Our long road trip: traversing across America The Beautiful...

"There are those we come across, whom we barely know, who offer you a word, a sentence, give you a minute, a half hour, and change the course of your life."  --Victor Hugo

"Your travels should take you through the great heartland of Illinois, Missouri, and Kansas. And you must get off the interstates. You must ride the side roads where the small towns are..." --David McCullough

 

About a month ago we dropped in to see our favorite Cardinal fan in St. Louis--89-year-old Dorothy, a widow whose husband had passed away long ago. When she opened the door to see us, she said, "I didn't think I would live long enough to see you again, but here you are back from China." We visited our old friend of almost 30 years and heard about her love of her faith, family, and baseball. So grateful we stopped by to see the woman who was everyone's grandma because we learned she passed away yesterday. 

 One of the best things about raising our kids in Mid-West America is that we could travel in any direction to discover the amazing cultures, traditions, and history of this country. Often, as parents, we would gather them for a long road trip to see family--stopping along the way-- to visit towns and places I only dreamed of seeing as a sometimes restless San Diego kid. Growing up, I longed to see Gettysburg, the Liberty Bell, the Statue of Liberty, Yellowstone, the Freedom Trail, Emily Dickinson's house, the Sequoias, or the small Icelandic immigrant hamlet my father was born in North Dakota--pretty much anywhere I could roam. My parents had taught me to love history and I wanted to connect and share with my kids through places I/we had always wanted to see. Many summers we/I crisscrossed the country with them--driving up to 8,000 miles. It sounds wild and crazy, but most of the time we loved it. 😁

Fast forward a few years, (I have been an ex-pat for about ten years--living in six countries--one of them twice) in my life, and it was time to come home after an eight-year span. The sojourning of the world was (most of the time) spectacular and eased my nomadic urge, but I did not feel I understood my own country anymore. I wanted to come home, but it was a little like Rip Van Winkle waking up to a new world. Political upheaval, inflation, and global tensions to just name a few. 

Since we could not see loved ones because of living in China for several years, we decided to venture across America and be with our children, family, and other loved ones along the way.  We are racking up the miles as we wander west to east, north to south, and then circle back. The result? Again and again, I am wonderstruck with my own country, the shores that gave me my first roots. This journey has catapulted me into not only different states but different worlds. I am constantly asking myself as I hear stories who were strangers a few moments before, "Could they be my friend?" Each time it is an unequivocal yes. 

I have met people of different races, faiths, and who have changed their gender. While some have little education, others are professors at elite universities. More than I would want to say are down on their luck. I know now because I am older and a little wiser: all of us have bruises and wounds that are invisible. Also, I more emphatically know that a little encouragement or a smile can begin to ease some suffering because someone has done that for me. Repeatedly, continuously, I have been amazed at the beauty of people--all kinds of people.

Also, on this trip, I have been teary-eyed with the wide open skies against the cornfields as a luminous amber sunset spreads across the sky in the Midwest. I forgot how beautiful they are. Some tears trickled as we gazed in wonderment at Acadia National Park's craggy shorelines with glowing, golden autumn maples in the background. Conversely, I am also worried about the great water veins of our country, the Mississippi and Colorado Rivers that are experiencing never before seen droughts--all the climate warming that is playing havoc with our world. Just like we need to be aware of others, we need to take care of our landscape, our holy spaces.

Lush and breathtaking landscapes nourish our souls. We return from beholding the splendor of places and astonishingly realize, those scenes can magically, sometimes automatically, transfer to discerning more magnificence in people. Since we have glimpsed the stunning marvel of nature, our hearts are widened. Our pulses slow down and we make more space for beauty--to not only be transfixed by terrain but be astonished at the splendor of people in unexpected places. 

In these election times, I can't help but think our politicians would benefit from not only crossing physical borders but boundaries that block new understandings of people. The truth is we don't have to travel far. We just have to trek to another part of the town we live in to expand our sometimes static perceptions. Mostly, I have decided it starts with conversing with people who don't share the same borders--to stop and understand their topography or map of the world. 

Here are a few of the people who make America better. I found myself wanting to be a little more like each of them. Some I have known for many years, and others who I only passed through their life for a few moments:

       Here is the house of Harriet Tubman where she lived at the end of her life. It is located at 180 South Street in Auburn, NY, and is an independent non-profit established by the African Methodist Episcopal Zion Church. For about 35 years this pastor has helped to renovate the adjoining buildings and acreage, manage, coordinate, and give tours at this sight. He has a flair for drama, and his tour was like a dramatical one-man reading show--complete with voice inflections and quoting Harriet's favorite sayings. To me, he conveyed a complete commitment to unveiling and teaching about who Harriet Tubman was as a person. Her life became alive to me as we celebrate her 200th birthday this year. I am grateful for someone who saw a void that needed to be filled and poised himself to do it. 

When you meet a perfect stranger at a Kansas City farm produce auction, and then get invited to go fishing with him a few days later--having the most heavenly day. 

We were neighbors with this amazing bunch in Doha. They showed me how to be an ex-pat, and now live in NH on a six-acre farm out of town. L. runs the town, as she always does, with being on the school board and a PTO president of the middle school, plus lots of volunteering for those who need help with food, heating, and clothes. And they both teach a church religion class, all the time feeding their old wood stove to keep warm. 

Pictured is the director of the Louisa May Alcott house in Concord, MA--one of my favorite places. We were lucky that day to have her as a tour guide. For almost 50 years she has been associated with the LMA house and now directs it. We all wished we could have camped out in our sleeping bags for a week as she energetically told the stories of the Transcendental time in Concord with the Hawthornes, Emersons, Alcotts, and Thoreaus. History is life. What a repository of stories she had packed in. 

One of our favorite old places to go when we lived in the east long ago was Waterford, VT. This is Eddie's Bakery--a most congenial, happy place where the best apple cider doughnuts are made. 

Boston, MA  I am always inspired by people who raise others' children. This is what this woman did. She changed the entire trajectory of a family. 

Syracuse, NY.  I met this Cambodian woman at church who delivered a baby in a refugee camp I worked at in Thailand 41 years ago. So wonderful to see her come to a new country and flourish. I loved hearing her story. 

Port Huron, MI. As we walked along the shore of Lake Heron, this woman struck up a conversation with us about how wonderful it is to walk beside the water and collect rocks and fossils. She even gave one to Elias. Her vivaciousness and enthusiasm for the world were infectious. We were better because she talked to us.  

                                          A family hike in Ithaca, NY. Love these people...

                            Bangor, Maine   This family was with us in Tianjin, China during Covid. They lived in China for 25 years. We used to pass dumplings and bread to one another in Covid times when we were in quarantine through the fence. As a trained school counselor, she sat down and counseled me on how to adjust back to the US again since they came back a year earlier than us. 

 

                    Cooperstown, NY haunted tour at The Farm Museum. We did not have tickets for this highly anticipated event, and they still let us come in. 

 

                         Boston, MA  Long ago in NYC Deb was our neighbor. She helped me deliver three of my children and helped us when Joseph was mugged. 

                  When in St. Louis during baseball season, always go to a Cardinals game with CB. Long ago Joseph delivered her eighteen-year-old triplets. Her tanacity as a single parent of triplets always inspires me. 

 

         Elias's counselar who has saved some of his paintings since he was 12 years old. When she met this young boy with autism almost ten years ago, she said he changed her life and has been his fan all these years. I was tremendously touched by how long she has loved him. 

          Growing up in San Diego, CA, I had never seen or even imagined surfers in Lake Michigan. But here they are going against the waves in a storm. 

               An older woman stopped to talk to me about her love of watching water foul out on the ocean from far away. I liked her reflections when she said, "There is so much more happening out on those waves than anyone would ever realize." What appealed to her was to see what the rest of us did not or could not see. She inspired me to try and look deeper, longer, and to see the distance in what most of us do not even attempt to observe in the world and in people. 

China: Lantern Day

In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me lay an invincible summer.  --Albert Camus

After Chinese New Year, there is another holiday to celebrate the coming of spring: Lantern Day. On that night, the streets are lit up with lanterns, people watch dragon dances, and eat round sticky balls that are shaped like a full moon.  In each lantern, there is supposedly a riddle that begs to be answered. Fireworks light up the sky. This has been the traditional Valentine's Day for 1,500 years in China. 

Anciently, there was a curfew on the streets of China, but on Lantern Day, young men and women could roam the streets with lanterns hanging from posts and homes to honor their romantic love. They did not have a curfew on this night. Hopefully, they could find their love wandering on that night. Here is a poem from the Southern Song Dynasty (1127-1279) from poet Xin Qiji called The Lantern Festival Night,

But in the crowd once and again, 

I look for her in vain. 

When all at once I turn my head, 

I find her there where lantern light is dimly shed.

                      

           Lanterns are everywhere and most people are carrying them as they walk around. A shining radiance and the feeling of warmth are everywhere. Everyone is happy because spring has begun. Here are some pictures on the streets at Lantern Day--a day of luminosity and romantic love. 

                              

 

China: Passionate Persimmons in Paradise

My mother said every persimmon has a sun inside, something golden, glowing, warm as my face... Ripe ones are soft and brown-spotted. Sniff the bottoms. The sweet one will be fragrant. How to eat: put the knife away, lay down the newspaper. Peel the skin tenderly, not to tear the meat. Chew on the skin, suck it, and swallow. Now, eat the meat of the fruit, so sweet, all of it, to the heart. 

Some things never leave a person; the scent of the hair of one you love, the texture of persimmons, in your palm...           

                                                                                       --Lip Young Lee, a Chinese-American poet

Helping with the harvest of the persimmons in a remote village near Guilin, China

My new favorite color since moving to China is a bold, bright orange--like a burning fire or apricot sunset. Orange is perky, and like Frank Sinatra said, "Orange is the happiest color." In the autumn markets here in China, along with the rotund pumpkins, you can begin to spot other species of the color orange--tangerines, kumquats, and drumroll... the persimmons. They are ubiquitous--everywhere. The persimmons' arrival at the markets always marks a new season of delight for me--like an old friend has come home.

In my kitchen last winter--a gathering of the orange...

Deep-orange persimmons have brightened my moods with plunging sunlight on gray, frozen days here in China. I even give them credit for increasing my happiness during the pandemic. Their juicy, succulent fruit is like honey or jam when you open them. They are like eating sunshine--to the very last drip or drop. (A delicious cake/pudding recipe with persimmons and apples I created is at the end of the post). I have painted and drawn persimmons, eager to see the yellows turn into a bright orange color. I freeze them and mourn their season's end at the end of February or March. Furthermore, persimmons are extremely healthy so there is no guilt to my passion. 😀

Persimmons have been in China for nearly three thousand years; 75% of the world's persimmons are grown here. Several weeks ago in Guangxi province, in the southern part of China, we were able to experience autumn in a new way--to see neverending mountains and groves of persimmon trees. I was dizzy with delight--like a child in a candy store. The endless orange patches of trees were everywhere. The fields and mountains were almost on fire--especially when the leaves fall off the trees, leaving only the bright, orange fruits. 

To watch some villages prepare and get ready for the persimmon season was so fun. Everyone was busily engaged, working together. My favorite part was helping to pick the persimmons with the farmers. To walk through the persimmon groves, with an occasional mound or random grave alongside the trees, well, it was like we were living hundreds of years ago in rural China. Visiting the villages, farms, and factories, where the persimmons are being harvested and prepared for market, was a day I will always remember. We were all celebrating the small, but mighty persimmon.  

Someday, I hope to have a thriving persimmon tree that grows sunshine and joy. 

Persimmon/Apple Cake 

4 cups of cut-up small apples

2 eggs

2 ripe persimmons, separating the fruit inside from the peel

2 cups brown sugar

1/2 cup of olive oil, 1/2 cup of water

1 cup of chopped walnuts

3 cups flour

2 tsp of baking soda

4 tsp of cinnamon 

Stir the first five ingredients together, and then add the flour mixture. 

Spread a small amount of oil on a 9 x 13 pan, and bake at 180 degrees Celsius or 350 degrees Fahrenheit

Helping to bring the persimmon crop in....💪😆

The following pictures are in Gongcheng, China, Guangxi province, near Guilin. There are several villages that exclusively grow and harvest persimmons. The season starts in October and ends in February or March. Everyone in the villages, both young and old, are involved for those busy few months. It was interesting to see the villagers collaborate--to grow, harvest, wash, sell, and get ready for the market. It was a beautiful day to be outside, with the misty Guilin mountains in the distance. 

Here is one of many graves of the villagers' ancestors' graves we saw as we tromped around the persimmon groves. The graves are just randomly between the trees.

Just grab a basket, and you can start picking the persimmon crop...

Washing the persimmons

Inside the village. Needless to say, persimmons were everywhere. 

Getting them ready to sell at the market

Elias and his teacher painted persimmons last winter. Obviously, we could not get enough of persimmons. 

Quarantine lessons learned in a China hotel...and meeting some angels...

                       Angel #1 (Robert) in Detroit who helped us get the codes. 

       Thanks to Rowyu, (Angel #2) we survived quarantine. 

                                           The woods are lovely, dark, and deep.

But I have promises to keep.

And miles to go before I sleep, 

And miles to go before I sleep.    --Robert Frost

When I returned to China this fall, I realized there are not many of us ex-pats still here in China. Many ex-pats left when Covid began. More departed after months of prolonged travel restrictions and plane cancellations to see loved ones. A large portion of people are unable to return. We have definitely witnessed an exodus of people who have migrated to other homes.

For the few of us who left and returned, we had to quarantine in a hotel for two-three weeks--most of the time alone. I dreaded it all summer, but being willing to do it because I wanted to see my loved ones. There was some pain knowing I would have to pass through much-complicated health surveillance and codes, tests, and eventually quarantine. It gave me angst every time I thought about it--even a few tears of desperation when I heard many people whose codes and applications were not accepted. With my husband still in China, I knew I needed to return to be with him. To add more complications, I would not only be by myself but with my 19-year-old son who has autism. And I knew quarantine somehow had to be palatable to him.

                                                          Arriving at the Shanghai airport

Previous to leaving the US, I kept remembering a solo experience I had long ago as a 16-year-old. As teenagers, my sister and I went on a month-long survival trip in southern Utah. As part of the survival course, we had to spend about five days by ourselves. One of the university instructors came to check on us once or twice in those days to make sure we were safe in our overhangs, nestled alongside the muddy Escalante River. The entire group of us were perched in small caves or overhangs several hundred feet apart so that we could experience a solo time. Our only companion was a little smoldering fire.

In that time, I read, journaled, and mostly just thought about who I wanted to become when I returned to high school after that summer trek. I made solemn promises to myself. I learned many lessons in that month that I still refer to today. But the solo experience, more than any other lesson in that month, launched me to leave my younger self in the sand when I came home. We were given time as a precious gift to mull over our decisions. We reflected on who we would be when we went home. I came as a young adolescent on the survival trip and returned as a fledgling adult (at least I liked to think so 😃). This summer, I tried to reassure my anxious fears that I could make this quarantine experience transformational like my solo time so long ago.

True to my apprehensions, the China quarantine was tough-- at times, seemingly insurmountable. Once we passed the gauntlet of tests that I knew many who could not, we were finally able to board the plane.  After our 16 hours of flights, we landed in Shanghai,  We were relieved to get to our designated quarantine hotel room. 

                                       Every day we got our food delivered to us three times.

After a few days, I began to throw the food away because I could not bear to see any more soggy white rice and oily vegetables that were left at our door three times a day. However, I do acknowledge someone was thankfully leaving food. I did not have to fix, find, or hunt for it. No one was going to starve. This was not a prison camp or survival ordeal. We had few pleasures and welcomed every phone call with elation and joy.  Surprisingly, I even heard the healthy cry of my first grandchild who was born during my quarantine!

                                                             Our room for two weeks...

A large, but ordinary window (that opened...an extra gift) became my window to gaze at a Shanghai suburb park. This would be the only lens to the outside world for a few weeks. We were not allowed to leave the room. As I peered down to the street below, I imagined where people were rushing to as they briskly walked the streets. I envied their mobility and any destination they had to go. How I ached to be outside again, feel the wind, and just walk on a normal sidewalk with a crowd. 

                                                        A view that kept us at least a little sane. 

Slowly, the days passed one by one. Sometimes I even forgot what day it was. We passed the endless hours in quarantine by distracting ourselves from small tasks. We danced, wrote, created art, read, wrote, and watched some downloaded movies. 

Trying to move every day made it bearable to be in a room for weeks...

My quarantine experience for the most part made me realize that I enjoy a very blessed life. I have (for the most part) not only had enough food but I can choose what I have eaten most of my life. I could move and walk where I wanted. I have never been sentenced to jail before, and quarantine gave me increased motivation to keep it that way. 😀 

                                                                       Doing art...

Beyond the happy birth of a grandchild, our time had some shocking news as well.  Indeed, it proved to be a time to reflect when I heard a young professor who I had loved since he was a child had died in a tragic accident. His death made all of us who had known him ponder on what made a good life. His life had been cut short, but he left indelible, undeniable lessons for countless people.

Perhaps all of these realizations are expected. But my biggest surprise during quarantine was not what occurred in my own musings and reflections; it was in meeting two strangers--two angelic Chinese men who helped us get back to China. One in Detroit helped us get our Chinese health codes, which can take many hours to finally turn green--if at all. It might sound benign, but anyone who has had to do it knows it is like a test that was designed for exclusion and failure. 

The second angel  I met getting off the plane in Shanghai. He was a young graduate student who had lived in the US for nine years. He quickly told me many people had helped him when he was in the US for school, and he wanted to do the same for us. He cheerfully helped me navigate the maze of tests and regulations. 

Although my oral Chinese is quite good, I felt like I had been dropped off in the middle of Finland to figure out how to start a business. It was a time of feeling lost and bewildered, almost like being blindfolded. Two strangers, unknowingly and without a desire for any compensation, came to rescue us. Sometimes people come into your life and you honestly have to admit you could have never succeeded without their help and friendship. And that is who they became to me--instant friends. 

During my quarantine, I intently contemplated what constituted a good life. If I cannot repay or give these strangers/friends anything for what they have done for me, what can I do? How can I give back to others or in other words, be someone else's angel? Who are the others who have assisted me before? Did I even realize and acknowledge I was being rescued? 

Hopefully, I left again an old part of myself in the sand like long ago in the deserts of Escalante. I learned anew: it is in those relationships, both known and unexpected that we are rescued. God sends angels to us--like a new grandchild, but also strangers who come into our lives at crossroads when we get lost in Finland. Sometimes everyone needs an angel disguised as a kind stranger.