​EULOGY – Mary Louise (Baudoin) Patnaude (April 15, 1929 – September 8, 2024)
Mass of Christian Burial – September 28, 2024
By Mary Ellen (Patnaude) Haupert
On behalf of my brother Paul, sisters Ann Louise and Catherine; our spouses Mike, Michele, Steve; our children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren; Mom’s sister Connie, and all our dear relatives here and accounted for, THANK YOU for being here. This part of the liturgy, right before the “Song of Farewell,” is where we commend Mary Louise to God. Some churches ask that the eulogy be at the beginning of the liturgy, but St. Joe’s is allowing us this brief pause to savor her memory before sending her into eternity. So, here goes…
 
MOM LOVED A GOOD LAUGH!
Just after Dad died, my mother handed over eulogy duty to me with the directive, “Just make sure that you make it funny, Mary Ellen.” Well, Mom, I don’t know how funny I can make these final words because losing you has been so painful.
 
DON’T OVERLOOK THE DETAILS.
They were a well-balanced pair, Mom and Dad. Dad was an extroverted man of sweeping gestures and creative energy, whereas our mother was more introverted with an eye for detail and organization. Dad would often comment on Mom’s great sense of humor and irrepressible drive and was in awe of her lovely singing voice and ability to manage money. Their faith, self-sacrifice, and fidelity steamed them through diapers and adolescence (which both happened all at once), the money-crunching college years (when home meals dwindled to school pizza and tomato soup), the death of my sister Carolyn, and the challenges of old age. 
 
There was no question that Mary Lou was the captain of our ship. She managed our household finances and kept us all on the straight and narrow with job lists and reminder notes that she taped to the kitchen cupboards. (I’m sure that she recycled the note, “Go to confession!” for years.) Mom kept track of our “progress” from week to week in a notebook, which she brought out every Friday night. If we had failed to make our beds, take out the garbage, or mix the powdered milk, there was a price to be paid: 10 minutes off the weekend’s “late night” for every task undone. (You can ask Catherine, Paul, and Ann Louise how that played out.)
 
She taught us to pay attention to the little details – matching plaids on sewing projects and identifying wildflowers on Sunday family-day hikes. Even the grandchildren can attest to groaning when she enlisted them into organizing her kitchen cupboards. She taught us how to be precise and organized, which has spilled out in our own carpentry, crocheting, baking, music making, and life work. While our father taught us to see possibility in the negative space, our mother showed us what was right in front of our eyes.
 
HOW CAN I KEEP FROM SINGING?
Mom didn’t limit her teaching talents to elementary music. She had us marching around the dining room table when we were just toddlers and purchased a second piano so that we could practice simultaneously, upstairs and downstairs. We played band instruments, guitars, ukeleles (to name a few) and remember her teaching us Mary’s Canticle, “Magnificat” (arranged for treble voices) when she was the elementary music teacher at St. Joseph’s School. I will admit to times when I wished that we could keep from singing, but that wasn’t in my mother’s DNA. While other Bluebird groups were doing fun crafts, the group led by mother consisted of 5% crafts, and 95% singing. I was embarrassed back then, but know now what my mother knew then, “How Can I Keep from Singing?”
 
LIVING CLOSE TO THE LAND
Mary Louise Baudoin grew up on a farm outside of Blooming Prairie, Minnesota, where she gathered eggs, walked the cows to their stanchions, and attended a one-room schoolhouse a mile down the road. She was part of that greatest of generations who were forced “make do” during the Great Depression. They lived simply and close to the land - growing their own food and sewing clothing from printed flour sacks. Like her father and grandfather, Mary Lou liked getting her hands dirty. Everywhere she ever lived she cultivated beautiful flower gardens, which she liked to show off - “Come and see my gardens,” (at the lake) or “Aren’t my peonies beautiful?” (at the townhome). As she physically declined, she resorted to a weeder/pole contraption (probably made by her father) and was finally confined to a chair where she would sit and direct us as we did the work for her. Weez, Mandy, and I can attest to her taking at least half the credit for this labor. She would say, “We really got a lot done today, didn’t we?”
 
FAMILY AND FAITH
Even after each of us married and had families of our own, my parents continued to create special occasions for our families – KIDS’ WEEK being the most memorable for their grandchildren. While my father was dragging us on inner tubes behind the speedboat, my mother was preparing dessert – the highest priority on the menu. The grandchildren remember watching the adults being served tantalizing blueberry and lemon meringue pies, while they were offered only sugar cookies. It incited some picketing (with signs) and chanting, “We want pie! We want pie!” I can’t remember if Mom gave in; I think she just laughed and kept giving the kids sugar cookies.
 
My mother found so much solace at church. She played the organ for Mass until she was 90 years old, and was active in the music ministry program for many years after all of us had settled into our adult lives. Maria Annoni used to refer to her as an occasional “bulldog,” but admitted to appreciating her work – most notably their collaboration on “In Every Age.” Mom and Michelle Kessler became great buddies from their years of playing several weddings and funerals, which almost always included Schubert’s “Ave Maria.”  Turning in her car keys didn’t stop her from receiving the “Bread of Life;” she simply set up a ride with Arrowhead Transit Company so that she could get to Saturday night Mass.
 
For Mom to stay at home, Catherine moved in with her permanently, and Mandy (with her baby daughter, Cora) provided in-home healthcare (and entertainment). Even though she had a steady stream of visitors in her final weeks of life, she was never socially satisfied. We out-of-towners received a familiar litany of questions, “When are you coming?” – “Oh, I’m so glad to see you! How long are you going to stay?” – “Can you stay longer?” – and “Why do you have to go?” And when we kissed her goodbye, she would say, “When are you coming again?” followed by, “Catherine, did you write that down?”
 
The house was full of people when our mother/grandmother/great-grandmother quietly slipped away from us. We were filled with grief, and I could only think, “Why did you have to go?” … “Why couldn’t you have stayed a little longer?”
 
STAND BY ME
Finally, my mother wasn’t a perfect person but was a woman of great character and resilience. The Gospel passage from Matthew brings it to light for me. Despite Mom’s many fears (and water was one of them), she was always reaching for the child or grandchild who needed help or was trying to find the nicer thing to say.
 
She, like Jesus, would always be the one to say, “Don’t be afraid” (although she would phrase it as, “Don’t be silly”).
 
She would be the one who, during the toughest times of life, would “Stand by Me.” [pause] She stood by us all.

I'm writing from the back seat of our rental car as we travel through upstate New York. Louise is using her hotspot to work on an Audubon Society project and Mike is dutifully doing the driving. We plan to stop in South Bend, IN this evening and still have close to 600 miles before getting there. After chatting with my nephew, Tyson Schnasse, I'm feeling rather privileged to be in a car. He is in the middle of a summer-long bike ride that started in San Francisco and will end in Manhattan, NY. He pedaled through La Crosse last night and slept on one of the couches in our basement. I told him he could use the washer and dryer and help himself to anything edible. He's a "leave no trace" sort of fellow but did admit to eating some oatmeal. I'm just sorry that we missed him!
 
Every year…for years and years, I have attended and/or played music for June weddings. This year was marked by two weekends in a row of weddings that couldn’t be missed. I want to remember the family and friend encounters of those special life events, but don’t want to miss out the IN BETWEEN TIME that I enjoyed with my daughter, Madeline. It all happened quite by accident – the result of the last-minute cancellation of their dog sitter. Rather than stay home, Madeline and Chaz decided to drive to Denver for my nephew, Ryan’s wedding. They had purchased plane tickets to New York City, hoping to see some of the city which was all new to Madeline. People complain about Frontier, but after several hours of being transferred and put on hold, Madeline was able to change the name on Chaz’s airline tickets to ME! New York, here we come…but let’s start with wedding #1.
 
My nephew's June 14th wedding was an elegant affair. Ryan and Samantha chose the Highlands Ranch Mansion as the venue, which offers seating and decor for an outdoor ceremony, then opens the mansion for cocktails, dinner and dancing. The cocktail hour and dancing gave us a chance to visit with family, most notably the French relatives who made the greatest effort to be there. Their son, Loic, spent one summer working for my brother as a "business intern." He probably could have found something similar in France; the real reason was to bolster his English, which they have all mastered!
 
Saturday, June 15 was our family time together. I rented a 2014 Ford Focus through an agency (TURO) that operates like Airbnb. People register their personal vehicles on a site that manages communication and $$$ between vendors and renters. The pick-up spot was a parking lot in a sketchy part of Denver; I never saw owner "Brahmin" so my son, Matt, took loads of photos documenting every scrape and scratch. It came in handy because I needed a way to take Mike, Louise, Carolyn, and Brandon to the airport in the wee hours of Sunday morning. Having this little beater allowed the entire family to do some hiking in the Denver area on Saturday - Independence Mountain Trail and some of the trails around the Red Rock concert venue. I admit to being relieved that Brahmin didn't try to charge me for any of his junker’s dents.
 
Sunday, June 16 gave Chaz, Madeline, and me the opportunity to do some exploring outside of Denver (which was hot, muggy, flat, and rather dirty). We drove north to Boulder, which was by contrast green, mountainous, and full of interesting shops. Madeline made a reservation for us at Foot of the Mountain Motel, which was established in 1934 across the street from Egen Fine City Park. We dropped our bags, leashed up the dogs, and walked .2 miles to the Boulder River and a network of trails that led up the side of the mountain, with some turns into the city center. We needed sunscreen and sunglasses so proceeded to the city center as a first stop. Ducking into shops with AC was a reprieve from the afternoon heat; we saved the Anenome Trail hike (and its vista views of the city) for the cool evening. 
 
We woke to a sunny Monday, June 17. I took photos of all the retro phones and appliances in and around the Foot of the Mountain establishment and sent Mike a link for a red microwave that would look great in our kitchen. After checking out, we drove north to Nederland, CO on the recommendation of Madeline's friend, Sophie. The Lost Lake via Hessie Trail is located in Roosevelt National Forest just west of Nederland. The trail was perfect for a day hike and had a wide variety of landscape - prairie, pine woods, boulders, rushing rivers, swamp, clear lakes, and even some snow. The dogs aren't fond of water but really enjoyed jumping in the occasional snow piles. We rested for some time at Lost Lake before our descent back to the car. We were glad that we waited until Monday to take this trail because the reviews for Sunday anticipated many visitors for Father's Day. We bought sandwiches at THE DELI AT 8236' before driving back to Denver, rented scooters for a group-ride downtown at sunset, and ended the night with sushi at the Hapa Sushi Grill and Sake Bar.
 
We rested a few hours (because it was impossible to sleep) on the floor of an apartment recently vacated by Madeline and Chaz's TFA friend, Betsy. We could use the toilet but were warned about the shower; the floors were dirty, and we were told we couldn't plug in the fridge. Despite those setbacks, it was the only option that accommodated the dogs for which we were grateful. So, I guess it’s tacky to complain about little things like leaky camping pads and clogged bathtubs.
 
We woke up very early on Tuesday, June 18 and Chaz drove Madeline and me to the airport at 3:00 AM so that we could catch a Frontier flight to Cleveland at 5:00 AM. We had a very long day of travel that culminated with a subway trip from La Guardia to our Airbnb in Brooklyn (720 E 4th Street) - a neighborhood known as "LIttle Haiti." I booked the place because I needed a piano to practice and was happy to find a Steinway in the living room upon our arrival. It was getting late so we chose CC's Jamaican for supper. It was a short walk from the Airbnb and had decent reviews. The chicken, rice, and beans were fantastic, but the carrot juice was an unexpected concoction of carrots, coconut milk, and rum (or rum flavoring). The latter was quite strong and absolutely alcoholic.
 
It felt good to practice after four days of being away from a piano. I'm working on a short program with cellist Magda Sas for a Tuesday, July 2nd performance so couldn't stay away for too long. After a couple of hours of practice, Madeline and I packed up our day bags and took the subway to the Brooklyn Bridge/DUMBO Park. There are several shops, restaurants, and green space along the water, giving way to impressive views of Manhattan. Several people recommended that we walk across the Brooklyn Bridge, so we joined a river of folks who were similarly inclined. Who would think that walking across a bridge could be so edifying?
 
It was convenient to have signs on the other end pointing to China Town, where we stopped for Dim Sum at Ginger Joe's. (The hostess was chewing on a drumstick as she welcomed us to our shared table. She didn’t care much about hospitality, and we rather enjoyed watching her boss customers to their seats.) After lunch, we continued north through LIttle Italy, Rockefeller Center, Radio City Music Hall (where we bought tickets to see Lizzy McAlpine – long story) and into Central Park with its many attractions. We stopped at the Kerbs Boathouse at Conservatory Water to get a drink at Le Pain Quotidien; we didn't feel rushed as we enjoyed conversation while watching the electric sailboats on the pond. We were scheduled to meet my cousin, Jessie, at 6:30 PM at Ashford & Simpson's Sugar Bar on the upper west side. Jessie chose the establishment to commemorate Juneteenth; the food was excellent, and Jessie joined us for the concert at Radio City Music Hall.
 
I had a hard time sleeping because the neighbors kept their Juneteenth celebration going through the morning of June 20th. Even the lack of sleep wasn’t going to slow us down. After a productive practice session, we took the subway to Battery Park and joined a long line of tourists who had reserved a spot on one of the ferry boats to The Statue of Liberty/Ellis Island. There was a man playing a Chinese erhu (single-stringed, bowed instrument) who tried winning spare change by setting up near the crowd. He played “Happy Birthday” at least 10 times in a row before changing tunes. If he changed tunes, it was played only once before going back to 10 more replays of “Happy Birthday.” I almost took myself out of the line to help him learn a new tune.
 
The views from the boat of Manhattan, Brooklyn, and even New Jersey were stunning. Add a regatta of catamarans and general boat traffic against the backdrop of The Statue of Liberty, and one has no shortage of photo Opps. Our first stop was Liberty Island. We visited the museum before circling the entire island and getting back on the boat for our last stop at Ellis Island. The museums at both Liberty and Ellis Islands are well-maintained because of their National Park status; buildings and grounds are staffed with knowledgeable and friendly people. We spent quite a bit of time at the Ellis Island Museum visiting the registry and walking through the sequence of rooms that chronicled the immigration process from medical exams, currency exchange, work permits, etc. The museum also preserved a dormitory and wing containing a diverse collection of clothing and goods brought from various homelands.
 
We were tired and hungry after our boat tour but hoped to see the 9/11 monument before dinner. There two large inset fountains which mark the negative space left behind by the skyscrapers. We didn’t get into the museum yet took several photos of the impressive grounds. Madeline found a lovely Italian restaurant for a light dinner (Da Andrea); the food was so tasty – just enough to get us through the Broadway production of SIX. Jessie joined us for the highly entertaining show and led us to one of her favorite restaurants afterward – Empanada Mama in Hell’s Kitchen. The restaurant was buzzing with patrons, which matched our post-show energy. We laughed and talked over food and drinks until almost midnight. We wanted to catch the Midnight Moment in Times Square – a nightly show of digital art described as “the world’s largest and longest-running digital public art program.” The entire “show” runs from 11:57 PM to Midnight, accompanied by quiet awe of all in Times Square who are lucky enough to witness 92 electronic billboards switch from ads to art. We saw “Approximations of Utopia” by Marco Brambilla, which is the featured work from June 1 – 30, 2024.
 
The morning following our very late night was slow, but I managed to work in one last practice before checking out of the Airbnb. We took the RED 2 line all the way to 96th Street on the Upper West side. We wanted to walk along the Hudson River in Riverside Park but were underwhelmed by a view occluded by tangles of roadway. I had to use the bathroom, which forced us to walk toward a playground with restrooms; our view was instantly improved when we walked by the impeccably maintained 91st Street Garden. People were whizzing past us on electric Citibikes so we made an effort to find a station, downloaded the App, and explored the riverside on bikes! We rode uptown first and then decided to turn around and ride the bikes all the way to Penn Station. It was an interesting route – both beautiful and creative. We rode past walkways, restaurants, and even tennis courts built to utilize space under the freeway. It was invigorating to see space so well-utilized…and then ironic to see bags and bags of trash waiting to be picked up. I don’t know that I could ever live in NYC but found this trip to be nothing short of fantastic. I think that traveling with my adventurous daughter Madeline had a lot to do with our positive experience!!
 
Pennsylvania Station is a clean and bustling place. Trains run from docking stations beneath shops and restaurants housed on two city blocks. Louise texted us to say that her boyfriend, JP, was also in the train station. He was scheduled to board the same train, which was delayed indefinitely. Why would we miss this opportunity to check him out? We walked around looking for a young blonde man, who was easy to spot and fun to meet for the first time. He seemed happy to while away the time with us in the station but was very happy when finally reached Albany and Louise. It was great to be reunited with Carolyn and Brandon, and Mike and Louise.

​Maureen and Brian’s wedding was the reception part of their vows to one another. Their union was blessed on May 18 in the oratory where Maureen serves as music director. The priest who performed that ceremony also drove to upstate New York for this celebration, along with two other friends from their church. The wedding was held at a mansion in Glens Falls owned by Brian’s aunt and uncle. They had two tents set up, one for the ceremony and another for the dinner. The carriage house was cleared out for the reception but there were still many things to on Saturday morning before the wedding. We shopped for and prepared several charcuterie boards and then arranged flowers in vases for the carriage house and affixed small bouquets with ribbon on the chairs in the ceremony tent. The wedding was short, but tasteful – flute transcriptions of Bach’s first and fourth cello suites (played by Nick Handahl), thoughtful readings (excerpts from the writings of Francis de Sales and the gospel of John 15:9-12), and a fine homily before the vows by Fr. Anthony Andreassi, C.O. The reception was classy – a fantastic dinner followed by live music featuring one of the bridesmaid’s bands – Emily Asher’s Garden Party.

We spent much of yesterday helping the Kellys with clean up…and not without moments of fun. Tara, David (Pam’s cousin), and I walked a nearby trail only to get caught in a deluge forcing us to buy some coffee at a restaurant on the trail. When Rick and Yvette Drazich arrived, we all hopped in cars and drove to Lake George for a walk along the beach. The next stop was Glen Lake where Brian’s aunt and uncle have an historic cabin; “Captain Douglas" built the place in 1890. We enjoyed hearing about its history from Brian and socializing with each other on its front porch. Dinner was at Davidson Brothers Brewpub, followed by root beer floats on the mansion’s front porch.

Thanks for bearing with me. I don’t want to forget this week framed by KNOTS and all the PRECIOUS TIME BETWEEN!

Retirement Speech - August 20, 2023
Thank you to Sheila, Mary, and Carol for putting together this retirement party! Their friendship and deep devotion to this parish has sustained me over the years; it’s no surprise that they’re here to administer my last rites.
 
Last weekend we attended Mass at Holy Rosary Catholic Church in downtown Bozeman, MT. The music served the people well; the cantor stood in front of the assembly with the organist and console off to the side. Other aspects of the liturgy that stood out were the single adult server wearing a suit, Eucharist offered under both species, a young family bringing up the gifts, and the passing of baskets during the Preparation of the Gifts. Everyone sang, and aside from the exclusive use of the organ, it felt like Roncalli Newman Parish. It reminded me of why I love church.
 
Even though I have always loved church, I had several reasons why I never wanted to work for a church:
1.I didn’t want to be tied down every weekend.
2.I had never studied the organ because I didn’t think I’d ever need the skill.
3.I had never taken a course in sacred scripture or liturgy and most of the bible studies that I tried in college were narrowly focused. At a time when I was searching for deeper meaning, I found that these groups seemed to be making it up as they went along…and I had better things to do.
4.I didn’t find the music very challenging. Even though I was part of a small group of musicians who supplied music every weekend at the Newman Center at Wash U, I didn’t want to plan, prepare, and play that music exclusively.
5.All the church music directors that I knew were rather odd, and I didn’t want to be one of them.
 
What was going through my head when Tom Walter called and said, “We are looking for a Director of Music at the Newman Center. Do you know anyone who might be interested?” After submitting an application, I remember Fr. Mark asking me if I really wanted the job. I could only answer that “I had an inexplicable feeling in my gut that it was the right thing to do,” and who says “no” to the Holy Spirit?
 
What I learned was that…
1.I enjoyed playing for Mass and didn’t mind the Saturday/Sunday work schedule.
2.I was no longer afraid of the organ.
3.I worked on a Masters in Theology at St. Mary’s University for three years – taking courses focused on liturgy, ecclesiology, theology, spirituality, and scripture, to name a few. The Diocesan School of Biblical Studies was another avenue of growth for me.
4.The music in my fingers seemed to beckon for more, and before I knew it, I was improvising for the first time in my life; I also exercised arranging and conducting skills which would have gone unused in my teaching job; and I have loved working with Liturgy Committee on Advent, Christmas, Lent, Easter, and Ordinary Time liturgies.
5.As for church music directors being odd… They are odd because they love their assemblies and the music ministers who either participate for a time, or stick it out indefinitely. They are also odd because they have moments of panic – wondering if choirs were going to learn all the music thrown at them for high seasons, or trying to remember names of parishioners as they come to Mass.  Yes, I have been happily odd for 25 years because knowing all of you has been one of my greatest joys.
 
After 25 years, I regret:
1. …that I didn’t take a few organ lessons, mainly because it would have added variety to our worship. Organ blends better with brass than the piano, and hearing it from time to time wouldn’t have been such a bad thing.
2. …that I would have had the energy to keep reminding the staff that Roncalli Newman is a parish and not just a center. I know the terms “parish” and “center” have been used interchangeably over the years, but a distinction is imperative now more than ever.
3. I really regret putting a VHS of “What Cantors Should Never Do” (starring Peg Manson) into our VHS player at home. It was promptly eaten…and I cried.
 
But those regrets are small when compared with 25 years of memories firmly embedded in my memory:

• Thanksgiving Potluck Programs followed by incredible meals with 400+ students and stationary members in attendance
• Students who graduated and went on to provide music for their home parishes – Matt Regner, Matt Windett, the Salvo brothers, Amber Spude, Kate Laack, Andrea Koester, Marc Rademaker, and Maggie Schreiber, to name a few
• KIDSING and Christmas pageants, not to mention flashlight processions during the Gospel Acclamation at the Family Masses on Christmas Eve.
• The combination of fellowship, hard work and great music that was the norm for our Christmas Choirs and Triduum Choirs
• The “Faithtracks” CD, which was a fundraiser for the renovation, and the “Lead, Kindly Light” CD commemorating the 50th anniversary of the Newman Center
• Our production of Song of Mark, starring the late-great Early Madary as Jesus
• Our production of Feast of Life, starring the not-so-late-but-equally-great Andy Manson as Jesus
• 20+ years of helping with the Soup and Sustenance for the Soul Lenten Series
• Thanks to members of Liturgy Committee – especially this year’s BSP/RNP group who worked patiently and respectfully with each other for our greater good
• I could go on and on, but need to acknowledge the music ministers who have been regulars over the years; they have become my dearest friends: Sheila Momont, Mary Blaha-DeBoer, Peg and Steve Manson, Andy and Kelley Manson, Michelle and Sydney Skemp, Jim Mason, Denny and Ellie Dorman, Paula Wegner, Megan Bauer, Jane Korducki, and Ryan Howe, to name a few. I hope they remain active in the years to come.
• I would like to add a “shout out” to Mary Blaha-DeBoer who has been with me from the beginning and will continue as Director of Music and Liturgy. Would you stand, Mary?

 
Also,
If you have worked with me as a cantor, please stand. (Thank you!)
If you have worked with me as an instrumentalist or choir member, please stand. (Thank you!)
If you have served on Liturgy Committee, please stand. (Thank you!)
If you are a member of Roncalli Newman Parish and cherish our liturgies, please stand.
 
You are why I love church. Thank you!

​On the Trail with Louise – Montana 2023 (August 8 – 14, 2023)
August 8th
We checked into our garage-top cabin between Livingston and Bozeman and are quite happy with the accommodations. There are two large bedrooms, a generous living and dining area, and functional kitchen with everything we might need for the week. I also like the patio and grill in the back yard and would be very happy nesting here on my own.
 
Louise seems happy and relieved to be done with her summer work, most of which was in South Dakota. She described the two dudes that she was assigned to work with all summer, and it was clearer why she was happy to have this behind her. One of them was very sloppy and continually dragged the accuracy of their stats down. She said that it was extremely frustrating because as hard as the other two tried, this dolt's laziness poisoned the pot. 
 
Nature was also challenging. She shared her sleepless night in a tent as a buffalo herd meandered their grazing outside of her tent in Teddy Roosevelt National Park. One of the them got spooked and tripped on her rain fly. Last week, the winds and rain were so extreme that her tent collapsed and soaked her to the bone. Even so, she was positive overall. She rented a room in Bozeman from a friend she met in her study abroad program in Botswana, and really enjoyed spending time with her Americorps ERT friends from STL, who spent a month in Montana this summer. She can put a positive spin on just about anything.
 
We hiked three miles of the South Cottonwood Trail while hearing all these stories. Louise was distracted because she forgot to bring her bear spray. She said that no one hikes without it. I had given my bear spray to Carolyn, which Louise thought was rather silly, "Mom, black bears aren't a problem; grizzlies live in these mountains." She clearly is the more experienced outdoors person. We will make sure that the spray is with Louise on future hikes...and not get separated. 
 
August 9th
We drove to Big Sky today on Sheila's recommendation and found it to be very touristy and commercial. We parked at the resort because there was a recommended trail on the ALLTRAILS app we've been using - Moose Tracks Trail. We had to walk through the resort and ski lifts to get to the trail and kept hoping that both trail and views would improve. It was all very well marked but half of the trail was a gravel service road! Imagine walking uphill for 2 hours, hearing the groaning of construction in the distance and the roar of a helicopter flying back and forth (probably part of the construction). You hope that you will be rewarded with a spectacular view at the top, but we learned that the destination was the top of a ski lift! There was nothing scenic about today's trail; it stunk of big money and development.
 
After a much quicker descent (1.5 hours down), we shook the dust from our feet and drove to the town of Big Sky. We parked the car and walked through the Farmer's Market, which was larger than yesterday's market in Bozeman. We had great fun checking out all the vendors and capped the evening with dinner at a Thai place - The Lotus Pad.
 
August 10th
We entered Yellowstone for the second day of our vacation-within-a-vacation. Yesterday we walked through all the hydrothermal geysers and hot springs. There were scads of people at the most popular sites (especially places with wheelchair access) but thinned out the farther in we would trek. (Fairy Falls was a lengthy walk which was more satisfying because there were so few people at the end admiring the falls.) Old Faithful had chairs for folks who waited to see regular eruptions. We were lucky enough to see Old Faithful erupt twice and Lion Geyer erupt right as we passed it on the boardwalk! Nature at its best.
 
We stayed in Island Park, ID last night at a redneck hotel that advertised free muffins and coffee this morning. We assumed it was the large cabin next to our motel-lodge but found out that it was a single-family cabin when we tried to get in. (The family was just pulling out of the driveway and politely told us it was their place. Whoops.) 
 
I was sad to learn that I left my travel thermos behind and contacted the owner of the lodge on the off-chance s/he might send it to me. “Jay” was happy to oblige and sent a very nice note saying that he also has a mug that has traveled with that he would want back if forgotten. I take back comment about it being a redneck place.
 
August 11th
Day One in Yellowstone was great, but Day Two was even better. Our plan was to drive east toward Lake Yellowstone, then catch as many sites as possible before exiting the North Entrance/Exit. Lake Yellowstone is pristine, while having a crusty, sandy shoreline with geysers that jut out of the water. The lake may have had just one section with hydrothermal activity, which would make sense given its size, and we were glad to be part of its admiring crowd. 
 
Our next site was to view the gorges and canyon cut by the Yellowstone River. We hiked along the south rim of the river for about 2 hours before driving north to catch views at lookouts along the way. I was surprised to see how quickly the landscape changed; thick ponderosa pines gave way to a stony canyon in 10 miles. Louise really wanted to hike to the suspension bridge over a gorge cut by the Yellowstone River, so who were we to say no to such enthusiasm? It wasn't well advertised (she found it in one of the guidebooks available at our Airbnb), and the marking for the turnoff was a very small sign off the road from the canyon. The trail wasn't long, but it was a steep descent and even more challenging climb back to the parking lot. I really thought Mike was going to have a heart attack. Given the difficulty of the trail, there weren't many people around...making a rescue more difficult! All that worry and he huffed and puffed it back to the parking lot.
 
We didn't see much wildlife yesterday but were luckier today. We passed a herd of bison enroute to Yellowstone Lake, cornered a woodchuck on the south rim trail, killed a chipmunk crossing the road, and freaked out a fox near the suspension bridge. I was sorry that Louise and I missed seeing elk, especially when Mike said that he saw one laying down near the bridge where we parked our car! (He went back to retrieve while Louise ascended steps at Mammoth Hot Springs.) Well, after dinner at the Wonderful Cafe in Gardiner, MT, we walked back to our car and nearly bumped into an elk doe eating petunias from a planter on the corner! I saw three more just outside of town! I'm sure that they're pests in the same way that deer are in La Crosse.
 
August 12th
What I have seen of both Livingston and Bozeman is an explosion of housing and commerce - all which will look dated in another 20 years. Bozeman has a very trendy downtown area with outfitters, coffee shops, mountain bike shops, trendy bookstores, restaurants, and TWO co-ops. You can see it as a pocket of blue - attracting earth-conscious young adults who want peace and organic produce; drive into Utah or the Montana countryside and you'll see plenty of gun-slinging conservatives. It's a curious part of the country. 
 
We visited the Grizzly Rescue Center today and saw "Max the Grizzly" in action. They had a very helpful guide who gave us some great tips on what to do if we met a bear in the wild: "If it's black, fight back; if it's brown, lay down." The advice seemed sound until she explained that black bears can be brown, and grizzlies can be almost black. Her explanation of their respective physiologies made more sense. I can give you a lesson when we get back, if you'd like, as well as what to do if you ever encounter a bear in the wild.
 
The remainder of the day was spent at downtown bookstores and the Museum of the Rockies. The natural history museum is managed by Montana State University and contains exciting dinosaur fossils. We also bought tickets for 5000 Eyes: Mapping the Universe with DESI. Fascinating. Knowing that 5000 computers compiling data on galaxies on the other side of the Milky Way still need a human being for analysis gives me hope that AI won't take over the world.
 
We had dinner at the Ugly Onion, which is owned and operated by Louise's roommates, Greta and Max. They have a fancy portable pizza oven that they transport from venue to venue. It was truly delicious.
 
August 13th
Our last day in Bozeman started with Mass at Holy Rosary Church on Main Street. The music was OK; the cantor stood in front with the organist (console and pipes were behind the altar). I thought it refreshing that the single adult server was wearing a suit! We also had communion under both species, which was almost novel in our post-COVID world! I know that Montana had looser restrictions during COVID, so I wasn't surprised to a return to the common cup. Everyone sang. It felt normal. 
 
We picked up Louise after Mass and had lunch at Feed Café, followed by an afternoon at Fairy Lake, which is a short drive from Bozeman. The gravel road was in horrid condition - so bad that it took us 30 minutes to drive a mere 6 miles. The setting was worth the hassle of getting there; others must have felt the same way because the parking lot was packed!
 
We are leaving tomorrow and will stay in Chamberlain, SD tomorrow evening. We are hoping to have time to stop and see Mt. Rushmore tomorrow and Blue Mound State Park on Tuesday. We plan to be back in La Crosse by dinnertime on Tuesday, August 15, 2023!

​Getting Our Feet Wet in the BWCA – June 26-28, 2023
I have dreamt of the Boundary Waters Canoe Area all my life. Well, at least since I was in junior high. Grand Rapids Middle School hosted BWCA trips for adolescents - $10 for 10 days of pure wilderness. Unfortunately, my mother, a devout Catholic, didn’t think that pure wilderness was a proper replacement for attending Sunday Mass. Every summer I watched my friends come and go from these trips, piling up stories that made me envious.
 
Years went by. I got married and raised four beautiful children. I got older and older, never completely giving up the dream of canoe camping in the BWCA. After our epic adventure to Patagonia, my daughter Carolyn began making plans that would finally make my dream a reality. Despite having hip replacement surgery in February, our trip from Grand Marais > Clearwater Outfitters > Clearwater Lake > West Pike Lake > Pine Lake > Little Caribou Lake > Caribou Lake was soooo real. A little rain, loon calls, quiet lakes, rocky shores, tent giggles, mosquito latrines, and yummy camp meals with Madeline, Carolyn, and Brandon are no longer a dream but a very sweet memory.

Patagonia, December 25, 2022 – January 4, 2023
By Mary Ellen Haupert
 
From the time that Louise decided she wanted to work in Patagonia, Chile, I began plotting our own trip to visit her. We began our epic trip to Patagonia on Christmas Day 2022. We drove to Chicago and stayed the night in the crown plaza hotel so that we could leave our car in the airport parking lot for free. There was nothing open at the hotel but one restaurant, The Fly Zone, where we ate something greasy and then retired to our room to watch the remainder of a ridiculously stupid movie, The Mean Girls. It wasn’t Christmas appropriate, but it was all that was on the television in the hotel.
 
The next day we flew to Atlanta > Santiago > Balmaceda, Chile where we met Madeline and Chaz. Madeline and I had received an email from Tania (Patagonia Frontiers coordinator), with the name of our driver, Juan Veas; Madeline contacted him and he agreed to pick us up and take us to our Airbnb outside of Coyhaique. The place was in the scenic countryside and had a handmade wood-stoked hot tub! The owner was extremely enthusiastic and had logs lit so that we could soak both before and after dinner. Madeline lent me one of her swimsuits, which allowed me to enjoy the incredible view with my daughter and her partner, Chaz.

Our driver Juan lives in Coyhaique, so had some excellent recommendations on where we should have dinner. We were thankful when he pulled up outside of Casa Cipres to see if there was room, and then asked the proprietors to set a table for the four of us. The restaurant had a lovely back patio, exceptional entrées, tasty hors d’oeuvres, and excellent Chilean wine. After dinner, we thought we’d explore the town center. It was completely dead except for a lot of stray dogs roaming in packs. A homeless man threw a chair at one of the dogs, instigating some barking and fighting between human and beasts. Not wanting to be part of the dog fight, we kept walking until Juan eventually picked us up; he was kind enough to show us a few other places where we snapped pictures and had some laughs. We were glad that the hot tub was still quite warm and lovely when we got back.

Juan picked us up in the morning and made sure that we had several stops along the way to experience the beauty of Patagonia. Chaz sat in the front seat (because he could converse in Spanish with Juan) and got to see several photos of Juan’s climbing achievements! He showed us the Cerro Castillo peak, drove us through a hairpin road (camino diablo a Villa cerro Castillo), and made sure that we had enough coffee and potty breaks.
 
We stopped at Puerto Tranquillo where we viewed the islands, mountains, and white caps on Lago General Carreras. Juan really wanted to show us the best of Chile and tried to make arrangements for us to see the Marble Caves on Lagos General Carreras, but the water was too rough to access them. I mistakenly made a video saying we were waiting until the waves died down before we could cross to see Louise. Little did I know that we had hours left in our travel to Patagonia Frontiers.
 
Lupin flowers caught our eyes in the ditches along the roadside and near rivers all over southern Chile. We stopped at Parque El Sombrero to wander in fields of Lupin. We took pictures by the river, picked calafate berries, and watched Madeline do handstands.

The trek to Patagonia Frontiers started to get long when the paved road turned to gravel. It was bumpy for what felt like hours and I couldn’t believe that we didn’t get a flat tire or even go off the road. The scenery and all of the lakes made up for it. General Carreras Lake is massive with many islands bordered by towering mountains. We saw rivers, waterfalls, and a diminishing population the farther south we traveled.
 
After seven hours we reached Puerto Bertand, where John was scheduled to pick us up. John and Don Luis were kind enough to bring Louise along for the ride and it was great seeing her looking so healthy and strong. The boat trip lasted a little over an hour, probably because the waves were whitecapped, making the crossing a bit of a splash. The lakes in Patagonia are pure and unpolluted; the colors are exotic. Lago Bertrand’s bright blue gave way to greenish Lago Plomo almost instantly. The mountains on each the border the lakes have glaciers, which carry sediment coloring the lakes deep and bright blues, sea green, or a brackish-whitish green. Did I mention that there are no docks on these lakes? Welcome to wilderness Patagonia!

As we neared the ranch, we could see the crew lining up on the dock. Louise said it was customary to make way for the dock when they heard a boat coming. Sometimes they heard a boat and there were no visitors. That didn’t matter; they still had to be hospitable. We were glad to meet Michael (Blade) Bonaducci, Ryan Crawford, Cora, Ari, Nadia, and Hayes. Louise took us to the guest cabin where she had hung Madeline‘s handmade birthday gift from the door knob. I could tell the girls were thrilled to be together; this sweet gift was evidence of that.

The guest cabin was very nice. They had a little bit of whiskey for us, two glasses, some bubbly water, towels, and plenty of warm blankets. There are three separate rooms in the guest cabin and we occupied two rooms, while Louise slept in her tent. (It wasn’t immediately clear to me why she couldn’t stay in the third room.) There is no running water on the ranch; an outhouse and a washing station (w/bucket with a spigot hanging from a tree) served us well. The long drop, which the outhouse is called, has two picture windows so that you can view the horses grazing in the pasture while taking a dump.

Louise showed us the Palazzo, which is the kitchen and eating quarters for the crew. The guests eat in the new-new barn’s loft situated above their wood-milling station and storage area. It’s a comfortable space with a table, chairs, serving area, and a comfortable living space furnished with some of John Hough’s handmade furniture. We used it for games and conversation. Louise also gave us a tour of their greenhouse, the crew’s long drop, and the pasture where they pitched their tents. Their living conditions (for a full six months) are intense, evidenced by tents that are slowly falling apart due to wind and sun, “but nothing that a little duct tape can’t fix.”

We had a bit of time to kill before supper, so we went back to the guest cabin to open some of the gifts that I brought for Louise, Madeline, and Chaz. They laughed at the silly buttons and socks that I brought, as well as the dorky handmade pajamas that they changed into before supper (and wore any time we had down time at the ranch).

Louise planned all of the meals, as well as assigning cooks and serving crews, and our first meal at the ranch didn’t disappoint. We joked about the role of designated water/drink carrier. I would be lying if I said that I thought some of the rules were a little over the top, but the more I heard of John Hough and the near-death experiences that he survived, the more I understood his need for control, discipline, and order.

The first hike began at the entrance of Lago Plomo, on land that belongs to one of John‘s neighbors. He asked permission for us to hike the ridge from the beach access all the way back to his ranch. When Louise described the hike on the boat ride the day before, I didn’t imagine it to be challenging, but I wasn’t prepared for the overgrown brush, wild and thorny rosebushes, and uphill/downhill slopes. The hike was challenging on many levels and stretched our physical capabilities. Ryan Crawford was an excellent guide and pointed out places where there was loose gravel or alternate routes that might be easier for Mike and me. We didn’t see anyone else on the trail, which was surprising at first. I wasn’t prepared for the rugged wilderness that we experienced, but appreciated its raw beauty from high vistas that overlooked the lakes, valleys, and glacial-capped peaks. While we were losing our breath climbing some of the slopes, we had our breath taken away by nature.
 
Mike broke out his water shoes (which were a hit) on our first river crossing, which Ryan said was substantial. Ryan, Michael, and Louise were hardcore and walked through the rivers in their hiking boots; I was glad that Chaz changed into sandals first so the rest of us didn’t look like wimps. (This was sort of a relief for the remainder of our adventure in Patagonia.)

At the end of the hike, we were received by John and the other crew members. John doubted that we would finish and I didn’t realize what we had accomplished until after it was all done. Having John there to shake our hands and give us congratulatory beers was testament to the difficulty of the trail. Following another delicious meal and games, For Sale and 10, we went to bed and prepared for the next few days of hiking.

That first day we trekked along the river bed into a valley that is owned by Patagonia Frontiers. The valley was cut by the Soler River, which has several glacial tributaries into the main channel. The Soler River is lighter green in color, flowing with potable water. We didn’t have to worry about filtering because Ryan, Louise, and Michael reassured us that it was safe to drink. The trekking was flat in the river valley, extremely muddy, and requiring several stream crossings. Our final cross of Cacho River toward the Cacho Ranch Camp was met by Don Mancho sitting by the fire and tending the horses.

Don Mancho has lived in the valley all of his life and owned much of the property that surrounds Lago Plomo; he developed a friendly relationship years ago with John – to whom he sold most of his property. Don Mancho continues to live in a small cabin on the property and manages all of the horses. Louise said that he is the most knowledgeable person in the valley, especially regarding horses and general geography.

The crew was expected to cook for us, set up our tents, and keep us safe and happy. I especially appreciated Ryan and Michael on this trek; they were funny, and joked continuously with Louise. It was great to see her so happy in this wild Chilean environment.
Back to Cacho Ranch Camp. The tents were set up in a lower patch of grass, while the main part of the camp sits on a hill that overlooks the Cacho River and surrounding mountains. The main building is a storage unit with wood, food items, and other necessities. The fire pit has a giant boulder which shields the fire from the wind. There is a corral down by the river for the horses, and there’s a “short drop” for visitors to use whenever Nature calls. It was an experience to sit and have a view while taking care of your bodily needs; I had to laugh when I turned around one day to see the two horses staring at me from behind!

We had lots of jokes at Cacho Ranch Camp. Ryan and Michael quickly learned that we were a joking family who were more interested in enjoying one another than telling tall tales about ourselves. They started making up stories, including a rule of John’s that controls toilet paper use. Louise said that she was only allowed four little squares for each bathroom visit, but Michael said that he had permission to use six. They had me believing it until the story developed the necessity for wearing diapers. We had many laughs.

At the end of the meal Michael introduced us to a project. He had cut small conical pieces of wood that he wanted us to hollow out for shot “glasses.” In order to hollow out the cylindrical pieces of wood, he asked that we grab an amber from the fire and burn through the center of the wood. This kept us entertained for most of the evening. Some of our cups cracked but they were still usable the following New Year’s Eve.

Before getting into New Year’s Eve, there needs to be an explanation of the trek on the second day. Our goal was to follow the river for a view of the glacial fields, and the hiking predicted to be messier than the first. There was a considerable amount of marshy land that we encountered, as well as scrubby trees. The glacier was recognized by locating the receding tree line from the valley. As we got closer to the glacier, the river seemed stronger as it rushed past banks of stunted bush and rocks. Ryan said that he has crossed the river to get to the glacial fields, and also explained that there has been quite a bit of research in that particular area. We could see different colors of glacial crevices, as places where the glacier had cracked and broke free from the mass. As much as we wanted to get close enough to touch, it would have been too risky for us to cross the river because of its depth and the force of the current. Instead, we sat on top of the moraine snapping photos of the valley and the glacier beyond.

The walk back was punctuated by some singing; Madeline and Chaz contributed songs they learned in their Zambia village; I added a few folk songs of my own. In the distance we could see a herd of wild horses. When the stand of horses spotted us, they performed a show by galloping across the green pasture at top speed, and then circled back only to stop and look at us before continuing their afternoon grazing. Cora said to look out for a baby which had been born recently.

Our New Year’s Eve started with rock skipping along the Cacho River, and continued with a meal near the campfire. Madeline made a cake using a Dutch oven that she found in the cookhouse, using a bread baking technique that she perfected when they were in the Peace Corps. She was annoyed because the hot fire burned the bottom of the cake; she and Louise were able to cut off the top and roll it up into a tasty treat for all of us. So sweet!

We sang some songs and played song captain while tasting Michael’s whiskey from our carved out wooden shot glasses. I turned in before the sun went down, which was about 10:30 PM. I had a hard time getting to sleep in the tent; the pads were a little thin for the old folks. I enjoyed listening to the young people laughing and telling stories, and finally their cheers ringing in the New Year.

On New Year’s Day, we had a few more river crossings before reaching camp the ranch the next day. The group was steadily getting closer via easy conversation on the trail, the singing, and our attempts to dodge mud, cow manure, and other obstacles in our path. It didn’t dampen our spirits; we seemed all genuinely grateful for the rare experience that we were having together.

My birthday on the next day was as perfect as it could be. Madeline got up early and met Louise at the Palazzo where they made a cake and decorated it with hiking figurines that looked like each one in our group. They went out to pick crow berries from the property and use them to make a little stream in the frosting. It was delightful to see the cake and try to guess which caricatures matched our personalities. We had a slower day with a hike up one of the Louise’s favorite mountains and some time on the dock. They planned an outdoor campfire meal on John’s property as a special treat; it was the third time that I celebrated my birthday on a different continent and this was one to remember fondly. Louise spent two weeks making pottery utensils out of wood from the ranch; Ryan helped her design them. I look forward to putting them to use!

I had a hard time saying goodbye to Louise. We learned how much she can withstand, and left with admiration for her strength, determination, and fortitude. There is no doubt in my mind that she has grown both physically and spiritually stronger for living this austere lifestyle. We parted with teary eyes fixed on the Patagonia Frontiers’ dock, until we could no longer see Louise. Don Luis had no trouble getting us to Bertrand, because the lake was smooth and void of the wind and waves that we experienced on the way to the ranch. Juan was there to meet us and the trip back went fairly quickly. Madeline booked an Airbnb in Coyhaique, this time within walking distance of the town center. We had dinner at an outdoor venue that featured a disgustingly oversized meat tower, which Mike and Chaz devoured.

Juan took us to Balmaceda Airport where we caught our plane to Santiago. We had a long layover, so used the opportunity to explore the city. A cab driver dropped us off in the Italian neighborhood of Santiago. We walked a long stretch of restaurants, shops, and several malls that contained tourist souvenirs. I couldn’t resist a pair of bright, red patent leather shoes that I may Don at the next chamber music concert. Dinner that night was at Silvester’s, a restaurant off the beaten track, but posted a different menu each day. Our waiter had a bit of an accent, and we were foolish enough to think it was from Australia. When asked, he said he was an actor who experimented with accents. The food was great! Our remaining time was a walk-through a neighborhood near San Cristobal. The time flew by, and before we could catch our breath, we were shedding tears as we said goodbye to Madeline and Chaz. It is an understatement to say that this was a most fabulous adventure.
 

One of my most influential undergraduate teachers, Sr. Monica Laughlin, OSB (may she rest in peace), was fond of repeating three statements: “Simplify.  You are more than what you do.  Small acts of love can make a big difference.”  She would have shuddered to see how much I try to pack into a d day, and would have rolled her eyes at one particular incidence.  (Look up…sorry, Sister.)  About five or six years ago I was biking into campus last fall for an 8:00am Piano Proficiency class, balancing both books and coffee while trying to get to class on time.  I whisked in under the FAC courtyard overhang and almost ran over one of my students, Connor Sullivan.  He paused and watched me set down my coffee, balance my bike, and then pick up my books as the bike slipped to tip over my cup of coffee.  I would have said, “sh**,” had Connor not chimed in first, “It looks like you get to drink the last drop first, Mary Ellen.” 
 
SIMPLIFY.
Grand Rapids, Minnesota (not to be confused with the much larger Grand Rapids, Michigan) is located at the very tip of the Mesaba Iron Range, about 80 miles from Lake Superior.  Even though it’s famous for being the birthplace of Judy Garland, its real treasure is the quiet serenity of the north woods.  My teacher-parents helped us spread our wings on the shores of nearby Pokegama Lake, the mighty Mississippi, and the dozens of state parks that dot the region.  They couldn’t afford Disneyland, but probably would have still taught us to savor the simple. Coloring books weren’t allowed in the home, but Dad always made sure that we had plenty of scrap paper and drawing utensils on hand.  We spent summer mornings in his art room, which was like a dreamland—easels, oils, potters’ wheels—so much more to mess with than what we had at home.  My mother was no less resourceful.  She filled the house with music, taught us to sew, and always had something special planned for “family day”—even if that meant driving to the dump and sitting in our station wagon waiting for the bears to come out.  For my parents, “no things” translated into some really extraordinary somethings.
 
YOU ARE MORE THAN WHAT YOU DO.
When I left for the College of St. Scholastica in the fall of 1978, the “suitcase” my parents packed for me was filled with everything I needed—their love, encouragement, dreams for me, and a strong work ethic.  I wanted to make them proud, but was pummeled by the school of hard knocks and what seemed like a relentless pursuit to fill in the gaps between my small-town upbringing and the institutions and cities that would continue to influence me.  I probably worked harder than most to get into graduate school, but managed to finish my doctorate at Wash University in St. Louis at an earlier date than my smarter student colleagues.  The GET AHEAD drug was working for me, but it was addicting—and I found myself wanting more. 
 
Instead, I met my husband and we had four children.  Many of you who know Mike have great respect for his intellect and achievements as an economic historian, most notably in the world of baseball!  It’s unfortunate that he’s defined by his professional work, because I believe Mike’s best work was done playing blocks in our family room, master-minding obstacle course races at birthday parties, and teaching our kids the rules to HUNDREDS of board games (I kid you not).  When he attended my daughter’s cross country races in high school, he used to always wait until the last runner came in before he’d meet Madeline at the finish line.  At one race, he found her to be rather ornery because she came in second, so made sure that they walked past the girl who came in last place on their way to the car.  She was happily bundling her things when they passed, joking with a teammate.  He said, “Nice race,” to which she smiled and replied, “Thanks.”  Madeline replied with, “Who’s that?”  Mike said, “She’s the girl who came in last.  Sometimes you have to run for more than first place.”  I could bore you all with stories of dystonia and having to figure myself out as a non-pianist, but would rather leave this section of my talk with Mike’s fine lesson in YOU ARE MORE THAN WHAT YOU DO.
 
SMALL ACTS OF LOVE MAKE A BIG DIFFERENCE.
A few years ago, during the Music History sequence, I received an email from a student who we’ll call Harold.  He wrote, “Although I have been saying that I have been doing good lately, I can't sugar coat my real feelings. I lied to you. I am no where near where I am supposed to be for your classes. I have a list of assignments and papers that I haven’t done yet. I keep losing track and getting side-tracked when I begin to think about working on them. I honestly am scared of the next 3 weeks...I am afraid I am not going to pass your course, that I'm going to fail my paper assignments, that I am not going to have enough credits for next semester.”  I responded with, “Meet me in my office at 9 tonight” and I readied myself with a print out of weekly schedules, all the while suspecting that he wouldn’t show up.  When he appeared at my doorstep at 9:10pm, I could tell that he was trying to hold back tears; I, on the other hand, wasn’t in the mood for mothering.  It boiled down to, “If Harold didn’t get his act together, Harold wasn’t going to be coming back to Viterbo in the fall.”
 
We were preparing for a battle of sorts—Harold and I—and I felt the queasiness of risk welling up inside.  I paused to think of my own parents’ thoughts and feelings when they shipped each one of us off.  “Does she have enough courage?  Will she fold under disappointment?  Will there be teachers and employers out there who will help my kid find her path?  Did she learn any of the really important things that we tried to instill?”  It was one of those indescribable, timeless pauses.  I imagined myself in Harold’s shoes, sitting in Sr. Monica’s office thirty-plus years ago, and caught myself saying, “Harold, you could be a great teacher someday, but right now YOU are standing in the way of making that happen.  If you can’t get your act together for yourself, the very least you can do is to do it for your future students.  In fact, what you do in the next two weeks could make a difference for people who aren’t even born yet.”  Two days later, Harold sent a text that he had 11 pages drafted.
 
I don’t want to pat myself on the back and end this with, “Because you showed some compassion, Harold succeeded in class.”  It’s a simple cause and effect explanation that doesn’t fully explain the mystery of compassion.  You and I both know that humans respond to even the smallest acts of love, kindness, and compassion.  And when those acts of love and compassion are expressed at a time of need, there is almost always a positive outcome.  During that timeless pause (when I couldn’t decide between scolding him or taking a deep breath), I unpacked an act of love from the invisible suitcase that my folks packed for me when they launched me into the world.  The part of the mystery that isn’t as simple as cause and effect is that Harold had to recognize the compassion in order to be motivated by it.  It wasn’t the first or last time where I’ve experienced how SMALL ACTS OF LOVE MAKE A BIG DIFFERENCE – not entirely by my doing.
 
I would like to leave you all with Sr. Monica’s great advice:
SIMPLIFY.
YOU ARE MORE THAN WHAT YOU DO.
SMALL ACTS OF LOVE CAN MAKE A BIG DIFFERENCE.
​

​​Zambia December 28, 2017 – January 8, 2018
December 26
My last meal before departing MSP was a quick stop at Lucky 13 Pub with Mike and Louise.  I was nervous about making all my connections, so was uselessly filling up with doubtful self-talk.  Thankfully, my flight to London/Heathrow was uneventful and even seemed to speed by.  It helped that I had a daughter-mother duo who were setting out on a month-long trip through Europe to visit Christmas markets.  Daughter Erica teaches at a High-Tech High elementary school in San Marcos (language immersion/Spanish), not far from where Matt and Elizabeth live and work.  Even though I was flying across the Atlantic, meeting these two women made me feel that the world is small and that good people are everywhere.
 
London-Heathrow is a glistening airport full of high-end shopping, comfortable seating, fine restaurants and lounges that offer spa amenities – massages, manicures, and pedicures – as well as small rooms with comfortable beds.  I had an eight-hour layover, so decided to rent a bed for a three-hour nap.  My little space had a sink, toilet, and shower and allowed me to catch up on some much-needed sleep, and even take a shower before the next leg of the trip.  In the final 4 hours of my layover I found a seat at La Puccina Italian Restaurant and ate some dinner while working on my course syllabi, courtesy of the airports free wi-fi.  The notion that I was vulnerable to a computer virus or hacking never crossed my mind.  The place was so plush.
 
December 27
In sharp contrast, the Addis Ababa International Airport is quite diverse, but ever so dirty and disorganized.  I sat for three hours in an area lined with chairs, all facing a single direction – sort of like cattle lined up for slaughter.  An airport attendant screamed departing flights over a loud-speaker while a woman and her boyfriend took turns staring creepily at me.  At one point, I turned and just stared back at the guy.  Weirdos.  Gate 1A was the departure gate for both Lusaka, Zambia and Harare, Zimbabwe, which was confusing for most of us.  The attendant told us that the gate number didn’t matter -  “Look at the zone number on your tickets and form a line!”  We zone 4 folks were herded onto a bus and taken to a plane that we hoped was going to Lusaka.  I got on the correct flight, but my area of the plane to Lusaka was a temporary ED unit because the poor guy in front of me suffered a seizure!
 
December 28
Nomads Court Lodges afforded me some rest before the flight to Solwezi the next morning.  They had a pool, large garden area, and offered an inexpensive room with living area, kitchenette, and king-size bed for about $80.00.  I spent the afternoon trying to get hooked into wifi, but couldn’t seem to connect.  I didn’t think that the problem was anything beyond my lack of technical ability, but suspected something more serious had infiltrated my system when my phone started misbehaving.  I helplessly tried to find the root of the problem, and after a fit-filled evening of searching through my mac’s console and terminal, there seemed to be enough suspicious activity to contact Mike and tell him to monitor my bank accounts.  I sent a Whatsapp message to both Mike and Madeline, but only Madeline received the message.  It was so frustrating to feel that my privacy was invaded; I could feel my heart racing and was shaking with worry.  I shut everything down and asked Mike to monitor my accounts.  It could have been a virus, but I didn’t want to take any chances.
 
December 29
Madeline looked just beautiful.  She was grateful for me being there and I was grateful to find her thriving and happy.  Almost immediately after picking me up, the three of us headed for Chimfunshi, a chimp refuge about 3 hours north of Solwezi (outside of Chingola).  We didn’t know what to expect from the refuge, but wanted to see Dobby – Madeline and Chaz’s little rescue-pet monkey.  Sylvia Siddle met us and showed us to our cottage before arranging a meeting with the chimps.  We watched several of them during feeding time and witnessed several very human-like moments that ranged from fighting to care-taking. 
 
At the end of our day, we gathered all the Christmas presents that I brought and sat under the gazebo in the central part of the camp.  I had fun watching them open “luxury” goods like pop tarts and Emergen-C, which they really appreciated!  Madeline had brought along food that we prepared in the camp kitchen; pasta, caprese salad, garlic bread, and red wine made for a wonderful meal!
 
December 30
The following day, we had our unforgettable walk with the chimps.  Sylvia told us to take off all our jewelry and gave us overalls with big pockets that we filled with bread and dog food.  Dominic, one of the staff members, led us into the enclosure and asked us to sit down on a log and wait for Cindy, Dee Dee, and Sims, three of Sylvia’s hand-raised chimps.  We didn’t have to wait long before the three of them lumbered out and began rooting through our pockets. The three of them knew the drill because they didn’t waste time raiding our pockets, which I suppose was planned to help them trust us a bit more before our walk in the woods. Cindy was more attentive and interested in people than the other two.  She would find mushrooms on the walk and would hand them to us so that we would hand feed her.  Even though Sims ran off and Dee Dee only occasionally would join us, Cindy stayed with us the entire time.  She even took turns riding piggy-back on Chaz and Madeline. 
 
We were happy to see Dobby and hear that he’d been accepted by the other Vervet monkeys at Chimfunshi.  Madeline and Chaz said that he’d grown and that his coat looked healthier, but it was obvious that he didn’t recognize them.  He came over and drank milk from a bottle from both of them, however.  Sylvia said that he had a hard time adjusting at first, mainly because he was so used to being handled and held by Madeline.  She told us that not long after Dobby arrived, another Vervet monkey named “Flo” (who was released into the wild) found her way back to the compound and immediately adopted Dobby as her own.  Sylvia said that all the Vervet monkeys at Chimfunshi will be released into the wild when Dobby gets big enough to survive.
 
The best part of the trip was having tea with Sylvia and her legendary mother, Sheila Siddle.  We were captivated by the story of Sheila’s family overland trip from the UK to Capetown, South Africa – a six-month vacation (when she was just a child) that turned into a permanent move.  She told us that her father built a camper from parts of old army transports, constructing beds for each family member including their dog, as well as out-fitting the contraption with a full kitchen and sight-seeing windows.  Sheila explained that Chimfunshi was first a cattle farm that she and her second husband, Dave, had successfully run for several years.  Sheila and Dave raised their five children (all from their first marriages) and were planning to retire when their son-in-law game ranger brought them a chimpanzee that was nearly dead.  Their success with “Pal” led to more “drop-offs”, which required the expansion and development of Chimfunshi as a refuge for chimpanzees (and other animals). 
 
Sheila also shared her love of her pet hippo “Billy,” whom she described as her greatest protector.  Even though hippos are among the most dangerous (and fastest) animals on the earth, Billy fell in love with Sheila and Sheila fell in love with Billy.  Evidently, they were almost inseparable; Billy strayed a few times to follow wild hippos passing the farm via the river, but always returned home.  Sheila was almost in tears when she told us that poachers sprayed poison on the grass that Billy often ate by the riverside, and how she managed to get up the hill to die at “home.”  Sheila and Sylvia think that poachers either wanted her meat or were interested in getting rid of Chimfunshi’s great protector.  We were sad to think that this hippo probably would have outlived Sheila, who is currently 86 years old.
 
December 31
We hired a driver to take us from Chimfunshi to Kasempa, where we made our transfer to Mpungu.  Madeline and Chaz said that the trip usually takes three times as long on the bus because busses in Zambia have to fill up before they leave the station/parking lot.  The indeterminate departure times make for hours of waiting, so we thought it best to lug our belongings with a driver.  It was so much fun arriving in the compound and meeting their dogs, Rafiki (friend – in Swahili) and Kilobo (warrior, mighty man, hero - KiKaonde).  The dogs squealed and yelped with delight when they saw Chaz and Madeline and didn’t try to bite me.  Madeline and I spent the afternoon with the dogs leading us on a long and lovely five-mile walk through the woods that bypassed the market and people, but led through the dense and lush countryside – over streams and under tall canopies.  The dogs are extremely fast and hardy, smart and loyal.  Because the pups belonged to their neighbor Nathan, they held and cuddled the new pups from the time they were born.  When Nathan moved, he left one of the pups – Kilobo – with Madeline and Chaz, and took the others to his new location.  Within a week, 8-week-old Rafiki appeared at their doorstep all covered in mud.  Nathan had his hands full, so was happy to give another pup a home.  After the walk, we spent a good deal of time talking about how we might get the dogs to the US when their Peace Corps stint is up.
 
January 1
I slept in, so felt fully recovered from my trip.  Madeline had mentioned that she really wanted me to see two of their most successful projects in the village, so our first visit was to Ba Gateson in Mpungu-South.  Gateson had some success with fish farming before Madeline and Chaz got to Mpungu, but his jealous Zambian neighbors destroyed his dam, which effectively dried up his ponds.  One of Madeline and Chaz’s first undertakings when they arrived in Mpungu was to help Gateson and friends rebuild the dam and construct furrows for new ponds (which Mike and I saw in August 2016).  This time, I saw an impressive number of reconstructed or new ponds – 14 in all, varying in size from 10 X 15 meters to 20 X 30 meters. 
 
Ba Musoni (another fish farmer from Mpungu South) and his family, as well as several of Ba Gateson’s family members, joined us at the ponds.  We fed the fish termites and maize so that we could see the size of the fish, which were ready for “cropping” (harvesting).  Gateson seemed to need advice about how and where they would sell all the fish.  He was hoping to find a market in the boma (Kasempa), but communication with the Department of Fisheries was sketchy.  Madeline and Chaz encouraged him not to wait for fear he would lose money, and offered several ideas on how he might sell his fish in Mpungu.  They suggested that he make an announcement at the local churches that they would sell their fresh fish in the market immediately after services.  He could also dry whatever he doesn’t sell and still make a profit.  They tried to impress on Gateson and his family how important it was to keep coming up with new ideas on how to sell their product, rather than just give up. 
 
Ba Gateson accompanied us on the trail back to home.  He addressed me as “mum” and asked how things were at home.  I was impressed that this rural Zambian fisherman knew enough about Donald Trump to make conversation in English, no less.  I couldn’t help but admire his gentle hospitality and demeanor, which left a deep impression on me in 2016 when I met him for the first time.  He also respects Madeline, which is unusual in this patriarchal culture.
 
The clouds were thickening, so we decided to make only a brief stop to see Ba Trina and Ba Jameson on our way home.  We left their place when it was sprinkling and were lucky that the deluge didn’t start until we turned down the lane to their house.  The rains here are incredibly intense, so it was nice to be inside and planning dinner.  Madeline has become an expert at using wood-fueled braziers for both baking and cooking and makes all sorts of breads, cakes, and even cinnamon rolls.  For our New Year’s meal, she made handmade tortillas, which we filled with a soya and vegetables – absolutely delicious.  We tried to watch a movie after dinner, but I fell asleep before the credits turned up the title.
 
January 2 
There was no tossing and turning the entire night before my birthday - a gift for which I was very grateful!  I slept in a bit later than usual and walked bleary-eyed into their living area to the two of them singing “Happy Birthday”!  I glanced down to see that Madeline had made a GIGANTIC white, frosted layer cake decorated with fresh mangoes!  She told me that they had something special planned near the marketplace, so we packed up the cake and a few other things and walked toward the town center.  The HIV/AIDS support group had planned an honorary program to thank Chaz, Madeline, and me for the solar fridge and sewing machine that the group purchased with money from the sale of their hand-crafted items at Newman last summer.  It was great to meet all of them and see the pride and preparation that went into this special program!
 
Two of the men alternated in English/Kikaonde with special introductions of all those in attendance, including the sub-chief and his wife.  There were words of thanks and songs by the villagers; they also asked me to lead a song and say a few words to all of them.  We sang the “Navajo Peace Song” and I told them how proud I was of them for making school uniforms and other clothing, as well as selling drinks that were chilled to cold with their solar fridge.  It was ironic that the man leading the ceremony was caught embezzling from the group.  Madeline said that they were coming up short in profits, and after an “accounting” of what was bought/sold, they had enough evidence to accuse the guy of skimming kwatcha from the group’s profits.  She said that they had a meeting to discuss evidence against him, but that the members of the group chose to forgive him.  Donning wire-rimmed glasses, dressing quite nicely, and speaking almost perfect English, he gave the impression that he is trustworthy enough.  It was good that Chaz came up with an alternative solution for manning the store, suggesting a cooperative that requires each person/family in the new cooperative to take shifts in the “store.”
 
When the “program” ended, the women busied themselves with preparing a nshima meal for us.  We sang more songs while we waited.  When the meal was ready, Madeline told them all that it was my birthday and asked them to join in “Happy Birthday.”  Even though they “sort of” knew the song, it was clear that birthdays aren’t anything special in rural Zambia.  Many people don’t know when they were born and they don’t have money to spend on gifts.  I almost felt silly drawing attention to my special day, so was happy to have Madeline’s cake be the center of attention.  Everyone enjoyed her special treat and even took home extra pieces for family members.  It was great!
 
I took several pictures of the group because I didn’t want to forget the very special people who were in attendance.   A young woman, Jetrina Motika, recited a poem about AIDS.   Standing confidently in front of the whole group, she recited a memorized poem about the pain, suffering, and ostracization of those with HIV.  She was eloquent and memorable.  “Mary” is another veritable character who takes an entire day each quarter to walk to the boma to pick up her HIV medication.  She wanted me to take a picture of her holding her medication so that her “friends” in La Crosse would know that she takes it regularly.  One of the primary purposes of the HIV/AIDS support group (and it’s store) is to provide funds that will pay the taxi fee to/from Kasempa for people who need ARVs (anti-retro-viral therapy). 
 
Our walk home from this marvelous party included a stop at Alex Kyembe’s house. We sat in their living room and had a long conversation about a variety of things.  The conversation was philosophical and deep; Alex listened attentively, sometimes putting his head down while rubbing his face, as if conjuring up a thought.  The subject of race came up and his response was typically inclusive, “One flower by itself isn’t beautiful, but all flowers together are beautiful.”  Their home doesn’t have running water or electricity, but was nicely decorated by Mpungu standards; and their children and grandchildren were eager to try out their English, proudly sharing their school accomplishments.  I know that Alex and his wife (who I knew only as Mrs. Kyembe) are the sole healthcare providers in the entire village (which includes a few thousand people).  He works long hours delivering babies and treating people for malaria and shares his deep faith without sounding righteous and judgmental.  It is clear that it helps him to clarify the meaning and purpose in his life.
 
Alex and his wife told me how hard Madeline and Chaz have worked for the people in Mpungu; he didn’t want to focus on the future when they would inevitably be gone, but rather wanted to share his gratitude for how much they helped him at the clinic and with the HIV/AIDS support group.  I couldn’t keep the tears back when Mrs. Kyembe gave me a rug that she had been working on for me.  She had hand-stitched the word “welcome” and then apologized that her English wasn’t better.  We were all so overcome with emotion in those few graced moments.  Alex Kyembe is probably as close to a living saint as I will ever get.
 
January 3
I consider myself lucky that we only took the bus once – four hours from Kasempa to Solwezi.  Alex Kyembe had arranged for a driver to take us to Kasempa, but with limited kwatcha, we needed to pay the cheaper bus fare to Solwezi.  When our taxi driver dropped us at the station, the bus was almost full and ready to leave, but there were arguments ensuing about the state of the bus.  A few of the men grabbed their belongings and refused to ride, which should have been our first clue.  The driver tried to start the bus, but it only puttered and struggled to move, spewing exhaust into the bus as passengers screamed to get the windows open.  We made a loop, turned around, and everyone transferred to another bus – better than the first, but still a wreck.  The trip didn’t seem that long and was even sort of interesting.  Whenever the bus stops, scores of kids run up to the windows selling nuts, fruits, drinks, and water (that consists of old plastic bottles filled with tap/bore hole water).  We bought some bananas and hard-boiled eggs for about 5 kwatcha (50 cents).
 
After checking into our hotel, Madeline and I walked to the Peace Corps provincial house to pick up a few things.  One of her friends was a computer science major, so had some good advice for me regarding my computer issues.  We watched a vigorous storm for the remainder of the afternoon and finally called a cab to Kwesu for dinner.  Zambian taxi drivers are quite deft at steering clear of potholes, and it’s a wonder that the city streets aren’t paved.  It wasn’t uncommon to see men with wheel barrows filling potholes with rocks.
 
January 4
Madeline and Chaz described their long and harrowing bus trips from the village to Lusaka as we waited for the plane to Lusaka/Livingstone.  They couldn’t help comparing the bus to the plane, saying that they appreciated not having to deal with a possible breakdown, lack of air conditioning, and bodies packed closely together.  After only one hour of flight time, our driver from Jollyboys Backpacker Hostel was at the Livingstone Airport to pick us up.  We got settled in the hotel and caught a taxi to see Victoria Falls on the Zambian side.
 
The falls were spectacular, especially dramatic because of the increased rainfall at this time of the year.  We walked two of the three main trails and took several pictures and short videos.  On the way back to Livingstone, we decided to get a drink at the Royale Livingstone Hotel.  Situated on the Zambezi River, just up river from the falls, the five-star hotel is one of the swankiest places that I saw in Zambia, or anywhere, for that matter.  We knew we didn’t belong there, but couldn’t resist pretending – ordering fancy drinks and taking several pictures of the mist rising from the falls.  We admired the gorgeous sunset from the Royale Livingstone’s riverside bar and caught a hotel shuttle back to Livingstone.  Dinner at Olga’s Italian Restaurant capped our fantastic first day.
 
January 5
Madeline, Chaz, and I had breakfast at Kubu Coffee before Madeline and I set out on a day alone together.  Chaz wanted to do some writing and thought it would be nice for us to have some time alone.  We decided to see Victoria Falls from Zimbabwe, so caught a taxi to Zambia site and then walked a few miles to the border.  The checkpoint was frustratingly inefficient.  More and more people were packing into the building, but no one was being checked through.  After 45 minutes of smelly sweaty, stinky bodies, I was able to get a KAZA visa, which allows tourists to cross the border into Zimbabwe, Botswana, and Namibia.
 
I wondered if the falls would be more dramatic from Zimbabwe (because they were so gorgeous from Zambia) and wasn’t disappointed!  There seemed to be more mist and less people (which is a nice combination on a hot day), not to mention DOZENS of monkeys and their tiny babies.  They seemed to grow in numbers as we walked further and further, yet didn’t show any distress at the presence of humans.  Some of them were sucking on human garbage (chip bags and the like), so I’m guessing that they’ve figured out that where there are humans, there’s a treat to be had.  I’m not sure if they’re considered pests or not, but could easily say they were far less pesky than the African men who kept asking Madeline if she would pose in their “selfies” (because they evidently like to post pictures on Facebook of themselves with young white women.)
 
We walked back into Zambia through the same border control, only to have the same slow-poke of guard stamp our passports and smile, “It’s you again.  I hope you had a nice time.”  We had missed the “Boiling Pot” trail the day before and had some time, so trekked down into the gorge.  The foliage we deep and lush, wet and tropical and we made the sometimes steep descent.  People were wearing dress shoes and flip flops and wondering why they were having a tough time.  I could only attribute my slow pace to my age and was glad when Madeline would stop long enough for me to catch up.  As got close to the “Boiling Pot,” we started noticing baboons – mothers with their babies, younger baboons playing with each other, and big males getting groomed.  Just as monkeys were everywhere on the Zimbabwe side, baboons were in the trees, on the rocks, and even on the trail in Zambia.
 
It was a hot day, so anyone under 25 was jumping into the pools that were formed by the rocks at the river’s edge at the end of the trail.  We enjoyed watching the kids mess around in the water and had an exceptional view of the bungee jumpers from the bridge.  We saved our swimming for the Jollyboys pool before our meal out at the Zambezi Café.  We ordered a large platter of meat with the most succulent crocodile that I have ever tasted.  My only memory of crocodile was chewy and rubbery at a Cajun-style restaurant that I seemed to have forgotten.  This was a tasty cross between chicken and fish – really delicious.
 
January 6
The first day that we got to Jollyboys, Madeline and Chaz recommended that we look at some of the activities that the resort offers.  They told me that one-day safaris were fairly cheap, so we reserved three places on a one-day safari at Chobe National Park in Botswana.  A driver met us at Jollyboys at 7:00am and took us to the Botswana border, taking care of stamping our passports (which was a very nice change from the previous day in Zimbabwe).  Our driver, Isaiah, was very good at pointing out the landscape on our hour drive to the ferry, where we crossed the Zambezi with views of four different African countries – Zambia, Zimbabwe, Namibia, and Botswana.  Once we were safely across the river, an articulate tour guide by the name of Fraybie drove us to “Coffee Buzz” for breakfast.
 
The morning safari was on a big, flat riverboat down the Zambezi.  There wasn’t much to see early on in the cruise and I was beginning to think that we were only going to see a few random birds.  As we moved slowly down the river, however, more and more wildlife began to immerge.  There were impala and water buffalo, as well as hippos – a mother with her baby, an ostracized male doing “penance” in a pool, and a few stray males on land.  What was really impressive was the number of elephants that we saw!  When we spotted them at a distance, I remember feeling impatient with the driver (who wanted to point out two African Bald Eagles), thinking that the elephants would disappear before we could snap a few pictures.  I couldn’t have been more wrong!  There were, at the very least, between 30 – 40 elephants playing in the waters – mothers and babies; and then further down, a group of “bachelor males” who weren’t allowed to be with the females (or risk a tussle with the dominant male).  The bird life and crocodiles only added to our amazing boat ride, which was capped with a tasty buffet back at “Coffee Buzz.”
 
Fraybie was our driver/game ranger through Chobe National Park - animated and knowledgeable, he made phone calls to other game rangers when he didn’t have ready answers for some of the safari guests.  We didn’t see much wildlife for the first 15 minutes of the drive into the park, but Fraybie assured us to just pay attention and keep watchful eyes.  We saw mongoose (in a bush – at least he said they were there), some interesting birds (which weren’t really that interesting), and then drove down by the shores of the Zambezi for what was to be a feast for the eyes.  There dozens more elephants playing in the mud (which Fraybie said acted as their “sunscreen”), eating grass, and spraying one another.  We also saw a sizeable hippo family move from their mud pit into the greater river, water buffalo, impala, antelope, and a male sable antelope (which Fraybie said is one of the few antelopes that lions can’t seem to capture and kill).  We were lucky to see three lions taking a nap in the shade and were told that it was better to see them asleep than awake.  Fraybie was noticing fresh lion tracks and said that the dominant male may have been “out with a female.”  He pointed out the carcass of a giraffe, which had been killed by lions and picked clean just last week.  On the way out of the park, a mother warthog crossed the road in front of our vehicle followed by four little baby warthogs (really cute, by the way).  Almost immediately, an elephant roared and charged; I couldn’t tell whether it was after us or despised warthogs.
 
Madeline and Chaz said that they only saw a few elephants when they were with Chaz’s Dad, Jorgen, in November 2016.  Fraybie said that drought conditions were drawing animals toward the river, which made viewing that much more spectacular.  It seemed appropriate that the end of the day be a shared poolside reading of Sheila Siddle’s book, “In My Family Tree.”  Since our trip to Chimfunshi, we took turns reading chapters of her fascinating story, finishing the book on the day of our safari through Chobe National Park.  (Did I forget to mention the yummy sushi at Ocean Beach?)
 
January 7
Today was the Solemnity of the Epiphany, which we celebrated at St. Theresa of the Little Flower, a Catholic Church just a few blocks from Jollyboys.  I thought it started at 8:45am (because that was on the sign outside the church), but learned that it really started at 9:00am!  It turned out to be quite the celebration – a choir of high school kids sang, while elementary-aged girls danced to the music.  Ah, the music!  They sang loud and long, often accompanying their singing with dancing.  The processional included the dancers, several altar boys, liturgical ministers, the deacon and priest.  The choir sang and opening hymn, but the whole congregation erupted during the Gloria.  People were ululating randomly and everyone in the congregation was swaying/dancing, even if they weren’t singing.  Preparation of the Gifts was especially cool because people brought their gifts forward rather than drop money in a basket.  They danced their “change” up and back to their seats, followed by people who brought of material goods – flour, sugar, eggs, etc.  The sermon lasted a full 45 minutes (which was long, but impassioned) but the fantastic music brought everyone back into the spirit of the liturgy.  I went up to the balcony during the second collection so that I could get a video of the girls dancing and all the people swaying.  It was an uplifting and glorious 2 ½ hours!
 
The temps for the day were going to soar into the 90s, so Madeline and I decided to put our swimsuits on under our shorts and head for one last adventure at Victoria Falls.  We took trails where we could stand in the mist and not mind getting wet.  I purposely didn’t bring my camera because I planned on getting really wet!  We were set on getting into one of the pools at the end of “Boiling Pot” trail, so made that our purpose.  There were plenty of baboons again, this time more familiar than the two days before.  They didn’t deter us as we soon found our way close to the water’s edge.  Madeline had mentioned going to Devil’s Pool with Jorgen, but I told her that I wouldn’t be able to stomach sitting in a pool at the top of the falls.  Sitting in the shallow pools with easy rapids was a better alternative.  It was also free…and lasted as long as we wanted to sit.  It was sort of funny to watch people go by – some who turned to see us, while others walked on by.  Many laughed and took a picture, which made us both laugh.  We decided to call it quits when my foot started cramping – making it all the more ridiculous.
 
Baboons were all over the trail, so it was sort of a trick trying to avoid stepping on their tales.  My final dinner with Chaz and Madeline was at Zest – artfully prepared skewered meat with rice and sauces.  It was a pleasant way to end my unforgettable trip to Zambia.
 
January 8
Every link on the trip home went without a hitch.  From the moment I said goodbye to Madeline and Chaz, every connection was on time and stress free.  Considering the number of connections and length of total travel time (Livingstone to Lusaka – one hour, Lusaka to Addis Ababa – 4 hours, Addis Ababa to Paris CDG – 7 hours, and Paris CDG to MSP – 8.5 hours), I can’t help but be grateful. 

​IN and OUT of AFRICA
As I write this, I’m sitting in a hotel room in Lusaka, Africa for one last night before flying back to the states tomorrow.  Our experiences in the remote village of Mpungu left a deep impression on both Mike and me.  We were struck by the simple life of villagers who were living happily without electricity or running water, but were profoundly moved by the hospitality that they extended to us. 
 
Every other evening that we were in Mpungu, a family invited us into their home for a meal consisting of “nshima” (a white maize brazier bread), greens, and bush meat or chicken.  Most Kaonde villagers can’t afford to eat much protein, but still killed their prized chickens for us.  It was humbling to receive this extreme, radical form of hospitality (for us, at least), especially knowing that their children might be eating our leftovers.  Madeline said that there is no expectation of returning the favor, only that it’s an honor for Kaonde to welcome guests into their homes.
 
KAONDE GREETINGS
The first thing that we learned upon arrival in the village was that the Kaonde have several different greetings, depending on the person and occasion.  Elders and children alike are greeted with the prefix “Ba” before their first names, which is a traditional sign of respect.  Villagers would never make the mistake of calling someone by their first names without attaching the respectful “Ba” in their addresses.  Handshakes are also important.  The older the person you are greeting, the lower you bend your knees.  All variations of greeting include a clapping of the hands with the common “mwane sankyo mwane” (thank you very much) – an expression of gratitude with each encounter.
 
REAL HOSPITALITY
There are seventy-two tribes in the country of Zambia; the Kaonde (which is the tribe of Mpungu) occupy a smallish stretch in the northwest province.  Several of the wealthier Kaonde live in the larger towns of Kasempa and Solwezi, but most live in rural villages that are supported by agriculture, fish farming, and bee-keeping.  Their families tend to be quite large, so the meager income from their work barely feeds them. The Luweleke’s, our daughter Madeline’s host family, live in a house that is about 500 square feet.  They have eight of their own children and adopted two “cousins” whose parents couldn’t provide shelter, food, and clothing.  (Evidently, it’s common for children to move from one home to another; Zambian village culture always makes room for need, despite the lack of space.)  The Luweleke’s spend most of their days outside and sleep on floor mats each night; they greeted us cheerfully each morning!
 
SING WHILE YOU WORK
The Kaonde women are remarkably strong.  They carry water (and other things) on their heads, cook over an open fire (each day), and do laundry in the river with a small baby strapped on their backs.  Madeline’s host mother Ba Gladys would do all that and sing while she worked!  During our stay, she decided to make a traditional maize dish that required pounding the corn with a metal pole in a big pedestal.  I could barely lift the thing, while she heaved it effortlessly…over and over again…until all the hulls had been released from the corn kernels.  She then separated the chaff by tossing the mixture in the air.  The whole process took hours and when the dish was finished, she brought over enough for an evening meal.
 
RESOURCEFUL CHILDREN are JOYFUL CHILDREN
Ba Alex, the director and principle medic at Mpungu Village Clinic, said the highest mortality rate among in the village is the “one to fives” group.  Mothers take pride in their fat babies because they know that they’ll have a better chance when cooler weather and rains come.  Families raise chickens and goats, but not enough to eat that kind of meat every week.  Protein is supplemented with small animals or birds (bush meat) that are either caught in homemade traps or with sling-shots. 
 
One of the last days that we were in the village, Ba Gladys came over to show me the mouse that Reowes caught in a trap he made out of a soup can, sticks, wire, and a piece of plastic.  Mothers in America would have screamed, but Ba Gladys was brimming with pride.  Her kids play outside every day; the village is their playground. Trison (11), Reowes (9), Bierne (8), and Tortoy (3) entertained themselves from dawn to dusk with toys they made out of discarded stuff, games with sticks and balls, bike rides throughout the village.  They laughed and played together, had their fights, but didn’t have anything that was hoarded as their own.  We didn’t see the inside of their home, but Madeline said that they probably slept on floor mats (without complaint).
 
The older girls had plenty of work in the compound, but also found time to dress nicely and do their hair.  Friends would come over to the house to sit under the kinzanza (like a thatched-roof gazebo) and spend hours braiding each other’s hair.  Florence and Luweednis were fond of dressing up and going to the market, while thirteen-year-old Majo assumed the lion’s share of work.  She seemed to spend most of her days baby-sitting while her parents worked in the village, at home, or in the fields.  It was common to see her baby brother Reneija slung on her back or side; Madeline and Chaz said that she was always the one they counted on to feed their dog, Kibinda, when they were away.
 
The kids in the village were very curious about us and could hardly contain their stares.  The first Saturday in Mpungu, we attended a village soccer match to see the Luweleke’s nephew (Ba Nathan) play.  Madeline chose the side of the field with the fewest people, but within minutes of our arrival, about 50 kids migrated across the field to check out the muzungu (white people).  Their good fried, Ba Newton (who is deputy of agriculture in the village), came over to shoo them all away!  Needless to say, we were quite the attraction during our entire stay in the village!
 
SUSTAINABLE FOOD PRODUCTION
We were especially impressed by the work that Madeline and Chaz are doing with fish farmers (within a 20 mile radius of the village), their assistance to Ba Alex and the village clinic, the many bread baking workshops that Madeline has done in conjunction with fish farming meetings, and more.  Their determination, resilience, humor and good will were evident in everything from building fires for cooking, walking the daily trek for water to and from the boar hole, communication with the villagers (while doing their best to remember names and faces), showering in a bucket and going to the bathroom in a hole, and generally – living the simple, yet incredibly rewarding life of a Peace Corps volunteer.
 
Peace Corps isn’t new to the villagers in Mpungu.  There were volunteers in the late nineties that assisted fish farmers in the region; a small percentage of farmers continued the work, while many abandoned it for agriculture.  The possibility for growth in the region was/is evident, so sending two volunteers with experience in sustainability and environmental studies seems a good risk.  Madeline and Chaz had a big meeting with all the farmers at the outset of their service, and have continued meeting with smaller groups (by location) each week. They continue to supervise dam building, furrow digging, composting for algae blooms, and general pond management. 
 
One key part of the project is to improve the management of the Fish Cooperative, which contains several ponds dedicated to fingerling production.  Most of the farmers in the village are working to improve their ponds, but will need fingerlings for stocking purposes…which can only be provided by a more efficient Fingerling Production Center.  It was fascinating/frustrating to hear Madeline and Chaz talk about how challenging it has been to persuade farmers that there might be more effective ways to manage their ponds.
 
CATHOLIC CHURCH in MPUNGU
As luck would have it, there was a Catholic Church in the village, albeit without a reliable clergy presence.  Mass was scheduled to start at 9:30am, but like most Zambian activities, wouldn’t get going until at least 10:00am.  So when we arrived at the church (about 10:00am), there were only two other sitting outside.  By 10:45am, there were a few other stragglers and no sign of a priest, so two elderish-looking men announced that we would be having a service instead of Mass; they asked that men sit on the right side of the church and women on the left. 
 
The service started at about 11:00am and didn’t get over until almost 1:00pm.  The two elders found a couple of albs and assumed responsibility for the readings, preaching, prayers, and intercessions.  A couple of times throughout the service, they would duck down behind the altar and whisper (loudly) about what they were going to do next, then pop up and continue.  One of them delivered a 30-minute sermon; he would pause, look at Chaz and Madeline to translate what he said, and then continue.  During the preparation of the gifts, a woman in the back grabbed a bible and had her young daughter stand up in front with it opened for offerings.  The smallest bill that I had was 5K (worth 50 cents), which Madeline said was too much…but I gave it anyway. 
 
The musicians didn’t appear until about noon.  They were all in their teens or early twenties; two of them had babies strapped to their backs and one was taking care of a toddler.  Once they arrived, the service was more meaningful, less disorganized, and even uplifting.  At least half of them used drums for accompaniment to songs that were primarily call and response (for assembly and the rest of the choir).  At the end of the service, they asked us to stand in front of the group so that Madeline and Chaz could introduce us.  Each and every parishioner came forward to greet us, which was followed by clapping.  The sub-chief gave some announcements, but spent most of his time bawling out those who came late.  Madeline pointed out that he was one of the last people to arrive.
 
Impressed by the young music ministers, I was able to convince Madeline that it really wasn’t that weird to ask them if I could record them singing something after Mass, to which they happily agreed.  The two “presiders” had taken off their albs, but quickly put them on when they saw the opportunity to be captured on film.    
 
FINALLY
Madeline continues to run each day and will start training this fall for her first marathon in Tanzania (Mt. Kilimanjaro) at the end of February.  She is committed to educating young women and getting involved in the Peace Corps sponsored program GLOW, which promotes leadership among young Zambian women.  Majo is on her “radar” as a potential candidate for some of their off-site experiences.  Chaz downloads favorite movies on the ipad, has about 10,000 books on his Kindle (that he says he’ll probably finish in the next two years), and is interested in writing a book.
 
Mike doesn’t know if he’ll ever go back, while I’m looking forward to further exploration.  I do hope to put the Kaonde lessons of hospitality and gratefulness into practice, while being happy to subsitute “nshima” and bush meat for American food!   Thanks for braving your way through this narrative - “Lesa emipeshe mwane” – GOD BLESS YOU!
 
 
 

​HOLY LAND
7/06/2015
Our long day of traveling was made longer because we were detained at Ben Gurion.  Sonja went through customs first – ME second, and the two us must have looked like terrorists because we were sent to a "holding" room.  After two hours of waiting, we were called (separately) into an official's office for further questioning.  It was good that I'd been to Israel before because I could sound believable about the sights that we wanted to see while here.  It was good to get released, but really quite sad that we didn't get our teary goodbye with the Israeli girls.  I should be thankful that we weren't sent on a plane back to the states.
 
Our contact in Bethlehem speaks Hebrew and Arabic, having studied both languages in school and spending 1 1/2 years living and working here.  She was very concerned about our encounter at the airport and cautioned us about using the word "volunteer" or "service" in our descriptions - mainly because she said it's code for any sort of relief work in the West Bank.  She met us at the bus station across from Damascus Gate, after-which we ate at a Jewish vegan restaurant.  When the conversation switched to Jewish - Arab relations, she got VERY nervous and reminded us AGAIN that we needed to avoid any Arab references in Israeli territory.
 
We took the bus to the nearest stop outside the Bethlehem wall and walked to the checkpoint.  There were several young men in an argument with one of the soldiers.  They looked as if they were smashed against the iron fence, just trying to get through.  Garbage was strewn all over the streets as we made our way toward our guide's apartment.  (Tomorrow we're set to stay at one of the camps in town).  We made one quick stop at a Bedouin store owned and operated by her friend, Moajte.  Not only did he have personality (plus), he decided we needed a trip home!!
 
7/07/2015
We had a fine morning with our guide, hearing about all her exploits has been eye-opening, indeed.  She told the story of a 15-year-old boy who was captured in one of the Bethlehem camps and later burned at the stake.   It irritated her that the Palestinians tried make it sound like he died honorably - fighting back.  She described their coping as suppressing all feeling and trying to hold onto what little pride they have in themselves and in their country (what little they have left).  We did get a lot of advice from her, as well as some of her personal story.  We also made a stop at Bethlehem University and were welcomed by Brother Stephen Tuohy, who is the Vice President for Development.  
 
So, after coffee with our guide and visits to the Church of the Nativity, Milk Grotto, and Bethlehem University, we are back to pack our things for the rendezvous with the coordinator for the Noor Women's Project stay.  
 
Later
Surprise. surprise.  They DO have WiFi in Aida Camp!  We are staying with a remarkable family - the last name I don't know.  Islam and Ahmed have six children, one of whom is severely handicapped.  They have several small apartments in a large complex that houses hundreds of people.  I am impressed by the laughter and genuine kindness of these people.  We helped Islam prepare the iftar meal and enjoyed learning some Arabic from her daughters.  The oldest girl (Rua) is fluent in English, and the others know enough to have a conversation and share some laughs.  
 
They had some interesting extra guests this evening - the International Director from  Notre Dame, along with their satellite directors from Chile, Ireland, and England.  They were meeting at Tantur Ecumenical Institute and made arrangements through their director (Jill) for iftar.  I was impressed that they were bold enough be there.  Nice people!
 
Tomorrow we're going to another camp for some music-making.  I've been forewarned that the kids are very badly behaved. 
 
7/08/2015
It's 11:30pm in Aida Camp and EVERYONE is still roaming around.  I don't think that they sleep during Ramadan.  When we arrived this evening from our dinner out, we took a wrong turn into the camp and got lost.  It doesn't help that there aren't any road signs to mark one's way - just skinny alley's separating the compressed cement.  We stopped to ask for help at a carpenter's house (who was working in the evening) and he led us to a small shop for assistance.  The proprietor had a brother who spoke English AND had a cell phone (that worked, unlike ours), so we were able to contact our hosts.  They had to come and fetch us because there really is NOTHING to mark one's way in this camp.  
 
It IS curious that I was never worried about our safety.  Children (dressed very sweetly) don't hesitate in asking questions, hoping to practice their English.  Despite their sweetness, I booked a room for Friday night at the St. George Cathedral Guesthouse on Nablus Road.  This way, we'll have an answer - and no further bumbles.  (Sonja admitted that her hedging probably got us into trouble on the way in.  I think that she learned her lesson about "telling the truth"!)
 
Today was intense.  We met our guide at the Intercontinental Hotel at 7:00am to catch the bus to Jerusalem where we met her teacher-friend (and Bethlehem University graduate) Soma.  She is currently teaching English at the Shuafat Camp School and made arrangements for us to teach some music classes as the creative component for their summer school program.  So, with some teacher support, I taught three classes, each with about 30 ADHD 7-8 year-olds in a room that wasn't much bigger than my kitchen.  The kids were wild, but in a fun sort of way.  We were doused with water during recess, but they seemed generally happy that we were there.  Both our guide and Soma said that it's good to have people come from the outside to do things because it makes them (probably their parents) feel less forgotten.
 
After the sessions, Soma took us for a walk through Shuafat Camp.  There was garbage strewn all over - a REAL DUMP - and I could only wonder how they endure.  I learned so much from the teachers and kids at that school; the memory of a group of kids walking out the gate (into that God-forsaken mess) wearing their orange shirts and matching baseball hats, is burned into my brain.  Our subsequent visit to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre softened me just enough to cry some heavy tears for those kids and their families.
 
7/09/2015
We had another wild and crazy day in this wild and crazy country.  Half the charm of this trip can be attributed to our guide, without whom I wouldn't be listening to the clatter of the camp or inhaling rotting garbage while trying to get some sleep.  The irony of that is the disguised joy of this place - the children, their families, and the generosity of our hosts.  Islam teaches cooking classes on a regular basis and is used to serving large groups of people.  She has even published her own cookbook – all to benefit the lives of families with disabled children.  Her service to the camp is done humbly, in an environment that would crush many.
 
Our schedule meeting with the father-daughter director team of Sumud Story House went very well this morning.  They are very excited about the sophomore composition project, even though the meeting droned on and on and on...mainly because the former director had a religious agenda (fallen away Catholic turned evangelical).  He's all about peace...even though he is passionately opposed to the "rules" of the Catholic church.  His daughter, the new director, had to leave the meeting early, which was doubly unfortunate because his babbling led us way off topic.  After the former director got everything off his chest, he asked me to email him with specifics about the project.  I had to chuckle because I could have done that in the states!!!!!
 
Long before we arrived in Israel, our guide decided that a trip to Hebron was in order, so we hopped a bus and bumped our way to what could be named Really Crazy City.  Unfortunately, the bus dropped us in a place unfamiliar to our guide, which meant relying on her intuition to get us to the central part of the market for a visit with her friend, Laila.  The streets were really crowded with people, so I tried to stay right behind our guide.  A middle-eastern man took a shine to Sonja and ran up to her asking, "Would you kiss me?"  She freaked...and ran to catch up with us - staying close by.  We thought we lost him until he reappeared on the next block, coming back at her, this time with us in close proximity.  Our guide was OUTRAGED...and ran after him, yelling, "Eib...Shorta"!  In seconds, the guy was surrounded by about 50 Arab men who asked Sonja what she wanted them to do - police?  She seemed to think that an apology was enough, so settled on that.
 
The shop was small, but had some beautifully embroidered goods made by the Hebron Women's Group - a cooperative of women with disabled children.  Laila was definitely interested in selling, but was more concerned about Sonja and her experience, convincing Sonja and our guide to go to the police and report the incident!  While they were gone, I bought several Christmas gifts that Laila will ship to the states...AND watched the parade of Israeli soldiers parade back and forth and back and forth.  Laila said that it doesn't stop and is so discouraging.  
 
When the two of them got back, they purchased a few things before we visited the tomb of the patriarchs (which was rather anticlimactic after our street episode).  Our guide likes to live on the dangerous side, so we walked down Hebron's "ghost town" and through a Jewish settlement enroute to the bus stop.  After the bumpy ride back to Bethlehem, we purchased dinner at Casa Nova, but that didn't matter to Ahmed and Islam - who stuffed us yet AGAIN!  Ahmed smoked cigarette after cigarette and talked incessantly while we ate.  I think that Arab men like the sound of their own voices!
 
7/10/2015
Today started slow, but ended like most of our days here...rather harried with some "near miss."  We decided to go back to Manger Square for a last peek at the sights and decided to take a different route - this time down Star Street (the old pilgrimage route).  Our good luck has been great, and today we happened past a lecture inside a side chapel that looked to be on iconography.  When I looked in, the guy giving the lecture said, "Come on in!"  He turned out to be the director of the Bethlehem Icon Centre (http://www.bethlehemiconcentre.org/) and was speaking about the wall icons that he was painting for the side chapel.  Afterward, we took the stairs up to the center, which had a nice lecture hall for tour groups.
 
We also made a second visit to the Milk Grotto - this time to see the chapel and garden that we missed the first time around.  The time whizzed by and we found ourselves hustling to get to Vicki's place by 2:15pm - only to find her in need of a nap.  We touched base and then doubled back to cross (yet again) Manger Square toward Aida Camp, agreeing to come back by 4:15pm.  There were yet a couple of important things to do - stop at THE BEDOUIN STORE to ask Moajte (our guide's friend) if he'd send our suspect Palestinian books and cards with gift items back to the US and pay/say goodbye to Islam and her family.  Everything seems to take longer here (maybe because I'm schlepping another person), because by the time we finished these two errands, it was already almost 4:00pm.  
 
We walked as fast as we could with our 50-lb backpacks and reached a fork with Manger Street on the left and Star Street on the right.  Instead of taking Star Street, intuition and a vague memory of Vicky’s recommendation led us down Manger Street (which we learned was the LOOOONNNGG way)!!  We walked and walked and walked and I was getting crabbier and crabbier and crabbier.  By 4:25pm, I could see the spire for the Mosque of Omar in the distance and knew that we weren't going to make it back in time.  Suddenly, we heard a honk with someone yelling, "Ladies, it's too far walk.  I give you ride."  We thought it was just another taxi-jerk until we looked up and saw Moajte sitting in his car motioning...come on.  I teared up when we sat in the car...mainly because this was the THIRD time that Moajte helped us out.
 
Our guide's friend, Fatima, invited us to iftar with her family this evening in a small village outside of Bethlehem.  The house was very clean and well decorated - quite different from Aida Camp!  Fatima is a French teacher (born in Kuwait; educated in Jordan), who wants her daughters to see the world.  She's not very fond of living in a village, but has made the best of it.  We helped with the cooking and learned to make some things that I'm not going to try to transliterate (especially after yesterday).  Fatima's husband dropped us at the checkpoint and we decided to play it safe and take a taxi back to Jerusalem. 
 
Our taxi driver (who wasn't really a taxi driver) dropped us off in the wrong place near Damascus Street, which I was trying to avoid.  (Wandering around in the dark with heavy backpacks is not my idea of fun - nor a very smart thing to do.)  After about 20 minutes of wandering and asking questions, we found the St. George Cathedral Guest House and checked in.  When we asked about getting a sherut for tomorrow's ride to the airport (65 NIS each), the hotel attendant said that it was Shabbat and that the sheruts weren't running.  He did say that he'd be happy to book a ride for us to the airport FOR 300 SHEKELS each!!!!!  Ugh.  Neither of us had that much money left, so ventured out to find an ATM.  The nearest was the OLIVE TREE HOTEL...and my card worked for the first time since Poland!  We decided to celebrate at the Grand Court Hotel, where we stayed for the DSBS tour in 2008!
 
07/11/2015
Currently sitting in the airport, happy to have breezed through security!