Days in June

The sixth month might be a favorite of mine. It's not quite as nice as the seventh, but it holds more promise, there's far more to look ahead too. The eighth month is also nice, but the later days can become chilly and studious.

This morning I read the poem "To Resist To Endure" by Amber Coverdale Sumrall. Despite describing the natural world of El Salvador, I found similarities to June in New England. Sumrall writes,

the coastal live oaks
mottled with scars
unfurl leaf
after leaf . . .

in the heat
moths emerge
descend like parachutes
silently over the forest . . .

caterpillars crawl the branches
devour lush determined growth
until there is no shade
only stark limbs
swaying

and the clenched fists
of the roots
hiding underground


Here, the daisies have grown along the highway, standing beside fuzzy wildflowers, yellow and violet.
The days are long, the mornings cool, the afternoons soft. In this corner of the woods, the loons are loud.

A few days ago, I stared at a sunset as my brother swam to the middle of the lake. He ducked under the water, swimming faster and faster, until I'd look up, blinded by the yellow river of light along the water's surface, unable to see him, eyes burning, before looking down, picking up twigs and rocks, watching spider webs move with the wind.

Hillary & Hillary

I saw Hillary Clinton once, in February 2007. I played my alto saxophone and joined thirty other high school students on a Saturday morning as we played the national anthem as she campaigned for the New Hampshire primary scheduled 11 months later. At the time, my political views were still being shaped, but I was captivated by the unwavering confidence she brought to the packed high school gym, her intelligence, and thorough answers to every issue and question asked. I worked in politics for a summer when I was 19 and learned that the field can be painful, deceptive, rewarding and powerful.

It's been no secret lately among those who know me well that I like Hillary Clinton. Along with many of my friends, I've enjoyed discussing her latest interviews, appearances and what it all might mean for our shared future. Among my closest family, my Hillary-fever might be slightly less welcome, but still kindly tolerated.

Today ended 10 spectacular days spent with my brother. Each brought excessive amounts of laughter and enjoyment. When I told him about my interest in a presidential campaign for Hillary though, he pointed out the possibility of a Bush -- Clinton -- Bush -- Obama -- Clinton thirty-year presidential history, revealing his fear of an American presidency heavily dominated by two ultra-powerful families resembling an American monarchy with an unsettling trend for how the position could be achieved. I thought and responded about our democracy, of the hope that the most qualified candidate would be awarded the job, but also the heavy influence of the media and the disturbing trend of $1 billion presidential campaigns begun in 2012 with no sign of turning back to anything less.

After finishing my undergraduate thesis this past spring, (a book on racial relations in homogeneously white Vermont) I thought of what a candidate's appearance and experiences shaped by their race or sex bring not only to their community, but to their own campaign. Racism and sexism are huge influences in American society, but shouldn't be so in politics as either an advantage or disadvantage.

With her recent media attention and the continual will-she-or-won't-she dissection, it seems that two Hillary's have emerged: the one that's already known, the former nonconformist First Lady and later Senator from New York, who's both loved and loathed, clearly brilliant but not publicly fitting the expectations of her sex in a male-dominated field, and the second Hillary, the possible 2016 presidential candidate, who embodies every dream and desire of many. This second Hillary has been said to be the most qualified for the job beginning in January 2017. I want to believe that statement, that she'd be perfect for the job, yet there seems to be something else that's underneath the rug. It's as if we've seen this all before; the heavy influence of American media encouraging all to believe that the next candidate will bring improvements and changes never seen before, leading to unmet expectations and disappointment. It seems that candidates and presidents are declared unsalvageable once citizens expect the sky and receive a treetop.

Phases of Simple Things

Something about an ultra-long winter seems to make the spring and summer months all the more enjoyable. Spring weather appears to arrive slowly, in phases -- the fresh smell of morning, sprouting crocuses followed by daffodils, tulips, white lilacs, purple lilacs, and then suddenly, an onslaught of instant summer, a phase-less season besides the bug and produce populations exploding individually throughout the middle months.

Last week, I visited New York for job interviews. I stayed with my close friend Marissa in New Jersey, and when we weren't laughing late into the evenings, I was navigating all forms of public transport by day. The long days and summer heat made for plenty of time outside in the presence of skyscrapers and street cuisine when not interviewing. While the hours in the sun with a book and lunch truck food were glorious, donning interview formal-wear brought strange, yet humorous tan lines I'm still attempting to even out.

While adjusting to this in-between stage of applications and interviewing, I began to think about simple things. Of reading everyday. Of walking outdoors. Of writing cards and letters to faraway friends and family. Of enjoying the summer months. Of listening to the outdoor sounds seldom heard. Of observing. Learning. Thinking. And finding peace and joy in each moment.

Purple lilacs, last week.

Flatiron district, Empire State building in the distance, last week.

Taxis, flowers and flatiron.

Brooklyn botanical gardens.

Brooklyn Museum.

Hoboken, New Jersey rail station waiting room.

New Hampshire, last week

One of my best friends from college, Katie visited over the weekend. We made an impromptu trip to nearby Hanover where we found Dartmouth College's pre-graduation ceremonies underway. It was graduation eve and as we walked through the small town bursting with visiting families in stylish graduation-wear, we found pomp and circumstance at every turn. Oil paintings of fraternity houses were being sold on the sidewalk beside large coolers of iced tea and lemonade. The live orchestra rehearsed vigorously for the next morning. We ate frozen yogurt and felt both fascinated by the scenes around us and a bit out of place in the tiny university town.

Hanover, New Hampshire

New Hampshire, earlier this week.

Walking Quietly, Searching Openly

Travel seems to cause me to remember. Unexpected moments examining direction and past experience have been common lately as life has changed rapidly. I've thought often of the vast inequality in opportunity, wealth distribution, and access to safe water and life saving remedies dividing vast chunks of the world. I wonder sometimes how each of us can best use our time to benefit others and our surroundings. Like many (recent) college graduates, I've wondered too how my education can be put to its best use in benefiting others. It was in this light that I began to examine my time at Saint Michael's and St. Andrews, the opportunities both institutions granted me at that moment, but also what opportunities lie ahead, and how best I can use them in realizing what life can produce. 

My last days in Scotland were filled with so many people and laughs. Friends were finishing exams with celebrations. I felt at home during my stay, but at a comfortable distance too, knowing that I was back in a place that taught me more than any other setting, a place where I grew and changed, yet a place that didn't hold my future, instead holding people and places I deeply cared for.

Newcastle, England from train

Dundee, Scotland

A few friends and I attended an Art and Design show of final year students at a University in Dundee. We weren't able to see every exhibit, but the ones we wandered through were impressive.

Textile Design presentation

Dundee, Scotland

Miriam, Christina and Thalia in the distance, textile presentation

I didn't play any golf this trip (or really, ever), but watching golfers on the Old Course in St. Andrews remained just as quiet and peaceful as I had remembered.

St. Mary's College, St. Andrews

Botanical gardens, St. Andrews

School of Philosophy, St. Andrews

Charlotte and I 

10 p.m., the North Sea

And then I headed west. Since returning, I've thought of the opportunity and ability for change and growth, realizing that along with opportunity, it lies all around us.

A Bit More English Tourism

Woo! It's good to be back after a bit of a busy absence. It felt right to finish it up my recent British trip with a few more photos and words.

Durham, England was incredibly beautiful and historic. After a morning of wandering and a lunch of fish and chips (I refused the hot pot of tea that seemed to commonly be served in this particular establishment with fish and chips, as it was just too warm out. Plus, fish and tea wasn't a combination I was brave enough to try).

Shortly after lunch, I met up with my friend Zoe. Zoe and I met at St. Andrews and have been pen pals for a little over a year. I visited her in 2013 at her home in York, England and she recently finished her year at Durham. After a tour of St. Mary's College and plenty of laughter with Zoe and her sweet roommate Rachel, we walked about and sat outside in the sun and talked for the afternoon.

St. Mary's College, Durham

St. Mary's College, Durham

Afterwards, I stumbled upon this cemetery (the Parish Church of St. Oswald) that in it's overgrown-beauty in the afternoon light, I found more peaceful than I could have imagined.

That evening, I made my way back to the train station for the journey north. 

Durham, England

A little over two weeks ago, I took a 7:23 a.m. train from St. Andrews to Edinburgh. Once in Scotland's capital city, I boarded a 9:00 a.m. express train south, bound for London, with stops in England's major cities. After an hour and a half of travel, we arrived in Durham, a city of roughly 200,000 in England's north east. I made the trip on my own, with plans to visit my friend Zoe, a psychology student at the University of Durham that afternoon. The train journey south was full of blue skies and yellow fields of rapeseed flowers. I had brought books but found that the view from the window was too distractingly beautiful. The books were never opened.

Saturday, May 18th, near St. Andrews, Scotland. Yellow fields of rapeseed flowers in bloom in the distance.

North of Edinburgh, looking out towards the North Sea. I had tried to capture this church before through photographs on train journeys, but had never been this successful. :)

Crossing the Firth of Forth, Scotland

an island below the Firth of Forth rail bridge.

England.

Passing through Newcastle, England, a city north of Durham.

From the Durham train station, looking towards the city.

Once at Durham's train station, I knew I had arrived in the right place. A city built upon hills, from the train station (a ten minute walk from the city center), I could see the Durham cathedral and castle, two beautiful medieval buildings. As the day unfolded (it also happened to be the warmest day for Durham in 2014, thus far!), I found Durham to be one of the most beautiful and quaintest parts of England I had ever visited.

Arriving in a new city with plenty of time on a beautiful day encouraged me to explore and enjoy. I followed signs and listened to those around me, hoping to be quietly immersed in the surroundings. Shortly after reaching the city, I found this river walk running along the River Wear. Ducks walked the banks of the river.

Soon afterwards, I found the center of town, where both a farmer's market and flea market were occurring.

I wandered and reflected and thought with a glass of fresh orange juice. 

I continued to walk, finding Saturday yard sales and people everywhere, students and families and individuals enjoying the warm weather. I found the university and the cathedral, and was so pleased to find that the cathedral was free to enter and explore.

the River Wear.

the Cathedral cloisters.

The Cathedral reminded me a bit of Westminster Abbey meets the set of Downton Abbey (England's Highclere Castle). 

While photography was not permitted in the cathedral, it was so, so beautiful. Once a Catholic cathedral, the space now belongs to the Church of England, but is one of the most intact religious buildings to have survived the reformation. 

Due to a high volume of photos, I shall continue this post soon!