It's Easy to Make a Friend

Meet Glenna: an old country woman who grew up on a ranch, lives alone in a log cabin home with a big green lawn, well kept, in a small town near Grand Mesa, the largest flat-top mountain in the world. She sees it every morning from her front door; every morning she also talks to her sister on the phone, who calls promptly at 5am. Glenna is a delightfully certain character, warm and with conviction.

And warmly, and with conviction, Glenna invited us into her home. This past weekend, after Tyler and I hiked around Grand Mesa and explored the towns between here and there, we met Beth's aunt as she welcomed our company. We chatted with Glenna around the kitchen table until dark, and climbed into the coziest beds in the world (beds with mattresses and lace in place of zippers and tarp).

I woke to a fast flick of the light switch and a "Rise and shine!" from our sweet host. By 5:35am, we were learning how to make her famous cinnamon rolls.

When it came time to let the dough rise and later to bake them, Tyler edged Glenna's lawn while I sanded down one side of her house that needed a fresh coat of paint. Luckily I still had the steel wool in the trunk of the car from when I thought I'd be spiffing up my bike. After biscuits and gravy, we both got to painting and in between coats, joined Glenna at her Baptist church. She was excited to have the company and introduced us to all of her friends with a big smile, and each time with a different explanation of our meeting. I'd never been to a Baptist church before; I loved the singing, which felt like patriotic karaoke (as it was the Sunday before Independence Day). I tried not to laugh when Tyler side-glanced at me for replacing "brotherhood" with "sisterhood".

Roots

Almost a week ago we arrived at New Life Gardens in Grand Junction, CO, to begin our WWOOFing experience. WWOOF USA: WorldWide Opportunities for Organic Farming, in the US. WWOOF is a web-based network where farmers meet travelers, the first seeking a labor force and the latter seeking experience, room and board, knowledge, what have you. Beth is the owner of New Life Gardens and our host and mentor. Thus far, my experience with Beth has been an exchange of my open ears, willing hands, fresh eyes and ideas for delicious meals, a well of knowledge, unwavering trust and a place to lay our tent, to say nothing of the farming experience itself.

Beth has a vision for her garden: a place for healing, open to the community, full of color and light and light and healing herbs; a coy pond, a swing, a variety of vegetables so vast that she does not know what to do with it all; honeybees, clover paths, and places to sit and rest in the shade of tall trees. The amazing part is that most of what I've mentioned is already here, cultivated and cared for by Beth and volunteers, day in and day out. Every day, folks in good spirits walk through the beautiful chaos of "rows" of plants, caring for them with the blissful ease that is doing something you love.

On my first morning at the garden, Tyler joined Beth in the kitchen making homemade biscuits and omelets with vegetables from the garden (Every meal has vegetables from the garden), while I joined Paige, the other Paige/WWOOFer, in the strawberry patch. While she tore up vine weeds, throwing them on the ground to dry up and join the dirt ("Organic matter matters most."), I worked my way through the strawberry plants looking for long stems of what I learned to be young roots. I would cut these stems close to the mother plant and set them aside. After a tasty and welcoming breakfast, we all returned to work. And so would be our days, beginning with the rising sun, sprinkled with fresh meals, mint tea, good conversation and quality alone time.

The next day I rooted the strawberries-- that is, I cut down the long stems so that the roots of the plant could sit nicely in its nook of a seedling tray. Beth and I watered the trays, and so they sit in the small greenhouse among their young and tropical neighbors. Beth told me that she'd always done strawberries the wrong way, choosing the biggest and sweetest strawberries to root for the next year's patch. But this year, she now knows that the biggest strawberries don't make for the best starters. The trick is to root the young generations--the outgrowths of the mother plant--for these will produce sweeter fruit.

Over the next few days, as I dug and dug and dug the hole for the coy pond, braided garlic, hoed an irrigation stream into the lawn, cooked meals, ate honey-soaked bee wax, talked about healing herbs and dreams, and thought about all the possibilities that sit before me, I realized it is fitting that my first experience on the garden was preparing strawberry roots. I have learned from Beth and her garden that life is variety, that life takes time and there is no rushing nature, and the best fruit comes from experience and strong roots. As I braided the green and brown scapes of garlic, I thought about my roots in a new way. While I am not taking root in any one place, I am cultivating the roots that will help me grow, creating a lifestyle as vibrant and fruitful as the garden that inspires me.

From Denver to Grand Junction

I began my latest journey a few days ago, as the wheels of Montana (my so-called airplane) lifted off San Francisco International's runway. My flight would take me to Denver, CO where I would meet my boyfriend, Tyler, and his loving and efficient travel-companion-father. I arrived late in the night and was greeted with the freckly smile I missed and love. That same grinning boy brought us to a stinky, dirty extended-stay hotel (He booked it luck-of-the-draw style) but I didn't mind. (I told him I wanted us to stay in shit-holes together, but for him to get me the best. He laughed knowing that I was mostly serious.) Anyway I liked our beginning, as it marked the start of all kinds of living. In just five days we've stayed in two motels, one fancy Sheraton and one tent--the one that will be our pop-up home for the months to come.

On the first morning, the three of us searched for The Grubbery to have breakfast. In the middle of an industrial park, we found our meal. After hearty pancakes and omelets, we walked through prairie dog paradise-- Tyler's first dream of the west: realized. Then we said our goodbyes to Mr. Miller at the airport topped with circus tents (my guess is they're for cooling).

We checked into our hotel and took over the parking lot so we could organize the car-- our other summer home. The streets of Denver that night were full of musicians and artists performing for tourists who did not like the rain. We returned downtown the next day for the Pride festival, which was full of people: happy, friendly people. And I wouldn't attribute that just to the event-- Colorado seems to me one of the friendliest places on earth (Look out, Walt). We left Denver after getting the chance to walk through the art district, which was full of Westword Music Festival-goers, young people and friendly "hello's"; I'll fast-forward through our long search for a campsite (short version: naive to think we could check-in to a campground on the weekend in one of the most desired outdoor areas in the country? yes.) and skip to our arrival at Idaho Springs, CO, where the gold rush began. We had iced mochas and a chat with the woman running the small town's museum (She came from Medina, NY and never went back).

Sylvan Lake State Park sits in the center of White Water National Forest, suitably named after the flowing rivers that weave through the mountains. We arrived at Sylvan Lake on Sunday night and set up our campsite, and we brought only the food we could eat in two days. Our first dinner was a potato mash: 8 red potatoes, one cup of greek yogurt, olive oil, garlic, and the greens of our rainbow carrots. We wrapped the potatoes in foil and baked them over fire, then mashed everything together in my cast iron skillet. I might dare to say they were the best mashed potatoes I've ever chewed. 

Sunday morning we hiked through the greenest mountains I've ever seen. Everywhere I looked was green, save the dirt path that led us along the river and the blue sky above. When we weren't climbing up and down along the mountainside, a beaten dirt path led us through a sea of grass that swayed in the wind and glistened in the sun. The rocks that lined the ice-cold river made a perfect spot for lunch: half of an avocado sandwich, half of a ChocolateP.B.&BlackberryJ. with almonds.

Digital Storytelling

Here it is! The final project of my Experiential Learning class.

A digital storytelling.

Coming Home

Leaving Sevilla felt pretty normal, besides saying goodbye to the friends I'd made in Spain. I had left Sevilla lots of times throughout the semester to travel and spent much time in airports and on buses. For this reason, my 36-hour trek home wasn't so crazy. It wasn't until my third plane was descending into San Francisco did I realize that I had actually, truly, left Sevilla.

I had been anticipating my return home for over a month. Not because I was eager to get home (although parts of me were), but because I had finally felt so immersed in Spanish culture that I didn't know how I was going to react to the switch. I thought about how I had changed, what I had learned, the customs I appreciated and the people I held dearly since. I thought about my long struggle to feel comfortable in Sevilla, from living with strangers to learning how to interact with Spaniards, and how all the discomfort I felt in the beginning of my study-abroad experience had transformed into a deep love for the culture; I didn't know how I would be able to return to living without it. 

I thought about this so much before returning home, in the most productive way I could, that I was able to grasp the idea of transitioning back into the society I had left four months ago. Nevertheless, I could not prepare for the sudden feeling of void that came over me as I looked down upon the California skyline. 

Don't get me wrong-- I was overwhelmingly excited to see my family. I was looking forward to my friends, to returning to my commitments and figuring out how I would use all that I had learned abroad in my 'normal' life. I knew that I had fallen in love with Sevilla throughout this experience, in a slow and enriching process. I knew I had grown accustomed to the Spanish lifestyle. But, for better or worse (or truthfully, both), readjusting to my return was not as shocking as I was expecting. I realized that I had fallen in love with Sevilla for reasons beyond Sevilla itself-- I loved my adventures and learning a new culture, but mostly I loved the growth that came with these experiences. I learned the Spanish lifestyle, but I also learned how to adapt. And I used all the tools I needed to adapt to Spain again to adapt back, this time (hopefully) a better person for it. 

Thinking about problems and issues in more complicated and global ways became a must. Being surrounded by people you can barely understand, who seem to know so many things that you don't, is quickly humbling. The whole struggle to understand, both the language and the customs, pushed me to be patient and observant. Slowly beginning to understand was so satisfying that judgement just disappears. And realizing how incredible a culture is, which only comes with letting go of judgement, changed my entire way of thinking. 

If people asked about a transformative experience, I would have to say the whole semester because it was filled with transforming experiences. With every moment came a new perspective, and the more perspective I gained, the more I transformed as a person. Even learning how to order a coffee, which in Spanish is something like "Give me a coffee", changed my outlook entirely.

I faced many obstacles in Spain every day, from Day One until the bitter end. Personally, my biggest obstacle was living with my host-family and the ways my program did and didn't help me. I can go on and on about why, but I have so many great experiences that overshadow this one. I took away lessons from this obstacle, including how to appreciate diversity even in the face of great challenge.

So, readjusting home wasn't so shocking. I began to feel at home in Sevilla, so I was anxious about what I would feel like once I returned home. But I think one of the biggest shock-absorbers was the eye-open, observant, adjustable mentality that Sevilla has given me, and I was able to feel like home and away-from-home all at once.

Lessons Learned

Experiential Learning Blog 7:

I despise this question of what I would do differently if I studied abroad all over again because I feel as if it takes away from the real lesson learned: that we can live life to its fullest no matter where we are, but time goes on and we must make mistakes. Moving into a house full of strangers, barely able to speak the language, is so uncomfortable within itself that I could have been two doors down from home and felt like a foreigner. I could say that I would be more outgoing, that I would stop my señora from what she was doing and make her talk to me... But I didn't. And if somehow I could redo my first study-abroad experience, I wouldn't do anything differently. 

That isn't to say that I did everything perfectly. Knowing that I only had three months to do everything I wanted to do in Sevilla and in my travels was incredibly overwhelming. It filled every free moment with pressure that I should be spending my time here or there. When I wanted to stay in at night I had to weigh the guilt into my decision. But after a while, all I really wanted was to feel comfortable doing nothing. I wanted to spend an evening talking to the friends I've made- American and Spanish- without feeling like I wasn't taking advantage of being in a different country. And what I learned is that doing exactly that was taking advantage for me.  Sevilla began to feel like home, and the friends I made I have missed every day since I left. 

 

 So whatever I did during my experience, however I dealt with all the challenges and struggles that I expected and those I did not, whatever made me fall in love with Sevilla the way I did, I wouldn't trade for any other experience, because it was mine.

Cultural Icons

Experiential Learning Blog 6:

NO8DO is Sevilla's motto. Walking down the street, you will see it written on newspaper stands, manhole covers, buildings and souvenirs sold in kiosks. I didn't find out the meaning of this motto until a few weeks ago, but it may have been for the better, since when I did learn it, it meant so much to me.

The symbol in the center represents a knot of wool, called madeja in Spanish. With the knot (reminiscent also of the infinity symbol) in between NO and DO, Sevilla's emblem signifies "No me ha dehado," meaning "She has not left me." This little cultural gem describes perfectly the sentiment that is Sevilla. Sevillanos are born in Sevilla and stay in Sevilla. They don't say they are from Spain or that they are Spanish, they say they are from Sevilla. I know that when I return to the Bay Area and to Allegheny, Sevilla will never leave me. The experiences I have had and the relationships I have made with the kind people that live here (and stay here!) will always be a part of me.