Tina's Journal - September

September 10

I must write quickly, before the one bowl and The Hell-Who-Needs-A-Bowl? There's-Only A-Little-Left In-The-Carton servings of chocolate ice cream wear off. I've been told that if I want to feel less tired in the afternoon I must stop drinking caffeine. Now, I'm not a caffeine drinker but coffee can make you feel so good... Luckily, around here, espresso and other foofoo coffee drinks aren't nearly as rampant as on the West coast, so I'm less tempted. I'm sure that chocolate ice cream isn't any better for my system, but I need to be weaned slowly.

I realized today that I, too, am a transient worker. I can proudly join the ranks of the thousands of men, women and children that leave their homes each year and travel across the country following crops or other jobs. Granted, perhaps it is rather presumptuous of me to insinuate that I suffer the same pains as a migrant worker, since I am currently residing in an eight room house (not including bathrooms), but today I was put out in a bean field, given two large green tubs (about a bushel each) and a water bottle and left to wade off into a forest of bean plants, dirt and weeds. Very large weeds. I was supposed to be out for an hour or so, since it was almost lunch time, but I didn't have a watch (having lost it somewhere on the farm the week before).

After one bushel and two CDs I figured it must be at least 1:30, which would have meant I'd been sweating it out in the muggy September sun for two hours straight. My water bottle was long gone. My tummy hurt from eating rejected beans in an effort to stave off starvation and I had hit The Big Weeds. These gigantic pigweed plants were taller than me and completely obscured the bean plant as well as the "path" between the rows. I started stretching every five minutes or so, hoping to see the truck. The second bushel filled significantly more slowly than the first.

My black felt cowboy hat was moist and sticky on my forehead and I wished for a machete. And a pond. Boy was it hot; the weeds blocked any hint of a breeze. I began to worry that I had been overlooked, since in amongst those stifling plants I was virtually invisible to any passing observer. I could have lain down and died and they would have had to send out a search party replete with sickles and bloodhounds! Another hour passed. My desire to collect beans had waned ages ago. I left the tub at the far end of the row and bravely foraged into the thicket, searching for long lost bean plants, whom probably hadn't seen the light of day in weeks. The tub filled very slowly. I'm a terrible bean picker, I thought dejectedly, gazing at the tub. I'm also a terrible flower picker. It takes me so long to assess the quality of each piece. How depressing, here I have a Master's degree from an agricultural school and I'm a terrible migrant worker.

The truck arrived at 3 PM, with a very apologetic driver. "'sokay" I said, "I only got two bushels done 'though." If you are of the sort that works for an hourly rate, I suggest that you do whatever is in your power not to think about how many hours of work each item you buy is worth. I made enough money during my three and a half hours of bean picking to replace the watch I lost at the farm last week.

After having my boss reaffirm that, yes, I'm a slow picker (he didn't exactly say those words but I knew), I felt I had to redeem myself, so I picked one and 3/4 of a row of scallions in 12 minutes. I felt better after that. I think that I am a Sprint Picker. Just like everything else I do, I'm very energetic for the beginning part (say the first ultimate game), but then lose my momentum after a while. I've never been a marathon-type person. I just never thought this quality would spill over into so many parts of my life. This probably explains why I'm more of a rock-climber than mountaineer. Mountaineering mainly seems to involve hiking for a very long time in very adverse conditions and then hiking some more. And getting up early.

OK, the ice cream's wearing off....

Other things I've done since I last wrote: horseback riding (I was sore for days), wild blueberry picking in NH, played ultimate in Boston and Hudson, biked to work (very scary roads around here - narrow, narrow, narrow), hmmm, not too much else. I'm working as a receptionist at my Mom's Montessori school, which is great fun, and I'm working as migrant worker at an organic farm, which is still good, but much more work and much less money. Lots of extra goodies 'though, like buckets of tomatoes that are overripe, or flowers that aren't quite good enough to sell. Plus I spend a lot of time just by myself, listening to my walkman. I've got to get more CDs, these are the same ones I listened to when I drove across the country the first time... And the second time...

Oh, and I got a 2000 word article published in the local paper - center spread with two pictures! It's mostly just excepts from the May section of this journal, with some extra background info thrown in to tie it to Bolton.

September 11

I pray that everyone else is OK too.

September 12

September 14

For anyone who's been reading the Nostradamus predictions, take a look at this: Predictions debunked
(sorry Deb)

Also, I sent out an e-mail the other day about the nation-wide call to light a candle tonight at 7pm. The message included the line, "WE STAND UNITED - WE WILL NOT TOLERATE TERRORISM." I received a couple thoughtful responses that I felt deserved to be passed along. From Jeff Kraus:

Thanks Tina for passing the word along about the candle vigil. Perhaps it would be also appropriate to send hope for peace. I would be very sad to see more innocent people die in the name of revenge for this outragous event. Let's honor the lives of those who have suffered needlessly here in America and all around the world by setting a new example of dealing with all forms of violence without further violence focussed on entire peoples. My fear is we will only justify terrorist actions by re-perpatrating them in other places. If we are strong as a country, it can stop here.

WE STAND UNITED IN LOVE THROUGHOUT THE WORLD

Tina, Jeff, everyone - Tina, thanks for forwarding the message. From where I'm sitting in Portland, OR, I'm hearing reports of peace vigils across the city, and receiving messages from folks trying to determine the best way to respond. Thanks to Jeff for his words - the idea of the US Senate allocating $40 BILLION to begin a hunt for suspects - and to weed out suspicious terrorist activities - has me more than a little nervous that violence could escalate, more innocent victims will be killed.

Don't be afraid to voice your opposition in the midst of the (deserved) flag waving we are going to be experiencing these next few weeks - you can love a county and love peace at the same time.

thanks, Ann

September 16

This was sent to me via Cap't Bob:

The ultimate weakness of violence is that it is a descending spiral, begetting the very thing it seeks to destroy. . . Returning violence for violence multiplies violence, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.
---Martin Luther King, Jr.

The only safe way to destroy an enemy is to make him your friend.
---Abraham Lincoln

September 18

In was in NYC a week after the attacks. This is what I saw:

Four police officers stand guard outside the Islamic Cultural Center in the Upper East Side of New York City. The domed white mosque squats solidly across 3rd avenue from a store named Bolton's. It's afternoon, seven days after the World Trade Center disappeared from New York's skyline forever, and I'm walking behind three girls in light blue pleated skirts and matching navy blue sweaters. Two of them are trailing clear backpacks, laced with pink designs, on rollers, airline stewardess-style. The scene is curiously normal. The girls walk blithely along, pulling their bookbags with grown-up importance, chatting. I couldn't hear their conversation but their mood seemed to belie a schoolchild's intensity and undefeatable spirit. A woman walks by, talking to her friend, "they should just blow them up" she says, eyeing the mosque. Next I pass a Rite-Aid employee passing out circulars with coupons inside. Everywhere life is returning to normal, and everywhere the Twin Towers are still etched in people's minds.

I had made plans to come to New York City weeks ago, to visit with some friends, to spend a few days climbing in the Catskills and to finally catch a flight out of JFK for San Francisco. On Saturday, however, I decided to delay my trip for a few days. Hanging out in New York City seemed a little insignificant and pointless. I tried to find a way to volunteer but the Red Cross required you to be trained in disaster relief. So I arrived on Monday, watching the white smoke curl up into the sky from lower Manhattan as the train circled around to Penn Station. Today I traveled to Union Square where an impromptu memorial was growing. I wanted to feel for myself the pain and reality of what I had been watching on TV for so many days.

Red Wax from long burned out candles was spilled onto the concrete, eerily resembling a pool of blood. Missing posters were everywhere, pasted onto poles, fences and the concrete tiles. Some are charred from falling onto the burning candles, looking like they too had survived the disaster. I expected the posters and the flowers and the candles. What I didn't expect was the letters. Letters to missing husbands and siblings, letters to the mourners from caring visitors, letters to the general public from anyone. They spoke not only of love for those lost, but also of support for those who are grieving. I was surprised by how many poems, posters and drawing were from people who just wanted so badly to help. Everyone can relate to the loss of a loved one. The children who drew pictures know how much pain is being felt in New York. The church group who created a memorial made entirely of roses, donated by a Japanese woman whose flower show was cancelled, know the pain they would feel if they had lost someone. People from around the city, around the state, around the country want to help. So there are poems and notes and pictures from people who are reaching out to everyone who is hurting, to let them know that they care. "God Cares, we as a country care. Please know that." This is the message that is burning so ferverantly on the steps and fences and monuments of Union Square.

I left Union square and walked down Broadway. Life seemed particularly normal. Vendors selling sunglasses and honeyed nuts lined the street corners, an altercation broke out outside a restaurant, seemingly over a woman, two dancers practiced their moves in a parking lot, cars clogged the streets. But the wisps of conversation had a central theme. Disaster. Tragedy. A couple stood at a street corner, discussing the five stages of grief. On Broome Street I could smell it. Only for a second though, then it was back to normal. Normal city smells.

At Canal street, police lined the barricades, their crisp dark uniforms looking as fresh as their faces gazing out from under stiff caps. These officers looked young. I didn't linger, feeling ashamed to want to see, knowing that the workers needed as little trouble as possible. The end of Broadway was shrouded in smog, a diffuse white cloud obscuring what is no longer there.

From the chalked messages on the street to the e-mails in my inbox the prevailing message from the masses seems to be one of peace. This is not a war we can win with a few well-aimed air strikes. People want to live their lives, and they don't want to suffer the losses inherent in war. There is an unyielding courage too; a belief in America, a coming together as a country. A feeling of caring seems to have been awakened as we realize how we all suffer and feel pain equally.

I will get on my plane on Thursday without fear, without trepidation. There were many references to religious faith in Union square, but there is a faith we all need to have now. A self-fulfilling faith. A faith in our country. By getting on that plane without hesitation I am not giving into a terrorist's desire to generate fear. In order to prevent the terrorists from truly succeeding in their mission, we must believe that as a country, as a city, as an individual, we can continue as strongly as we've done in the past. We must not let our lives be governed by fear and uncertainty. They can destroy our buildings and kill our people but they cannot take away our freedom and our spirit. I believe our citizens can rise to the challenge, as those girls walking home from school, bouncing back with the resiliency of youth. Yes, many things have changed in the past week, and one of them is this; "We will no longer sit blithly by as terrorists tell us what to do. We will fight back."