I Come From...

I come from the big white brick house, at the stop sign;

     wait, no, I come from the house on Poo Corner, made with stone and mud mortar.

I come from 200 Rothwell Drive in Glen Berne, in Stanton, in Newport, in Wilmington, in New Castle County, Delaware, USA.
     Well, not really, I come from Yreka, California, oh, wait, I come from Lamachaur in
     Pokhara, Nepal. Or maybe I come from the mountains in Northern India: Landour,
     Mussoorie, Uttaranchal, India. Ecuador? Upstate New York? St Croix, USVI?
     Arden Hills, Minnesota.
I come from baked chicken in a well-seasoned corn meal coating, with baked potatoes and broccoli.
     Just kidding, I really come from daahl-bhaat with dahi and nimbu ko aachaar.
I come from walking in the park.
     No, hiking in the Himalaya.
I come from Bob and Hazel Buckner - always far away, always involved, always close at
     heart. I know they pray for me and my husband and children (and their significant
     others, present and future) every day, as well as my siblings and their families.

I am not really from anywhere, as you can see; no, I'm from anywhere.

Peepal Tree

Japanese Strawberry is the street name for the dogwood (Kousa Dogwood) that's dropping its fall fruit in my neighborhood. The enticingly bright berries look as though people at some place in history may have thought they were a great treat to eat. Now they just make a mess on the sidewalk. Even the squirrels are not interested. They are much more enamored of the huge quantity of acorns in the tree next door. Under that oak tree is not a safe place to wait for your bus this time of year.
The long-stemmed "strawberries" remind me of the Peepal fruits. Featuring in a lot of mythology, the huge Peepal trees are also central to village life in Nepal. The hugest ones often grow at strategic spots along major trading and travel routes--which came first, I wonder, the tree or the road? Often there is a strategic tea shop right across the trail. Called chautara, the raised stone and mud mortar platform built around the trunk is just the right height for traders or shoppers, or relatives carrying a patient to the hospital, to rest their dokus on, bamboo woven baskets used for transporting things in the Himalayas.
They're not just good for resting travelers. The best thing about Peepal is they're great for climbing. I spent many contemplative hours as a child and teenager hidden in the cool, leafy branches. You can also make a whistle out of a Peepal leaf, an art that I never mastered no matter how many friends showed me how easy it is. It was really a boys' craft; maybe they showed me the wrong way on purpose!
Ghosts are known to hang out under Peepal tree trunks and among the hanging roots of their cousins the Banyan trees. That never stopped me -- we Christian kids glibly believed we weren't susceptible to Hindu ghosts. Now, looking back, I know all of us humans (dead AND alive) are a lot more connected than I thought then.
A few squashy berries took me there.

Choices

On my lunch (half-) hour walk from my downtown office, I took a new path and was faced with the choice of climbing over an ancient rock outcropping on the Brandywine River or walking on the pavement with the chance of a car coming around the curve too close. I chose the pavement.

There was a time in my life--and a place--when I would have climbed the rocks. Disregarding the deer ticks and poison ivy, disregarding the fact that I was wearing a long skirt, disregarding possibly having to blaze my own trail, I would have charged forward, intrepid in the face of a challenge. It all began with my brother taking me on a walk in the mountains, then making me find our way home. He didn't leave me; he just wouldn't tell me which way to go.

I've had lots of walks in the mountains since then. When you go up the mountain, you know you'll get a view at the top. When you go down the mountain, chances are you'll come to rushing water (with lots of rocks to climb). When you walk along the beach, you can look far ahead and set your own goals--plus, your feet get all smooth from the rubbing sand.

In the Himalayas, you really have to put your mp3 away and pay attention to the sounds, sights and smells around you while you walk.

I'll have to take that wrong turn again one day, and climb the rocks next time.