Stillness Of The Desert

As I left California, with the rain and cold weather still in the forecast, and the government shutdown still torturing me, I decided to head to Death Valley National Park. It was supposed to rain on and off with temps in the 50's. Due to private donors, most of the park was open and the campgrounds were free since the park was not allowed to charge fees. As I entered the park, I was stunned by the prehistoric looking mountains, as if an ancient lounge of giant sea lizards had climbed up out of the Pacific Ocean and decided to take a nap and never woke up. The colors of the layered sediment reminded me of layered sand art that so many of us made as children, with oranges, grays, purplish-blues, varying hues of browns. The aged sediment pressed down and down until it looked like a painted mountain, sloping down into the desert floor. The sand dunes also appeared magical. As I passed by, the overcast lighting from the sky made the caramel colored dunes appear as silk sheets with the illusion of waves gently cascading and falling

The drive down into the park was also a highlight. Highways 190 starts at the top of the mountain at 5,000 feet  and then goes down and down and down, with gentle ups, like a kiddie roller coaster, in one straight shot to the bottom of the desert floor at 200 feet below sea level. There was not another car on the road for the entire drive down. It’s was a  total thrill for me to drive fast and I just let my car coast, at 85 mph, riding the middle of the road, up and down, up and down, with butterflies in my stomach and having a blast.

Unfortunately, I was unable to enjoy the park.  It started raining the evening I got there and then the next day was 45 degrees with a mix a rain, strong wind and a few snow flurries.  I was in no mood to explore in that weather. And of course, the weather forecast showed no indication of sunny skies over the next week so I decided to move along and head to the Grand Canyon. There was hope of sunny skies there.

When I arrived at the Grand Canyon, which was open despite the government shut down, it was 45 degrees, sunny, no wind or rain and about 8 inches of snow on the ground. It was very busy and seemed as if every ethnicity and language had gathered at this national site. There were Indian women in Sari’s, teenagers in shorts and t-shirts, the granola hikers decked out in the name brand essential hiking gear with their man buns. There were tourists that looked like they had driven from Aspen, Colorado with their fancy, faux fur lined boots and coats as well as some foreign tourists in flip flops and jackets, shivering while trying to take the quintessential Grand Canyon photo. Many of the hiking trails were closed off due to snow and the risk of safety issues. Since one of the only trails open was the South Rim, a paved trail, I decided I’d walk that for a while. The trail was active with all the tourists sightseeing. Generally I get annoyed when there is too much of a crowd and I can’t enjoy the scenery, but I enjoyed watching all these people experience snow.  For instance, 3 middle aged Indian women, all dressed in Sari’s, building a small snowman and throwing snowballs at each other, and laughing like school girls. There was a Latino family having a snowball fight. A mother-daughter duo that kept arguing about how cold it actually was and how far they wanted to walk. There were two older women who kept attempting a selfie but kept falling down on top of each other in the icy snow (I stepped into helpJ I know the difficulties of taking a selfie). I continued people-watching as I sauntered along the path, breathing the crisp fresh air, and stopping now and then to admire the grand scenery. There were moments of quiet, away from the crowds, sitting on a ledge here and there and just taking in how massive and still this place was.

The next day predicted rain and possibly snow.  I decided I’d wake up early the next morning to head out before the weather became too bad.  As I left the park around 8 am, the blizzard started.  The 3^rd snowstorm of my trip. I drove for about an hour in the snow before I needed to stop and get gas. The other two national parks in Arizona were still closed (Petrified Forest and Saguaro) and some fellow travelers recommended I head to Tuscan where the temperature was sunny and 60 degrees. That sounded heavenly!! So I headed out from the snow storm, which then later became a sand storm with the high winds persisting as I drove through the desert. The wind was so strong that I was holding onto the steering wheel with white-knuckles trying to keep my car in the lane. I eventually reached Tucson and decided to stay a couple nights at Catalina State Park.

The park was breathtaking. The campground was green with varieties of cacti ranging from Saguaro, prickly pear, fishhook barrel, staghorn cholla, teddy bear cholla and so many more. Several plants were flowering and those bits of color popped against the green and brown background. The mountains behind the campground were tall, jagged and gray, but felt protective of the desert it covered. Unfortunately, I contracted a nasty head and chest cold and my energy was pretty low to enjoy it all. My last day there I did manage a 4 mile easy hike/walk. The stillness was calming. I was the only one on the path, and if it wasn’t for the prickly cacti everywhere, I would have enjoyed just laying down and sunbathing in the stillness of that landscape.

I have vivid memories and feelings of stillness and “being” when in the desert. Once was in Wadi Rum, a large desert in the country of Jordan (mentioned in a previous blog post) of how I was just still while riding through the desert. Another time of sitting atop the arid Arabian Mountains. And another memory of driving down a random dirt road in southeastern Utah and coming to the edge of a canyon. I remember sitting there while I watched the sun go down, without another soul around. I didn’t experience any inspirational thoughts or insights, but that moment felt profound and still and immense and beautiful and sacred, but for no particular reason other than I was witnessing a breath taking moment on this lovely Earth.

I’ve noticed that my energy feels different in different landscapes.  When I’m by the ocean, my body feels a restless energy and it’s difficult for me to relax, oddly enough, since the beach is a place most people think of when imaging a relaxing time. When I’m in the mountains or walking among trees, I feel a positive, calming, grounding but also driving energy.  When I’m in the desert, I feel still. That’s all. I don’t feel rushed, or think about the past, or the future or even the now. I don’t feel at battle with my ego, or wounds, or self-esteem, or hunger or sleep. My soul is just “being” in the stillness. Stillness is a verb, an action word. In our everyday lives, it actually takes effort to be still, to put down our phones, our “to-do” lists, to turn off the tablet or TV, to let our minds rest. I am a restless soul with a restless mind. It takes a tremendous amount of effort or external distractions to shut off my mind.  Yet, when I’m in the desert, there is no effort to be still, it just happens. There is a calmness, a profound peace, an almost spiritual experience when I walk in the quietness.  It’s as if Mother Earth is telling me to slow down, that it takes time and patience to grow and carve a beautiful existence, so just be still and let it be.

Walking through this Arizona desert landscape didn’t offer any profound revelations, but I was reminded of the stillness. It is easy to always rush onto the next thing. Why is that?  If stillness is so sweet and good for the soul, why do we prioritize “doing” over stillness. Obviously, we all have obligations to jobs, family and maintaining our material needs, but perhaps moments of stillness can help us reconnect with our soul, our divine, in order to help us learn and appreciate the beauty among all the chaos.  

Catalina Island, A Perfect Day

My ambition of being able to visit all the national parks in the lower 48 states while on my road trip, was definitely not going to happen.  The rain was one reason and the government shutdown was the other. After visiting Big Sur and driving the coast, I was hoping the parks would open back up. I wanted to visit Channel Islands National Park, but it was completely closed. The closest thing would be Catalina Island to the south. 

I didn’t know much about Catalina Island, but saw some great pictures online and decided I wanted to go for a day trip. The weather forecast was 45 degrees and overcast and the ferry ticket was a bit expensive, but I’m on vacation and splurging every now and again is fun (self-care, right?). When I arrived on the island I was immediately drawn to all the different colored houses, the engaging beach front shops and restaurants, how mountainous the island was, and lastly, a little surprised by how small the only city of Catalina Island was, Avalon. I wandered around a while, talked with the woman at the visitor’s center and decided I wanted to go for a bike ride. The weather had warmed up to 50 degrees, but I was dressed warmly so I felt a bike ride would be ok. I called the bike shop that advertised an all downhill 10 mile bike ride, starting from the top of the island down to the cove, where the resort town was. A man named Randy answered the phone and said that no one else had booked a bike ride for the day and he usually waits for a group of people to make it worth his while, since it’s a 30 min drive to get to the top of the island. But then he said he had nothing else going on and “why not.” So about an hour later, Randy had gotten everything arranged and was driving me up the winding road to the top of the island.  It was so beautiful!

Randy had grown up on the island, had moved away during his young adult years and then moved back with his wife.  He was an incredibly friendly, knowledgeable, interesting and engaging story teller. While on the drive up, he shared all sorts of facts about the island, the environment, anecdotes, stories about the residents and how he acted as one of the island rangers, keeping it clean and damage free from tourists and campers. When we reached the top, he dropped me off and waved good luck and good bye, “see you in a couple hours!” 

Randy was so engaging on the ride up that I neglected to pay attention to how bumpy and riddled with potholes the road was.  The first 4 miles down was a dirt road with millions (that is not an over-exaggeration!!) of tiny potholes, making for a very uncomfortable ride. I enjoy bike riding but for my personal bike I had actually purchased a more cushioned seat and I was not used to a hard, flat and generic bike seat. Oh my bum!! You would think that with all the adipose tissue on my back side it would be an asset, but no. Apparently my sensitive nature comes with a sensitive bum. After about 2-3 miles of endless bumpiness, my bum was begging me to stop. I should mention that I also neglected to notice on the drive up, all the hills we went up and down along the way. There were 4-5 miles of up and down, up and down, up and down.  I was able to successfully pedal through the first 2 miles, but due to a combination of being out of shape and my sore bum, I eventually had to get off my bike and walk on the uphills. On the downhills, I would stand up and coast and give my bum some welcome relief. But the amazing views were all worth it. The sun had come out and it was starting to warm up. The island was so green and the ocean so blue and it was just stunning! 

After coasting down a hill and approaching another uphill, I decided to try to pedal as fast as I could to gain some momentum to try to make it up without getting off my bike.  As I was approaching the hill, I slammed on my brakes as I saw 2 bison in the roadway.  Randy had mentioned there were buffalo on the island, but he never mentioned what to do if I came across them. I immediately turned around and pedaled about 200 ft back down the road.  Both of the bison were leisurely grazing, one of each side of the road, with no sign of moving on.  So I waited, and waited and then I saw a truck come up the road. I waved. The guy waved back and kept driving by. “Really dude?!”  I let out a sigh of frustration but soon another 2 trucks were coming up the road. With a little hope rising up, I tried waving both of them down, but they both just continued on by. I was tempted to call Randy for advice, but then a red SUV was driving up the road and I was determined to flag this one down.  However, the vehicle stopped right next to one of the buffalo. They rolled down the window and a medium size dog stuck its head out the window and started barking at the large beast. The buffalo lifted its gigantic head toward the vehicle and started pawing the ground. Uh oh. Here we go. I’m going to witness a wildlife encounter, the one’s you see pop up on you-tube videos and you wonder where common sense is. The people in the car were at least smart enough to back up and then drive to make a wide berth to drive around the animal. As the  car approached me, it stopped and the guy asked if I wanted a ride.  Yes!! He lifted my bike onto the top of the car and then moved the dog from the passenger seat and I climbed in. In the back seat were crammed 3 adult women and 3 children. I was wondering how the dog had had claim to the front seat while all of them were smooshed in the back? The man held the dog on his lap and we had to drive slowly so that my bike wouldn’t slide off while driving on the very bumpy road.  As we passed the buffalo, the windows were still down and the dog started yapping again. The buffalo looked up. A sarcastic but very sincere prayer went through my head, “Please God, this is a beautiful island, but I really don’t feel like dying right now. Like, you have some really beautiful animals but I don’t feel like being mauled to death. Can you please make the dog shut up?!”  The dog didn’t shut up, but the buffalo also didn’t react this time around and we got safely past. The man was kind enough to even drive me all the up to the top of the next hill. I thanked him and gently suggested he roll up the windows for safety so that the dog doesn’t provoke the buffalo. He laughed and said, “yeah, maybe.”

The next mile continued to be bumpy and I did a lot of walking because my hiney was not happy.  But the last 5 miles were awesome!  All downhill, wind in my face, sunshine shining down on me and hardly any cars on the road.  I stopped a few times to take pictures and just to take in the scenery. This is what I initially imagined when I booked the excursion, and my soul was glowing (so was my bum, just more of an achy kind).

As I reached the town of Avalon, I called Randy to ask where to drop off my bike. He was at a nearby pub having a drink and avoiding his to-do list. I ended up joining him at the bar for a drink. Sitting next to Randy was a young man spouting stats about football and then to the side of me was an older couple from Boston. We spent the next two hours sharing conversations, stories and each other’s company. It was pleasant and a perfect way to end the day.  And I have to say, I had ordered some oysters that were about the best I’ve ever had (from Gig Harbor, WA). They were so fresh as well as big and plump that I was tempted to ask for a knife to cut them.

At the end of those two hours, I had to say my goodbyes so that I could catch the ferry back to the mainland. The sun was starting to go down and a yellowy-orangish aura surrounded the cove, similar to the glow I was feeling earlier. And so I sat there in the chilly evening, sipping on some hot tea, happy and wanting to hold on the feeling of the perfect day I had just had.

Big Sur, The Pacific Coast and Spirit Animals

Have you ever read a book that just spoke to you? Like, the whole time you’re just saying, “Yep. Amen sister!  Yes, I’m totally feelin’ it.”  That’s how it was when I read Anatomy of a Calling a few years ago (I’m currently re-reading it). The author, Lissa Ranck, is an OB/GYN who became frustrated with the current health care system and felt she had lost touch with her true calling to really connect and help others heal. In the book, Lissa refers multiple times to how Big Sur was a place of spiritual awakenings, that it had this amazing energy that she felt flowed through her and helped realize her divine potential.  “Hmm….” I thought, “I totally want me some of that spiritual awakening and divine potential stuff!”

I knew that as I was leaving on my road trip that Big Sur was going to be one of my stops. I was a bit disappointed that the forecast was rain, rain and more rain.  There was one day where the rain did let up and I jumped on the opportunity. I went to some of the places Lissa Ranck had described in her book. I was surrounded by so much beautiful scenery, but no special feeling arose. No divine spiritual experiences. “Ok, well, maybe later” I told myself, a bit disappointed.  I decided to go for a 4 mile hike, round-trip, to a lookout point over the ocean. The beginning of the walk was so beautiful. Tall redwoods, ferns, colorful plants popping out among the foliage, a bluebird flying back and forth among the bushes. And then the hike turned to switchbacks. The sweat started pouring down my forehead, my heart rate increased to about 400bpm and my breathing became a bit more labored and I was developing a side-ache, like when you try to go for a jog after eating a big plate of nachos (because I’ve definitely never done that before). It was overcast, humid and I was out of shape. Then the conversation started in my head,” How is this so hard for me? I’ve done much harder hikes than this!” My blunt inner voice responded, similar to Jillian Michaels during Biggest Loser, “Are you kidding me?!  When was the last time you worked out? In fact, when was the last time you were actually ‘in shape’?”  I grumbled back, “Ok, ok!  You’ve got a point. No need to rub it in.”  It didn’t help that young 20-somethings were bouncing up the hill with peppy smiles on their faces and not one sign that the switchbacks were any sort of challenge. I finally arrived at the top. The view was beautiful. The stillness was even more beautiful.

The rest of the day I spent relaxing and recovering from the surprisingly difficult hike.  I was so disappointed with myself that I was determined to go for a longer hike the next day, just to prove I could do it.  So I did an 8 mile hike the next day in the wind and rain, because “damn those 20 year olds!!”  I did it, the 8 miles. I returned exhausted and soaked, but proud of myself, and then went straight to the hot showers. Beautiful hot showers!! 

So after those 2 days of hiking in Big Sur, without any divine spiritual experiences, epiphanies or deep insights, I left a little disappointed and decided to drive down the coast. If you have never driven down highway 1 in California, put it on your bucket list. It’s so beautiful!  I’ve done it a few times now and have enjoyed it every time. Anyway, after driving for a bit, I decided to park my car by a beautiful spot just south of Pismo Beach in central California. It was mid-morning and I opened up Anatomy of a Calling to continue reading. As I was sitting there in my car, I noticed something out of the corner of my eye. I looked up and saw a coyote trotting down the road. Mind you, I’m parked in front of multi-million dollar coastal/beach homes. There are rolling hills nearby, but I thought it was an odd occurrence.  About an hour later I saw a small wild boar casually trotting down the opposite direction than the coyote had come. It was stopping along the way, sniffing here and there and eventually was gone.  So strange!  Of course, I don’t live along the coast so I don’t know if it’s a common thing to have wild animals roam the neighborhoods, but it sure was some nice sightseeing.

Time passed, the rain was still coming down and my attention span was waning because I wanted to be outside. My mind started wandering and a humorous thought popped into my head, “Maybe those are my spirit animals.” Over the past 2 to 3 years I have taken an interest in Native American beliefs. I am open to learning truths from all belief systems, but I’ve been particularly drawn to Native American spiritualism and the belief that we’re all connected to the earth, plants, animals, rocks, sun, moon and even those loved ones who have passed. A year or two ago, after a deeply spiritual experience with a patient of mine who was Native American, he explained spirit animals to me. I wasn’t sure it was something that I felt a connection to, but I understood the concept. Since that time, I’ve pondered and read up on spirit animals. So when the coyote and wild boar passed by me randomly, with no other humans around, my mind became curious about the thought of these being potential spirit animals.  Of course, I had to look up the meaning of both.

Coyote: When this animal appears in your life, it’s time to find humor/playfulness amid or through the dark times, seek after and ponder hidden wisdom/meaning in chaos, time to become adaptable and create something new.

Wild Boar: This animal symbolizes tenacity, stability, determination to go after what is most important to you/creating your own reality, using intelligence to gain abundance (not necessarily financial abundance, but that would be nice!), and the courage and ability to use ingenuity to weather the storm.

Hmmm…..interesting.  I suppose any person could take any spirit animal meaning and use it to apply meaning to their life. But also, isn’t that what spiritualism is? In any religion or spiritual belief, don’t believers use the experiences around them to interpret meaning for their life? Every spiritual experience, where or when it happens and what it feels like, is unique to each person. A person may feel peace and calm in their home, or temple, or nature, or with loved ones, or being with their pet. I have had deep spiritual experiences in nature, with dreams, while driving in my car listening to music, during conversations with people I’ve just met and also with those I’ve developed close relationships with. I had a life-altering spiritual experience during a massage once and when I later told the therapist, she said she felt the need to pray over me during the massage. Spiritual experiences can happen anywhere and meaning applied to most anything.

It was foolish of me to assume that just because an author I admired had several spiritual experiences in Big Sur that I would also have an intense spiritual experience there as well. I should know better. But we all crave to FEEL something special. That’s why throngs of people gather in holy places each week or each year. That works for many people and that’s ok. For me, following my intuition, being open to different experiences and giving myself the freedom to FEEL without shame or embarrassment, as well as learning to be in tune to those around me is what makes me feel the most spiritual. And of course, there are always those sweet surprise moments when the universe gives you something special unexpectedly. 

 Perhaps the coyote and wild boar are my spirit animals, perhaps not. But I can still apply the meaning of the spirit animals by using humor, looking for wisdom, being determined, mustering up courage, using my intelligence and being adaptable to create a really fantastic future.

Betty and Dennis

On day of 2 of my trip I got stuck in another snow storm while attempting to head out to the coast.  I had driven from Redding, CA and had gotten to a little town of Weaverville before the snow became so heavy that the pass continuing to the coast, and also back to Redding, had been closed to any vehicles without chains. I was stuck. Since it was only 10 am, and I didn’t feel like letting my car run all day so I could stay warm, I decided to stay at little quaint motel nearby. The motel was run by a 77 year old woman named Patty that prided herself on being a staunch manager for over 20 years…..”to keep the meth-heads out.” We chatted for a while because she had fallen the day before and was now using a walker to get around because her hip was so painful. Being the therapist I am, and my love for the geriatric population, I had to ask all the necessary questions to make sure she was ok. I wanted to stay and chat with her for a while longer because she looked like a woman who had quite a story to tell about her life. But since I was a stranger, and wanted to respect her privacy, I restrained myself.

After a nice relaxing day at the motel, the next morning I decided to head back to Redding instead of continue on to the coast since mudslides had been reported on highway 1. As I approached Redding, the rain had let up. Yay!  It was still a chilly 45 degree overcast day, but I decided to visit the Sundial Bridge, an iconic city landmark.  It is a unique and cool bridge with a beautiful view of the snow capped mountains. It felt so good just to move and walk around after being cooped up driving or in motel rooms. I enjoyed walking the paved mile loop on the other side of the bridge at a leisurely pace, just taking in the scenery and letting my mind wander.

As I finished walking the loop and was approaching the bridge, I noticed a couple a little ways off. The woman was in a wheelchair, wearing a pink snow hat, a blanket on her lap and smoking a cigarette. The man was standing beside her, bearded, curly hair peeking out from under his snow cap, shorter than average, and wearing a long black trench coat. I felt uncomfortable. Why did this scene make me feel so uncomfortable? I couldn’t put my finger on it. Was it because I had been working in a mental health facility the past year where a good number of my patients resembled this couple and were also drug addicts and homeless? I don’t know. But in a brief moment, and from a distant observation, I had made an assumption about these people.

As I passed them, the lady called out to me, “Hey, why’d they build this bridge?” still looking out over the bridge with her back against me

I stopped, “Are you asking ME?’

“Yeah, I’m asking you!” she responded in a raspy voice followed by a breathy chuckle.

As I came around to face her, I saw it was an elderly woman with a big grin. Her warmth and smile automatically softened my heart and my assumptions and judgement immediately embarrassed me.

“Hmmm, I think they built it just for you to see this view” I smiled back.

She rolled her eyes and half-laughed.  The man standing next to her also laughed.

I continued, “I’m not from here so I don’t know the history of it all.  I assume they built it because they want to attract more tourists and just get people outside and into nature more.”

The man spoke, “We’re not from here either. We’re from Alabama. Where are you from?”

And so started a very pleasant 20 min conversation. I came to find out that the couple were mother and son. Betty and Dennis. Betty recently had a stroke, 4 months ago. She’d been through rehab and then had been living at home alone in Alabama, with a lot of difficulty.  According to her, she was managing fine at home but her family felt otherwise. Betty felt her family forced her to move out to California so they could keep an eye on her.  But you could also tell she knew she needed the help and it caused her sorrow.  I shared that I was a therapist as well worked with patients just like her. Because my “therapist” self is always turned on, I started asking all sorts of recovery and caregiving questions. She showed me how she could now move her right foot now and could walk very slowly and awkwardly with the help of a cane (her son shaking his head in the background, as if to communicate that he felt otherwise).  I then noticed her right edemous hand limply lying beside her lap with the palm turned up at an unnatural angle. Betty reported, almost becoming tearful, that she never regained the use of her right arm or hand. She was discouraged. As I tell all my patients, I would never wish a stroke on anyone.  It’s a cruel disembodiment. Your body is still there, but it is like a foreign object and you no longer have control over it.  A person must go through a grieving process for this body that no longer exists. To grieve for a hand that can no longer automatically reach for the coffee cup, or comb hair or put a button a shirt.  We talked for a while about all this, with the son mentioning his own struggles with managing being a caregiver.   

I felt my own grief for making such a horrible assumption about these sweet people from Alabama. Assumptions about a man in a black trench coach, who was really a caregiver and taking his mother on a nice little outing so that she could just get out of the house.  Feeling total embarrassment and shame for assumptions I had made about this woman in a wheelchair smoking a cigarette, who turned out to be a lovely elderly woman, with a great sense of humor, grieving for her loss of function and now broken body. A woman whose face had sculpted lines of both joy and sadness from all she has had to endure in this life. 

Near the end of our conversation Betty told me she was 73 years old and had survived 8 different cancers, including brain cancer.  How was this woman still alive? 

With a little sarcasm I asked, “So who did you piss off to have all this happen to you?” 

Betty let out a boisterous laugh and replied “I sure don’t know, but I’ve been through it all.” 

Then I added “Maybe you’re just one of the strong ones that can handle anything so God just keeps giving you more because you keep handling it so well.” 

“Well, I don’t know about that, but I’m still alive” spoken with voice of someone who had conquered so much but also the voice of a person whose body was now failing her.

We chatted a little longer about Alabama and you could tell Betty and Dennis loved their state. They related how nice and hospitable everyone was, how beautiful the countryside was with the rolling hills and landscape of trees and greenery.  Well, Betty and Dennis, thanks for sharing your good nature, your story and your humor. I’ll be sure to take a visit down there to Alabama to check out your beloved state.  And I’m sorry I judged. Please forgive me.

First Night on The Road

FIRST NIGHT ON THE ROAD

When you search on Google, Pintrest or InstaGram the hashtag of #VanLife, up pops images of people in RVs, camper vans, converted cars and SUVs, all posing with enthusiasm with their new home, generally in a beautifully scenic setting. YouTube videos show how incredibly easy it is to whip out your power tools and magically obtain carpentry skills to construct a slick interior design to convert your vehicle into a camper. Interviews with these Van-Lifers reveal how much freedom one has exploring the road with ease and freedom at low cost. Ah, #VanLife!!

So…..Let me tell you a story about my reality with #VanLife. 

I decided I needed to take some time off to recover from the “growing experiences” of 2018 and I started to explore ways I could take an extended amount of time off to travel on my limited budget.  I went to RV shows to see if I could afford a camper trailer, too expensive, even for the tiny, ultralight weight campers. I looked at actually camping around in my tent, but I did that for a week once and it seemed like it’d be a headache in the long run. Then I came across those people who had converted their cars or SUVs into a camper. Some were pretty fancy but some were pretty basic and simple. Hmm, this could work. I felt I could construct something simple for super cheap. I wouldn’t have to deal with setting up a tent or pulling a trailer and I could sleep anywhere in my car.  Cool! The decision was made. Before I started, I got a twin size mattress and slid it in the back of my SUV just to see if it would fit.  It did, and a perfect fit actually!!  I had never constructed anything before and had never used power tools, except for an electric screw driver.  But you can find everything on YouTube, right? Thank goodness I hadn’t cleared out or donated my dad’s tools yet. I watched a lot of tutorials on how to use the tools and how to put stuff together. I had removed the back seats from my SUV and constructed a platform. There was a lot of trial and error. A lot of trips to Home Depot and Lowes. I was surprised, and frustrated, at how long it took to construct something that seemed so simple in my little design. Finally I finished and I was very pleased that I did it all by myself. I had enough room for storage underneath the platform and enough room on top to move around comfortably. 

The next step was deciding what I needed to take with me and what would go in storage.  Let me tell ya, if you haven’t used something for a long time, you’re not going to start magically using it on the road or a trip, as I have found out.  For instance, I have yet to use my yoga mat and bits of work-out stuff I brought along (partly because it has rained almost every day of my trip). Too many clothes, too many washcloths, too many books, too much kitchen stuff. Eventually I’ll consolidate it all once I’m in a consistently warm climate.  

My car was packed up, organized and ready to go. The morning I planned to leave I went to go start my car, all I got was a click click click and the electrical system wigging out. Seriously? What the hell? Ugh!!  At first I thought it was an electrical issues, but my sister-in-law suggested it might be the battery.  It had been cold in Utah and my battery had died.  We attempted to jump it (Thanks for another tutorial YouTube!} but It wouldn’t start.  So, I went and purchased another battery and installed it myself. My car started!! Yay!

I decided to not have any definite plans for my road trip. Sometimes letting the road guide you and not having a fixed or ridged plan can open the door for unexpected adventures. Plus, planning stresses me out. I can do it, it’s just not my favorite thing to do. I did have a rough outline of a travel plan in place. I was going to start in California and explore some places that I might be interested in living, as well as visit some national and state parks.  Well, the forecast said rain for 2 weeks. I was hoping the rain would at least let up a little here and there so I could explore. I would soon find out that rain meant rain.

Because of my late start, I decided I’d only drive for a few hours and spend the night in Elko, NV.  My weather app said it’d be about 15 degrees that night. I had a sleeping bag, several blankets and my mattress was made of foam. In addition, I had insulation for my windows to help keep the heat in and also provide privacy.  I was hoping that was enough.

Driving is therapeutic for me. I relax and just let my mind wander and the drive out to Elko was nice. No traffic and an absolutely beautiful glowing orange sunset.  I took it as a good sign and stopped to watch it for a bit. It was dark when I arrived in Elko. I stopped off to get gas and use the restroom and then drove around a bit, trying to decide where I could safely park my car and have a quiet night. I found a 24 hour Casino next to a hotel. No one would question why my car would be parked there all night and I’d be left alone. So I parked, I put the insulation up in the windows, pulled the curtains shut behind the front seat and opened the passenger seat to climb into the back of my car to sleep. Hmmmm, how was I going to get in? When I constructed the platform in my car and tested it for enough space to move around, it was without a mattress. I had purchased an 8 inch foam mattress and I had a sleeping bag and several blankets.  I now had 1 ft 10in to get in and move around.  So stupid!  Why hadn’t I actually considered this? Well, I didn’t really have a choice but to try it out. It doesn’t help that I’m 5’9 and “big boned.”  So I put a hand on each side of the door opening, a foot up on the step and launched myself into the car, my legs still hanging out, my shoes still on. There was not enough space to kneel or sit so I very awkwardly pulled myself into a fetal position so that I could reach to untie my shoes and then attempted a sideways 90 degree turn so that I could be facing the right direction to straighten out. So there I was, finally lying flat on my back and shaking my head that I hadn’t thought things out more thoroughly. Then the next thought that ran through my mind was “oh crap, I still need to get in my pajamas” followed by a groan and realizing my pajamas were in drawers under the platform and I’d have to get out of the car to access them.  Mind you, its 15 degrees outside!! I curled my body back up and completed another 90 degree turn in a half sitting hunched-over position to get closer to the door. I managed to reach for the door handle and open it up.  I wish I had a video to show me getting out of my car. I was a sight to see. It looked as if my car was giving birth to me. My awkward large size in a tiny space. Imagine a 5’9, 220 lb inflexible woman with frizzy red hair trying to get out of a 1'10" space from a sitting hunched-over position.  Seriously, I challenge you to try this at home! First came a leg, then an arm to support me, then half my butt, then another leg, the other half of my butt and  finally another arm, and head. My car just gave birth to a breech baby, kind of.  Ugh, this sucks!  I got my pajamas, launched myself back into my car, managed to get straightened out and then laid there trying to figure out how to I was going actually get into my pajamas.  I couldn’t sit up. I couldn’t kneel in a full position. My only options were lying flat and trying bridge my hips and back to loosen my clothing, rolling to my side, or getting onto my knees in a bowing position. I assumed all three of those positions to get undressed and then dressed.  What a headache!!  No one ever demonstrated this shit in the Youtube videos!! I was tired and soon fell asleep. 

I actually stayed quite warm though the night, surprisingly enough.  Around 2:30 in the morning I woke up and had to pee.  I looked at the weather app on my phone.  It was 10 degrees outside. Condensation had collected on the inside of my car and my head was getting cold.  I put on my winter hat and then pulled out my female urinal.  Yes, I bought one for just these circumstances (someone did actually recommend this in a blog. Very helpful).  I did try it out before my road trip and it worked wonderfully…..in a sitting position, with lots of leg room. I had not tried it out in a less than 2ft space. Since I couldn’t squat, or sit, or fully kneel, the only position I could manage was the kneeling bow.  I guess all those years of assuming the kneeling bow position (for comfort reasons) while listening to my dad’s endlessly long family prayers finally paid off. So with one hand trying to manage positioning and holding the pee bag, the other arm was out in front supporting me.  I was so tense and so cold that I couldn’t pee. Ugh!  Puppy dogs, unicorns, sunsets, freedom, road trip……finally relaxed enough to go. Relief!! I put the lid on the urinal and set it aside to empty in the morning, climbed back in my bed and slept on/off until about 6:30. I was ready to get up, get warm and have a cup of coffee. My car then awkwardly gave birth to me a second time. Still a breech baby, but it works.

Slushy ice water from 10 degree night in Elko

I quickly got into the front seat, started the car and turned the heat all the way up.  I plugged in my portable water heater to my cars 12V port to heat water for some coffee.  After enjoying a nice warm drink I needed to get dressed, brush my teeth, wash my face…..but it was 10 degrees outside and I really did not want to go through changing my clothes in the back of my car again. I decided I wait until later, when I could go to a rest stop. So that’s what I did, when it finally warmed up to 20 degrees. I don’t like cold weather.

My plan was to head to Redding, CA.  I started driving up through the overwhelmingly beautiful Tahoe National forest. I was raining, then the rained turned to light snowfall. No big deal. As the elevation climbed, the light snow fall turned into a blizzard and the roads became icy. I had my AWD on and my “snow traction” option turned on. But I could still feel my car slide. I wanted to pull off but there were no exits and pulling on the shoulder is a bad idea as anyone can slide off and hit you. I grew up driving in snow and feel I am a safe driver in this kind of weather. There are certain ways to break, to maneuver your car when you slide, and to remember to keep a big gap between you and the car in front of you just in case you do lose control of the car. But these other drivers on the road either had no knowledge of these driving rules or were too impatient.  Cars were tailgating each other and then slamming on their brakes when they got too close, causing the car to slide off the road.  At one point, the traffic had completely stopped because a semi-truck had slid sideways and was blocking the road. So there everyone sat in their cars, for about 40 min, until the truck to be moved off to the side of the road. It took another hour of slowly driving to get off the mountain.

I eventually made it up to Redding, via Sacramento, and it was a downpour of rain, strong gusts of winds. I attempted to explore the Sacramento River, but the weather was miserable. I sat in my car a while and tried to devise a new plan, but the weather forecast held no relief for me. I was just in no mood to sleep in my car that night.  I was tired. I wanted comfort. I slept in a hotel that night. A conversation started in my head “Good job Natalie! You made it one whole night sleeping in your car and now resorting to a hotel room because of rain. Where’s your grit girl?!”  I responded to myself with “Well, it’s not like I’m broke. I’m homeless by choice. I’ve got a few extra bucks. I deserve a little comfort.”  I responded back “Ok, well let’s see how long you can survive on the road over the next few weeks” daring myself to be a more hard core #Vanlifer.

My first 24 hours weren’t terribly exciting in terms of travel, but figuring out how to live in my car was a bigger adventure than I thought and a bit of an unexpected learning curve.  But I’m up for a challenge.

Goodbye 2018 and Exploring The Road Home

So I quit my job and I’m living out of my car. Yes, you read that correctly.  The year 2018 is up there with one of the hardest of my life. It opened up every old wound and challenged every part of me.  At one point I wasn’t sure I’d make it out alive.

In November of 2017 I gave up my comfortable life and well-paying job in San Antonio to move back to Utah to help care for my father and my brother Ian. Over the past several years, my siblings and I noticed my dad’s cognition declining.  As siblings, we discussed what supports could be put in place to help him and who would be willing to help out with my dad and Ian. My mom died 20 years ago from cancer. My dad, and us siblings still at home, assumed the responsibility of caring for my brother Ian, who was born with Spina Bifida and was paraplegic since birth. After us kids all left home to go to college, my dad was left with the sole responsibility of caring for Ian alone.  He declined help from any home health agencies, state agencies and rarely accepted respite care from family.  Between trying to hold down a full time job and being a single parent caregiver for my brother, with all the endless mountains of paperwork that comes along with it, the burden had caught up with my dad.

When I was younger I remember visiting my dad’s office and seeing all of the local and national awards he had won over the years for his writing. He had been a technical writer for his company and was good at it. My dad was an intelligent man. I always refused to play Trivial Pursuit with him because he was a wealth of knowledge and there was no way I could ever win. I remember him always bringing home word games, anecdotal stories and sharing information he read in the encyclopedia when he couldn’t sleep. I remember when he was downgraded from a big front office at work with floor to ceiling windows, to a small little office tucked back away in the building from his colleagues.  He wanted to work until he was 67 or 68, but retired at 65 because he just couldn’t do his job anymore. His mind wasn’t as sharp and his energy was lagging.  Over the years his memory slowly started to fade.  He also started to experience difficulty with staying organized, with problem solving, following simple directions as well as becoming paranoid and suspicious. He had lost a significant amount of weight over the years and he looked 10 years older than his age. My dad was just tired.

When it came to discussing care-giving needs for my dad, all I knew it that it wouldn’t be me. I refused. My dad has always been a very religious and ridged man. I had become estranged from my father several years ago after he had said and done some things that I felt were unforgivable regarding my sexuality. After that encounter I moved to Texas to create some space and I didn’t talk to him for 2 years. After some time and distance, my heart softened enough to make small talk with him, but I knew our relationship would never be anything more than small talk. I had to go through a grieving process knowing I would never have a father that wanted to be a part of my life, and actually disapproved of my life.

Then in Sept of 2017, I had planned a 10 day trip with 5 days in Utah and 5 days in the Tetons with friends. The day I arrived in Utah, a traumatic event happened with my dad that showed how poorly my dad was doing and how much his mental state had declined. The morning after the incident I was sitting on the front porch, pondering and processing the events from the night before. My dad wandered out to the front porch and sat down on the steps. We were both quiet for a while until he commented on how beautiful the morning was.

“Dad, we need to talk. You need some help. Last night was scary. I don’t know if you remember everything, but it really scared me.”

My dad sat dad on the steps of the porch and he hung he head down. “I know. My memory is shot. I don’t remember things that I know I should. My mind isn’t like it used to be. It’s really discouraging.”

Then words came out of my mouth, words that were not my own, “Dad, I’m moving home to take care of you and Ian.  It’s not a choice on your part and you don’t have a say in it.  I just needs to happen.” I knew if my dad was given a choice, he would refuse help, as always, and want to dig his heels in to prove he was still capable of caring for himself and my brother.

My dad nodded in agreement, his face wrinkled up in sorrow having to admit he needed help. He got up and went back into the house.

The aftermath of what I had just committed to hit me, hard. “What the hell did I just say??!!” I bent over and put my head in my lap, rocking back and forth and the tears just came.  “Oh dear god, No, not me! I can’t do this, I can’t do this. Don’t let it be me. Oh dear god, I can’t take care of this man.”  After some time I stopped crying and I just sat there on the porch, numb and dazed from the crying.  I wanted to reverse time and make it all go away. 

I was a mess.  The next 7 weeks were just one giant panic attack. I was terminating my life in San Antonio and trying to get things organized for my move to Utah.  And my poor dear friends who had to deal with my crying and the endless verbal processing, God bless them. They attempted to offer support, give advice about building a support system, accessing community resources and that maybe it won’t be as bad as I was making it out in my head. But I couldn’t be consoled. My mind was stuck on all my past traumas with my dad and knowing how my dad can be on a day to day basis. I had serious anxiety and fear.

The first couple of months were just extremely busy. My Dad underwent surgery to correct a swallowing problem, but the anesthesia took about a week to wear off and left my dad even more confused, and extremely weak.  I was afraid to leave him alone during the day but I had to work.  He had refused any help from church members, neighbors or home health services. When a home health nurse came by to do an evaluation on his post-surgical needs, my dad became very irritable, suspicious, refused to answer any questions and kicked her out of the house. On the way out, the nurse gave me a look of sympathy and said “I’m sorry you have to go through this.”  “Yeah, me too” and I let out a heavy sigh. 

With all the care and supervision that my dad and brother required, I was unable to work full time and accepted a part time job and then another job working weekends. Thankfully I was blessed with an amazing boss. She allowed me to set my own schedule and was very understanding of my situation as well as becoming my emotional support system. Trying to work, take care of my dad and Ian, figuring out a routine and managing their medical issues was overwhelming.  My life was no longer about me. Life felt heavy; A painful, emotional burden.  I felt so alone.  I felt I had no one to talk to.  A few people were keen to give advice, but there was no one to provide respite care. No one to give me a hug or offer comfort.

My dad was officially diagnosed with Alzheimer’s in January of 2018, at the age of 72. From March to June 2018 my dad had a steep decline.  He would often forget to eat and lost 15lbs off his already thin body. The verbal and emotional abuse, combined with increasing confusion and safety issues magnified my burden and I had multiple breakdowns. My dad would get upset if I had to point out yet another safety issue and he would take his frustration out on me.  I was always the bad guy. There was a dark weekend in March where for 2 full days I laid in bed and contemplated suicide. I felt I was sitting at the bottom of a muddy well, slowly sinking down and no way of getting out. Every nuanced cry for help, with no response, felt like a lid was slowly being closed over me. My burden felt so dark and heavy that I felt I had no other options. I just couldn’t keep doing this. Ending my life felt like a relief. No more pain. I knew exactly how I’d do it. But what about Ian? Who’d take care of him? And the burden on my other brother, Graham, with his young family, would be so heavy and he is already taking on so much. And what would Ian think? He would think it was his fault that I took my life.  That weekend finally ended, after a lot of crying and prayers. I managed to pull myself up and out of bed each morning after that, but it was usually accompanied by tears.  Thank goodness Ian was a ray of sunshine. He always gave me a hug, a big smile and joke to start each morning.   

My dad was feeling ill one day in June. I had taken his car keys away several weeks earlier (talk about drama!!) and he had to pass a driving test that morning if he wanted to get his keys back. He had so much anxiety that he felt nauseated and very weak. I convinced him to go to the hospital. I then communicated to the doctor and social worker how unsafe my dad was living at home and could no longer live on his own.  Against my dad’s wishes, he was discharged to an assisted living facility. While in the hospital, my dad was prescribed a medication that could possibly help slow his memory loss. It was also a mood stabilizer. After just one week on the pill, my dad became a different man.  He was happy, social, started sharing stories from his past. He was nice. Who was this man?  My dad has always been fiercely private and definitely not social.  To see him initiate gathering up a group of people to watch a football game, to see him sitting around a table doing a puzzle with other residents, to hear him talk about how he sits at a different table each meal time so that he can get to know everyone and make sure no one feels left out…..was an unexpected surprise because this was not the father I grew up with.  He gained back the 15lbs he had lost earlier in the year and his ability to speak more fluently actually improved the more social he became. It’s crazy to think what one little pill, combined with a positive environment, can do for someone in my dad’s condition.  I am grateful he’s had a good transition into this next stage of life.

At about the same time my dad transitioned into assisted living, my brother Ian became very ill with pneumonia. He was hospitalized for 5 days and then sent to a care facility to continue with his recovery.  With both my dad and brother in facilities, I finally had a little room to breathe. I still was very busy helping with their transitions and making sure they didn’t feel forgotten about, but the majority of the caregiving load had been transferred off my shoulders. I was able to pick up more hours at work so that I wasn’t living paycheck-to-paycheck anymore. I also started to clean out my dad’s house. He had started to become a hoarder and I think he kept every piece of paper he ever received.  I ended up shredding 385lb of files, taking 8 truckloads of junk to the landfill, 8 truckloads of stuff donated to DI, 2 truckloads of furniture and appliances donated to Habitat for Humanity, over 1,500lbs of food donated to the local food pantry (he got a little over-zealous with his food storage), overall totaling around 100 hours working to get it all done. Whew!

My amazing brother Graham and his wife agreed to care for Ian full time and actually built a wheelchair accessible house to accommodate Ian. Ian is now living with them and adjusting to a new environment. Graham and his wife have made incredible sacrifices and are also slowly adjusting to being caregivers. My heart goes out to them, understanding all that being a caregiver means. It is a heavy burden and I hope I can be the support to them that they need.

The Universe has a way of making us face our fears. My experience felt like a bird flying head-on into a glass window and then wondering where the window came from. Our fears are always there and sometimes we choose not to see them.  We get so habituated with avoiding them, stuffing them back down so that we don’t have to confront them or blaming someone else for why those fears even exist in the first place…. that those fears continue own us, to define us and how we behave. This year forced me to confront every painful memory and experience from my past with just about every family member, including my father and even my mother. I can choose to feel victimized, resentful, angry and sad. But that is such a heavy burden to carry. I know darkness and I’m tired of it. I’m emotionally exhausted. It’s such a sad, lonely, and isolating place to be. I’m choosing the hard work of facing those fears, one deep breathe at a time.

As 2018 has wrapped up, I’ve had a few spiritual experiences that have started the process of healing. My heart has softened. I have a lot to think about. A lot I want to change. Although Utah is where I grew up, it just doesn’t feel like home or a place I belong anymore. Quitting my job and converting my SUV into a living space is a means to an end. I want to explore different places and find where I belong. I want to find a home. I want to reconcile my past, find some healing and create a beautiful future. I want to connect more with people. I want to feel confident again. I want to feel ambitious again. I want my humor back.  I want ME back.   Here’s to a new journey and new beginnings!!

The First Year....A Humble Success

Well, I have officially been in the Peace Corps for over 14 months now. The time has certainly flown by and so much has happened.  There have been big traumatic moments that have humbled me and made me rethink if being here was the right decision. And there are the small daily things that put a smile on my face and warm my heart. One of those small daily moments is when little Emran climbs onto the bus and the first thing he does is look for me and then smiles and give me a hug and a kiss. Yes, that is definitely the highlight of each day and some days it makes all the difference with my attitude for that day. 

Me and my little Emran

The first 6 months I was really just getting my feet wet and trying to understand the Jordanian culture, the culture of my special education center and how I fit into it all. I won't exaggerate...it was a very rough 6 months. There were a lot of miscommunications, misunderstandings and....tears.  But things slowly got better and by the end of the first 6 months, I was glad I stayed. 

I've seen the most development at my center, and the most growth with myself, this past semester. I've already written about the rough start to this last semester in previous entries, so I won't repeat it all. Although it started out very rough, it ended very well. Almost better than expected, Ahumdulilah! I had this beautiful, idealistic dream of starting an Autism program and it would just be so perfect and successful.  Well, it didn't exactly turn out as expected.  We had students, but not teachers, the first two weeks which was just utter chaos. Then when a teacher was hired and assigned to the class I wanted to co-teach, the teacher and I did not get along. She had never had a job before, and had no experience with children. And due to lack of exposure to children with disabilities, she had a very difficult time understanding how to interact with these special children. I tried my best to convince her that these kids were teachable, had potential, but just needed time and adaptations.  Needless to say, we didn't agree on much and we didn't get along that well. The Mudeera and Director of my center respected my experience and expertise and, after 4 very long weeks, the teacher was fired and a new teacher was hired upon my recommendation. 

So, after 6 weeks into the semester, a wonderful woman from my community, Maysoon, was hired to be my co-teacher. We were great friends before and she has endless amounts of energy and optimism.  A perfect combination to work in special education. I told her of my plan to start an Autism program with the young children and she was enthusiastic…at first.    It definitely was difficult at first to get our Autism program going and she was not particularly buying to my idea of the same daily routine and structure that I assured her would help improve the kids behavior and learning.  But because the children hadn’t had any routine or structure for the first 6 weeks of school, their behavior was very poor and it was quite difficult to work with these kids.  Maysoon became easily frustrated and wanted to know when my “Autism Program” would work. I kept reassuring her that it would take time and that when the children understood the daily routines and expectations then their behaviors would get better and they would start to absorb the information and learn.  

Sometime around the end of November, I had left for about 3 days to do some training with some new volunteers. It was the first time I had left Maysoon unsupervised with the children. I fully expected to come back to a chaotic classroom.  Instead I was blown away with how smoothly everything went.  Maysoon had command of the classroom and the children were well behaved. Maysoon was using all the resources and techniques I had shown her. I complimented and congratulated Maysoon for sticking with it and being patient with the process. I let her know how wonderful she was with the children and how good they were doing with their behavior and learning.  She then turned to me and said “Natalie, you were right. Your program worked but it just took time. I don’t believe it, but I am happy.” 

Miss Maysoon teaching the kiddos

In the entire year I have been at my center, and all the projects that I have been involved with  in Peace Corps in general, that one comment from Maysoon was the most satisfying and brought me the most joy.  I had teacher “buy-in” and she was actually implementing what I had taught her. That’s rare that it happens and rarer that it lasts, as any Peace Corps volunteer  will tell you. Maysoon continued throughout the rest of the semester doing what she’d been doing and having great success. Since then she has gained momentum and has visited each of the children’s families, given the families progress reports about their children and is coming up with a plan for next semester on how help with children with academics and social skills. I am so proud of her and so thankful that things actually turned out better than I ever expected.

My Mudeera even did a disability awareness meeting this past month in order to educate the community about how to treat people that have a disability.  I am really thankful for all her enthusiasm and passion.

Overall, this semester and the year has been great.  We had our playground installed and the children love it. Their undesirable behaviors haven’t gone away, but they’ve decreased.  The Autism program is up and running successfully and hopefully with continue to be successful next semester. I started a hygiene program with the students. Soap, toothpaste, toothbrushes, combs and hand towels were all donated and I gave training to the teachers on how to have the students become independent with their hygiene. 

Miss Maysoon teaching Hela how to brush her teeth

 And then, to top off the end of the semester, my teachers threw me a surprise birthday party. It was really thoughtful and kind. Especially since they don't really celebrate birthday's here, but they know that Americans do and they wanted me to feel special. Life is good and I couldn’t be happier. 

All the teachers and Mudeera at my center. A group effort to make me a birthday cake!

The contents of this blog are mine personally and do not reflect any position of the U.S. Government or the Peace Corps

It's Olive Picking Time!!

So almost two months ago, Olive picking season started. There are olive trees everywhere!! In my village we have, supposedly, 2000 year old olive trees.

One of the many 2000 year old olive trees

Since I have never picked olives before I volunteered to help pick olives with my Director and his family. So one beautiful 70 degree day in October, we drove to the orchard and picked olives from 8:30 am to 5pm.  I didn't consider it "hard" labor, but it was labor nontheless. Of course, I only picked olives one day, my director did if for 6 weeks, 6 days a week....so that is hard labor.

Picking olives is rather easy, its just time consuming. First, we picked up all the olives that had fallen to the ground. Although these fallen olives aren't really edible anymore, they can still be used for their oil. After all the olives from the ground have been picked up, large sheets are placed around the base of the tree to catch the olives that will fall to the ground once the picking begins.  The family I was with had a pretty efficient method for picking their olives.  One or two sons would prune the branches of the olive tree and throw the branches down to the ground. The "Old Timers" would then sit on the ground or on the sheets, rather, and hand-pick the olives from these pruned branches.  While that was happening, someone would climb a ladder and start picking the olives from the top of the tree. For the "hard-to-reach" olives, someone would take a stick and beat the branches until all the olives would fall off. Meanwhile, other family members were collecting all the olives that were falling to the ground.  I was one of those.....half "plucking", half "picking" the olives up from the ground or from the branches.  And, more than occasionally, I was pinged in the head with olives falling from the sky. But as they say here "addi," "its normal," "no big deal."

Little Baby Sundus chillin' under the trees

So, that is basically what I did for 8 hours....either reaching up and picking olives, or reaching down and picking up olives. I was a little sore the next day.  However, we did take a delightful little lunch break. Om Yousef, the matriach of the family, prepared Mansef, the national traditional meal of Jordan.  It is a simple rice dish where hot liquid fermented yogurt sauce is poured over the top. That may not sound too appetizing, but it kind of tastes like buttery sour cream.  After the sauce is poured on,  you grab a blob of the wet rice with your bare hands, squeeze it into a bite-size ball and pop it into your mouth. The meal traditionally eaten with the hands and usually lamb or chicken is also prepared with it. The family brought a spoon for me to eat with. I was grateful, since I had no where to wash my hands and I had already drunk all of my water. However, the other family members didn't seem to mind to eat with their unwashed hands...more immune power to 'em!

Eating Mansef, YUM!

Well, after all the olive picking is done, the women in the family spill the olive out on a big sheet and pick the edible olives from the non-edible olives.  Its quite a long process. But as in any culture, its done as a family or community, so all the women help out and it goes faster. And what a better way to get caught up on all the local gossip:)

After this, the non-edible olives are sent to an olive press factory to get fresh olive oil. My village, in particular, is known in Jordan for some of the best olive oil. Last year, my landlady gave me a free quart of olive oil pressed from the olive tress in my very own yard!  Pretty cool!

The edible olives are then bottled.  It is also a bit of a process, and each family has their own seasonings they put in. I am posting a video that better describes the process, and is more entertaining than me trying to describe it:)  Enjoy

http://youtu.be/ZQ3ladtMq-Y

And that is how you get yummy Green Olives!


The next week, my mudeera thought it would be a good idea to get the students involved and have them help out with olive picking.  They loved it (well, most of them).  They did a great job and ended up picking olives for 4 straight hours!  Great Job Kiddos!

The contents of this blog are mine personally and do not reflect any position of the U.S. Government or the Peace Corps