The Youghiogheny River: Ohiopyle

One thing I am not going to write about is moving from West Virginia to Iowa. I will not document one of the worst moving experiences of my life, and when I did get here and talked to others who has experienced moving to Iowa from far away, I heard their similar and sometimes more horrifying stories. I took that as a sign that I would be okay here, since they were and are okay here after their horror.

So, I am writing about the days up to the move.

My mother in law, Rebecca, and niece, Bela, flew out to Pittsburgh to help us move. My niece is a cat whisperer and we owe her, or at least I do, our/my sanity…and definitely our cat’s sanity.  Since Bela had never been to West Virginia and there were some special places we wanted to see before the move, we brought her to Ohiopyle.

Ohio Pyle is a state park in Pennsylvania in what they call the Laurel Highlands. The Youghiogheny River runs through the park and attracts rafters and hikers and anyone who wants to see the falls at the center of the park, in the middle of the river, as the river flows down from the highlands and through the hills. There are two Frank Lloyd Wright homes in the area as well: Kentucky Knob and Falling Water. Both are worth the price, but we were there to see the free trees and water.

The falls of the Youghiogheny are amazing and we gazed at them and watched the water run over them. I will remember them fondly, but the hiking along the river was always what I enjoyed the most. Those Eastern rivers have big rocks in them and they flow North. I was used to rivers with small rocks that flow South. I grew up near the Mississippi River in Southern Illinois. It is a broad, sandy river. I knew about sandbars and I knew I would never dip a toe in that polluted water. I was content to swim and boat on the local man-made lake with a bottom of clay and water which no light penetrated.

Then, we  moved to Arkansas and I swam in Table Rock Lake and could see my feet when I was treading water. It felt so clean. It is a lake of rock and green water with cliffs make up the sides of the lakes and rocks that line the bottom and jut out from the sides of the lakes. We would jump out into Beaver Lake off of them and cautiously watch the snakes that would swim over and try to take our sunbathing rock spot, but the rocks there were slabs and the water was calm.

When I went hiking with a dear friend in the Buffalo National Forest in Central Arkansas and we reached the Buffalo river, we were so hot and grateful to see water that we stripped to our last layer of clothes and dived into the river; the cliffs that  line that river are super high, white limestone rock that rose above us and from which trees grow despite its vertical nature. The rocks at the bottom of the river were smooth and small and did not hurt our tired, hot feet. They were slick and kind and the water flew over them a little fast, but still calm. I knew the river was low that year due to drought year number 5 and I believe the same drought is still going. I knew that when it rained, this river was a different kind of river, but I did not see it that day. I saw the calm river of the west that we could dive into without fear of anything but some snakes.

I moved to West Virginia and visited Ohiopyle and saw swift water over huge boulders with an amazing powerful and awesome current. There is water everywhere there—in the trees, in the air, in the green that is also everywhere. And it never recedes in a way I was used to seeing in Arkansas when as the drought continues the lake and river water would recede and reveal more silent boulders under where we had been swimming last year. They were ones that we never saw—the green, deep water hide them—but we sensed their presence. And that kept us from jumping from the cliffs above that overhang the lake and exposed rock shoreline into the green water below. Instead of jumping, we climbed down the overhang to the rocks that met the water and we lived.

 In the Youghiogheny, those rocks were always there. Sure they had water lines, but they were huge and jutted up out of the water, even when it was high water. And the water rushed past them wearing them slowly away. It was not water to jump right into or even to wade right into. T he current was strong, an unwavering force. The water was also cold. We would sometimes go to Ohiopyle to swim and we choose a spot above the falls. The water was that rock green clear I knew, but cold even in July. I was used to the water in Arkansas warming up the end of June, but I swear it was never, even at its coldest, the temperature of the Youghiogheny in spring, summer or fall. The winter snow had melted into it and we could feel it. We had to jump in and be brave or edge ourselves in slowly and when we came back out, we were gonna be a bit numb. The current was always present and always ready to sweep us towards the falls.

I had also never seen natural slides until Ohiopyle. Some local friends of ours told us to go to them. The water, a run really that emptied into Youghiogheny, had gouged out a tube like path in the rock as it gathered and flowed down the side of the highlands as a creek. It was a natural pipe. We visited it about 3 times in the five years we were there. On a hot August day, the trails were packed and people lined up at the top of slides to slide all the way down into shallow pools of water that gathered before the water spilled out of them and went back into the main river. We even tool the trail up and followed the run and found more swimming holes and water falls above the slides. The more rain or snow melt we had, the faster the water flew down the rocks to the river below.

It takes courage to  go down the slides. I was not brave enough to slide down them, as Ernani and our friend Cari were, but I recorded and worried about broken arms and legs as I watched them go down the slides into pools that lead to another set of slides. The limestone was carved out into slides by the water and the angle was a sloop. It was a gentle ride unless there was a lot of rain, then it was quick and scarier as far as I was concerned, but we wanted to take our niece there so she could see it, since it is pretty cool and a once in a lifetime kind of place.

After the slides, we drove to Cucumber Falls. Neither Ernani or I had been there despite our many visits to the park. Waterfalls were always a treat for me. They are hard to find in Arkansas and the best ones there are the ones you run into without expecting to run into when walking a trail. Often the trail will tell you there is one, but when you get to it, it is dry. In the West Virginia area, waterfalls thrive and abound. We had seen many and they never got old. But, those we saw we, we could never get close to like the few I got to get close to on Arkansas trails. The ones in West Virginia were serious. Gallons and gallons of water falls in WV when it falls. It is often not wise to get too close.

We parked in the dusty, rocky parking lot next to the sign for Cucumber Falls and followed the trail as it snaked down to the valley. This was another run, creek, that was making it way to fill the Youghiogheny below it, but this river was not one solid mass of rock the water could carve a path into. Suddenly the water meet a gap and had to fall to reach the ground that sloped to the river. It was a beautiful water fall and behind it was a grotto. We could walk and climb the rocks on the banks of the river it made after it fell and get behind it and dunk our heads into the water falling from high above us. And we did. It was exhilarating. It was not a moment to pass by. Cari, Ernani, Bela and I each took our turn. The day was perfect and I had forgotten about everything but the moment we were in and the pressure of the water on my head, neck and hand as I reached out for it.  We made our way back to Rebecca who took our pictures and then  up the trail to the bridge that crossed the water as it was about to fall off the edge of the rock onto other heads, hands, necks and then to the river. We walked to the car and drove back through green hills and sunshine to reality. 

Leaving West Virginia, Almost Heaven

Leaving the hills was not something I every really saw myself being able to do without the certainty of leaving them for a job in my field. Life did not work the way I thought it would though. The dream teaching job did pan out and my husband is less stubborn than I am.

When there is a problem, when I am fixing something, or putting something together and it resists, I rush headlong into it and continue working on it even when I should I stop. It is just one of the many traits that make me, me. I remember when I was getting my Master’s degree, and one of my colleagues told me: Lisa, all you get by beating your head against a brick wall is a bloody head. I have been pondering that sentence since she spoke it, and it took about ten more years to realize how right it is. But, have I stopped this beating the head and this being generally stubborn about fixing things that just don’t want to be fixed? Of course not. I just needed her to remind me that I have this tendency not to stop when I should stop, so that I stop a bit sooner than I did in my 20s.

So, while I would have clung to the 4/4 teaching load that made me insane every October (midterm), December (finals and finals grade), January (evaluations), and Feb/March (midterm and receipt of annual review), May (finals), Summer (no income), and August (writing the annual review)--and, I worried about not having time to do research and squeezing in 500 job aps between Oct and March in between the grading—I would have kept doing it until I was 65 years old. Luckily, I met my husband, who can be more rational than me about these things, and he decided to change his life, which meant mine changes too. He decided to take the LSAT. And, then we decided to move to Iowa.

Iowa. I am from Southern IL originally. I know flat. I hated flat. I hate Winter. So, why did we choose Iowa? Family. We had lived in the hills, but we were far from our family and we missed them. This can happen as you get older.  I was scared to go back to Fayetteville, Arkansas. I loved Fayetteville. I love Arkansas. I don’t want to look for jobs there because I fear that that might ruin the place I love so much. I want to return there someday when I can enjoy it without fear and worry. And the law program at the University of Iowa is good. My husband loved received his degrees there in philosophy. He knew the city well and he has good memories of the place.

A part of me was ready to get back to the western, and right, side of the Mississippi River. I reason that I can tolerate the winter with family nearby and if I put my stubbornness against it, perhaps that would be a good outlet for it. And, Iowa City does have some hills. It is nice to be able to really see the stars from horizon to horizon, instead of hill to hill. There is so much more sky to see. I miss those hills, but someday, I will be back in hills, in Arkansas perhaps, back in a warmer place and ready to be there without a bloody head.

But, first I was moving to Iowa from West Virginia and had only a few weeks to say goodbye to one of the prettiest states we have. Camping was on the agenda. I wanted it on every day, but I had to pack too, so we only got out a few times that summer. I have written about most of them, but not these final weeks, so here it goes.

Ernani and I took off on day trips together and spent some nights in the woods alone, saying goodbye to the green hills. I love driving through a country that is hilly. All my stress evaporates. I cannot wait to see what is behind the next bend. It is the same on a trail, unless I have a heavy backpack, but those are different stories.

We found another swimming hole where we met a father who told us he came here as a boy to swim, his Mom and Dad came here as children to swim, and he was taking his kids here to swim. We all, even our returning friend, marveled at a house on the ridge above the swimming area that was new to us all and looked as if it could easily slid right down the cliff into the shallow water/river below it in which we were swimming.

We stayed at a place just inside the old entrance signs to the Monongahela National Forest. Our campsite was nestled in the trees off a paved road, but if we continued on the road and turned to follow the paved road, it dropped us into the valley and brought us to the swimming hole. If we turned off the pavement onto the gravel road, it twisted up and up the hills. We followed it and got to see amazing drop offs into deep and shallow valleys of green trees and ferns. We saw deer leap randomly out as we drove by those ravens. We climbed up and up and sometimes we saw a deep, open raven and the walls of the next hill not quite as close as those before were. We twisted up and up and around. The road seemed to go on forever and I really think it did. We never reached the end of it.

We did reach the top or a top of a hill really. Suddenly, we were in the open sky, a field cleared for a pasture. Ahead of us the road continued to snake slowly up a hill in the distance, but we stopped; we pulled off into the ruts of tractor and jeep tracks that marked an entrance into the pasture and a closed cattle fence. We shut off the engine. Besides the small clicks of the cooling engine, we heard birds in the trees slightly below us and in the grasses around the fence by which we stopped. We pulled on our hiking boots and climbed over the cattle fence.

We jumped from the top of the fence onto the grassy ground and started up the slight rise of the top of the hill. Rocks mixed in with the dirt and cow patties marked the passage of the cows, which we never did see. We followed the path, improvised road really, to the top of the hill and to the trough of water some park people must come by to fill every so often. I ran the last few feet knowing that what we got for our exploration was a reward—a 360 degree view of West Virginia. I turned and turned and in every direction I saw perfection: green hills whose ridges sloped jaggedly to pass in front of and behind the other ridges of other green hills.

Rarely did I see signs of people, except on the bald hill I stood on to see these other hills and the occasional radio tower on opposite hills. I did not care about people up here though. I breathed in the fresh air and feasted on the sights before me.  I could not see enough or stay long enough. I admired the circling buzzards Ed Abbey taught me to love and which I also see in Arkansas. I wished I had brought a telescope for later tonight. The sun was setting and the sky was turning pick and orange. The hills were getting darker where the sun could not penetrate because of the shadows of the ridges of the hills nearby. The sun was lightening up the trees it could reach. The pattern of light on the trees gave the hills texture and definition. When I was in the car, I was in that pattern on a road under those trees. Now, I stood outside of it and above it. I saw it again, but could not see the road, since it was high summer, where I had been earlier inside those trees. I lifted my eyes. The sun slipped behind a hill to the west. Stars started to appear above me.

The way back was easy and took what felt like less time than getting there, but we walked it together and pointed out the things on the ground we had noticed and meant to point out to each other before as we walked to the top of the hill—the rocks glistening with mica, the flowers embedded in the path where the tires and hooves and feet that had passed by before us had missed them.

Every so often I would glance back at the view, at the place where I had stood above the world in the sky looking down, but I was no longer on top, so I looked to the sides and said a mental goodbye to the valleys I could see. It was a perfect end to our time in West Virginia in a perfect place. 

The Swimming Hole

The swimming hole was a sliver of a river--sand and gravel on one side and a cliff face on the other. A few trees grew from the rock face, but huge boulders stood at the feet of the rock cliff and from the sandy and rocky side, the ground sloped downward into a cool pool of deep water. The water was clear and green and large fish swam in the deepest parts.

A few other people were there: children who had swum to the cliff side and were playing on the rocks, an old man sitting in the middle of a floating device, the ones you lie down on, drifting slowly to the cliff side, families watching their children, sitting in chairs, relaxing in the heat and the cool water.

Ernani, Cari, Sam and I walked along the river. We waded into the water, coaxed Sam to come join us from the beach. Sam was not convinced and Cari held her in the water, but she was not a fan of the swimming. She liked to walk by the water and wanted us with her. She tolerated our swimming and did her best in Cari’s arms to be with us while we swam.

It was lovely. It was a perfect summer day.

When we returned to our campsite, we were cool. Dinner was simple but as night fell, the stars shone in the night sky between the hills and we pointed out the constellations and stoked the fire.

The next morning, there was no question that we would go back to the swimming hole. We had it all to ourselves. Except the Eagle sitting in the tree growing out of the rock face. He was 50 feet from us, above us in the tree across the river. He was big and wild and had clearly been hunting fish. He stopped us in our tracks. We watched him look left to right, ignoring us, except in his next movements, when his body tensed and his wings spread and he took to the air flying fast but smooth to the north, following the river.

We had felt blessed.

We spent the morning in a kind of meditation and happiness mixed with companionship and laughter.

We walked the river. I love the rocks. I saw the shapes of them and enjoyed the water that had made them so smooth and round and perfect. I saw the beetles in the shallows and the tadpoles and small fish that Ernani would try to coax above his hand and try to catch. I saw them get away, swimming fast as they were meant to swim. I saw the light fall from the sun to the river and get caught in the trees of West Virginia as it made its way to the water. I saw the big fish treading water until my shadow scared them and they darted off into deeper, more shaded water. I saw each boulder that the river had placed in its exact spot and each butterfly further up on the sandy shore resting it wings in the sun.

Leaving the place was hard until we passed another human making his way to enjoy the cool water on what was to be another hot day. I was glad he had disturbed the peace. It made it easier to leave the water.  

Camping in July

I am not a winter person, but I love summer, even the heat. As the weather warms up and Spring approaches, I get cabin fever and start to day dream about being able to walk outside without a coat, swim in a river, and sleep outside over night. I day dream about camping, about being in the woods--hearing the birds, starting a fire, sleeping in a tent. 

This was a very strange summer since it meant moving to Iowa at the end of July and fearing the winters there. To overcome the fears of both moving and winter, or repress the fears really, I started looking at where to camp in Iowa next summer. The Mississippi River, which  I grew up next to, has opportunities and Missouri is not too far away, which means Mark Twain’s hometown and the Mark Twain National Forest, are not too far away. These would be good place to camp. Iowa also has some native mounds, and though we cannot camp near them, there are towns nearby and state parks nearby.  But, my love is close. The West.

I am 24 hours away driving time from the North Rim of the Grand Canyon. I am under 14 hours from the Black Hills, under 13 to Boulder and the Rocky Mountain National Forest, under 11 hours to the Buffalo National Forest in the Boston Mountains of Arkansas, and under 10 hours to the head waters of the Mississippi in Minnesota. These are all good.

But, before I left the Appalachian Mountains, I had to say goodbye to them.

I grew up in Southern Illinois, which I call the flat tundra (and now I am in Iowa, which has more claim to be tundra like!). It is flat. I knew flat all my life. When we made trips into Missouri, I loved the rocks and bluffs. When we moved to Arkansas, I was in them. I fell in love with the landscape. Northwest Arkansas has the Ozark Mountains and they are beautiful. They were my backyard until I went to graduate school. After graduate school, I got to move to West Virginia from flat Oklahoma (where I got my Ph.D.) I was excited. It was hilly there. The hills in West Virginia were taller because the valleys were deeper than in Arkansas, and every day I woke up in West Virginia, I did not ache for the hills of Arkansas, as I did in every other flat place I lived in. I was still in hills and that was comforting. I could wake up in the morning and see the fog in the valley where the river ran. All of this I knew and loved.

Those who live in hills probably know this experience I have every Fall if I am not waking up every morning in the midst of the hills. These perfect days exist in the hills every Fall just when the leaves think they might change. When I wake up on such a day, not only is the air crisp, but the light is also perfect, and I can see everything clearly, even a blade of grass from the second story of a house. It is not hazy. The humidity is low and the temperature is perfect—not hot, not cold. It smells like trees and grass and when I look out I see sun on hills and trees and the light seems clear. The light falls through the leaves of the trees. These are the days when the ache to get out there and hike to the top of a hill takes my breath away. I know I will be able to see everything clearly and that not many of these days will come my way. I always remember the blue skies and the green hills from these days.

And when I wake up some Fall and I am in some city or some place that is flat, my mind goes right to waking up in the hills of Arkansas and to that memory of perfection. It takes my breath away in memory too, but it is a kind of grief and need to get back home.

I did not have this experience in West Virigina. I did miss home and my Ozark, Boston, and Ouachita Mountains, but not as much as I did in flat places. In West Virginia, I was in a version of them--an older version, a used to be wilder version, and still a wonderful version of them. Black bears still lived near me even if I had lost the bobcats and mountain lions. In West Virginia I was reminded how much I love trees, even the oaks I am allergic to. That reminder will be valuable because Iowa City is slightly hilly and has lot of trees where I live. They are keeping me happy and I think they will continue to make it easy to live in a kind of a flat place again.

The Appalachian Mountains dominate West Virginia. The whole state is them. This is not entirely true in Arkansas, which also has flat places in it, and whose best camping places are in the hills. All of West Virginia has camping opprotunities and 99% is beautiful and breath taking. I cannot say I find the mines and effects of mining beautiful or the strip malls that strip the mountain bald and flat, but the National and State parks are a treasure. We had camped in some amazing places and I wanted to spend all summer camping in the state, but too many practical things, like work and packing, got in the way. So, we planned a trip in early July with one of our favorite people to camp with. Unfortunately, Cari's husband could not make it, so I cannot say that before we left West Virginia, we got to camp with our favorite couple to camp with. However, we got to camp with one of them before we left. (And, we will camp with both of them soon, hopefully next summer in Colorado.)

Ernani picked Senaca Rocks. We loaded Cari’s car with camping necessities including her beautiful beagle, Sam, and we were on our way to Seneca Campgrounds where we pitched our tents in awful heat and with an amazing view of the Rocks themselves.

Seneca is an exposed rock face that is weathering away and a place rock climbers love to climb. It is rare to have so much exposed, treeless (or almost treeless) rock in West Virginia for natural reasons. It is a striking contrast  to see bare rock in the midst of so many trees. The campsite was cleared away so that we could see the rocks. They rose up to the east and the sun rose from directly behind them the next morning.

Since it was a clearing we camped in, we were not in a grove of trees that shaded us or surrounded by wet, cool rocks, as we might normally have at a West Virginia campsite. We were on top of a cleared hill in the direct line of the sun's sight. It was horribly hot as we pitched the tents. We had noticed how the grass and trees looked browner and more thirsty than usual. This July was hotter than we remembered it ever being and we had had less rain than ever before. In West Virginia it rains all the time, almost every day or every other. There is water everywhere.  Both Cari and I, coming from West of the Mississippi where a drought is the norm, noticed immediately how different the vegetation looked this year in West Virginia and how like home it seemed. 

We were miserable with sweat, so we peeled on our swimsuits, smoothed on the sunscreen, and headed to the swimming hole some kind lady at the parks visitor center had confirmed the internet was right about, it did exist.

It was the best swimming hole ever. 

Back to Earth: D.C. Continued

After the movie, we found Ernani and decided to go to the apartment Margaret and her parents were renting for the time they were spending in D.C. It was at the end of 4^th Street, so only a few blocks away from downtown. They had parked nearby. We climbed into the car and made our way to a grocery store right next to a Metro station only one block from the apartment complex. We would be able to easily make it back via the Metro to our hotel and spend some quality time together with Margaret and her parents without distractions. It was and ended up being a perfect Friday night.

At the store, we bought wine, chocolate, cheese, bread and crackers, and some kind of meat I avoided. I say we bought, but David paid and would not let us contribute. I watched Ernani as David bought four large bottles of wine. Ernani was surprised at the amount. I knew this family, through Margaret and my time with her. I knew we would kill these bottles and I knew it would be good quality food, wine, and fun. And I knew we were being accepted as part of the family, at least for tonight.

The apartment was perfect for vacation and David told us they had learned long ago to find a local rental. It was cheaper than a hotel and allowed them to shop for food and relax at a place like home. They could shop like locals as well and in D.C. this is a big advantage because of the Eastern Market and the kinds of good food they have there that you can buy and take home. This is not something a tourist in a hotel can always do.

We unwrapped our packages, poured the wine, and got down to the business of learning about each other, and for Margaret and I, catching up. Her parents are wonderful and I knew that David, a lawyer, would have a lot to share with Ernani, a law student to be (by this date he is taking his first classes, but then, we were a couple of months from that experience).  And in no time, we lost the men. They talked about law school and politics, Margaret and Katie and I went out on the porch.

Katie was a teacher for the deaf at a school that helps the deaf learn to speak. My best friend in the world is deaf and had this childhood experience, so we talked about that, how cool cochlear implants are, how they are creating children who are deaf but really are not, and how controversial for some deaf communities the CIs are, about AG Bell (my friend is very involved in this great organization), and about teaching in general. Margaret is also a teacher and loves her teaching job. One of the most satisfying subjects for me is teaching and talking to passionate teachers about it. This was one of those times when I had that chance. It was great fun.

Eventually the men came back to join us on the porch and David asked me for a Beat booklist. He assured me and Ernani that Ernani would like and do well in Law school. He and David had become friends. We had such fun together we skipped dinner and got tipsy on wine.

The conversation, the old and now new friends, the view of D.C. from the balcony--of the Potomac River and the sunset--made for a perfect night. I had had many nights like these with Margaret in Tulsa on her porches, back porch and front porch. It was wonderful to share these this one night with Ernani and to know that the next time we are in Tulsa, we will do it again with wonderful people.

There was only one person missing, our dear friend Jamie.  Margaret and I and Jamie spent those nights talking and sharing wine and food together. Jamie was back in Tulsa, but that night also in D.C. Margaret and I could not help talking about her and wishing she were here and though my brain is a bit fuzzy from the wine, I think we did call her. This is something Margaret and Jamie do in Tulsa when they are together on the porch and I am missing. They call me and we laugh a lot together like old times.

It was an evening of fun, but we had another day of fun ahead of us, so we left a bit tipsy and took the Metro without any problems back to our area of town. As we were going back (around 11 P.M.), the young were going out all dressed up in nightclub attire. We took a cab with a colorful Kenyan driver back to the hotel.

The next morning, we went back to the apartment via the Metro (filled with Race for the Cure racers). The plan was to go to the Eastern Market, have lunch, and go to the Phillips Collection.

The Eastern Market is one of my favorite places in D.C. It is filled with art, food, clothes, baked goods. We strolled around the art and jewelry stalls and then made our way inside through the groceries: fresh meats, cheeses, vegetables. As always it was packed with people. Lots of families buying for the week.

Outside we walked through the clothes booths. I found a mini-skirt made of saris. When I asked the man how much they cost, he asked me: “How much do you think?” I said, “Thirty bucks,” because I had been seeing them for that much in Eureka Springs, AR and Branson, MO. He laughed and said, “Lower.” I kept going down until I got to 10 dollars, and I got the skirt.

For lunch we went to Zorba’s in Dupont Circle. Zorba’s is a great little Greek restaurant. I changed into my skirt in the bathroom while I waited for my falafel wrap. Everyone enjoyed their meal and I got to remember the last time I was at Zorba’s in 2005 when Pauline and I found the place.

After lunch, we went to the Phillips Collection. I had also been there with Pauline in 2005 and I remembered that they had a large number of impressionist paintings in an old house that has an added on addition and a garden. We happened to choose a day that the museum also hosted a Jazz Festival. Jazz musicians played in a large room that also housed some Goya paintings. The music followed us up and down the stairs and through the rooms of the third floor.

The art museum has a small Rothko room and I like Rothko. Visiting that room was a pleasure, however, the most amazing exhibits were the self portrait of Cezanne, a few beautiful Van Gogh’s, Degas’s Ballerinas, work by John Klee, and the Renoir. Before I go on about the Renoir, let me tell you about another exhibit that was wonderful: Jacob Lawrence’s The Migration Series. Lawrence is a contemporary artist. They placed his work in a room with four walls and he had about 40 paintings per wall that depicted the African American experience in America from the moment they arrived on slave ships, through the civil war, through civil rights, right up to today. His work is amazing.  Check it out: http://www.phillipscollection.org/migration_series/index.cfm

I love his eye for color and his depiction of people and events. He has a fantastic style.

Now, the Renoir. They have Renoir’s The Luncheon of the Boating Party. http://www.phillipscollection.org/collection/boating/index.aspx

I have seen many reproductions of this painting and I have always liked it. It is one of Ernani’s favorites. We were excited to be seeing it in person, and after I saw it, I knew why John Berger is right about seeing a painting in person. It makes a difference. There is something lost in the reproduction of a piece.

When I saw the real painting of the boating party, it drew me in. I saw the women facing us looking at the man looking at the women across the table from her and not seeing that the guy standing above her is looking at her. The love triangle was obvious. In fact, no one is looking at the same person. This combined with the texture of the painting and the colors, made the picture alive.

Yes, alive. It was as if at any moment, I would hear the conversation—hear the women with the dog talking baby talk to him. Hear the laughter, the clinking of silver ware, dishes and cups. I would see movement—of the crowd, the eyes, the heads thrown back in glee. It was amazing. It was alive in a way the reproductions never are. The paint glowed and the colors were more vibrant. I was a part of this painting, not just watching it.

I understand why it is a coveted painting and very glad that I got to see it in such a small, intimate room filled with other people who were charmed by it as well. And I look at my reproduction of Irene and I think, I should see her in person someday. I love her. I love her red hair. I love her smile and her innocence about whatever it is the world has in store for her as a women. I love that my Mom looked at this reproduction I have of her and wished for a daughter that looked like her. I love the reproduction of her, so she must be amazing in real life as Renoir immortalized her in dried paint.

For a link to Irene: http://www.renoirgallery.com/gallery.asp?id=57

After our group had looked its fill, we parted ways. Ernani and I headed back to our hotel and Morgantown. Margaret and her parents headed to more museums and then back to Tulsa. But, soon very soon, we will see each other again. 

Friends and the Universe: Day one in D.C.

When I lived in Tulsa, I met some amazing women. One of them was Margaret. I had not seen her since I left, 5 years ago, but we do talk on the phone. She is one of my best friends and has supported me always. I knew mostly of her parents, having never spent a significant amount of time with them, but much time with Margaret. She and her parents travel together often and this year they decided to travel to Washington D.C. and Virginia. Luckily, we lived only four hours away from D.C. So, we decided to meet up with her and her parents while they were in D.C.

On a Friday in June, we drove to our hotel near the Pentagon. A quick call confirmed that Margaret and her parents were at the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum. I have been there a few times before. I was confident I would find her despite the crowds of people. In fact, when I think about this museum I immediately feel the largeness of the air space; it has high ceilings to display the large planes and satellites. I also feel the closeness of the floor space, where many people are pushing and walking, often with heads up as they go from exhibit to exhibit. Children on field trips, mothers with babies in strollers, people from all over the world. It is an exercise in trying not to get in someone else’s way and an impossible one to avoid. I also think of the air that blows through the museum as if the planes and rockets were flying through the air instead of just suspended above us. I envisioned this as we talked about meeting there.

Our hotel had a shuttle that would take us to the Metro station and back. Transportation is what a city is all about. After 5 years of living close enough to D.C. that it became a common vacation spot, I felt I knew the Metro and how it worked. So, taking the Metro from our area of town to downtown felt easy; it required no transfers. And, it was a treat because we crossed the Potomac. Moving from under the ground to above the ground in order to cross the river gave the trip a sense of realness. In fact anytime I have ridden the Metro and seen daylight, as we did on the Red Line when we took it from its end point in Fredricksburg to downtown, I realized I felt that I really was on a train moving through neighborhoods and past people’s workplaces. It is easy to forget I am on a train when I see only the dark walls of the tunnel and the interior of the car. Then, suddenly the car comes out onto the surface and light fills the car as it swishes by corporations, suburbs, and stations.

The shuttle too was an experience in Eastern American landscapes. We shared our ride in the van with a New Jersey family all dressed up in their finest, carrying flowers, on their way to see a son, grandson, nephew, husband graduate to lieutenant at the Army ceremony. We were near the Pentagon and our hotel had advertised itself as a place for families of the military to stay. This family was a colorful bunch. The women wore dressers, high healed shoes, and makeup. The men slacks and ties. The young were texting the rest of the family who had decided to drive their own cars since they were too many for the van. Some of the cousins were calling the other cousins in the cars following the van. New Jersey accents were flying fast at top speed. The men complained about the van being too hot and tried to get the driver to turn on the A.C. The grandma was rolling her eyes, fanning herself, and deferred to by everyone.

We made it to the station, boarded our train, and crossed the Potomac. Then, we proceeded on foot to the Smithsonian Museum. Every step got me closer to my friend. We only had two blocks to walk and being back in D.C. navigating the streets felt like being in a familiar place, not quite home.  The only odd thing we say was a squirrel lying flat and spread out at the base of the tree. Usually you see them jumping about and frantically chasing one another. Not this one. We wondered if he was close to death and joked he might be a politician lazing about, such bad jokes seem to escape everyone’s lips when in D.C.

When we entered the museum and felt that first rush of air that seems to emanate from deep within this museum, and passed through security, I looked for Margaret and her Dad. I missed seeing them though. Margaret had cut her hair short, and it looked great, but was not the cut in my vision of her, which was five years old. But, the hug was the same. It was wonderful seeing her. I had not realized a piece of me was sleeping until I met her again. Here was another part of who I was and where I had been. And I had only gotten through it with her help. That is what friends are and do. They are pieces of us, our past, that make us who we are even when those friends are not physically present. Friends help us when they are physically present with whatever we do while we are there with them and support us when we are gone. And all of what we do, who we see, what we say, who we love makes us who we are. To be reunited with Margaret meant to suddenly see myself completely again. I do not know if this was the same realization she had, but I did know she was glad to see me. I could see returned love.

Ernani was dying to see the House, so he went off to do that. Margaret’s Dad wanted to keep her Mom company. Her Mom was taking a break, sitting after so much walking. They had been in the area sightseeing for over a week and she had recently had some surgery on her hip.

Margaret and I took off to the space part of the museum. The best part of what we saw together was the pictures from the space probes, Voyager and Cassini to name a few, of the planets and sun in our solar system. Wonderful, visionary pictures. My love of space and geology combine with these pictures. We saw solar flares, the volcanoes of Venus, and the lava flows of Venus and Mercury. As gazed at the pictures, we were suspended above these planets who really were somewhere out above us, massive and large and hostile, while we were protected from them and space by chemistry, by layers of gases between us and the vacuum of space. It was a reminder again of who I was, one human in a vast city, country, continent, planet, universe.

But, that was not new to me. I had had those thoughts plenty of times in my life and not just when looking through my telescope at the moons of Jupiter but also when hiking or thinking about what to have for dinner.

What was new was Mars. These pictures were not from 30,000 plus above the surface. With these pictures, the camera’s eye, and so mine too, were on the ground. All I could say to Margaret about these was: “We are on the surface!” It was amazing. And original. It was a moment in history that I could see with my two eyes and it was in front of me. We all study Abe Lincoln and abstractedly see him win the war and lose his life, but none of us was there and no picture we see can make us truly be there or feel we were in the audience at Ford’s theatre or a General with Lincoln in a tent field. But, these could. I was on the ground looking at another planet and even though it was truly through the eyes of the robot, it was through eyes that felt like mine. They were not detached from their landscape. These eyes were slightly above ground level, as if I was looking slightly down from a sitting position, and they revealed a horizon that was not Earth’s horizon. They revealed red rocks and dust that were not of Earth’s Arizona desert or the Sahara meant to be Tattoine.

I could not stop looking, and yet I had to move on and see what else to see. And, what I saw next defied human eyes.

The planet Jupiter looks like an abstract painting and can easily be dismissed as such by the eyes and brain who know it’s a planet, but also see it as a large pretty ball. It is easy to know the truth. It is a planet. It is real, we know, but it does not look real. It looks like it comes from a human imagination.

As we go out from Jupiter and get more distant images from the planets out way way way past us, I think we get more distant from them. Mars is no longer distant, so we can assume, I think, in some future the others will get more real and immediate too. Unless of course human vision remains short and we see less money diverted to the realms of NASA, filled with scientists and dreamers both. Both can and should exist in the same place, but we often think of the two as separate and this could be a dangerous thought pattern that might lead to one versus the other and which one is best or worth our immediate time and energy. Thus, we invest in one and not the other and lose out on something important and/or profound about us and our worlds.

But, back to the topic at hand. Uranus looks alien. Pluto looks unreal. And we can just look with awe and forget them in a moment. Perhaps, too, this is because some of the images of the planets have been around for a long time and we have seen them before. These new images were sometimes a variation on what we had seen before, but there were surprises, like thermal pictures of Venus and being on the surface of Mars and seeing the robot leg and the Martian horizon. Then, there were the pictures of Saturn, which stopped me in my tracks just as those of Mars did, but for entirely different reasons.

Saturn and its rings. We all have seen them and know that they tilt, so we get the idea they are 3D, but again, like with Jupiter, they have the feel of a painting. That was the first familiar picture of Saturn at the museum. The next picture of Saturn’s rings destroyed that idea completely. This time the satellite took a picture of the rings edge on. So, as I looked at the picture,  Saturn’s rings were vertical and filled the frame as they ran top to bottom. It blew my mind. This was the most alien thing my eye had seen. Each ring had a thickness and my brain could not fully comprehend that what my eye saw existed in the real world. I had no reference except the line. It did look like lines; they were straight and long like a line, but they were also thick and metallic and more than a black line on a page or the edge of a record, a board, a desk, a car. They were alien. They had the definition no line had . No reproduction of real life, no painting, could look like this. Nothing on Earth could be used to help us understand these rings and rings itself seemed an inadequate word.  A pictorial tour of the universe awed us and took away all words except the mundane ones like awesome.

We left to meet up with Margaret’s parents, David and Katie, and try to explain a bit of what we saw. With her parents, we decided to see the 3D movie the museum was playing on the Hubble telescope. It began by moving us from Earth to the planets to the closet galaxies and the stars in them, to the Orion Nebula, and to the most distant stars from us that teach scientists about the creation of the universe.

In 3D stars flew past us and the experience made us all feel the distance and vastness of our universe immediately. All of the images Hubble has given us and they would not exist with the telescope. We got the history of the Hubble: how it was made, how it was repaired, how astronauts go up in space and repair it. It was a reality TV show in 3D, which revealed how nerdy and awesome astronauts really are. They wear sunglasses in space and spend hours hanging in space above Earth putting together the best telescope Earth has and not breaking it or dropping anything. Amazing.

The best part though was about the Orion Nebula and the star nursery there. We saw tons of small galaxies with suns and planets that looked like ours revolving around another large sun blowing enormous amounts of energy at them in the form of solar winds beyond any hurricane force wind we have on Earth. All potential life like us billions and billions of miles from us.

The farther back in time we went, we got closer to the truth of how we all got here, but we also got  further from it as well. It became darker and more mysterious and harder to see. They let us know that eventually we would reach a black hole, and that all we had really seen of the universe from the eye of Hubble was a tiny sliver of the rest of the sky, perhaps a fourth of the sky. How many more nurseries are out there? What will the 90% reveal if we get a chance to look deeply at it? I hope someday we know. 

Scouting Iowa

Sometimes travel requires a scouting trip. The first week of May marked the end of the semester and a change in my future. My students were aware of this change, so the last week of classes was good. They told me they would miss me, and that they had wanted to take more of my classes. As a teacher, this is the best compliment. So, even though the end is always chaotic, it was a good end.

What made the end of the semester more chaotic was also the fact that we had to go to Iowa City before the summer session began. Ernani was scheduled to teach that session. So, while the semester was ending, I was also packing and making arrangements to be away for a week. We were also setting up appointments to see apartments and houses in Iowa City. We left for the Farm May 7^th. It is an 11 hour drive and the next time we make it, we will have a Uhaul and our cat and our possessions. We could not help but be happy that we only had to drive that route one more time.

And, that Saturday we hung out at the Farm with Ernani’s family: his sister and her girls, his brother, his brother’s wife, and their girls. We had a wonderful time catching up, and they stayed the night, so we got also hang out with them a bit on Sunday, Mother’s Day. Rebecca, my mother in law, was going with us on Sunday to Iowa City. We left in the afternoon, checked in with Shaner and Barb, Ernani’s other brother and sister in law, and their kids Andre and Helena, who kindly let us crash at their place. The hunt for an apartment started the minute we got there. We drove around and took down a ton of numbers. Ernani found a paper and we got more numbers. We also dropped by for a quick, unannounced visit on Ernani’s old roommate Ben and his fiancé Katie. They were getting married in a week. He gave us a good idea about what the average rent should be on a 2 bedroom.

It was through the paper that we found the final place, the place we chose to rent and which we will move to soon. But, it was some time before we saw it and chose it. Monday began our appointments and our first lesson: a condo is really just an apartment. The first place we saw, a condo, was really a disaster. Some young kid lived there who never cleaned and decorated with his Rasta pictures. How many Bob Marley pictures does one room support? At least two, according to this young designer.  And, the place had a deck, but it was shared with the neighbor next door. How appealing. It was an easy no. The guy who showed it kept apologizing about the tenant and the condition of the place. We left as soon as we could.

We drove to the next place, the exact opposite of the one before. There was only one similarity between this next place and the previous place, the guy we met to show us the apartment was the same guy we had previously met at the Rasta apartment. We chuckled over this and then toured the garage and apartment. Immediately, I could envision living here. The tenant was also completely opposite from the last tenant. She left a note about utilities and costs. She also said she had loved living there. She was neat, organized, and decorated tastefully. She had a cat, somewhere. She was gold. If all the other places were dumps, I knew at least I could live here. It was far from Ernani’s Law School though.

And after having lived in Oklahoma, I was a bit scared of the open spaces without trees where this large complex of townhouses was built. I could imagine the tornado and the complete exposure scared me. I liked the hills. They protected me from tornados. The minute we pulled off the interstate, my first reaction to Iowa was I feel more exposed. It is great to see the sun and the horizon, but I have not seen that in about 5 years, so will be an adjustment. I am assuming it will pass quickly and when I need my hill fix, Arkansas is only 10 hours away. Take me home.

We ended a long day of looking having dinner with Shaner and Andre and then watching Transformers. Barb and Helena were busy all week. Helena dances and there was a big recital on Sunday that she was preparing for all week. The whole family wanted to hear about our day, so we would tell Shaner and Andre about it in the afternoon and Barb and Helena about it in the morning at breakfast.

After day one, I had seen 3 places I could live, a Sonic, and found one good Mexican restaurant. My list of must-haves was being met.

Tuesday was more of the same, except that I found a place I really like. I went to the rest of the viewing comparing the places to it. It had some issues, like no garage and a tiny, tiny kitchen, but I loved the wood floors, the light, and the sealed basement. I was sure we would not find one better. It was also close to campus. I kept calling it the place I love. I was a bit smitten. But, something better was just around the corner.

Rebecca came with us to the morning appointments on Tuesday, but left that afternoon to go back to the farm for her Wednesday yoga. We looked at places, joined the amazing co-op, and made plans to meet up with my friend Carol at The Red Avocado for dinner at the end of our day. It was a great restaurant, all vegan. I have not been able to order everything off of a menu in over ten years. And Ernani liked Carol, so all was perfect. We told her about a dump we saw just before our dinner that ended our day of searching. The landlord sold his driveway to football fans and the tenants got nothing of those proceeds. In fact, he allowed the football fans to use the bathrooms in the basement and the tenants paid for the water they used. I had never heard of such a ludicrous arrangement.

Wednesday we were on our own. It was also our 3 year anniversary. This was the day we found the place. We saw it that afternoon. The tenants showed us the place. It was a duplex with three stories: a basement with the laundry facilities we alone use, a first floor with the kitchen and dining and living rooms, and a third floor with 2 bedrooms and a bathroom. It also has a garage and is in a quiet neighborhood near the bus stop. One of the tenants said what we were thinking: it has everything you look for in a place. We discussed it that night at dinner and found out from talking to Barb that she knew the landlord, who owns a great, local coffee house chain in Iowa City and whose daughter dances with Helena.

The next day, we saw one other place and then as we were sitting in the car in a driveway to another place in a downpour, I turned to Ernani and said: Let’s get the place we saw yesterday. He was happy. I was happy. Our cat in WV had no idea the plans we were making for her future. We immediately called the coffee landlord and made arrangements. The rest of the day, we spent at the Corraville public library, which is beautiful and where I plan to spend a lot of time in Iowa City.

The next day, we signed the lease. We had a successful scouting trip. Everything was moving in the direction of Iowa City and it felt good. The hard part has been waiting for the end of July. 

A Reflection on Travel

Yes, this is a travel blog, but I am a metaphor person too. Travel in its most dramatic form is physical. I buy that expensive plane ticket, get on that plane, my body moves through the sky, and I arrive at an exotic, new-to-me destination. We recognized that form of travel without question, but we can also never physically leave a place and travel too.  For example, when I read The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, my imagination plays the scenes of the novel in my head. Time passes fast with a good book. I have never left the couch, expect maybe to get some food or tell the cat no, but I have been traveling in my head. We also understand this concept of non-physical travel. We even understand how life itself is travel as a journey. That cliché comes up in many an old 80’s Rush song.

I have blogged about a physical and exotic travel I took in January to Brasil. This was also a life travel as well since I was meeting a whole set of in-laws I had never meet before. My concept of family doubled when I met and married my husband and then again after we were married and I met the Brazilian side of his family. I even meet some of my mother-in-laws friends, her extended family, and they joined our life as well. That is clear from the previous posts. I would also call these elements of travel blessings.

But, our life was about to take on another dimension of travel when we arrived back from Brasil. Ernani had rocked the LSAT and we were waiting to hear which schools he got accepted into and which were to offer us money. We had a big decision to make that would result in us moving, or traveling, to a new city and it could have been Austin, D.C., Chicago etc. They were all over and all interested in him. This physical travel was again coupled with a mental change. He would go to law school and I would pursue work. That work suddenly became open to any possible kind of work, not just teaching.

We have of course made our decision by now. We will be moving to Iowa City, Iowa. This is a place that is close to my husband’s heart. He went to school there for his philosophy degrees and his brother and sister-in-law and their family live there. In many ways, he is going home. I, on the other hand, am moving to a new place. It is another exotic destination and one that presents many options and life travel paths for me. Ernani of course has his new path: law school. What will mine be?

Right now, all I can say is we will see. But, this morning as I was catching up on Gretchen’s blog (http://www.happiness-project.com/), I read an interview she posted with Richard Florida who was talking about the importance of where you live. It does of course matter in terms of happiness. We are happy where we are accepted and where we can pursue what we enjoy. It also matters in terms of what travels we take. Our place does affect us and the places we go do as well. Being close to family matters to both Ernani and I. Being in a job that allows me to teach and be creative matters to me.

We visited Iowa City a few weeks ago. It was a very good trip. We were productive, we found a bank and a place to live. Ernani took a tour of the law school. We found a great coffee shop. The public libraries are amazing and wonderful. There is park every 10 feet. The food in the grocery stores is reasonably priced and there are 4 days of farmer markets in the area. My friend Carol is 20 minutes away. My parents are only a day away. My brothers about 5 hours away. The farm is 2 hours away. It seems a wonderful place to live and raise kids and be a writer. When I told the landlord I was going to pursue writing as work, she did not dismiss the idea or respond negatively. She was sincerely enthusiastic about it as a workable idea. I took this as a good sign of community and acceptance.

If community acceptance is key to happiness as Richard Florida asserts, I pray that Iowa City accepts me as I think it might. This is my wish. This is my new travel destination. 

Friday, January 8th, 2010: Goodbyes

We spent the previous night packing, so we awoke and were ready physically to go to the airport. Mentally, it was harder to leave. It had been a wonderful vacation and though I was looking forward to going home, seeing the cat, and teaching again, I did regret leaving the beach, people and food that I had come to love.

Before Eduardo came to pick us up, Ernani and I headed to the beach across the street to say goodbye to the ocean. We walked the beach and wondered when we would put our feet back in the ocean again. 

 It was noted that I was quiet as we drove to the airport. I was taking as much in as I could. I did not want to forget this trip and I wanted to come back as soon as we could. We joke about going back for the World Cup in 4 years or to visit Mariano who got a Fullbright to teach in Brasilia next year. He is bringing his whole family and it would be neat to visit the interior. But, Maceio was where I really wanted to spend most of my time. We had met the best people here.

When we got the airport, we stood in a check-out line a while. The man who checked us in was named Magalhaes and Eduardo said he probably was related somewhere in the family line when we joked about how we must be related. It reminded me of our toast the night before at the restaurant. We toasted to the Magalhaes family and Paulo who might join it someday. I did not take my husband’s name, but I still see myself as Magalhaes too. It is nice to feel a part of a large and happy family. I felt lucky to have two such wonderful names and families.

After we were checked in we made our way up to the second floor and said our goodbyes to Flavio and Eduardo. The flight from Maceio to Rio stopped in Salvador. We had great seats and watched the coastline all the way to Salvador. There was never a break in it and it looked pristine. We could tell that roads did not go to a majority of the coastline and fantasized about trying to get to some of those beaches. They must be lovely.

We lost those good seats from Salvador to Rio and did not see the great statue, the Cristo, but Rio itself is beautiful. The mountains were calling to me. They are jagged and unreal. When we got off the plane to face our 7 hour layover, I made sure we walked outside. I wanted to breathe this Rio air and promise it I would return to explore those hills.

                                                                                                                        

While in line to check in, we meet a family sending their daughter to L.A. to see if she would like to study for a year there. She was on the same flight as us and even sat in the row ahead of us. She had not flown to the States before. Her parents were friendly and her Aunt pretended to be impressed with the little Portuguese I knew. We enjoyed talking to them.

Security was normal after we checked in but they had additional security on the ramp before we entered the airplane. They searched our carry-on again and waved a wand around us. Then, they let us go into the plane. The plane ride was long again. Upon landing in D.C. at dawn their time, I saw white on the ground and for a moment I thought it was sand and wondered what it was doing in D.C. I quickly realized it was snow.

The flight to Chicago was difficult. We were so close to WV when we were in D.C., but we had to pick up our car in Chicago, so we had to fly there. Getting off the plane and being greeted by Sonia and her girls and Harry was perfect. It was great to see them and it felt like we were truly home. We parted though as they were there to pick up Rebecca and we were headed back to Sally’s house to get our car and drive to W.V.  The drive was terrible, but we made it. Our cat, Cleopatra, greeted us when we  came home. We covered our tans and went back to life, marked by Brasil.

Thursday, January 7, 2010: Part 2: The Beach

Andrea drove Eduardo’s truck and Rebecca rode inside the cab with her. Flavio, Thais, Julia, Ernani and I rode in the bed of the truck. This is not legal of course. And I was a little nervous when they kept talking about avoiding the police, but it was great fun. I also felt a little odd when we were driving through the village. It was the first time I felt as though I was being stared at by the local people. When we got out onto the main highway, I just enjoyed the wind. It felt like a long ride. Andrea was looking for a specific beach and had to turn around once when she went too far past it. But, soon we left the highway and the road became sand. We were close.

We jumped out of the car and found a pristine beach. We were way North of Maceio, but could see the point far off to the south and the high rise apartments on the North side of town. The ocean was perfect. Calm but alive. The sand was warm and soft. The few private houses that lined this beach were big mansions. We dreamed about owning one.

We ran out to meet the waves and as we moved out into the ocean, I noticed I was stepping on something that was moving back and forth as the waves came in and out. Flavio went under and pulled up living sand dollars. There were tons of them. I have never swam with them before.

We played in the waves and helped Julia face them since she was shorter and smaller than us. On one occasion a large and powerful wave came in and we watched Ernani tumble to the shore. It pushed us all back to shore. He was fine, but we had fun describing what he looked like. It had caught him unaware.

We swam a long time in the ocean. The beach was pretty much ours and the waves were wonderful. The water was the perfect temperature and it was such an alive feeling. To swim in something as alive as us was refreshing. I know we are part ocean.

Eventually, we had to leave. We piled back into the truck and drove back. Soon after, we returned to Maceio, refreshed and happy.

That night we had our last dinner with Eduardo, Thais, Paulo, and Flavio at an Italian restaurant. It was delicious. We also gave Eduardo his boat present and they gave us beautiful havaianas. Mine are green with a river otter on them and Ernani’s are blue with a monkey on them. They are endangered species.

We went home and to sleep. Tomorrow we were to fly out and start our journey back to the wintery States. There wasn’t much to say. 

Thursday, January 7, 2010: Part 1: The Ranch: A Farm is Always A Home

When I lived in Tulsa, I meet the fabulous Jamie and her family. Jamie and her two sisters are artistic, smart and generous. Their Mother lives on the Ranch, acres of beautiful land outside of Sapulpa, Oklahoma. It is only about 30 minutes away and in the heart of beautiful country nothing like the city. Grass, trees and trains and violin music all embody the Ranch. Jamie and her family took me in and became my Tulsa family.

The Ranch holds a special place in their hearts, so it was always a special place for all their friends and adopted family. Mama Jo teaches violin and has a heart of gold. I cannot count how many times I ate and laughed and laughed around her wood table. Nor how many times I heard stories about their father who had passed away and was sorely missed. I wished countless times that I had met him in person.

When I meet Ernani, he told me about the Farm in Illinois. His Grandmother lived there and it was one of the only places he ever felt truly safe. It held a special place in his heart because his Grandma was there. She was a one of kind women, also generous. I knew exactly what he meant. I thought of the Ranch and my parent’s home where I felt the same things. 

Just before our last day in Brazil, Ernani said he wanted to go to the Sitio, a ranch outside of Maceio that his Dad owns and that he remembered liking the last time he visited Brazil. He remembered the birds and wanted to see them again. We also knew we wanted to go to the beach again before we left.

Thursday, a friend of the Magalhaes family, Andrea, came by to visit us. As she was visiting, Eduardo called about going to Sitio. We invited Andrea to go with us and she said she could drive. The plan was to stop by her apartment and pick up her niece Julia.

We got ready and piled into her car. It was a warm day, so driving with the windows down and knowing were headed to a place with a pool and near the beach was pleasant. Her little red car was a stick and she maneuvered the streets like an expert. We went around big trucks that were stopped  in the middle of the roadway and slid perfectly into the tiny parking spot on the bottom level of her gated apartment.

We took the tiny elevator up to her apartment, white and sunny and open to the air. Her daughter and niece were there and a little dog of theirs. They had a balcony on the North side of the house that gave a view of the ocean. They were moving soon to a different apartment. I could not help but imagine what it would be like to live in an apartment with a view of the ocean. Heavenly I think.

We piled back into the car. Julia had spent the first few years of her 10 year old life in the U.S. and even went to grade school a couple of years there. She could speak English, but wouldn’t. She could understand us, so we could talk to her. She taught me some words, like excuse me. She was beautiful and fun. She and I and Ernani sat in the back seat and talked and laughed as Andrea drove us to Sitio.

Andrea had a pretty good idea how to get to the ranch from the little village it was alongside. As she drove the main road that lead North out of town, I recognized the turn off to Pajucara’s house that we passed. It was new territory after that turn.

She drove to the little town and through it. The pavement ended when she pulled off the main road and this village was authentic Brazil for me. The houses were side by side and some were markets and delis. People sat outside in the shade of the awnings on tile sidewalks that ran up the sides of the houses and walls. It was dusty and beautiful. The houses were all colors: light yellow, green, blue. Not a tourist was present, except us. And, I was obviously a tourist. Not many redheads in Brazil. Not many people who burn in the sun unless that is desert sun and then they only lightly tan. Oh how I miss that tan and how I hated to cover it back up with winter clothes when we got back to the States.

We got lost in the little village with only 3 roads, but Andrea eventually found the right lane road to Sitio. The lane road was covered in shade. Trees overhung the road and chickens walked across it. We pulled up to the house, which was covered in orchids and birds. Cages and flowers hung from every eve.

It was a ranch house: wood and plants. Eduardo was in the kitchen cooking lunch for us. He made me a vegi salad: red peppers, beats, tomatoes. He also made me fresh shrimp and rice. Everyone else had steak. As he cooked, Julia and I ate buttered bread and talked a bit with him when we were not exploring the place. We saw beautiful orchids and Andrea eventually bought two of them. We swam in the pool and ate. We laughed and talked and enjoyed the afternoon.

Us kids, Thais, Ernani, Falvio, Julia and I, also went up the hill to see the ocean and Thais’ horse. The coconut trees lined the hilly hillsides and the ocean seemed to meet the trees from our angle. It was worth the climb. We went back and took a dip in the pool that had a fountain on one end. When you stood under it, the water massaged your head and back. It was cool and refreshing.

After a quick swim, we decided to head to the beach. It was our last day in Brazil and we were longing to go to the beach. We were to have one of the best beach experiences of life. 

Wednesday Jan 6, 2010: Part 2: Food, Flowers, Folklore and Friends

We got back to the beach and said goodbye to our boatman and to Flavio. We headed to the apartment to clean up. After we cleaned up, we decided to walk along the beach some more. We were leaving soon and feeling the need to soak up as much beach time as possible.

Another meal that Ernani and Rebecca wanted to experience again was Acareje. Street vendors prepare it and we decided to have it for lunch on the beach. The vendors mash black-eyed peas and fry them in dende palm oil. We could have the peas with shrimp and/or with hot pepper sauce. We also could have them with diced tomatoes, onion, and cucumber. We found a street vendor and ordered what we wanted along with something to drink. We sat and waited for our food to be fried under an umbrella next to the vendor. It came out piping hot and delicious. It was perfect beach food.

We had been warned not to eat vendor food, but who could resist? It is a part of the fun of being away and pretending to be a local for a little while…a day or two seconds.

We walked the beach and when we tired of the sun, we crossed the street. Ernani had found a flower shop on one of his morning walks that he wanted to show us. We went there. It was a lot between two larger buildings, and if I had not had a guide, I would never have known a flower shop existed there. We walked into the lot and it was green. At the back was an open building, more like a hut or and shed hybrid. This was where the cut, exotic flowers were kept. We entered and they were beautiful. They were flowers unlike anything that we have in the Northern hemisphere. Long, brightly colored, big, vibrant flowers.

Since the florist was going to charge me 13 bucks for one hydrangea in the U.S., I thought for sure these would be expensive. We asked and were told 70 cents a flower. That was all. In our apartment complex, they had fresh flowers at the front desk every day. I knew why. If I lived here, I would always have fresh flowers in my house. Always.  It was incredible. It was affordable. It was beautiful and creative. In short, it was Brazil.

We encountered more beauty and creativity later that afternoon. We decided to go to a museum, so after our walk on the beach and leisurely stroll through the open aired flower shop, we took a taxi to a museum. Ernani told the taxi driver where to go and he immediately turned back to his fellow cab driver peers and asked where it was. This was the first time we wondered a bit about our taxi driver, but he got directions, and when we asked if he was sure where it was, he said yes. So, we got in and we were off. Not too long later, he dropped us off at the Folklore museum, not our original intention, but all right none-the-less. In fact, it turned out to be a wonderful museum.

We had our own guide, who took us through the exhibits. She was lively and fun, a student of native history. We felt lucky to get her as a guide. We saw native art, toys, pottery, religious icons and local carnival decorations. The house that housed the items was amazing. It was a large colonial mansion previously owned by rich people. It was two story and had an old elevator, which was narrow and scary because the inner workings were exposed. We took it up, and the stairs down. They encourage you to take the elevator both ways because the stairs are so narrow, less than the width of your foot, so you must be careful when going up and down them.

There was also a gift shop where only local artists sell their work. Again, we expected it to be expensive and were surprised when the items were way under what we would pay in the States. We loved the paper houses and paper dressers with doors and drawers that opened. We loved the two story miniature house with a deck and trees made of carved wood and full of tiny details, like the siding of the house. We bought a boat made of rolled up paper with a mast that moved the sail back and forth. This was a present for Eduardo. We bought Pajucara a woman dancing who was made of shells and wire. We bought ourselves a façade of a local church made of plaster of Paris. We worried it break, but  it made it through our travels all right. We wished we had bought more. It was such a special shop and probably the place we should have bought all our presents.

They took us to the exit which was the way the family entered the mansion. It was a large circle drive with a high concrete wall and ornate gate. Palm trees lined the back part of the house and we exited out the gate onto the sidewalk and piled into Eduardo’s car. We did not give him the present now, we were waiting for the last day, for tomorrow.

Eduardo was taking us to see Aunt Enoy who was in town because she had cancer and an exploratory surgery scheduled for Friday, the day we were leaving. Eduardo drove us to the new part of Maceio, the south where there is a huge suburb, a gated community with winding roads and huge speed bumps. The houses looked American, like high class Florida houses with slate roofs. They were huge, carpeted, and had pools and balconies and sod lawns. These lawns were weird in this dessert place. They stood out like a sore thumb to me. They looked wrong.

Enoy was staying with her daughter, Ernani’s cousin. She is one of those people who is naturally very happy and easy going, a positive person. You would never have guessed she was as sick as she was.  We visited with her on the porch overlooking a ravine. It was beautiful and the sun set in a splash of pink and purple. I enjoyed her company and meeting her.  I know that it was a gift for Ernani and Rebecca to see her again. We were to find out later that they found 7 tumors and took them out on Friday. Hopefully, she recovers swiftly. She has such a spirit.

Eduardo brought us back to the apartment because our evening plans included having dinner with Pajucara, Flavia, Oliva and Paulinha.  We were all looking forward to this and knew it would the last time, this visit, we would see them. It was a special dinner and we all wanted it to last a long time.

When they arrived, we decided to eat at a Chinese restaurant. The food was good and the company was great. I made sure Paulinha knew that I wanted to continue to talk to her and keep up with her and her life. Being so far away, this was important that we do keep up and would not be easy. (I owe her an email right now and will make sure that after I write this post, I will follow up and write her. J)  It can be hard to talk to friends with whom I live in the same town, so I knew thousands of miles would mean effort and I was ready to commit to that. It was great when Paulinha felt the same way about our budding friendship, that we had a connection we should maintain.

Outside the Chinese restaurant, Ernani returned the swim shorts he borrowed from Evandro. The comedian that she is, Pajucara carried them by the very tip of their string when Ernani told her he was sorry he could not wash it since the apartment did not have a washer and dryer. We laughed a long time over that one as friends do over inside jokes. We gave her the present we bought for her, and she loved it. The conversation was filled with laughter and fun as it was at Pajucara’s house. We took pictures and made sure to save room for some ice cream at Bali. We took a walk and talked some more, until finally we all had to say goodbye for now.

I meant it when I told them that if they ever came up to the States, they could stay with us. Friends like that are rare and giving back to them is a gift.