A Little Dirt is Good for You

        Dirt covered every inch of my frozen cold hands and had even wiggled its way up under my fingernails. My blue jeans were soaked in the mucky substance, especially around my knees, showing signs of four hours of exhausting labor, crouching and crawling on the greenhouse’s dirt floor. My boots were no exception to the dirt’s wrath as they too were coated in the earth’s skin. I felt grimy and cold, but I also felt refreshed and inspired.
  It just so happened that the Friday after I had read the first several chapters of “Animal, Vegetable, Miracle,” by Barbara Kingsolver, I was signed up to volunteer at Grand Valley’s Sustainability and Agriculture Project. As president of the Rotaract Club at Grand Valley, I had organized for the club to volunteer there a few Fridays in November. Luckily, because of the fortunate timing, I was able to indulge myself in Kingsolver’s agricultural stories before experiencing some of them first hand.
  As soon as I entered one of the green houses, I was struck with the beauty of the plants. Though I did not know what was growing and where, I saw luscious green colors sprouting from various beds of dirt. After introducing myself to several people, I was put right to work pulling weeds. I began my task crouching, worried that my jeans would get dirty, however, that feeling quickly faded as I realized how difficult it was to squat for so long! I soon began crawling in the soil on my hands and knees; my quads were grateful.
Though pulling weeds may not sound so exciting, it provided for a very relaxing afternoon to reflect on Kingsolver’s words of agricultural wisdom. I was able to pluck away at the small green plants, digging my hands into the earth over and over again, until I had cleared a spot, while thinking about the little ways that humans can positively change their consumption habits by eating locally. After quite some time spent weeding and wondering, I gave myself a short break. Despite the repetitiveness and the exhaustion that I now felt in my arms and legs, it was delightful getting to breathe in fresh air with a community of people that truly love plants and the earth. I also reflected on the hard and tiring work that goes into eating locally, leading me to really appreciate the Kingsolver family’s dedication to eating locally and growing their own food for a year.
The manager noticed my break and suggested that I take a real “pea break.” At first, I was not sure what he meant. I thought I had misheard him until he plucked a pea pod off of a nearby small, white flower and gently placed it into the palm of my hand. Instantly, I was enchanted. I had never eaten anything right off of a plant and was confused on how a pea pod could even grow from a flower! The manager explained that the flower was part of the beautiful process and created the seeds, also known as the peas. I carefully ate the pea pod, appreciating every single bite that electrified my taste buds greater than any vegetable ever has. The pea pod was so sweet and delicious, making me wish that I could eat a vegetable so fresh every day of my life.
Before I left, I was given another snack. This time, the manager handed out a carrot to all of the volunteers. At first, I looked at the carrot with a bit of uncertainty: it was covered in little bits of dirt and still had the leafy greens attached to its head. However, it was the most delicious carrot that I have ever eaten, full of fresh, sweet flavors. Other volunteers shared my uncertainty until the manager explained that a little dirt is actually good for everything but a person’s teeth.
Though I will still prefer a washed vegetable to a dirty one, I cannot wait until eating fresh and locally grown food becomes a part of my reality. Getting a glimpse inside the life that Kingsolver writes about, I can see why it is so fulfilling. Overall, I left the project that Friday afternoon with a restored mind and body, belly full of garden-fresh vegetables, and hopefulness for a future full of foods that haven’t spent thousands of miles in trucks to get to my dinner plate.

   
 

Seedlings of Hope

      I have visited my cottage on Higgins Lake every summer that I can remember, yet there was so much I didn’t know about the area until a few years ago. Less than a mile away from my cottage, there is a Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC) Museum site. Every summer growing up around the lake, I would make my way to the historical area filled with intriguing, old buildings and a majestic forest of trees. I always found the place interesting and beautiful, but left it at that, without reading the information on the sides of the buildings or touring them on a day the various historical museums were open for visitors. For the most part, I would mindlessly wander around observing the buildings or go for a run through the forest trail surrounding them. I cherish my runs through the hilly dirt trail. There is a particular part of the three-mile trail that always leaves me speechless with its overwhelming beauty. Trees tower above the trail in perfectly straight lines for at least a half-mile. I suppose I always thought that these were magical trees that naturally were flawless in order. However, I eventually learned otherwise. These trees have a much greater story to tell.
      During my freshman year of high school, I discovered this story when one of my classes required students to do “cultural events.” Students had to find a place where they could learn about a part of history or a particular culture, and do a project on it. Already traveling up north a few weeks before the project was due, I figured that the CCC Museum would be just the right place to pursue the assignment. I was correct in my assumptions.
      I learned that the Grayling CCC Museum that I visited was just one of many around the United States. The Presidential election of 1932 led to the election of Franklin D. Roosevelt as America’s new president. Roosevelt determinedly planned to utilize unemployed, young men to fight against soil erosion and diminishing timber resources. To do so, he enacted the Emergency Conservation Work Act, also known as the CCC. Young men were eager to enroll in the new program and were able to send paychecks home to families, boosting the economy all around the nation. While benefiting themselves, and their families, these men were also able to help the nation’s environment. Among other great accomplishments, more than three billion trees were planted, which explains the perfectly aligned trees in the forest behind the museum. The men also devoted time to other conservation activities, including, but not limited to, protecting range for the Grazing Service, helping with stream improvement, and protecting wildlife’s natural habitats.  Unfortunately, despite its great success, the CCC program ended in 1942 (CCC Legacy).
      After learning all about the CCC Museum and the story behind the towering trees, I began to wonder: would it be possible for the United States to do something like this again? There is no doubt that America is in need of environmental adjustment, and I know that with the current economy, many citizens would appreciate jobs. The program worked once, and it could certainly work again for struggling citizens and a desperate environment that needs America’s attention.

Source:

"CCC Brief History." CCC Legacy. 2015. Web. 4 Nov. 2015.
http://www.ccclegacy.org/CCC_Brief_History.html

Bare Reality

I close my eyes for a moment. I can imagine living in a world like this, undisturbed in near silence. I don’t have a phone vibrating in my pocket to remind me of my stresses and toxins from gasoline or a lit cigarette aren’t lingering in the air. Instead, the air is innocent and gentle to inhale. The temperature on this warm humid day drops instantly into a cool soothing breeze under the opaque forest covering. Immediately, I feel my neck ache fade away after built up anxieties throughout the day have put strain on my tired mind and body. It’s been a long school week and it’s only Wednesday. However, I feel better here, escaping busy life for a brief hour of my day.

Even though Blandford Nature Center might be a calm haven for me, the animals are constantly on the move. I hear the shuffling of tiny feet above and below me. Squirrels and petite chipmunks cover the forest floor, scurrying along before I can even get a decent look at them. Acorns thump to the ground, surprising visitors below who are not expecting anything to fall from the sky. I can hear various birdcalls from the towering trees and I wish that I could understand their conversations as they fly across the cloudless blue sky. I move further down a dirt path and stroll on a bridge over a stream in which fish actively hurry the opposite way with every move I make. Walking back and forth repeatedly, I humorously watch them dart left and right to avoid the pounding of my steps. Further down the path, I walk to pass by a pond and the chirp of crickets rings in my ears. I cannot see any, but their resounding noise is enough to believe that there are millions hidden in the forest greens. Unfortunately, though I probably should expect it spending time in nature, I catch a glimpse of a thick spider lying still on a walking deck as I have now moved further down the path. Normally, I would scream in terror if he were in my home, but this is his home and I am the invader. I move slightly closer, with persistent fear still overcoming my body, and observe the repulsive creature. 

Not only do the wild animals thrill me, but the ones held in captivity as well. A bobcat sits in his cage, looking like a larger version of my pet cat at home. From a distance, I admire the cat that looks like he would be so gentle to play with, however, in the wild, I highly doubt that would be true. I also am in awe of the beautiful and mysterious owls. As I stop at his cage, an owl’s eyes pierce directly into mine. His eyes remind me of a human’s, making me feel very strange as I gaze into them and wonder if he can think like a human too! A different barn owl bobs himself to sleep high off the ground. The white feathers armoring his body make him seem so majestic. 

I can’t get enough of the natural beauty that surrounds me on every side. A pond here, a stream there, tall trees above, and a luscious forest floor below are enough to make me never want to leave. This is tranquility at its best. 

Penguin Eggs Hatch Memories

       We were desperately searching for penguin eggs. They were hidden all along the dirt trail to the beach and we needed to find them before they hatched. It was an urgent mission. Ella and I trudged up and down the lane searching the base of every nearby tree and gathered the hard round treasures until our seven-year old arms could carry no more. We placed the eggs on the soft beach and glanced outward to my lake: Higgins Lake. The sunset was as beautiful as ever with clouds prancing along the skyline and the sun slowly diminishing beneath the deep blue water. The water where we had spent the day swimming and playing with assorted water toys melodiously rose onto the beach and knocked away the sandcastles of the day.  As soon as darkness filled the sky, it would be time to play capture the flag with the other neighbor kids. But in the meantime, we waited and waited for the eggs to hatch. They never did.
  When darkness was among us, capture the flag began by picking teams and defining boundaries. I was young, so naturally not a hot commodity for a captain to choose, but I was faster than most, so it paid my dues. The two teams set off, promising not to look at where the other team was hiding their flag. As soon as the flags were hidden, under a canoe, rock, windowpane, or wherever, we began. The big kids took off sprinting in search of the paper-towel flag. I was hesitant and too afraid of the dark and of being tagged in the other team’s boundaries to be sent to “jail,” so I stayed on my team’s side to guard our flag in safe territory. Someone would eventually uncover and come running back with the other team’s flag to ensure a victory as he or she crossed the boundary line back into his or her home territory.
  Exhausted and cold after playing several games, I headed to the bonfire on the beach with a few of the neighbor kids my age. My parents were already sitting there on a wooden bench facing the dark chilly water and gossiping with our adult neighbors. I helped myself to a gushy and warm peanut butter cup s’more and snuggled in next to my parents. I usually managed to sneak a second s’more before they could notice.

I stared up into the sky while the adults talked and noticed the thousands of stars that shone above my head. The longer I stared, the more shooting stars I would see. However, I didn’t need to make any wishes, I was right where I wanted to be and with the people I wanted to be with. Higgins Lake was and still is, my home away from home where I feel at peace.
As time has passed, it has been harder to make it up north to the lake than it used to be. My mom and I would spend weeks at the cottage over the summer without a thought about returning home. Now, I am lucky to make it to the cottage a few weekends a summer.
     It is also not the same lake that it used to be and I have become slightly afraid of it. Higgins Lake has always been crystal clear. I could swim in two hundred feet deep water and still see my toes dancing under the water’s surface below me. Unfortunately, the lake’s beauty has become a part of its downfall. The astonishingly clear water attracts a type of duck that causes what locals call “Swimmer’s Itch.” Swimmers come out of the lake clawing and scratching at their legs and arms with no relief for a few days. All it took was for me to get it once, and I have hardly entered the water since. The lake has also been infested with Zebra Mussels. The mussels attach themselves to rocks and can easily cut the bottom of a swimmer’s foot with their sharp edges.
      I miss the old Higgins Lake. It will forever be my lake and second home, but I crave the days where I could freely swim through the serene water and not have a worry in the world. I miss the nights of searching for penguin eggs, even if they just turned out to be rocks, and playing capture the flag with neighborhood friends. Yet, I look forward to a future at Higgins Lake. Every summer I have wonderful new experiences that continuously shape me into who I am and who I am becoming. There is no place I would rather be.

Timeless Travels

My eyes have never seen as much beauty as they did during my two weeks in Italy. Day after day, a new sight would engage me and then inevitably, my camera lens as well. A land so full of history, Italy amazed me every step of the way with its gorgeous natural features and ancient ruins and architecture that the civilization has managed to keep alive.

The Colosseum is one of these ruins. During my  tour through the Colosseum, I can’t honestly say that I learned much. The tour guide spoke such a thick Italian accent that her English translated a bit incoherently. However, I did not need to hear what she was saying in order to feel the ancient culture and gaze at the beautiful architecture of what used to be, and still is, a huge symbol of Rome.   

Every other aspect of Italy was breathtaking. The waterways sparkled like glitter, and the views from the hills were a dream that I never wanted to wake from.

I visited Venice towards the conclusion of my trip. I think it would actually surprise you more if I said that I didn’t take a gondola ride.  After all, a gondola ride is the one Venetian tourist trap everyone falls into willingly.  

Ready for Venetian tourist trap, my friends and I gathered around the dock, anxiously awaiting the arrival of our gondola and singing tour guide. When a lengthy brown gondola floated up next to us, we stepped in carefully one by one. Unfortunately, I was the last one to get on the boat, and this left me with the lone seat in the back, which happened to be three or four feet away from where the rest of my friends were sitting. I quickly became the designated photographer for the rest of the group, getting a picture of all of my friends having fun together on a gondola in Venice, but unable to take a picture where I could be part of the memory.

I’m not going to lie; I was a little bitter. Yet, how bitter could I actually be while I was gliding through the waterways in Venice? They proved to be as wonderful as I had imagined that they would be. The sun glimmered on the river canal reflecting the views of the surrounding homes and stores. My head bobbed from left to right to catch every inch of unique exquisiteness.

Every building was a different shade of beige, pink, yellow, or blue and never

lacked personality. The windowsills were filled with colorful blooming flowers. As I observed the sights around me, we would pass under a small bridge connecting two sides of the river, with tourists waving from above. I was also surprised by the gondolier’s precision in leading the boat in the right direction. The river was occasionally pretty narrow, leaving little room for error, especially
when we would pass by other gondolas or boats. and he could sing at the same time! If I had been in his place, there is no doubt we would have ended up sinking after crashing into the side of someone’s home. I never wanted the ride to end.

            Yet, as all great things do, it did end--a half hour earlier than scheduled and paid for as we later learned! I suppose we were all so immersed in the elegance of the ride that we completely lost track of time.

            My trip to Italy also came to an end much too soon, but it will never be forgotten. I am determined to revisit before my life ends. After all, I did throw change into the magical Trevi Fountain and whoever does so is destined to return.  

The Sand Dooms

What goes down must come up… right? I’m afraid I must have forgotten this common phrase during the course of my visit to the Sleeping Bear Dunes.

Standing atop the enormous sand dune, I could see for miles. The water never seemed to end, as it only stopped at the sight of the horizon somewhere beyond my view. Lake Michigan faded into an abyss after transforming from a light blue and green color into a deep dark blue. I could only begin to imagine all of the life that was going on below, far beneath the lake’s surface. There could be mysterious forms of life that no one may ever discover. I like it that way, because when humans discover something, we often forget that it had a life of its own prior to its unearthing, and we make it into what we want.

I felt ready to descend the dune with my shorts fastened tight, bathing suit top secured, and barefoot toes prepared to wiggle and dig in for the descent down the hill. Slowly, I braved the slippery sand but soon found that I was flying down the mountain. I stopped leaping through the sand every so often, just to make sure I still could and I quickly reached the bottom of the dune, panting and full of excitement from the exhilarating trip down the tower of sand. I submerged my feet into the rewarding chill of Lake Michigan's water at the dune’s base, as it was a sizzling sunny day, and I was sweating like a man wearing leather pants.

After splashing in the rippling waves, basking in the sunlight, and making footprints in the soft beach sand, I turned around to face the giant mass before me. There is no downplaying its height and slope which seemed to descend at a seventy-degree angle towards the cloudless sky. The people at the top now looked like tiny little ants on a giant anthill. I definitely underestimated the effort that it would take to get back up.

Knowing the great effort it would take, I took the dune one footstep at a time. Slowly each "footstep" became one push forward with my feet and a grab in the hot sand with my hands, inching my way up on hands and knees. I remember thinking that they must call it Bear Dunes because everyone is crawling on their hands and knees by the time they reach the top.

Despite being on my hands and knees, I knew I could do it. I had no choice really: my car was parked at the top, so I would, at some point, have to make it up the entire dune. Trucking on at the best pace that I could manage, I felt as if I were a fearless warrior on a mission through the desert. Towards the top of the dune, the angle of elevation became easier to manage, and I gratefully realized that I was almost there.

Finally, I made it to the top, where other tourists lazily lingered looking down at the descent before them rather than attempting the challenge. I sat in the sand among them, catching my breath, enjoying my accomplishment, and acknowledging the dune I had just clambered. I had a whole new appreciation for the gorgeous view before me, and the incredible piece of earth that allowed me to experience such a wonderful adventure. 

Who I Am Is Where I Am From

            I am from a devoted mother, a mother who extensively worries, but only because she cares more than anyone I have ever known. Always looking out for my best interest, she supports me through thick and thin.

            I am from a tireless father, a father who works twelve-hour days to be able to give his girls all that he never had. His gracious heart never fails to spoil, and he does everything he can to keep me smiling, even if just with cheesy jokes.

            I am from a motivated older sister, a sister who has shown me what it takes to be the best. Her dedication, athletically and academically, teaches me daily to never give up on my goals.

            I am from an aged, chubby cat, a cat whose piercing cry rudely awakes me from my slumber, just in time to feed her diet food. She embodies my memories of a joyful childhood, watching her wildly chase laser lights and coddling her after endless pouncing. 

            I am from the smell of Red Robin takeout, a familiar smell that lingers throughout my house as the absence of one parent for a business trip leads to the idleness of the other. Family dinners together are hard to come by but make us appreciate the times that we do share a table.

            I am from nightly ice cream trips. A favorite dessert and pastime, TCBY, Dairy Queen, or Coldstones filled the final hunger inside my belly before bedtime. Ice cream trips became such a regular occurrence that at the age of seven almost every TCBY employee had my order memorized.

            I am from studying and homework until my brain won’t let any more information in. A dreaded part of striving to be my best academically, I have never enjoyed it for obvious reasons. Yet, I have always done every last bit of my homework, because of the high expectations I set for myself.

            I am from the splash of the pool, a rush of cool, refreshing water that laps over my body and leaves me breathless after flinging myself through the air. From fearfully sliding down the slippery slide to playing “Mermaids” with my friends, my backyard pool has always provided a summertime delight.

            I am from countless soccer practices and games, a sport I have loved and played since I was four. Punishment sprints and a few depressing losses are nothing compared to the remarkable friendships that I have made and the skills that I have gained on and off the field.

            I am from crossing finish lines, a time when I can barely stand but hold myself up with the pride of a great accomplishment. Running is torture to others but a fulfilling experience I have always known and will not soon forget to do and appreciate.

            I am from a group of friends that I have had since elementary school, a friendship that is changing as we move on in our lives but one that I don’t intend to give up on. These girls have known me my whole life and accept and support me for who I am and who I have been.
            I am from Livonia, Michigan, a place where I am lucky to be loved and lucky to be alive. It isn’t home because of scenic landmarks or a roof above my head but because of the people and experiences that will forever be a part of who I am and where I am from.