Back To My Roots

 

People have been relocating since the beginning of time; human migration is not only a recent endeavor. We move for economic and professional reasons, following loved ones and seeking more opportunities or a better quality of life. I, myself, have changed addresses dozens of times.  Looking back I see that it was my grandparents who started this trend. 

My grandmother, recently widowed, was forced to take up a position as a housekeeper in Kent and send her boys away to boarding school. My father received a grant for an elite school that was a fast track to Oxford University. There he studied Latin and Arabic and began to envisage a life abroad exploring new cultures and unwritten languages.

My grandfather moved from shopkeeping in the north of England to take up a position of Head of China Missions in London. My mother, still at school, benefitted from a higher level of education and meeting all the missionaries who stayed in the house between visits abroad. My grandfather, himself, traveled extensively throughout the world and especially China, before there were hotels and airports.  It is no wonder that my parents met and immediately sailed to South America, giving birth to my eldest brother on the way. I was born and brought up in Brazil, with only occasional visits and holidays with family in England. As I grow older, and with nostalgia, I have begun to look back and visit the places I come from: my roots.

I took my family back to Rio, where I was born, but did not get a sense of returning. I have no family there since my parents merely stopped over there on their way back to the UK via New York. The city of Rio is big and a stressful place to bring up three little boys.  I also went back to the interior of Brazil where my parents had taken me on their trips to work with a tribal language. It was nice to see some of the people who knew me as a child, but the heat and hard sleeping surface made me long for the comforts of home. I see why I moved to the first world where there is AC and fewer cockroaches.

Yesterday, however, really felt like I was rediscovering my roots. My brother drove me down to Kent to visit my father's grave. He loved the area of Seasalter, near Whitstable, where the seawall holds back the water from the flat land for sheep to graze and a refuge for birds. It made sense to lay him to rest among the birds he loved.  Years later he was joined by his brother and sister-in-law, who had lived close by.  And more recently, my mother was buried along side my father.  We put flowers on the freshly dug grave and then wandered around the graveyard and the tiny church that is mentioned in the Dooms Day Book as far back as 1086.  I found another Taylor grave stone, so old and weatherworn that it could hardly be read: "Phyllis Taylor", my great aunt.  Her watercolors, along with those painted by my uncle, hang on the walls of my Minnesota home. The grave stone was leaning slightly, falling forward and

obscuring the name of another Taylor, "Bessie Taylor", as my grandmother was known. A newer plot, without a headstone yet, marked the resting place of my cousin. I could have stayed longer, but the church was locked and it began to rain... just to be with family!

My brother and I continued on to Tankerton, a seaside village where my cousins had grown up. The great old house has now changed owners and is being renovated. We walk down St.Annes Road to the sea front "just to see if the sea is still there", as my aunt always said. It was, flat and calm and exactly as I remember it from previous visits. As if following family tradition, we ate our sandwiches for lunch while watching the seagulls fly and cry.

One cousin still lives nearby, in the city of Canterbury, and we used her house for parking.

Canterbury is now a buzz with foreign tourists, but still stands for a time when kings ruled and competed for power with the church.  The priest Thomas a Becket was murdered in the Cathedral by Henry II; and another King Henry, the VIIIth, closed down the monastery and sent the monks packing. The ruins of the monastery are still there along with a herb garden that needed some weeding.  The tomb of the Black Prince occupies a prominent position in the cathedral although he was known for his brutality. The cathedral has stood for a millennium and a half, survived fires and world wars, enshrining our heritage.... my heritage.

After the cathedral we stopped in a coffee shop and ordered, not coffee, but cream teas. It might have been my American accent, but the server heard "green teas".  He looked baffled when I corrected him.... he obviously doesn't know about my roots.

Let Nature Disappoint

 

I went to Alaska for the wildlife. I know there is more to see: mountains, fiords, glaciers and northern lights. But I really wanted to see the bears, moose, whales and puffin. We planned our trip to include both a bus ride and a boat ride through National Parks that cater for those looking to see the "Big 5".  I was guaranteed to see everything on my checklist.

Moose were easy to see. Mothers and calves hung around the car park, while males fed along the road. Check✔. Our bus driver pointed out a few lonely caribou, but everyone wanted to see bears.  We did finally see a couple of grizzlies that were so far away you needed binoculars to identify them. Check ✔??

We saw smaller creatures; squirrels, hare, shrew and ptarmigan. I have to admit I was disappointed. Where were the large herds and prearranged  sightings?

The landscape was empty, cold and colorless, nothing like my African safari that drove us through prancing antelope up to a river full of hippo. Denali National Park is home to quite a variety of wildlife, but most are solitary roamers, spreading out to feed without over grazing or competing for food. Their active season is so short, they spend all the summer months constantly searching for food and avoiding other predators. The Dall sheep stay high up on the slopes and many of the wolves actually leave the park in search of easier food. Although the park limits the number of cars driving in, there were no animals crossing the road.  There was no need for the animals to hang around humans, as they had the whole of 6 million acres to escape into.  May is only the beginning of the tourist season, and most plants hadn't even leafed out yet.  Snow still covered higher valleys and no fish swam in the streams. 

I put my disappointment aside and put my faith in seeing a whale for the first time when we reached Seward. The boat tour was almost cancelled due to bad weather. I braved the cold rain and high waves to go out on the bow to watch the Dall's porpoises swim alongside. This was a first for me, but not one of the Big 5. As we carried on through the rough seas, it became clear that we would not see anything under the water. Our captain drew our attention to some "blow" that could be humpback and another he claimed was evidence of orca, but I never saw anything by choppy waves. Puffins flew by in the misty rain, but I never got a good glimpse of their colorful beaks.  

I appreciated the cool blue ice of the glacier, but again I

felt slightly let down.  I needed to go back over all I had seen and learned from my trip to Alaska to realize that each glimpse of wildlife there was a gift, a rare peek into life on our planet. The tundra was home to wild flowers, grasses, moss and lichen. The cold is intimidating to humans, but sustains an ecosystem.  Predators are a part of a balanced food chain that weeds out the old and sick to create a healthy animals. They know to keep their distance from humans, because we are the unpredictable ones. 

Part of me still wished to have that bear encounter, or see a whale surface. But what I realized was that I was looking in the wrong places. A zoo, aquarium or natural museum would have given me a close up look of these amazing creatures. The Natural Parks provide a safe place for wildlife to hide from hunters and live in seclusion. They don't put them on display.

Really we should be leaving the wildlife alone, respecting its right to privacy.  I have heard of tour boats that corral whales to ensure sightings; game keepers that tag big cats to be able to show them off; vendors that set up stalls along the road side to feed the elephants from tourists' cars; training animals to give shows like circuses. 

My learning to appreciate a wild view empty of rare animals, is one way to respect wildlife. The fact that I paid money to go to Alaska does not guarantee my seeing certain animals, it does give me a chance to learn about their habitat and why preserving it is so important. 

Torn in Three

 

It is the second time in a few weeks that I have flown from my workplace on Kwajalein over to my home in Minnesota, and then on to my mother's home in England.... and back. If you are looking down at the earth on the North Pole, Kwajalein would be at 12:00, Minnesota at 9:00 and London at 6:00.  We are talking about half way around the world and back, twice. 

Why?  Well I find myself in a position where I have pressing reasons to be in all three locations. I have a contract to teach Media through the end of May to my students in the Marshalls. And teachers are hard to replace.  When I am not there, the library doesn't open, and students fill time waiting for me to return on island. My sons live in Minnesota, and there, also, is the only home I have ever owned. It is a place to relax and be me. And then my mother's address in London is where I go to keep in contact with family, and honor the memory of when we were all younger and lived closer together.

Recently I have felt the pull to return to England and spend time with my mother. This became more intense as my mother's health worsened, and needed a full time carer. I would go every summer, until it became clear that she would not last until next summer.  People say, "You should go..." and "It's just a plane ticket." But as soon as I arrive, I feel the need to go back, to fulfill my duties in the classroom. And so it becomes a constant tension of feeling the pull to travel there, when I am here.  I need to be there in order to be able to afford being here.  I don't know how to give up one  with losing the other.

There was I time when I also felt the pull to return to Brazil. It did not seem right that I turn my back on my childhood, and roots that contribute to making me who I am. But my options in Brazil were hindered by complicated name changes and identification papers. In the end I lost my passport, without the chance of renewal... so I turned towards making my home in the US. 

By making a home, I mean buying a house and spending a few days of the year in it in order to keep my residence papers current. It is always a joy to return to my home, my sons, my garden, my kitchen. I look forward to being there, even if it is only for a few days on the way to somewhere else. My clothes hang in the closet, my toothbrush by the sink, the lights are on, and someone is there to welcome me home. But I can't stay home too long... because we all need to work, to earn our way, ... and have health insurance.  So I leave again, and go back to work in one of the few places that still wants a school librarian.   

I am here in England to say goodbye to my dear mother, whose decision to leave home and work abroad probably started me on this path. I cannot say for sure what, or where, I will be living next year. But I do know that my pull to come back to the UK will not lessen. I will continue to need that connection with family here. I want to spend time with my mother's things, and refresh the memory of all that she was to me. That will not go away.  I want to come in the summer and smell her roses, clean her windows and answer her mail.  I want to care for the legacy that she created.  But I have obligations elsewhere. How is it that I have got myself into this three way tug-of-war? I want to be in three places at the same time.  Is this making me three dimensional... or torn apart? And will I ever be able to choose one place to settle?