Home and Place: Families Climbing Together

Misa was born October 23, 2003, and two weeks later, we bundled her in the baby front-pack and walked up the CCC trail at Devils Lake to properly baptize her in quartzite glory.  It was a chaotic kind of exciting day-adventure, really.  Anne Hughes was working a project with the hopes of sending that day and nursing was still tricky.  But hell, I fit into my pre-pregnancy Blurr jeans (I loved those jeans ...) and Brad was thankfully on a flexible paternity leave schedule, so anything felt possible.  And in retrospect, what seemed like chaos was just all part of a beautiful plan to fall in love again and again with climbing and quartzite in one of the few places I feel I can call home.

One thing is for sure:  It takes a village.  That's cliche, I know.  But it's the truth.  Without Big Mama, Melissa, Coria, Annie Hank, and Maiyer, our climbing life might have been reduced to a home pull-up bar and climbing videos.  Or worse, we might have put it aside thinking, "We'll get back into it after the kids are older . . . "  Which wouldn't have been the end of the world, but by that time - call it an addiction, an attachment - whatever it was, it was woven into my identity for good and both Brad and I wanted this as much individually as we did as a family.

Those early years, especially after we had John-Pio were marked by Anne Hughes' support and enthusiasm to help us make climbing possible as a family.  That third-person couldn't be just anyone - it had to be an expert someone, someone who was unfazed, who could accept twists, turns, and unpredictability.   It had to be someone with shared climbing goals and adventures, but who would not sink when we actually had - in the words of Van Morrison, "Days like This".  And there were plenty of those.  If it were not for the willing - mixed with a modicum of willfulness I admit, any possibility of a climbing trip with our dear friend Mattie Sheafor, would have just been blank pages in a photo album. Seriously.  But Anne was there at the climbing crags for mostly all of it:  from babies turned toddlers turned preschoolers to now school age - what a trip its been!

In the last 9 years or so, we've been blessed with our circle of climbing friends - those few close adult friends who have helped make things happen at the crag or bouldering area - who entertained, spotted, played games, and even changed a few diapers.  Misa, John-Pio, and Emma (who was mostly busy with dance but sometimes came along), have spent hundreds and hundreds of hours at Devils Lake now, and you know what?  To this day, they have never complained or wished out loud that they had friends or other families along with us.  Never.  Somehow they've grown into these crag kids who understand that they don't have to climb;  they just have to know we do.

So I can only imagine how fun it's been for them to now have family friends who like to get outside.  And not just city outside-ness (although that's fun too), but a family who climbs outside.  Let me just interject that I've grown to accept how much I miss Mattie and her family, and Amy Skinner and hers - two families who value similar lifestyles and who happen to be significant parts of our lives.  Along with the resolve of missing and wishing that we lived closer geographically, I was also happily resigned to living the climbing life as we know it.

Until yesterday! We went to the Lake to boulder and hang outside with Lisa, Tom, Jack, and Lily.  It was a great day, even if we had to stalk people in order to snag a parking spot, and even with the mosquitos and biting flies.  We all seemed to get in the bouldering we wanted.  And at the risk of stating the obvious and seeming overly excited, we were with Lisa's family - who happens to be one of my closest friends.  At one point, I wandered away from the families and looked around for potential climbs and found myself back near a familiar spot where years ago, I sat secluded in order to nurse a hungry baby.  I felt some intimacy with the area, with the canopy of trees, stems of grassland and a ground carpeted with seasoned leaves.  And of course there was quartzite, that purple sometimes pink, sometimes dark, sometimes mossy, sometimes angular, round, sharp, slopey, yet beautiful-all-the-time-quartzite rock that I love.  And all at once, my surroundings coupled with my own family and Lisa's, seemed to fuse together as a real part of my history.  And I liked that feeling a lot.  So much that of course I documented it (which reminds me of Jack's off-the-cuff comment:  "What has social media done to you adults . . .").

Drama in the outdoors

Lisa on something really fun.

Shoeing up

So you can tell I'm a novice photographer (I cut off that little crimp Lisa's hand is on . . .)

Hanging out on the cliff

Tom on the project

Lily slaps to the bulge

Making good work on a boulder 

Home and Place: Is it in our Blood?

I've been thinking about home, place, and belonging for as long as I can remember - since 1982, in fact, when I first moved away from San Diego.  That's a helluva long time to be wandering around on a continuum wondering when my mind and body will adapt and accept--or find, home?  I met Amy Sullivan while rock climbing in 1997, and was instantly drawn to her ideas and thoughts about home and place.  The history of our friendship is mostly grounded in the memories I have of our talks and letters about this somewhat elusive theme.  And I find myself referencing our early exchanges whenever I feel disconnected or unsatisfied living in the Midwest, not because I don't like it here, but because at times, I don't feel it in my blood--even when I really want to.  So when Amy's status update came up: "Have you ever been homesick for something, but you aren't sure what?" I felt it was my chance to more publicly focus on the significance of home and place.  I really appreciate Amy's views and I'm struck by her visual and emotional connections, but what I love most are her questions.  They're just the kinds of questions that make me want to write in that journal beside my bed . . .

Home. Place. Belonging.  I have been thinking about these concepts for a long time.  Part history, part narrative, part experience, part visceral, emotional connection.

What is it that makes a place resonate in our hearts?  What draws us to a place?  What is the belonging made up of, and does the place belong to us, or do we belong to it?

Perhaps it was because I was a transplant to the midwest, that I felt "place" so acutely.  I pined for the dense virgin hardwood forests of my home state of Pennsylvania.  Both sides of my family had come from Europe to settle in NY and PA, and the forests, rivers, and rounded peaks of the ancient Appalachians were part of my lived experience and part of my history.  On long car rides through Pennsylvania to visit relatives, my mother would murmur mountain names, as if they were friends from her youth--Blue Mountain, Shenandoah Valley, Tuscarora Mountain.  For me, place was so tied up with family, with memories, and with narrative.

My graduate work in Madison gradually came to focus on the power of a connection to place and how environmental art and literature has used that emotional connection to create change.  So many thoughts percolated as I investigated this process--how did the artists influence political and legislative action?  What assumptions did they rely on about our sense of place and home?  I remember Vera and I frequently sharing our ideas about these subjects with each other.

What I came to understand is that it is part narrative--personal and ancestral and historical--and part familiarity--knowing the details and features and names of a place--that contribute to a feeling of home.  This is what give us a sense of tenderness towards a place, and it's that tender feeling that could make us take action in defense of a place.  Familiarity with place, for me, was often a sensual familiarity--a certain hazy light in the sky that reminded me of the ocean, the smells of a thawing lake, the feel of the air, the rich scent of a forest, the way a thick band of clouds on the horizon could trick me into thinking I was looking at Lake Erie, spread high and wide in front of me.

Of course, it made sense to me that an emotional connection to place could come from familiarity, from the laying down of experiences and memories, the establishment of community and a sense of belonging.  That part makes sense.

But what still puzzles me is this--there is some other, more elusive and unpredictable component.  One that made me choke up when I first saw the umbrella pines of Italy and felt "home" after wandering the globe for months.  Something that welcomed me in that bright golden meadow in the mountains of New Zealand.  The tears that surprised me when I stepped off a plane in New England and inhaled the scent of pines.

What is it that causes a body to respond to a place?  Why do some places, familiar or not, sing to us and call us home?  Do you know what I mean?  Have you ever been rocked in the cradle of a place, so that it felt like a refuge to you?  Have you arrived at a place for the firrst time, only to feel you were coming home?

Can a place be in our blood?

Part of me still thinks so.  When I became pregnant, still living in Madison, I was strangely concerned about giving birth to the first native Midwesterners in either of our families.  Honestly, I had fleeting thoughts of frantic drives back to the northeast once labor started, desperate to at least make it to the Pennsylvania border before the baby came!  What would it be like not to have that geographical connection with my children?  Would they be called by the rolling farmland and oak groves of Wisconsin and not by the northeast?  I felt, then, that they would somehow be disconnected from their heritage, from all of their family who called those places home.

And then we took my kids to the cold Atlantic ocean of Maine, where my husband grew up. And those Midwestern-born kids, on a cold and overcast day, played for hours in an ocean I barely wanted to wade into!  They were so drawn to it that they went in without swimsuits, while we huddled in fleece jackets on the sand.  And I must have breathed a little sigh of relief, that somehow the two of us had passed on something that connected them with our home.

I have now lived longer in Madison than I have lived any other place.  My memories, my community, my experiences, and my familiarity with the place have made it home.  A place where I belong.  The town that thrills my heart when I come home to it after having been away.  But thus far, I still do not "recognize" it elsewhere--in a certain slant of light or scent on the air or view on the horizon.  I'm not sure, yet, whether it has gotten into my blood.  But my eager anticipation of the sandhill cranes, the honeysuckle lining every trail in late spring, and that intense blue of the sky at harvest time suggests that perhaps it has been making its way there all along.

Amy Sullivan grew up in Pennsylvania--camping, canoeing, and skiing in the forests, sailing and rowing on Lake Erie, and visiting the Atlantic every summer.  She moved to Madison for graduate school, where she met her husband rock climbing at Devil's Lake.  Turns out that Madison was a hard town to quit, so she's got a new home base.  She loves to travel, and has been around the world, but a busy job schedule and two young children keep her in town more often than not these days. 

Rocks and Art

I'd be super happy every day if the theme of my life could be Rocks and Art.  Today was a rock climbing day at the Lake with Katie as my guide up and down the talus.  I've never really "loved" the talus fields, but I love the rock so much that I'd do anything (including topple over face first) to get to see and climb boulders!  Here's what we did today.

West bluff talus field after hanging around on Mixed Emotion which was a fun v4, especially the beginning moves.  After that it was scary!


















Fruit area!  I finally got to see this cool boulder.   Overgrown with plants 2-3 feet high, and kind of buggy so it'll be one to do in the fall.

Tricky problem that Katie makes look good.  

What climbing looks like when Katie and Vera settle in :)

An even more perfect combination is being with my favorite people while getting to do some things we all value together.  Misa and John-Pio declared the past few days "Museum Week" so we started it with a visit to the Chazen Art Museum.  The last time I was there was with my students to look at the African beading exhibit, but supervising and teaching are so distracting that it's never restful to look at art so I was thankful we got to go back and that the kids were psyched to go.  They brought their sketch books and we met some friends which made the experience even more interesting for them.  My favorite exhibit was one that featured Buddhas but the best part of the museum since its renovation, is the beautiful lighting that streams into various rooms.

Yesterday we went to the Milwaukee Art Museum.  Since I first learned of the exhibit, "30 Americans," I've been eager to go and now I can't wait to return.  Kids 12 and under are free, and the greatest perk is that educators get in free too.  Here's what we did . . .

Gazed into Lake Michigan - that's two of the Great Lakes in two weeks! 

 Admired the wings of the Milwaukee Art Museum move into position. 

Celebrated sibling time together. 

Sketched a piece from the 30 Americans exhibit, which is described on the Milwaukee Art Museum's website as this:  30 Americans is a dynamic exploration of contemporary American art. Paintings, sculptures, installations, photographs, video, and more made by African American artists since 1970 raise questions of what it means to be a contemporary artist and an African American today. Whether addressing issues of race, gender, sexuality, politics, or history—or seemingly remaining silent about them—these works offer powerful interpretations of cultural identity and artistic legacy.

Moved onto the rest of the museum where I caught John-Pio analyzing this! 

Interacted with the lively animation exhibit that featured some of Disney and Pixar's creations, and the historical references for movies like Rapunzel, Beauty and the Beast, and Alladin.  That's Emma in action . . . 

Made a vegetable head, who was actually a magical companion, based on the movie Despereaux.  

And drew pictures . . .

The combination of rocks and art is a perfect theme for the week.  When we got back, the kids went swimming while I went to see The Heat with Kate.  Y'all should go see it - hilarious and cathartic with all the m'f bombs and crazy antics and language.

Home for the Summer

In the last 24 weeks since the turn of 2013, I ran hundreds of training miles, discovered new artists and replayed some oldies, read a few books, managed the family, and finished out the school year strong - among other things of course, but those are just the highlights.  Since summer officially started just this week (last week was filled with professional development classes and a meeting), it feels good to be home.

I first heard about "nesting" years ago when I was pregnant with Misa.  Someone told me that that instinct would kick in and when it did, to take advantage of it since life with a baby would change my home and everything.  Admittedly that urge never took hold during pregnancy, but every now and then to this day, the urge to purge, straighten, re-do and refine shows up on my nesting ground.  Lately, I've shaken hands with some of my once hard-to-let-go material goods and moved on trying to purge the things that take up space all the while noting some important things:

John-Pio still burns a hole in the right knee of his jeans. 

Misa still introduces her stuffed animals to new sights and new ideas. 

Emma's smile turns to a belly laugh when old Winnie-the-Pooh movies somehow make it into the DVD player.  

Those are precious things to witness.  Those are the types of things I get to attend to as I settle into the season and nest in this quieter time when home for the summer means being present to what I don't get to notice throughout the busy days of the year. Little things that surprise and move me. Hidden, subtle or masked actions, behaviors, ideas, and interactions that easily slip away like morsels of crumbs - tasty things I want to remember but don't.

But now I will.

Hello, Summer . . . It's good to be home.

What's Your Everest?

It's coming down to just two and a half more days of the 2012-13 school year and it might be the one school year that I honestly don't want to end quite yet.  There's something good about looping with middle schoolers.  I've had these same kids for two years so basically from the time they entered Sherman barely 11 years old, to now, some now 13, a few 14.  It's a unique thing we have going, especially with curriculum as we've been able to go full circle and reminisce and expand on themes we started two years ago.

In fact, Fall 2011 I taught a unit on "Adventure," where the essential question was "What is the price of adventure?"  Students researched various people ranging from extreme sports figures to daring mountaineers to intelligent photographers, and one even studied a prominent musician who had an impact on the world through his lyrics and activism.  Fast forward to Spring 2013 - students created a film titled, "Youth Rising," a culmination of student voices expressing thoughts and feelings about instruments of change and inspiration.  It was like unwrapping a gift of accumulated knowledge, where bits and pieces of significance fell together signifying the kinds of ideas that feed hope and possibilities.

To mark the spirit of adventure and to bring my year with this team of students to a close, Brad presented his "Cowboys on Everest" slideshow last week.  Novel to anyone in this generation were his trays of slides and his decades old projector.  My students were mesmerized by the mechanics of such ancient equipment, and as Brad's story unfolded, the kids  attention turned to a unique and inspirational experience - one not just about the expedition of climbing Mt. Everest, but a cultural, geographical, political, and geological lesson as well.   I hadn't seen the show for several years yet Brad's lesson of "finding your Everest" had actively resided in me as I found different ways to express that pursuit after first hearing this story 13 years ago. 

Today I asked my students to write Brad a letter thanking him for his presentation, and while it's clear by their letters that they were inspired, there were a few funny highlights and several others that stood out . . . 

" . . . it's okay that you didn't get to the top of Mt. Everest.  That happens sometimes."  

My "Everest" is education, I want to have a future that I can be in control of . . . 

"You inspired me to go after my "Everest" and now, I want to be more out there and brave, plus write and share more poetry . . . " 

" It was interesting even at 8:00 in the morning when half were very tired.  I can honestly say - that it kept me awake.  You definitely have bragging rights . . . "  

 "Something that I found interesting is that even though you didn't reach the top, you didn't regret it because you got so far.  That reminded me of a quote that says, 'Shoot for the moon, even if you miss you will land among the stars . . .'"

"I think that my Everest hasn't been found yet.  I know I want to go to college but I don't know what I want to do with my life yet.  You really got me thinking about options in my life in the future and now . . . "









I love it when students write authentically and from the heart.   I also love this team of students because they were a group truly affected by others who brought them the gift of inspiration.  Now it's just two more days before our heartfelt "so longs . . . "

Fish Head and Rice

Of all the things on my mind right now, it's that my dad is leaving and it makes me feel sad.  We cooked a lot of good food which Misa expressed so sincerely to him as she kissed him goodnight:

Papa Joe I'm going to really miss your good cooking.

Here's what he cooked up on his last night with the family.  That's fish head, pancit, crab salad with tamarind, rice and fine dine.

Catching Up

It's been awhile.   I write everyday in some form or other, and lately, it's been writing to my mom once a week so I took a little break from the blog.  Today's Mothers Day and when I called my mom she said, "Did you get my message?  I called early VeraJean.  I wanted to get all my blessings over with."  Always the blunt and direct one, from one  to the other, she made my day.   Here's a picture of my annual herb garden (started by Emma) and container garden.

So the updates:

Climbing.  I took a few months off  (for no real reason other than I got in the groove of just being un-motivated and dis-interested in it . . . ) but now I'm BACK!  After the comp at Boulders two weeks ago, I got psyched to get on all the routes, and even though I was intimidated, I got back after it pretty quickly.  So far so good.  I'm cruising up the 8's and 9's, feeling perfectly scared leading all the 10's, and sufficiently shaky on the 11's.  Just what I would expect of myself.  But what makes it really FUN, is that Brad is climbing again, and he's leading and staying injury-free.  Here's a picture Misa took:

Running in Wisconsin.  In the midst of my hiatus from climbing, I've been packing in the miles and have a solid base of running  under me as well as some fun playlists.  The trails are open and the temps are just right for this islander who still wears long sleeves even in 60 and low 70 degrees.  Today I did 20-miles - the first 8 miles felt awesome, the next 4 were okay, 13-15 totally sucked, and miles 16-20 were surprisingly strong.

Culture.  Misa has been in training to cook the perfect rice.  John-Pio wrote a story about a Chamorro Tortilla boy who was attacked by a coconut crab and a brown snake.  Emma is deferring college for a year and will be going to Kenya to volunteer with Global World Vision (so proud and excited for her . . . ), and my dad and sister will be here this week and you know what that means: Wisconsin will have a temporary increase in Brown folk.  They're coming in for Misa and John-Pio who are receiving their First Holy Communion together.  As the event nears, so my thoughts about what it means for me to raise my children Catholic deepens which also means a future piece about my eternal conflict being Catholic will follow.  Stay tuned.

The subtitle of my blog is "Climbing, Culture, Cheese, and Connections to Professional Life," so here's my piece about "cheese."  Suzi and Matt came to town!  All I have to say about that is they're coming back in June for Lisa's wedding.  Suzi-Fest!  Yesterday, Molly married Steve and from start to finish, it was lovely to celebrate such a special love.  Friday night we went to a cool BBQ spot for a cocktail hour and the clique I was hanging around with each had to branch out and meet at least one new person.  I met a really nice woman from Georgia who put Molly and Steve's event on the map as she and her husband are en route to Jackson Hole, WY where they will be volunteering at a campground as nature interpreters.  It was so fun to get dressed up, witness such a beautiful ceremony, and dance with Brad, Misa, and John-Pio.

Connections to Professional Life.  Oh man.  This is loaded.  We've done some cool stuff the past few months.  I'll focus on that another time, but the one cool thing is our designated class dress-up day is the first Tuesday of every month.  I usually dress up too, but I didn't this time, yet several of my students did.  Here's a picture of them: