The Journey Thus Far

You could say it started with dream, a class, a calling, or a European man spotting land amongst shipwrecks. You could say it started in me, in the cosmos (or the heavens, whichever direction you point to.) You could say it started in any or all of these places and you would be right. But I have been learning lately that it is not about where you begin but where you end.
I have a tendency to want to write a story for myself. I fill my life with people who have the words or experience to inspire me to write down new words or new phrases and claim them as something I can relate to. I always begin, I’m great at beginnings, and I almost always have an idea of where it will end but it’s the middle ground that gets me stuck in sinking sand. I hate writing the middle – it’s too hard.
That is why I am going to Africa. It was a dream, yes, in eighth grade. It was a Christianity in Africa class I took in the fall of 2010. It was a calling I answered to the tuning of a guitar at a camp, in St. Louis, in the ninth grade. It was a man who wanted to feed his family so he sailed and landed on the shore of Africa. He took not their food but their hands and their feet and he saw he could feed not just his family but a country, a new world. It’s the selfish tendency in me to want to see the world so I can hold it in my hands and say, “I understand now.” It’s the duty I bear to lose myself so that I can find myself (how silly that must seem to anyone who doesn’t believe.)
Most of all, I’m going to Stellenbosch, South Africa because I know it will be hard. I know that all the things I use to build myself up will be brought down. I’m not so naïve as to think that things won’t be similar there. Trust me, I know the words to Weight of Lies (Avett Brothers) “The weight of lies will bring you down, and follow you to every town cause nothing happens here that doesn’t happen there. So when you run make sure you run to something and not away from cause lies don’t need an airplane to chase you down.”
I’ve already experienced the weight of lies, just in packing. The other night I found myself standing before a mirror, dressed in an outfit that I was sure would be my “first day of adventure” outfit. And I pictured what I know of study abroad pictures to be: girl standing on top of mountain, throwing hands in the air as if it to say “take that, Oxford! What did you do today? I climbed this mountain.” (I embrace the fact that not all described pictures mean such things, hopefully you see already the pride I struggle with.)
Part of going somewhere foreign is wanting to build yourself up, because you know so much of yourself will be brought down by the very fact that for probably the first time in your life you are the outsider. You are the foreigner.
And I’m reminded: I’m going to Africa to lose myself, so that I may find myself. Or rather, to find something much bigger than myself that to claim it as me would be ridiculous. And if you follow the promises, follow the early travelers on this journey you know exactly what I’m talking about. And if you don’t, I hope you are intrigued enough to want to know more. Trust me, that’s where I began.
Here’s to the middle ground and running to something, rather than from.

- A

Bon Iver

You like Bon Iver, too? No way! Cool. Here's a free download off the new album. Thanks Nick for sharing the music gospel with me.

CLICK HERE FOR HIPSTER GOODNESS

- A

Instagram

I've been instagrammed. I said I wouldn't, couldn't, shouldn't jump on the band wagon and I did. It brings me joy therefore if you judge me for it you are a joy killer. Live with that. Peace out hipsters-who-use-to-wear-abercrombie-like-me.

- A

Chacos

If found, please return.
Object of displacement: Chacos and Australian tan (preferably the Chacos)
- A

Kayak

I don't know how to kayak and I think I value my life too much to try an endeavor such as kayaking the Mississippi River, but that is exactly what two of my friends are doing this summer to raise money for Interfaith Compassion Ministries and homelessness in Oxford, MS. Homelessness in Oxford, MS? Yeah you heard right. Who would have ever thought in our beautiful, artsy, historic town there would be a single person without a home. It's true, in fact hundreds and most of these are children.

Rob and Bowman are kayaking the Mississippi River this summer in hopes of raising $50,000 for this cause and I just wanted to bring it to anyone's attention out there. As a member of this community I have a direct responsibility to look after my brothers and sisters so please take a few moments to check out their website, watch the awesome video, pray and/or donate for their cause or come out to Emileigh's Table in Taylor this Sunday for fine food and fellowship. $15 a plate and all proceeds go to ICM. Much love - A

Film

Katy and I have been slacking lately. I think spring can do that to you. Spring makes everything come to life in a way that makes the cold winter seem almost romantic. I am taking two film classes this semester and I won't go as far as to say it has made me a fine critic or reviewer, but it has made me appreciate cinema like never before. If you get the chance, I highly recommend you take a film course in college. I use to hate on film for being the slacker version of literature but I was so wrong. Film appeals to the visual sense that is only captured by the great authors. Anyway I wanted to take a moment to bring attention to some upcoming movies that I am so excited about. These premiers are a much needed breath of fresh air.

Water for Elephants
Let's start with the deepest guilty pleasure: Robert Pattinson. Say what you will about Edward Cullen but leave Pattinson's acting skills alone - he is definitely going to mature into complex character roles. All of this is bogus, by the way, because all I care about is that this boy is FINE. Add Reese Witherspoon, elephants, circus, and a time piece and I am sold.



Midnight in Paris
Let's just quit pretending we don't all love romcoms. Owen Wilson. Rachel McAdams. Paris. Need I say more? Didn't think so. But just in case I did...Woody Allen wrote and directs it. Don't worry, I didn't know Woody Allen was such a baller until my film classes.


Tree of Life
I have a feeling the trailer doesn't do this movie justice and the trailer is beautiful. Brad Pitt is beautiful. Family is beautiful. Brad Pitt is beautiful. Nature is beautiful. Brad Pitt is beautiful. Time pieces are beautiful. Brad Pitt is beautiful. This film is going to be all things beautiful.



- A

Witness

- A

The Jesus Haiti (and me) Needs

Haiti

Currents

Reading:

The Omnivore's Dilemma by Michael Pollan



Plain and simple: I'm a farmer's daughter growing up in the military-industrial complex and believe we've missed the mark and actually gain by taking things away sometimes. It is my entry level book back into sweet simplicity and the basics. This book is all about realizing where our food comes from, not just agriculturally but also politically, and makes me rethink the social implications of everything I put in my mouth. I firmly believe what we put into our bodies effects us physically, emotionally, and even spiritually. Particularly fond of the chapter called "The Animals: Practicing Complexity." It rang true with so much more than food.

Watching:

Out of Africa

Starring Meryl Streep and Robert Redford. If it has Meryl Streep, Nicole Kidman, or Keira Knightly in it you better bet I want to see it.



Listening:

Adele particularly her song "Daydreamer"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uyVbcd1B-ug

Smelling:

My favorite winter candle Voluspa's Baltic Amber

Craving:

Tim Tams

- A

Asheville

I’ve spent six summers in Asheville, NC but I wouldn’t say it is like home for me. It is more like what I want home to be than what it is. You meet and see every kind of person in Asheville. The stories (and people) are as high as the mountains. Downtown on a Friday night offers the best entertainment – the drum circle – where anyone and everyone brings their beat and you can see up to 20 people beating while 80+ are dancing. It was there that a stranger told me to dance to the beat inside my head and I’ve been dancing to that beat ever since.
Just this past, and potentially last, summer in Asheville I discovered West End Bakery and I spent at least an hour of all my time off at this quaint neighborhood coffee shop. It was there that I developed a taste for different blends of coffee and I love that their granola has sunflower seeds. I remember ordering my usual one day and the barista handed my change to me and said “Here you go, my friend.” And I thought how beautiful is it that all this stranger and I have ever shared is a cup of coffee and we in some way are already friends.
This is from a poster in the shop that I love and have written down numerous times. It’s about community, Asheville revolves around being a green community, and I can honestly say I feel like the majority of people in Asheville live this out.
How to Build Community
• Turn off your TV
• Leave your house
• Know your neighbors
• Look up when you are walking
• Greet people
• Sit on your stoop
• Plant flowers
• Use your library
• Play together
• Buy from local merchants
• Share what you have
• Help a lost dog
• Take children to the park
• Garden together
• Support neighborhood schools
• Fix it even if you didn’t break it
• Have pot lucks
• Honor elders
• Pick up litter
• Read stories aloud
• Dance in the street
• Talk to the mail carrier
• Listen to the birds
• Put up a swing
• Help carry something heavy
• Barter for your goods
• Start a tradition
• Ask a question
• Hire young people for odd jobs
• Organize a block party
• Bake extra and share
• Ask for help when you need it
• Open your shades
• Sing together
• Share your skills
• Take back the night
• Turn up the music
• Turn down the music
• Listen before you react to anger
• Mediate a conflict
• Seek to understand
• Learn form new and uncomfortable angles
• Know that no one is silent though many are not heard
• Work to change this


- A

The End

I have a thing for graveyards. When we lived in Marks we would go visit my deceased grandparents what seemed like weekly. My grandmother was a true southern belle perfectionist so when my grandfather died she had both their tombstones made so they would match. They are the first plot when you drive up with a sweet tree and a bench that we use to sit and eat lunch on. I would walk up and down the aisles reading the stories and looking for freshly laid dirt and flowers. My favorite was a tombstone with a picture of a little girl, about my age at the time, with her hair curled in pigtails. She had died while fetching a stray ball across a busy street when a truck hit her. Her plot was in the back of the cemetery, and I always thought she deserved to be closer up to the front.
After my sophomore year in high school I went to Scotland for a couple of weeks and my favorite part was visiting a ruined abbey and reading the hundreds of tombstones there dating back to the 19th century. They were beautiful and heart wrenching stories of monks, sailors, mothers, sons, and infants. We stayed there for hours reading as many as we could.
While riding around in the Australian country I caught a glimpse of this cemetery and had to stop. I hope it’s not disrespectful to take pictures of tombstones and graveyards, I guess I just see beauty in death. On this side of Heaven death gives life meaning. It’s the unknown eminent end to every being. The beauty is knowing that death is not the end of our story. In the midst of death and decay I snap this shot to hold on to all we have: hope and faith in the life to come.

why i love romania...

where to begin? that’s probably far too broad of a topic to cover in the space of one blog post, but i’ll see if i can cover at least part of it… i do love this place. it’s quirky & it’s weird, & almost every day i’m here i find myself looking at something & asking myself “is this real life?” like the time i rolled out of bed & walked down the stairs only to find a freshly slaughtered pig on the kitchen table. or when we’re on our way to brasov & we have to wait for 15 minutes for a shepherd to herd his sheep across the middle of a main road during rush hour traffic. or how my neighbors decorated their house for christmas with an ungodly amount of neon blue twinkle lights that flash all.night.long—i can se them flashing through my window even when my eyes are closed. or the brass band that wakes us up on christmas morning playing the same song over & over again every year, playing at every house’s gate until you give them money, & they’re slightly (or maybe not-so-slightly) off key. or the dirty-faced gypsy kids that try to rollerblade on the gravel road in front of our house. or how friends will invite themselves over for a visit & stay for 8 hours. or how once i saw a romanian man selling piglets from the trunk of his car on the side of the road...


romania’s quirky without a doubt, but it’s also beautiful beyond words. i wish i could explain how breathtaking it is, and the pictures don’t even begin to do it justice, but oh my goodness it’s beautiful. the mountains are spectacular, and mountain snow is so perfect that it looks like each snowflake was placed exactly where it is. and when the sun hits it just right, it looks like crushed diamonds, and i think it’s one of the most beautiful things in the whole world.


i could go on, but honestly i think that the reason i love romania as much as i do doesn’t have as much to do with “romania” itself per se, but rather the things that i’ve experienced since i’ve been here, people i’ve met, stories i’ve acquired, places i’ve been, things i’ve learned… like interviewing the president of a gypsy village for the school newspaper, or taking the train across the country by myself as a 16-year-old to stay with a family of gypsies, or the time a romanian woman told me that america was the most dangerous country in the world because there is a volcano erupting on every corner. or the countless hikes, camping trips, bike rides we’ve been on & all of the beautiful places we’ve seen. the precious, precious people that have become so dear to me over the years & who treat me like family even though i see them once, maybe twice a year. the way i’ve been able to see so clearly how the kingdom of God is so much bigger than the deep south & how it’s going to be made up of broken, quirky, messed up people just like me.



-katy

Daddy Day

I love daddy days.

Dad and I have the same outlook on wrong turns, he phrases it as "if you don't take a wrong turn you will always go in the same direction." Needless to say we embrace wrong turns because we've made enough of them to know that just around the bend could always be treasure. Today we hit gold and stumbled onto "Porter's Museum." It's an old saw mill that has been in the family for a couple of generations. The father, recently deceased, began collecting old tractors and antiques, steel engines and even an old fire truck. John, the son, saw us strolling around and gave us the officially unofficial tour since the museum has been closed for the past year and only opens one or two days in the spring. To be honest, a lot of the stuff just looked like rusted junk but it lit up my dad's face. He loves these kinds of things - his dream being to have his own "car graveyard." Our farm is littered with junk but the story behind them makes them a part of history, and therefore part of my story. It had been a while since dad saw a steel wheel, the first for me, and we even found common ground with John - he uses an old satellite dish to cover his well and we used one as a permanent umbrella on our lake house when I was a kiddo. It was the perfect practice for me to get use to my new camera from Santa - the Canon Rebel T1i - so here are a few of my first and favorites!



We've always had a white swing in our houses. When we lived in Marks I ran away from home one day but never made it further than the front porch - so I sat on our swing for what felt like hours (but was probably 30 minutes) until my mom came out and asked why I hadn't run away. I reminded her that I wasn't allowed to cross the street by myself, so the swing was as far as I was going.




Gotta have a John Deere!





The old fire engine. The Porter's bought it from a small college - he forgot which - and said it was never put to much use putting out fires but the ladder was used quite a bit. Not sure about the details but I'm sure a good made up story would cover good ground. Again when we lived in the small town of Marks anytime the fire alarm when out we would hop in the car and see where it was going. We sure did find ways to entertain ourselves!




When we lived on Moon Lake in the summers before I knew Oxford even existed we went to a Methodist church in Clarksdale, MS. On the way to church we'd pass the levee and the cow's always seemed to be having "church." One black cow would stand in the front and I kid you not the rest of the herd would lay down semi-orderly in front of him.




We went duck hunting (with no ducks) a few days after.

Probably my favorite - riding back from dropping Brandon off as the sun was setting over the field!





I love black and white because I despise ambiguity, including the kind I make for myself. I prefer things to be black and white, no gray zone - but I'm coming to realize to find comfort and confidence in the middle ground. Resolution material.


You know that feeling when you are coming into your own? Mmmhmmm, well here's to a great 2011!