes overheard I was an educator, and gave me a deal on the bright colored parachute for my students, as well as two cute shirts. The guy who offered me $5 for the parachute hesitated when I realized I only had $3 in cash, and the other one said, "George, just smile and take her money." I promised them good Karma in return and the most friendly one yelled back that that was all he needed.

This is my city, my community, my home. These are my people. The desert dwellers along the Rio Grande are a peculiar people. We see beauty in shades of brown. We prepare for rain and snow on days we only get sunshine, and smile through sleet on days that were forcast to be cloudless. We don't pay much attention to forcasts. I've heard a lot of Burque-bashing lately, but today was a reminder of our resiliance. Burquenos are a beautiful people. We live with intention, singing to the plants we put in the ground. We embrace change around every corner, and expect that one day, any day, it might be time to pick up our things, leave many behind, say goodbye to our wilted plants, and make a new place home. But when we do, we will carry the same love and attention to our new communitities.

I'm writing this from my desk overlooking the Sandia's, which just disappeared in a mist. I'm listening to rain drops hit my metal fan, and looking at the Apache Plume flowers standing upright despite the wind. This desert has a certain magic to it, and the people that live here feel that magic. I love that.

Blessed, I am.

I am blessed to earn a living doing what I love and feeling like I can make a difference in this horrifying world. 

This week I brought a group of middle schoolers on their first backpacking trip. Never mind that most of them had never even packed a backpack before...the trip was full of firsts for me as well. My first time to Pie Town, NM and the Gila, ad well as Silver City and Elephant Butte, and my first time running a backpacking trip for my company (I'm usually the homebody at base camp). 

It's wonderful to watch a group of kids who would otherwise be "watching TV and sleeping" challenge themselves to carry 1/3 of their body weight on a 5 mile journey over a mountain and into a remote canyon. It's equally powerful to watch and encourage them to engage with one another and figure out what their own limits are and how to push through them.
Despite several nights and mornings below freezing, 20 mph winds and a flat tire, we all were reminded of the value of community, companionship, and quiet... and were reminded of the comforts of home that we often take for granted.

 I am blessed that I get to teach these lessons with every trip I take. I get to practice living minimally, and shocking children with concepts of my everyday life like homemade deodorant and not owning a television. And I learn so much from each group. This week I learned that camo hats get easily lost in trees; that sucking on a tea bag doesn't make tea; that you can disprove unwarranted first impressions; and that the sun often shines on the other side of the mountain. 

I also confiirmed, through many conversations, that the world is just about full of people...and many of them need more attention than they can get. And my place in this world is to give attention to those in need, whether children or adults... (but never babies. Ew)

Shaking the Dust Off, while the wind blows around.

This past week I had the immense privilege of taking an inspiring group of 6^th graders to a place I had never been to before. Listed somewhere in the perks of the unbelievable sights, the student’s questions that made me ponder as much as them, and the experiential … experience, is the fact that I got paid to do this.

(Photo by Conservation Lands Foundation)

Yep, it’s my job to drive young'uns around this incredible state, feed them wild things, encourage them to crawl through rocks,  and challenge themselves to do things they never even thought about doing. Some people surely believe that I spend my days singing cum-by-ah and kicking soccer balls at kids to whom I’m just another adult at their disposal- but I’m happy to say I have never been in a position like that. Working at  current position has enabled me to provide the most insightful, intentional and hands-on education I have ever been able to offer. Sure I have to scorn a few trouble-makers, clean up some toilets and vacuum vans…but the real “dirty” work is the most fun: digging through shallow riverbeds to find what’s lurking beneath rocks, churning adobe bricks with your own hands or feet, or using a “bludgeoning tool” to break off all the lower Ponderosa pine branches as part of sustainable fire ecology.
This past week was particularly enjoyable because it marked my first trip with a school group with this company, my first time to Tent Rocks, and my first time with this particular group of students, who will be joining us for a longer trip later in the spring. At this point I have led groups of students to explore the outdoors in New York, North Carolina, Texas and California, but none of the programs I’ve worked with have emphasized the exploration of Nature quite like this one. Of course we stress safety, and always keep a watchful eye, but when a student can pick up a lizard and give it a name, or scrape a sandstone cliff to feel it erode, you can actually see the moment of understanding and appreciation in their eyes.
What really stood out to me about this visit to Tent Rocks was how much I was able to learn. Another thing that is invaluable about this line of work is that I can constantly grow and learn- as a student and as a teacher. As we ventured into the narrowing canyon, the students’ enthusiasm grew, despite ticking past their usual lunch time. They started to make their own theories about why Ponderosa pines were increasing in density along our walk, and asked each other really good questions about how the sediment layered like it did. Although this may have been a particularly bright group of 6^th graders, it was clear that their sense of curiosity was driving them to round each corner, and that a sense of exploration was pushing them to climb toward the top. A rewarding view only further encouraged the fulfillment of time spent in nature, whether learning or just appreciating.
Although this was my first week working with students since December, and this was my first school group in New Mexico, I remembered how natural, and exciting it is to work with young minds, and agile bodies. The  trip to Tent Rocks last week was a nice reminder of how to flow into the logistics of leading a group of students through permit-required places, but more excitingly, it released the momentum of the possibilities for us teaching students this spring. Right now I am in the planning stage of several other trips, all overnight, from 2^nd grade to 7^th grade. I am so excited to design some unique experiences for the youth in this state, and even more excited to get out there in the dust with them, and learn some things.

The Move

The most valuable thing that has been reinforced in my two months of living back home is that I am a sponge. It may be apparent to readers from our cross country journey, but it didn’t sink in until the last week or so of living with the folks. I guess another way of saying it is that I am adaptive. Perhaps one of the reasons I get along so well in jobs is because I don’t take on a direct personality of my own, but reinstate the values and beliefs of my superiors and peers. It’s not that I don’t have my own values and beliefs, although admittedly they are still forming, it’s just part of my natural character to slide into the attitudes of the people I’m around. This was evident at home, where I put aside my preferences for peeing outside, reading and writing for entertainment, and vegan eating and instead lay on the couch and watch a long movie, nibbled on cheesy delicacies, and utilized modern luxuries that I have been without in my cross country travels.
The point of this realization is that now that I am finally here in my own space with my fiancé, I get to build a space that completely caters to my values, adding in and keeping out the things I observed from staying with friends across the country. Today is the day that I set routines that will hopefully propel me into life patterns, and I feel a mix between pressure and excitement. It’s like a new year in many ways- not only is the weather warming from a mercurial winter, but a new job is starting and my  26^th birthday is around the corner. This is an exciting time for my blog, too, because instead of just plopping right into my sustainably-focused mind, I can chart out each decision on a new slate. In fact, to commemorate this, I am switching blogsites. I’m going to shift to Blogger, eventually backlogging all my old tumblr blogs. I think that blogspot is a little more professional looking, with a lot more options, such as people being able to comment*, and it will allow me several tabs to organize my blogs into personal rants like these, DIY projects, and art that I’ve accomplished.
So now that the world knows what’s up, I guess there’s nothing left to do but put down the computer and begin to build my new world, my way, with some help from my fiancé, of course.
—Flash forward 2 weeks:
Designing a creative, functional space where I can be productive and happy has not been as easy as I imagined. I’m writing this from my favorite corner that this morning I dubbed my “office,” which is nothing but a creaky but comfy  papasaun and the edge of a desk slightly out of arms distance, now stacked with books, notepads, jump drives, and notebooks. Although I am happy sitting in my ‘office’ where I spent most of yesterday knitting, I can’t help but feel a bit boring. I am slowly getting into the routine that will be my life in this space, which is to say that there is no routine at all. It reminds me of college- navigating appointments and gym hours between classes and meetings. I loved that schedule, thrived in it, even…and yet I feel so displaced from it here. I love living in Albuquerque, and I’ve been trying to take advantage of every little opportunity that presents itself to me- like I also did in college. But I don’t feel ‘at home’ yet. The walls are decorated with our favorite designs, the counters are full of our beloved things, and yet, I’m unsure how to interact with the space. Perhaps I’m not sure how to redefine home now that I have the opportunity to make a space away from my parents and the people and spaces I called home for most of my life, even if I have been removed from those spaces for several years. I guess home is where the heart is and although my stuff is here, and I like it here, I’m not in Love yet, and my heart remains in those humid summer nights, the crunch of the oak leaves under the drying crab grass, and the handful of days when the windows can be open and the inside and outside world are in harmony.  Will I ever find a home like that again? Will it take another 18 years of living in one place to have the roots of my heart remain so firmly in one place? I imagine Austin will always be home, even as the city that once revealed such possibility to me, is now foreign and threatening. But can I make this place feel like home in my heart, knowing that I won’t be living here for 18 years, or probably even 1/4^th of that.
I guess through the last 6 years of moving around, I have held home my heart, absorbing how others interact with me and the spaces I live in…and now that there are no more attitudes to pick up, no more ideals to imitate…I’m left with my empty artwork, and this big old space wondering where I start making the connections just between me and the land. And how?

Capturing Cultural Clues Cross Country Part 2

Houston – When I stepped off the plane in my home state, my first time in Texas in over 8 months, I was greeted by a stifling warm hug.The Texas humidity I had bragged about, longed for, and written about, was sticking to my skin in a warm welcome. I had to quickly change planes for one more flight into the air and through the sky, holding my breath that I don’t crash before I return home, where my heart can breathe and sigh and jump in the same state it did for the first 20 years of my life.

Georgetown

It was wonderful to be back ‘home’. Home in this case is my parents’ house which they purchased when I was going into my Senior year in college. Although I never lived here for more than a few months at a time (that’s another story…) it has the personal touches that my parents have chosen to express themselves, and a little room full of all the junk I grew up with. As soon as I dropped my bags I wandered from room to room noticing a new framed picture in Dad’s study, new and newly arranged furniture in mom’s art room. Then I jumped into some things I had been waiting to be home to do- digging out some forgotten clothes and items from my room, using mom’s extensive beading collection to make some earrings with hummingbird feathers that I collected this summer, saving my computer onto my backup hard drive, etc. I couldn’t stay up too late because I had to leave early in the morning to drive to Marble Falls, home of a past Outdoor School  I had worked at, to volunteer for a week.  
I woke up an hour early to go for a morning run. Although we had moved from the neighborhood I had grown up in, I missed running through neighborhoods, smelling laundry detergent and grills going as I passed each different house. This morning’s run would prove much different, however. First of all, I had heard so often that when you’re used to running at elevation (I’ve been living at 7500 feet for about a year), then running at sea level is a breeze. This is a flat lie. While I did have some success with this later in my journey, I would like to state that even as an asthmatic, it is much easier to run up and down low hills in the mountains than to run through thick humidity. 
The air was especially thick because we had just received a much needed rain. Although the grass usually cracks under your feet and the trees look like they could topple over at this time in Austin, everything was green. Sunlight danced through the trees, held in mid-air by the humidity. As I jogged along thinking about how jungle-like everything seemed, I was startled by a few deer frolicking across the street and up a ways from where I was running. I slowed down a bit, as one ran in front of me, leaping over a fence into the bushes, but the other stayed, staring at me with a look of, “what are you running from?” He kept his glance and as I ran by, he started to follow me! (Un)Fortunately he didn’t go far, and I continued trudging through my jog, impressed by the massive amounts of mourning doves acquiring on the power lines, and hopping from street to street as I passed. Although I grew up in central Texas, I had been away just long enough to think the measely Prickly Pear and yucca of the desert uplands were normal. I had forgotten what truth there is to the old saying, “everything’s bigger in Texas.”