Keep the Land

As the age-old saying goes, “What goes around comes around.”  This usually refers to relationships between people, but it is equally as true regarding the relationship between man and nature. We are dependent on the land. There are no ifs, ands, or buts about it. There is a connection and a balance between all of the life on the earth. In light of this, it would seem reasonable that each man would respect the nature that surrounds him, but it is not so.

Nature teaches that there is a balance which everything revolves around. Just comparing two predator-prey species shows this. When the fox population grows, the population of rabbits begins to decrease. After a while, there are not enough rabbits to feed the high number of foxes. The number of foxes begins to, in turn, decrease as well. As their numbers dwindle, the rabbits have fewer predators hunting them. The number of rabbits rises. There is now more food for the foxes that will yet again grow in numbers. It all starts over again. It is a cycle that is always weaving above and below a median line as if seeking some unspoken balance. Without meaning to, these animals show how intertwined life is.

Alan Paton said about land “Keep it, guard it, care for it, for it keeps men, guards men, cares for men. Destroy it and man is destroyed.” Across the planet there is the problem of abusing land. Desperate farmers till, plant and harvest the same fields again and again, stripping the soil of life. In not too long, these over-worked fields become dead and useless. This problem is especially prominent in third-world countries. Lands that were once fertile turn to desert. In efforts to produce more, the problem of deficiency becomes worse. Village societies struggle even harder to survive.

There is an understanding that needs to be reached. The delicacy of the balance of nature needs to be realized. Ways to revive the land can be taught to people ignorant of alternative methods. It all starts with being aware. A respect for the relationship between man and nature can be developed so that good goes out and good comes back. It won’t work without this.

The Car

One steers a car as one would maneuver through a shopping mall- staying away from collisions but keeping the destination in mind. Not daydreaming at the wheel, but quietly focused, taking in what is happening around. The car is not for getting, but for going to what lies ahead. Like an easy book, it waits on the driver, and then, it’s off! It moves forward, followed by a cloud of gray. The road succumbs, making way for the hovering machine. Still, after taking to the road so many times, I still wonder at this phenomenon- secret coils and chambers of energy creating motion. Beyond this, I am amazed at the idea that this design is under my power, that my shifting hands and pressing foot control it, that we together make a forward-moving force.

A resolve seeps into my mind and stretches to my two hands and my foot. It is the focus of a goal that has doubled over nervous energy. This is what leads me to turn the key and shift into drive.

Not the Fake Stuff

I had been so wrong about snow! I had never had too much chance to be right about it anyway. The southern area of Houston is not graced with this mysterious phenomenon too often. Snow is what I had seen in movies. Snow is what had fallen in lumps from the sky two Christmas Eves before when my cousins were all over at my house. Snow is what we had scrapped from the cars and readily squashed into dense balls which we hurled at each other for hours. Snow was white and watery and instantly turned to slush when it hit the ground. It was, I imagined, like the shaved ice that my family would get on a hot summer day, just without all the rainbow colors that dyed our lips and tongues.

This pre-conceived idea is what got me laughed at when the first “snow” came to my new home-away-from-home in northern Texas. The stuff was gritty. Sidewalks and grass were covered with what seemed like the most miniature version of hail possible. Frozen H2O had fallen from the sky. It was snow enough for me, which was reason to celebrate! I popped the lids off of my plastic storage bins and my friends and I used them as sleds to go down the mole hill behind my dorm. When I came across my friends from the north, however, they chuckled as I referred to the white grit as “snow.” Over and over, they informed me that this was not even close to actual snow. “When the real stuff comes,” they said, “we will let you know.”

Thankfully, this was not long in the waiting. Just a couple days later, I looked out the window and it seemed like the air had turned into a whirling white storm! Every soul was outside in a minute, relishing the falling snow. Pretty soon, I realized that this was completely different from what had fallen two days before, as well as what had graced Houston a few seasons ago. This new snow was like frozen dust! My mind was completely blown. As it accumulated beneath my feet, I felt as though I was walking through fields of bleached baking flour. I had never imagined it would be so soft. Even more mind-boggling, it seemed to completely lack moisture. Even the coldest snow-cones were wet to a degree. This, however, was dry, and I could not make sense of it.

My efforts to form snow-balls were futile. This cold powder would just fall out of place the moment I released the pressure of my palms. How in the world does it stick? People in movies make snowballs all the time! My northern friends explained that it would be much easier to form snowballs in a day or two. They were completely right. The next day, all I wanted to do was be outside, wallowing in the soft, frozen water and blow time making spheres of it. The whole school seemed to have this same attitude, only with a little more gusto. By midday, World War Three had erupted! At first every-man-for-himself, the game soon changed to pit dorm against dorm. It was all-out war in the courtyards and walkways. For hours we threw, ducked, teamed and schemed until our energy came to an end.

The day was a success. I had experienced real snow for the first time. It may not have been to the same degree as people closer to the poles trudge through, but it was enough for me. I was beyond satisfied. At the same time, it has also awakened in me an eagerness for the future winters. Now that I know what to expect, I can’t wait for the next time we get a real snow.

Granted

                I am from Houston, which isn’t too far away from the Gulf of Mexico. I have seen many tropical storms in my life and know what a hurricane can do to a city. Mainly the TV taught me that from a safe distance. Hurricane Katrina was all over the news before it hit New Orleans, and remained on it for months after. The pictures of devastation filled the screen and my mind from day to day. While I was thankful that my home had not been hit the way so many others were, I knew that it wasn’t impossible.

                Rita came the year after Katrina. Every person had the memories and fear of Katrina still alive in their hearts. They were still too fresh and it was much too soon to have to deal with another devastating storm. What I remember most about Rita is the leaving. It had never been so hard to leave home. The plan was for my family to drive to San Antonio to stay with my Dad’s side of the family. We were taking my mom’s side with us.

Aunts, uncles, cousins and the like piled into cars packed to the brim with clothes, food, necessities, valuables and keepsakes. There is only so much you can fit into a car. Earlier that day, my family had gone through our belongings and painstakingly chosen what we would bring. My parents counseled us to choose wisely, because it may all that we would have left after the storm hit. This process is a lot harder than it sounds.

“What will I bring?” I thought to myself. I had asked myself this question many times before in life as a kind of entertaining thought, but this time it was different. Then, it was more of just choosing my favorite things which doesn’t carry too much weight of thought. Now, I knew that if I did not take something with me, it may be lost forever. Every solitary item that passed through my hands also passed through my heart. I know that it is not good to love material things, but these things had life. They had stories, connections, and carried memories. Nevertheless, most of these had to be let go.

We took with us what we thought was most valuable. Amongst our chosen items were the home videos, photo albums, heirlooms, dolls, favorite stuffed animals, and crafts we had made as children. After we had loaded all this and much, much more into the car, it was time to leave. There my family stood on the sidewalk, looking at the house that we knew may not be here to greet us when we came back home (if home is even what it would be called anymore). Tearing myself from that spot was one of the most sobering things I’ve had to do. It was time to leave. We needed safely and shelter. At the core, we knew that my family being safe and together is what really mattered.

After we left, nothing went according to plan. We didn’t even get close to San Antonio. It took four hours just to get to the other side of the city! Although my dad’s side didn’t like it, our whole caravan took refuge at my cousin’s house, which was still located in Houston. Also against our expectations, we had fun there. It felt like a family reunion! I should have seen it coming, though. No matter the circumstance, when my family gets together there is no stopping a good time. To top it off, the storm had plans of its own. It wasn’t nearly as fierce as the weatherman suggested and did no great damage to our city. Pretty soon, it was time to go home. Our hopes were strengthened yet again when we saw that our house took on no more damage than the average tropical storm inflicts. All of our worrying and fears were put to rest.

Even though nothing traumatic came of this experience, we still learned through it. What is truly important in life was magnified in our understanding. Every solitary thing we had, while keeping its status as a material possession, was new to us. We were thankful for the many blessings that now made themselves obvious before our eyes. What we had taken for granted before was now precious. Even the truth we already knew shone brighter than before. Yet again, that is what it all comes back to. Truth.

Sound It Out

The first memories I have of reading are of my sister and me sitting Indian-style behind the lazy-boy in our living room. Really, you couldn’t even call what we were doing reading; it was more of a flipping the pages of a picture book while a recorded voice read the mysterious black symbols that were laid out in a row. I wanted to be able to read these symbols myself. I knew that someday, I would. For now though, I humored myself with attempting to follow along as the voice dramatically told the story of Hansel and Gretel. It was only occasionally interrupted with the “ding” that meant it was time to turn the page. Detailed pictures covered every page. As I sat looking at the beautiful house made of candy and treats, I would think over and over about which ones I would eat first if I were there.

Then in grade school came the alphabet. My mom had worked with me before and reading came more easily to me, so there was not really a struggle. I marveled at how neatly the teacher could write out the lines, dashes, and letters on the blackboard. She handled that chalk like it was a magic wand! However, I distinctly remember that awkward phase between learning the simple sounds of the alphabet and then learning how they can change. I was too young to be taught yet that certain letters, when put side by side, made a different sound. The fact that vowels could create multiple sounds was also beyond me.

One day I went home from school greatly disturbed. My mom didn’t know how to spell or read! She had messed up my name! The way I had always heard it was “Shuh-nay,” but that was completely wrong. It was a tragedy. In my confusion, I resolved to find out how my name actually sounded. I knew how to write it out and spell it, and by this time I understood the sounds that every letter makes. I had to go somewhere private to work on my little project. The garage, I decided, would be the perfect place. Walking out through the kitchen, I stepped out onto the small brown rug that covered the cement flooring just outside the door. For the next few minutes, I poured over what my name really was. Using all the tools I learned in class, I began to sound out the letters. It took me a while to be able to say them all in a row without having to pause and think. Once I was sure I had it, I stepped back into the kitchen where my mom was.

“Mom” I called to get her attention. “My name doesn’t spell ‘Shuh-nay.’ It says ‘Sss- Huh- Ah- Nn- Ah- Eh.” I divided the letters and put emphasis on each sound as I struggled to say it correctly. Shanae. The name was a sham.

It wasn’t until much later in school that I was taught how letters have many sides, and not until after that did I see how free the English language was. There were so many rules, rules upon rules, and exceptions to each of them. It was definitely more than my first grade mind could comprehend. However easy or confusing the process was, once I had it down, I loved it. I could read. This ability led me to be quite the bookworm as a child. Reading time in class was one of my favorite parts of the day. I would delve into another world in this chunk of time, and reluctantly be pulled away at the end. Even at recess, I would sometimes choose to sit by a tree with my book rather than run with the other kids.

Still, this wasn’t true of everyday. I believe I was quite balanced, though shy. Books were something I didn’t have to be afraid of. They were my friends that I could call upon whenever I wanted. Reading was a source of adventure, comfort and escape. I am glad that I developed a love for reading and learning early on in life, and I know I will keep this love to the end.