Oops, I Wandered Off

I've been a bit of a flake lately, a bit lost in the land of Nod, perhaps....anyway, I've been gathering inspiration from the positivity of the past these past few nights while doing some creating. And for that, tonight's studio session is dedicated to John Sebastian.

Thank you, LexiLove for reminding me to put it all into the right hands

Eradicate Poverty

We don't have the option to do nothing.

58: THE FILM Trailer from LIVE58NOW on Vimeo.

I Left My Heart in San Francisco

My San Francisco money clip was featured in another treasury, check it out!

Web Feature

One of my pieces was recently featured in this seasonal treasury, enjoy!

Back in Action!

I have re-opened my studio and my etsy shop! Please come on by and take a gander!

Helping Hands

Please check out this vimeo compilation I made from my time spent this year with Helping Hands India.

Helping Hands from Baby Ruth on Vimeo.

(Photos by Nina and myself)

Trying to....

The NeverEnding Story....Sans Falcor

I've realized

that there really is no end result.

As far as making goes

I find it's all about the process.

As far as life goes

I've realized it's just the same.

If it were all about an outcome,

then what?

Do you take a photograph

of what it looks like when you get there

hang it over the mantel

and sink back into your chair?

If you could be completely fulfilled

before the end of your human life

what would you do?

A life of constant goals and aspirations

of journeys climbing mountains

and crossing valleys

never has a finish line.

Even the old folks rocking on their porch chairs know this.

They still travel in their minds

or live vicariously through the youth.

Their hearts are still in the game.

There are no endings

only beginnings

only treasure to seek

and souls to rescue.

There is no stopping point

but there are plenty of vistas.

The pauses are imperative;

one cannot eat and eat

without taking a minute to digest.

You stop -- not stopped

your particles are buzzing --

and digest the peaks

digest the canyons and the pastures

digest the lives you've witnessed

and the marks they've left on your own

make sense of the directions you went

realize the necessity in the roads you chose

even if they were filled with potholes.

But you never stop at the goal.

There are moments to take action

and their are moments to absorb.

One is equally as important as the other.

I used to be afraid of change

now I fear the redundant.

Change is the heartbeat of life

the current that propels vitality through the body

the repetition that keeps things flowing.

Even the swallows thirst for change.

They'll fly south

but they always come back home.

Keep moving, keep moving

because the breeze is blowing the minutes away

and the times are changing quickly.

Ready or not

the docks are full

and the ships are sailing

and nobody likes to be left behind.

They're sailing in a circle

because that's all we've got for now

It's all new and it's changing

but it's the same and repeating.

Keep all your clothes

because you'll be wearing them again.

Time is an illusion

I'm motion

you're motion

and we're all getting dizzy

trying to balance on the same spinning globe.

We have our goals

set, accomplish, repeat.

set, accomplish, repeat.

and I've realized

that there really is no end result.

-h-

Losing a Brother and Sister

Sometimes it seems like all I do is say goodbyes. Just this time it wasn't me leaving. Last year my family hosted a sister and brother from Latvia, Santa (now 14) and Olegs (now 10), for the summer. It was through this hosting program that I came to know of Helping Hands India, and what led me in the direction of my latest journey, but that's another story for another time. Santa and Olegs quickly became a part of our family and connected with each of us. Not to mention physically they fit right in! The end of summer goodbye was rough to say the least, and just speaking about them over the past year always made me a little weepy. I spoke to them a few times via middle of the night international calls to my cell phone, but other than that communication was minimal. We were told that because we weren't adopting them, we wouldn't be able to host them again, so that they could be hosted by other potential adoptive families, which they were over the past Christmas.

Olegs, me, and Santa

The family of ten that hosted them after us were very interested in adopting Santa and Olegs, but the two declined the offer, apparently they didn't feel it wasn't a good fit. They were picked up by a new hosting agency and I was elated to find out we would foster them again this summer. Upon my return from India, there they were splashing around in the pool, my long lost brother and sister!

Olegs, Violet, Santa, Clementine, and Otto

I have always been the baby of the family, so getting the opportunity to be a big sister was an exciting (and at times, exhausting) change of pace. Santa is a sweet girl, a beautiful, blossoming teenager who swoons at the sight of Justin Bieber. It was fun to do big sister things like take her shopping, listen to music, play cards, paint our nails, and talk about girl things with her. Olegs is a little rough around the edges, but he cottoned to me from the get-go. The youngest of the family, I tend to have the most patience, letting him hang on me and follow me around, not to mention beat me up on a daily basis with his karate moves. At night though, after the witching hour when he ran up and down the stairs, from one end of the house to the other making noise and jumping on every piece of furniture, he would settle down and we would head upstairs for our nightly routine. We would snuggle up in his bed, him with his head on my shoulder (any type of affection from him was extremely rare) and read from a book of Curious George stories. This was the most special part of my day.

My parents Dovey and Beard with Santa and Olegs

A few days ago we had to say our goodbyes once again. The hardest part about this is not knowing if we will ever see them again. There's no way to know if we will be able to host them again, or if they will even be in the program again now that they have declined an adoption from a another family.

The farm has been pretty quiet the last few days. Three kids (my nieces and nephew) instead of five, is a big change, and without Olegs, the whole bunch has settled down quite a bit. Though it's been a little more relaxing around here, I can't explain the void here without them. I'll miss the way Olegs would chime in while I was reading, 'George was a good little monkey....'and always very curious!'', that he would only show affection when no one was looking, or how when he walked behind me I knew to brace myself because he'd be riding on my back within seconds. I'll miss the way Santa sang Justin Bieber quietly as she bounced around the house, asked me to do her hair, shouted 'Love ya!' every time I said goodnight or left the house, and appointed herself as best friend and caretaker of my two-year-old niece Clementine.

My Sister Jane with the whole brood (they could easily all be hers!)

It breaks my heart to think of Olegs, a vulnerable little boy who has been tossed around from family to family, or orphanage to orphanage, who has a hard time keeping his anger in check. He just wants to be loved and wants to show love but has a hard time allowing himself, but finally began to open up and feel like a part of a real family this time around. When he left, he not only threw his arms around me, but whispered 'I love you' in my ear. How can you say goodbye to that?? I didn't go to the airport this time, but my parents said he cried all the way through security. This from the little boy I have never seen shed a tear. I imagine him back at 'home' in Latvia, living with the 'mean old woman' as they call her, missing us and feeling angry and alone, just wanting someone to read him Curious George. I have never had a brother, but I loved every second of it when I was given this opportunity.

I don't know if I will see Santa and Olegs again, but I pray that I will, whether it be next year, or thirty years from now. I hope that we have affected their lives as much as they have affected ours, and that they will be a part of the change that their society needs, and become the parents that theirs never were.

More Support from TOMS!

A little over a month ago, I had written to TOMS Shoes in hopes to tell the story of Helping Hands and gain awareness for orphan children of India. They posted my bit on their community wall and it has received over 2,000 facebook 'likes'! I just received an email from TOMS announcing that they have now posted my story with additional photos from my time in India on their administrators blog. I'm really hoping that this exposure will help to get more children sponsored and spread the word so that there can be more Helping Hands all over the world! Please check out the post!

A Belated Tribute

Unfortunately I was unable to post this on Father's Day as I couldn't get to an internet source in time, so I apologize that this tribute is a few days late.

My Dad is the greatest. There were times when I didn't like to admit how much I'm like my Dad, but I am now proud to say that this apple didn't fall far from the tree (pun intended). From the day I was welcomed into this world my Dad has been a hero of mine, though I haven't always expressed it. As a child I was a mini Winston, a toe headed toddler with his identical invisible eyebrows and lashes; I think I was born with the beginnings of a farmer's crow's feet and his trademark forehead lines. Growing up, I enjoyed trying to show him how brave I was every chance I got, though many times his encouragement got us both into trouble....'Hey Hann, I dare you to do a front flip off that high dive!' or 'Why don't you hold up this picnic table while I mow underneath?' or 'Here's a jackknife and a bar of soap.'

Beard showing me around Roger's Lake and telling me stories of his childhood there

While my Mom sat wringing her hands over my adventurous activities, my Dad would walk by and wave to me as I played on the roof, or talk to me through the window as I balanced in the bed of the pickup truck next to the carcass of a dead deer. He had me driving a stick shift by the age of 10, illegally on the road by 14, taught me how to spin donuts on snow days, and I can proudly say that these days I change a tire like I'm in a NASCAR pit crew. We spent Sunday afternoons watching the races, eating salted hamburger meat while he quizzed me on drivers names and car numbers. We argued over our favorites, but he ended up buying me a cap sporting the logo of a driver he didn't prefer at my first Daytona 500 anyway. He taught me how to throw and catch, never missed a softball game, and beamed when my coach nicknamed me 'Slugger.'

Rhode Island College Gymnastics #1 Fans

Even after I abandoned softball in pursuit of my gymnastics career, he sat in the stands, giant video camera perched on his shoulder, my routines memorized, saying I was robbed when I received what he thought was an unfair score. In college he remained my number one fan, attending every meet, the only father that knew the names of all of our tricks and skills, his voice the one I could hear above all the rest cheering me on, proud no matter what the outcome. Though we are farmers by trade, he supported me wholeheartedly when I decided to follow my passions and become a metalsmith. We enjoy sitting together in my studio (though we argued over the space) discussing process, materials, and techniques, and he even bought me my first torch.

My Dad, Mom, and I on the Blue Ridge Parkway

A manly laboring man, my Dad is still quite sensitive, compassionate, and loving. He has been married to his sweetheart since the age of 19, and together they have shown my sisters and I how hard work and perseverance pay off. They bought our farm when they were younger than I am and basically re-rooted it, struggling for a long time to build what is now a haven of a home for our family and its future generations. They taught us how to work the land, to provide for our community, and work hard to accomplish our goals. Together my parents have shared plenty of hardships, building our lives from the ground up, and I can proudly say that after 39 years, my Mom and Dad are more in love than they have ever been. They've given me hope for new beginnings, shown me that I can do anything I set my mind to, and above all else, instilled in me the importance of a strong family. My Dad's best friends are his siblings, his life revolves around his family, and he has taught me what it takes to be a strong member of that team, that no matter what you never give up on your family, you must always support them. He is a great father, caring foster parent, and an amazing 'Beard' who's grandchildren think the world of him.

My beautifully eccentric family

I have to hand it to my Dad, he survived 30 years as the only man in a house filled with strong willed females. Though he's grateful for my brother-in-law and he celebrated the day his grandson was finally born, I think he secretly enjoyed the days when he was the only male, and he raised his daughters to be as strong and self-reliant as any sons would be.


Though we have experienced our fare share of arguments -- during my teenage years we constantly knocked our hard heads together -- my Dad is someone that I am very proud of, and feel so blessed to have in my life. So Daddy Loaf, I miss you more than I ever have and I can't wait to see you soon. Thank you for everything, you are the best Dad I could ever ask for. Happy Father's Day! I love you.

My father, he taught me how to sow, told me that the land could teach me how to grow. If I could keep open my heart, never be apart from the ebb and flow of life.
-Chris Dorman

So Long Sister

I cannot believe how fast my time in India has flown by. Tomorrow I leave for Italy and Spain, and in a few weeks I will be back in the United States. It seems like only yesterday I was laying awake in the middle night on my stiff cot in Bangalore wishing that I could just go home. It only took a few days for me to settle in and feel at home here. It is hard to believe it's been almost five months already, but at the same time it feels like I've been here forever. At times I have felt that I am really ready to go home....when the hawkers won't leave me alone, or I just want to feel clean for once, or when I fear for my life like on last nights treacherous bus ride....but when it comes down to it, I am really sad to be leaving. Luckily my goodbyes to New Hope were dealt with a few weeks ago, so now there's just a few more that I've got to say. India, thank you for teaching me patience, humility, hospitality, and how to have an appreciation for chaos, yet find peace within it. I will miss your spicy deliciousness, blazing hot sun, surprise monsoons, and mystery smells. I love you, and I will be back.

The next goodbye is going to be a bit harder to say.

Our first date

Last night I sat alone in a dark rickshaw. We had just made the treacherous journey from Parmarth Niketan Ashram with all our heavy bags, weaving through a human sea interspersed with cows and kamikaze motorbikes. Once we hit the metal suspension foot bridge the power went and lighting flashed in the distance, quickly followed by heavy wind and rain. Since going back was not an option (we had a bus to catch and there is no other way across) we tried to cross as fast as we could, dodging cows and people in the dark on the four foot wide walkway, praying to make it across before it was struck with lightning. Seconds after setting foot on land the monsoon rains started. Eventually we made it to the road and hopped into the rickshaw. No sooner had we breathed a sigh of relief than Nina realized she left her camera all the way back at point A. So there I sat waiting with all of our belongings while Nina ran back through the weaving streets, across the bridge, through Swarg Ashram to Parmarth Niketan, and back again. As I waited, trying to share my biscuits with some Indian children (they were too busy staring at me to take any) I couldn't help but feel a little proud that for once, it wasn't me who left something behind! When did I suddenly become the responsible one? Anyone that knows me will tell you that I am infamous for losing things, breaking things, missing trains, planes, and automobiles, and making judgement calls that leave me banging my head against the wall. Suddenly, I am the one that holds the key to our room at the guesthouse, I am the one that keeps the bus tickets safe, I am the one who still has my ID and credit cards!

Elephant Festival, Jaipur

With very few exceptions, I haven't spent more than five minutes away from Nina in five months. Pretty soon I am going to have a quiet room all to myself, no one to have pillow talk with at night, no one to trip over on the way to the bathroom, no one to discuss weird Indian ways with. I am going to miss this girl more than I could have predicted. We fared pretty well given the circumstances; we were practically on top of each other living in a shoebox for several months, swabbing scabies and picking lice off orphan children, eating rice and lentils with our hands for every meal. Surprisingly we practically never fought, missed each other the short moments we were apart, and began to finish each other's thoughts and sentences. We both went through a lot of changes here. Together we experienced some important realizations of self, dealt with family issues, frustrations, triumphs, ironing out the past and trying to see into the future. We went through a life-changing period together and that's not something that happens with every friendship. Nina has been a huge part of a turning point in my life and I am so thankful that we found each other when we did.

Mustachio'd toads

So Nina....I love you girl. Thank you for everything. Thanks for getting me through those first few days, and for becoming my sister in the ones that followed. I'll miss our lists, quotes, prayers, brett/trevor lovefests, reading and writing parties, and manifestation sessions. You are going to do great things -- don't doubt yourself, follow your personal legend, and don't forget that the Universe always has your back! So do I. Travel safe (please don't go off with any more old men to play the bongos unless someone else is with you) and I will see you again soon. Te Amo!

Eternity of Uncertainty

I've had quite a bit of difficulty attempting to quiet my mind lately. It seems like I've opened the floodgates and the thoughts just keep coming and coming and the more that fill my brain the further away I feel from understanding anything. I'm leaving India in a few days and I'm not really sure how I feel about it. On one hand I'm stoked -- I'm about to go to Europe to have some grand adventures with my best friend/soul mate, and in a few weeks I'm going to see my family whom I miss terribly. On the other hand, I'm nervous to go back to a place filled with a bunch of different responsibilities, a ton of people I know, work (ugh), and things, so many things. The thought of it is slightly overwhelming. It kind of feels like I just escaped my life for half a year. Now I am supposed to go back, re-join American society, and make something of my life.

I've said that permanence makes me anxious, that the thought of commitment makes me feel trapped. While that's true, I can't help but wonder if that complete lack of stability and structure is just as bad? As I'm preparing to step back into the real world of my life (which right now feels like a disorganized ball of motion -- coming and going, starting and stopping, shifting piles of matter, no anchors except for my family, always looking for some new goal so that I can't settle into a routine and risk getting stuck), I find myself comparing my life with others my age and questioning my choices. I look at my friends from high school and college -- some are getting married, most have careers or at least a steady income, some own homes -- and I start to feel like a floater. I haven't lived anywhere for more than a six month stretch in over 8 years. I often work seasonally with my family, then lock myself in my studio experimenting with metals and patinas only to realize that selling my artwork isn't half as much fun as making it, and once I've made enough money to escape, I run away for a while. When I get back I do it all over again. I don't stay anywhere long enough to allow a serious relationship, half of my belongings are packed up in a corner somewhere, and my brain is always working on my next adventure. If I had to stay in one place for a while, something might snag me and keep me there and then what if I can't leave again?

I keep moving because I fear regret. I don't want to get old and realize I didn't do all the things I dreamed about. But when I take the time to think about the rest of my life, the stability of the future -- things that easily slip your mind when you're climbing mountains on the other side of the world or drinking chai with monks -- I start to wonder if I'm going to get old and have regrets about not staying put, at least long enough to let something germinate. Sometimes I worry that one day I will return home -- wherever that may be -- cultured, educated, experienced in the ways of the world, and....alone. What good are all of these things if you have no one to share them with? I keep myself moving, because if that something, or someone, were to snag me, I might have to compromise. If I get a permanent job, I might have to compromise. (I've checked the want ads and those looking for metalsmithing acrobatic writers willing to care for orphans, travel often and take breaks for afternoon naps are few and far between.) The thought of having a partnership with someone or getting that dream job is nice, but the feeling that sinks in next is where? I'd have to choose somewhere and possibly stay there. The notion of one place is frightening, and even more so, the thought of making the decision to do so. I know I need to stop worrying about the how. I have to trust that God has a plan for me, and if I can just quiet my mind enough to listen to the directions of my personal legend, everything will fall into place.

My brain is in overdrive. Spending long afternoons reading and writing over lassi's in a rooftop cafe, hiking 10 miles to no particular destination at 4:30 in the morning, watching pilgrims bathe in the Ganges, holding yoga poses as the sun rises, methodically peeling aromatic lychee's....I have had nothing but time to think. The amount of introspection I have experienced lately is overwhelming me and rather than feeling enlightened, I'm feeling heavy with the burden of all this new information, like my arms are shaking under the weight of it but I can't find a place to set it down. It seems like the more I learn, the less anything makes sense. The clearer I am, the foggier my vision.

the more I know the less I understand
the taller I grow, the more the land expands
-HRS

Nina and I are headed off in two very different directions. She will go off to college, experiencing new people, a new place, a new education, while I will continue on this quest to, for lack of a better analogy, 'find myself.' If I keep walking this circular path that leads me back to where I started, I'll start to lose count of my laps. I have to remember that everything is connected, everything is circular in one sense or another. Even if you keep walking straight, eventually you'll end up in familiar territory. Maybe I just need to pause more often; take the time to absorb all that this world has to offer me, to remain appreciative of this incredible life that I've been given. Maybe if I can slow down and realize that the world isn't going to disintegrate under my feet, I'll be able to see that it's not about how much ground you cover and how fast, but the beauty found in each step that really matters.

the river of life flows on by

draining slowly towards the sea
the water returns to the sky
only to be re-released
-CRB

XGAMES

I like to think of budget travel in India as an extreme sport. You have to be willing to challenge yourself, sacrifice your comfort, and sometimes even risk bodily injury. You've got to be open minded and go with the flow, and you definitely can't be too squeamish. I never thought I'd get used to seeing people pooing out in the open, perched atop a heap of hot garbage, but these days I walk by unfazed. You wont catch me doing it, but it's no longer something I think twice about. In fact, I kind of understand their reasoning. Cleanliness does not top the list of priorities here, and that goes especially for bathroom facilities. I pray for pit toilets at roadside stops because I don't want my bare bum anywhere near a public toilet seat. Hotel and restaurant bathrooms aren't usually much better, though we have found a few 'gems' here and there.

Contrary to what the Village People said, don't stay at the Y.M.C.A.

Power outages are common and should be expected on a daily basis. Hotels/hostels/guesthouses and restaurants are no exception to this rule.

Here Nina demonstrates how the water from our guesthouse sink doesn't turn on at the faucet, but from the knob under the sink, and the refuse pours out of a hose plugged into nothing, escaping through a drain in the floor. (Totally normal.)

Traveling from place to place is also risky business. They don't call India a subcontinent for nothing; this place is HUGE, and the population is in the billions. Air travel is the most expeditious and efficient form of travel within the country, but expensive, so this frugal girl prefers to stick to the roads. Traffic is insane, seemingly flowing without rhyme or reason. Taxi, auto-rickshaw, bicycle, two-wheeler, car, or bus, no one yields and they pretty much all follow the unspoken rule of 'if you're in gear, your horn should be blowing.' This doesn't bother me too much (occasionally when I am a pedestrian in the mix) and our preferred form of long distance travel is by overnight bus. We usually book a non A/C double sleeper, about a 3 x 6' coffin that feels like a chariot ride to the depths of hell. That description may sound negative, but I find it quite exhilarating! I always look forward to a long bus ride through the muggy Indian night with the breeze (albeit filled with dust and the sudden wall of foul pungence from time to time), not knowing where I am exactly, allowing myself to relax at the mercy of the maniac driver who clearly throws all caution (and speed limits) out the window when he thinks everyone is asleep. The one problem with bus travel is that we never quite know when to get off, as they pretty much never announce it, and this has kinked our plans before. Even once you get off at your 'destination' things can get tricky. Just the other day upon our arrival to Rishikesh we had to take 2 buses, 2 autos, a boat (that we hopped on without realizing we needed to buy tickets first), and a hike up a steep hillside in a thunder storm, all with all of our possessions strapped to our backs. As I sat on the boat pegged to the bench by all of my heavy cargo, my specs streaked with rain water, I just had to laugh because, what else can you do?

Nina, early morning in our double sleeper coffin

You've got to be up for anything, excited by new experiences even when they're weird or uncomfortable, and be willing to fly by the seat of your pants sometimes. (Nina has reluctantly learned that this is the case more often than not when traveling with me as I am not much for planning and tend to be late a lot; the latter actually being somewhat useful here as 'Indian Time' gives a large window of leeway when it comes to being on time.) All of this may be a turn off to some, but I find it exciting, fun, amusing, and character building. I thought I was open minded and rolled with the punches before, but through my experiences this year, I have really learned to appreciate everything for what it is as well as what it can teach me. I am able to see annoyances or frustrating situations as pending blessings and it has improved my overall outlook tremendously. When each day is unpredictable, filled with last minute decisions, surrounded by less than sanitary conditions, eating loads of feisty spices, and sleeping on questionable surfaces, all the while trying to avoid getting lice, scabies, malaria, or dengue, how can you not be having the time of your life? I've never been one to turn down a challenge, as each one makes us stronger and more defined.

An Indian fire extinguisher

I am hooked to the freedom of travel. the feeling that no one is in charge of me but me. I don't answer to a boss, or feel stressed to be on time, and no one even minds if you take long afternoon naps in loungy tree-house restaurants. Nothing is permanent, everything is constantly changing, and though to some it may seem backwards, I find comfort and safety in that.

White and Nerdy

Call me naive, or this statement cliche, but I honestly don't think about or dwell on skin color. For the past four months I lived as the resident whitey in a town full of Indian people, yet I felt like everyone else. Only when we go to touristy areas am I reminded that I stick out like a sore thumb here (most of the tourists are traveling Indians.) I might be able to sneak under the radar with a head of dark hair, but the blonde/pale combo gives me away right off the bat. At first when people asked to take my photograph, I didn't mind, they were just curious and I put on a smile and posed with their babies. I even signed an autograph. But sometimes it gets to be a little much.

The view from our room at the Beach Rd YMCA

Nina and I have begun the backpacking portion of our stay in India, starting with the east coast beach town of Visakhapatnam. Literally the only white people in the entire city, I wasn't surprised when we were asked for photos, but when we hit the beach things got weird. Visakhapatnam is very different from it's west coast sister Goa. Goa was filled with bikini baring travellers from all over, while here there is no way you can get away with showing even your lower legs without attracting stares. We headed to Rushikonda beach and walked far past everyone there so we could hide out and swim in peace. I could already be considered risque -- when the wind blew the bottoms of my knee caps peeked out from under my dress. I'm sorry, but it was hot. We dove right into the Indian Ocean (via Bay of Bengal) and were peacefully enjoying the salty water until 4 boys showed up and decided to loiter around and harass us. At first it was fine, we played a little catch with them (remaining submerged to the neck of course, but still shocking them by being girls who could both catch and throw) but after an hour and a half or so we were tired and ready to get out but the boys wouldn't leave. Normally I would just get out of the water, but I wasn't in the mood to risk being stoned to death (just kidding.) Anyway, after what felt like forever and the boys trying to lure us out by acting like they were going to steal our belongings, I had to come out of the water and literally chase them away, bikini and all. And boy did they run. One thing is certain -- Indian men are not used to a woman with a strong personality, that's for sure.

Rushikonda Beach, Visakhapatnam, Andhra Pradesh

Now normally, we can gauge how interesting what we are doing is by the amount of other fair skinned folks surrounding us. In general, the fewer white people around, the cooler the thing we are seeing, the further off the beaten path we have gotten. But sometimes you have to go there, I mean who travels around India and doesn't see the Taj Mahal? So upon reaching Delhi we felt we blended in a bit more, the people here have become somewhat jaded to the appearance of westerners. But contrary to what we may have thought, the opposite was true when we headed into Agra to see the Taj. Upon our arrival we realized that the bus we thought we booked just to go to Agra was actually a tour which we had no intention of taking part in. Annoyed and realizing we'd have to shell out more rupees to get back without spending a whole day in a bunch of forts being severely overcharged due to our foreign appearance, we were off on the wrong foot as we headed through the gates of the palace. Surprisingly we were the only white people there and were bombarded. Not only were people taking our pictures, many without asking, just shoving a camera in our face, but people would just turn and gawk at us, some smirking or laughing. We tried our best to keep our cool, but I think the heat had gotten to us and we started refusing photos and ignoring hecklers who wouldn't leave us alone. Unfortunately it put a bit of a damper on the whole Taj Mahal experience, but part of me is glad that it's over and we can go back to some more backwoods type of traveling.

The Taj Mahal

All in all, it was pretty cool. We got to see one of the wonders of the world, and now we can move on to some more adventurous endeavors up north. We have been really lucky to experience some incredible things that most people would never get to see or do here. Working with orphans, staying in a tribal village, and living an authentic Indian life for several months definitely makes up for the nuisance of pesky tourists.

The Road to Bhadrachalam

At around 5am on May 31st Nina and I hopped into the Qualis along with George, Tataji, Sunder, and Simon to make the long journey to the small village of Maredubaka near the city of Bhadrachalam, home of the Koya tribes. We blew our final kisses to New Hope and sadly realized as we pulled out of Bens Sathya Enclave, that it would be the last time. The trip was to take 15 hours, but due to something we like to call 'Indian Time,' making a thousand stops, lollygagging if you will, it took closer to a full day. The previous day the Qualis had spent all afternoon in the shop, but on the way we still spent an hour at a service center in the middle of nowhere, Andhra Pradesh, and two hours on the side of the road with a flat tire. (It took all I had not to step in to help the men, as tire changing is my strong suit. It turns out they were missing part of the jack.) Nina and I spent the first hour climbing trees with iguanas and watching giant wild hogs play in the swamp, and the second guzzling water and trying to keep from getting heat exhaustion underneath an outside fan. I'm pretty sure we spent the past few days in the hottest place on earth.

'Shark Cows' in the paddy behind the village

We awoke at about 2am as the vehicle crawled over rough terrain, lined with giant palms and an occasional hut. Suddenly we saw two figures standing in the road, and within minutes we were ushered into our room for the night, the village church, a thatched-palm hut, walls built semi-open from sticks spread far enough to see out and let the wind blow through. Our beds were so comfortable, homemade from four wooden posts with woven canvas straps that acted like a hammock, and the room was illuminated by a homemade kerosene lamp. We went to sleep alone, but awoke in the middle of the night to a room full of women and children, rain pouring down outside.

Eating breakfast in our hut

When we got up for the day Sreenu's wife Melanie (the couple that will be running the children's home here) came in and helped us get ready for the day. She brought us to the 'bathroom,' a sand pit surrounded by a fence of palm fronds. As we walked in she said 'urine' and gestured to the bathroom, then held up two fingers and pointed to the fields. Nina and I tried to hide our amusement, but I lost it when I stepped inside the fence and saw what I was to use for a toilet. There was a sand pit and three large stones and I looked at Nina and said 'What am I supposed to do with this?' After a few moments of attempting to muffle our laughter, she said 'Just flip over a rock, pee under it, and flip it back over!' (for a photo of the bathroom, see Nina's blog) We had no idea if that was indeed the way to do it, but the language barrier was too high to try to ask. Besides, it was pretty funny. After that, we 'bathed' with a pitcher out of a giant pot while standing on the rocks. There is no running water, and no electricity aside from one building with a small current box.

Nina under a tall palm out in a paddy

By late morning the villagers had begun to gather for the ceremony celebrating the inauguration of the children's home. It was hot, but at the last minute, Nina and I decided to don our sarees, so George sent Melanie and some other women in to help dress us. I felt really honored to be a part of such an important day for them. George, Nina, and I each got to cut a ribbon in the doorways of the thatched roof hut which will be home to thirty children, all total orphans. We were the first white people to ever set foot in their village and they were so happy that we wore their traditional dress for the occasion. At the conclusion of the inauguration, some of the adults performed a traditional Koya dance and then everyone ate a special lunch of spicy meat curry.

The New Hope Children's Home in Maredubaka, home of the Koya tribe. (The beds outside were where we slept the second night.)

The men and women performing a traditional Koya dance

The heat was oppressive, and we retreated to our hut for a long afternoon nap (while villagers and children stared at us from the doorway.) That evening we went to Melanie and Sreenu's house for dinner where I sampled some wild boar that they had hunted specifically for George's visit. He is coveted here, everywhere for that mater; he does so much for so many people that they treat him like a king. That night we brought our beds outside and slept under the stars, cooled by a fantastic breeze. The giant palm trees sounded like ocean waves with the wind passing through their fronds. We slept like babies. We awoke with the sun and set out early for some Koya villages really far out in the bush.

We had to cover some rough terrain to get to the villages, and when we got there the children ran. We are the first white people they'd ever encountered and the sight of us was frightening. They slowly started to come out of hiding, and came to retrieve the biscuits we brought for them. The children were absolutely beautiful. The needs were so great here -- there was no running water, no electricity, no proper sanitation, but more immediate were their needs for proper food and clothing.

Three Koya siblings stand with their mother

Many of the children were covered in a bubbling skin rash that looked incredibly painful, and the clothes they wore were the threadbare remains of the single set George brought them a year ago. We spoke a few words to them, translated by George into Telugu, and by Moses into Koya. (Telugu is the state language of Andhra Pradesh, Koya is the spoken language of the tribes here.)

A little tribal boy most likely suffering from a bad case of worms

The village stood about 12-13 pothole filled km from the main road. With no means of transportation, and no doctors in the village, if someone needs hospitalization, they must create a makeshift gurney out of two wooden posts and old strips of fabric, and walk that distance carrying them. Since medical attention is so hard to obtain, many parents do not get treated and die, leaving their children orphaned. It is a sad fact, and it leaves an overwhelming feeling of helplessness if you let what that means really seep in. There is so much that these people need, not in the form of imparting our ways of life on them, but in basic needs -- food, shelter, medical care. When there is so much to do, where do you start?

The Villagers

The answer is love. You start with love. You give them a smile and make them feel safe. You fill their bellies before you try to help them change their lives. You meet their needs and help educate them so that they can transform their village's future generations. The task of this transformation is daunting. The change itself isn't up to us. As outsiders, we can help to provide the means, but the rest is up to them.

* * * *

I feel so blessed that I have been given all of these amazing opportunities. This last one, coming to stay with the Koya people, being welcomed into their village, treated as family, and to see firsthand the ways of people that are so different from my own, has been absolutely incredible. This is something I must keep doing, I cannot allow myself to become jaded or easily fall back into my comfortable life west of here. I need to keep submerging myself in this and trying to make a difference. I have been given so much and I feel that it is my responsibility and my purpose to go forth with that excess and help someone else. I don't know where or when my next move will be, but I don't need to, because when the time is right my next opportunity will be presented to me.

I know I will accept it with vigor.

The Final Hours

Man, this really was the longest goodbye. Not only did we have the dreaded anticipation of leaving our family here for the last few weeks, thanks to our several farewell dinners and programs and the fact that we kept pushing back our departure time, by the end of it no one really believed we were ever going to leave. After what we thought was our final goodbye, a tearful send-off as the kids walked off to their first day of school, vehicular issues caused us to postpone till later in the afternoon, then evening, then the middle of the night. It was reminiscent of when I left to come here; after a dreadful goodbye leaving my nieces and nephew crying themselves to sleep, my flight was cancelled due to a big snow storm and we had to do it all over again the next day. At least it bought us a few more games of cricket and hide and seek and one last walk to town enjoying fresh sweet mangoes and soaking up the sights, sounds, and smells of our little town while the sticky juice dripped down our chins and forearms.

(Below photos: Swetha, Nakshathra, and Thomas getting weepy at a farewell program)

I was surprised that the kids had as hard a time with it as we did. The girls cried in anticipation of our last few days and the boys begged us not to go. Everyone asked us when we'd be back and we had no definitive answer for them. All I could say is that I would see them again.

I'm not sure what it is I'll miss the most. The sounds of them calling my name and never pronouncing it correctly (usually NanaAunty or YonnaAunty, with the exception of Ramiah who always called me Meena), Nishmitha's cackling laughter, Nithin giving me the 'OK' sign and yelling 'Supere!' whenever we shared a banana, thumb wars with Thomas, dramatic readings of The 3 Little Pigs with Nina for Sharavan and Thangmaigam, Ganesh's sweet face and heart of gold, Swetha's unwavering faith and constant sucking up, the girls fighting to brush my hair before dinner, having at least 3 boys hold each of my hands on evening walks, or comforting fragile Nakshathra when she missed her mom at night. I don't think there is one thing I will miss more than another. Each of these kids has touched my heart and left their mark. I can only hope that I have done the same for them.

The HHI Team: Praim, Bendang (Uncle Ben), George, Jyothi, and Sabita

I came here a stranger. I left part of a family, a team, a community. My heart ached not only saying goodbye to the children, but when the man at the '7 Days' in town wished me a 'happy journey' and we purchased our last pineapple from our friend at the fruit stand. I really felt like I was leaving home, only this time I didn't know when I was coming back.

These people have made such an impact on me, I cannot begin to thank them for all they have done in my life. In adapting to a lifestyle and a culture completely foreign to me, I have been faced with a lot of my own shortcomings and in overcoming them, have conquered many of my personal fears as well. I can't imagine not coming here....I don't know what I would have done or where I would have ended up. All I know is that this was where I was meant to be. This was my plan, and though I am sad to see this chapter come to an end, I am exhilarated by the possibilities that my future holds and the opportunities that lie ahead.