Take Me Home, Mountain Mama, to the Wild and Wonderful West Virginia!

When I pictured myself on a Spring Break in college, West Virginia was probably the last state that came to mind. I envisioned myself laying on a warm beach, tropical drink in hand, with a bunch of friends, but little did I know I was about to embark on a journey way deeper than the stereotypical college spring break. A few days before I started packing for the trip, I realized aside from being unsure about my packing list, I was also unsure about this trip in general. I was excited to do community service and meet people, but as Sunday started creeping up on me I started wondering if I would like the people I would be forced into spending the next week with or if this experience actually would change my life for the better just as I anticipated it would. Now, sitting here two weeks later writing this blog, I laugh at those fears and insecurities I had in the beginning, because my trip to West Virginia was by far one of the best weeks of my entire life and exceeded my expectations in each and every way. But, even though I could go on all day about the new person I had become by the end of this trip, and the impact we all made on the people of West Virginia, and, of course, each other, I cannot start there, because just like every other good story, I must start from the beginning.

It was Sunday morning, before the sun had even begun to come up and we were standing in front of the Student Center unsuspecting of what the next week of our lives was going to entail. Though we had spent the last five Sundays together through countless conversations and icebreakers, the 12 of us still felt like strangers to one another. Looking back on it now, we were not at all prepared for the twelve hour drive that awaited us or the next life changing six days that would follow. We had finally got on the road and then made our very first bathroom break on Easton Ave at the Dunkin Donuts, five minutes outside of Rutgers University. Our breakfast there would have to carry us on until we reached the infamous DJ's diner right on the outskirts of West Virginia.

After three hours of indulging ourselves in fried foods and spilled milkshakes (and famous West Virginian biscuits with gravy), we had rolled into our destination: West Virginia. It became apparent we were no longer in the north. Riding through the rough terrain on beaten down roads, it was clear where the "wild" of West Virginia came, but we were yet to see anything wonderful aside from a father riding his ATV down the two way highway with his four year old daughter sitting on the handlebars. 

Even though we had been forewarned about the poverty in West Virginia, none of us realized how terrible the circumstances actually were. As we drove along a West Virginia "highway" we saw everything from trailer parks to homes being kept together by just one shingle. We drove through "unincorporated towns" which was a foreign concept to all of us. These shady towns do not have a municipal government, police officers, or even a local schooling system. Like the majority of West Virginia, and its poverty, these towns are not only hidden by mountains and forests, they are forgotten.

As we wound down the stretch of the highway, we approached the welcoming sign "Beards Fork, 2 Miles, Turn right." If having just survived the unmaintained highway we were on for the last forty minutes wasn't enough, we now had to voyage down a two mile, single lane "holler" that led us into the great unknown where we would be spending the next six nights together. Pulling up to the fenced in lodge, we knew we had arrived at the Southern Appalachian Labor School (SALS). By this point, we had already caught a glimpse of some of the poverty stricken areas of West Virginia and barely had a hint of what to expect. We had driven for hours and through four different states. Our personalities had started to show and we had begun to know one another. We were curious, anxious, ready for whatever was next. It was at this moment that our unforgettable week began.

The Tale Comes To A Turn

And so here we are. We were all some-ones who became the ASB Tennessee 2011 family. We discovered who we are through each other and met others along the way that made it into our story. Our somewhere became Maryville, Tennessee, the Snowbird Cherokee Reservation, Once Upon A Time Breakaway, Linda's home, Pat's home, the beautiful trails, the hootenanny. Our some-ones were Arleen and Ed, Ian, Little Blue, Queeny, Tiger, Binky, CSU, SMU, Winthrup University, Wanda, Scott, Chase, Linda, Nelly, Pat, and the list goes on. As we rode back down the windy gravel road, we knew that our fairy-tale had not ended, we would just be bringing our some-ones and somewheres to another place spreading the goodness and the love that we had found and help others to find that same spirit. Our story has not come to an end. We will forever be connected by the memories we created and the souls we touched. We will live and volunteer happily ever after.  

Fist Pump Friday?

It was the last morning of our last full day. We had spent the entire week pinching ourselves, asking incredulously, could this possibly be real? Now we wished more than ever for that infinite fairy tale ending, where we all lived Happily Ever After in the mountains of Tennessee with Ed and Arleen, Little Blue and the three cats. As we sat at breakfast that morning, the sun rising over the left side of the mountain range still blue in the morning mist we giggled at how picturesque our fairy tale was.

"Play"

Our first stop was the Sequoyah Museum. The museum commemorated the man Sequoyah (which translates to "Pig Foot") who single-handedly formulated a written language for the Cherokee. Without a formal education, Sequoyah created the language by listening to people around him speak. He then came up with an 86 symbol syllabary.

"Work"

The museum is building a trail along the river and that pesky privet weed has been growing for more than twenty-five years unchecked. Though at times it took four people tugging and ripping at the tree-sized weed, the four schools managed to clear out a remarkable area for the new trail.

"Play"

After returning back to Once Upon A Time and cleaning up a bit, we headed back out for the big Hootenanny. What a release of energy! From the outside, the building looks like an old elementary school. That's because that's exactly what it is. From the inside, however, the space explodes with music from every direction. People travel from as much as three hours away to hear the performers, some well known and some just being discovered. We danced ourselves into the ground...literally. We actually broke through a couple floor boards! Some incorporated the jersey fist pump (for comic relief, ONLY) and others whipped out some fancy Irish step-dancing moves. By the end of the night, we had been converted to the Hootenanny and its ways.

And then it was time to face the music (heh). It was time to pack up and leave our magic place and get ready to say goodbye to our new found second family.

Thursday Thrills

"Work"

Thursday morning found the ASB 2011 troupe in the Chickasaw Tennessee State Park. Here we met the sole park ranger responsible for clean up and security for the entire park. The amount of thanks we received before we had even done any work was incredible. The Snowbird Cherokee Women's Society had sent literally an entire truck full of baked goods, drinks, and snacks. We were given reusable shopping bags, pens, keychains, flashlights, and hand sanitizer packs that read, "Keep Monroe County Beautiful". The ranger explained to us just how helpful the Alternative Break groups have been in helping to make that happen. When the groups started coming, the park was filled with insurmountable amounts of trash. Each year, the amount of trash being found has gone done incrementally. The cleaner the park becomes the cleaner people want to keep it!

We collected unbelievable amounts of trash. Most of it of the expected variety-- cans, bottles, food containers, etc. Some of us, however, were lucky enough to find some trash "treasures" (and to those brave souls who picked it up and dispensed of it, we salute you). Collectively we picked up enough trash to fill the back of a semi-truck!

"Play"

By the middle of the afternoon, the sun graced us with its presence. It was a lovely seventy-five degrees. The water glittered and shone as we approached the Great Rope Swing. After some timidity, most of the group climbed the tree trunk, grabbed the rope, and swung out up to fifteen in the air before plunking into the very cold water below.

After another great dinner, we welcomed a guest speaker, a Cherokee woman who was a good friend of Ed and Arleen. She told us so many wonderful Cherokee stories and also shared more details of just how tragic the Trail of Tears was. Here is my summarized version of one of my favorite lessons she shared with us:

One day, a grandfather was talking with his grandson. "Grandson, I have a battle going on inside my heart."
The grandson became very concerned and asked his grandfather if he was sick.
So the grandfather explained further, "Inside my heart there are two wolves. One wolf brings me anger, sadness, weakness, despair, and violence. The other wolf he battles brings me joy, peace, delight, courage and happiness."
So then the grandson asked his grandfather, "Grandfather, which wolf is winning?"
The grandfather smiled and looked at his grandson, "The one I choose to feed."

This story resonated so deeply with me because it encompassed a huge reason for why our trip had been so meaningful. We had each chosen to feed the good wolf inside of us. That goodness had spread and was feeding that good wolf in every other person we met and was being given back to each one of us tenfold. That bad wolf didn't have a chance.

Some Highlights From Our Day Off...

Wednesday was our day off. To take a break from all the written stuff, I've put together the basics of the day in picture form. 

(Pictures courtesy of Trini Head)

Entering The Lost Sea, one of the largest underground lakes in the world. 

View from inside the cave on the way to the Lost Sea. 

Taking laundry very seriously.

Beautiful Maryville for dinner!

Beautiful people share dinner at Tomato Head Cafe.

We've been graffitied by Colorado State! (They even got our slogan right)

No comment. 

Arleen teaches the group to make jam at Jam Session. We all came home with 

our own jar of homemade blackberry jam. 

Bonfire and s'mores and story time. 

Our own Will wrote his own brilliant story. 

Tuesday Wrapping Up in the Reservation

"Work"

Tuesday morning, after welcoming the day and all its lessons with the Morning Song, we were off to the Snowbird Cherokee Senior Center. It was rainy, cold, and gray so the trip indoors was definitely welcomed. We found way more than shelter in that small space. As we walked in, slightly soar and tired from the day before, we heard chirps and giggles in the room ahead of us. I have never seen a more energetic group of "seniors" in my life. Though some were quieter than others, everyone shared a smile with us. We were doubled over giggling with them, passing unicorns and "half-a-lump"s by the end of our stay. The asked us to come back soon, and we parted after a very genuine hugging session. We were supposed to be there to keep them company and brighten their spirits, but as we left I felt as if they had given us so much energy and light. I felt like we had gotten more than we could ever give, but I suppose that is often the feeling in environments filled with so much genuine compassion.

After reuniting with the rest of the colleges (who were much wetter and muddier) for lunch, we decided we would brave the potential rain to help another Cherokee woman, Pat, clear some more invasive privet from her yard. As we cut away all the nasty privet we could see, she told us a bit of her story. Her husband had passed away about ten years ago. Before he had passed, they would spend their time together on the porch looking at the brook. Since he had died the privet weed had grown so thick she could no longer see the brook. Along with Colorado State, we worked intently to clear as much as we could. Pat was ecstatic to see her brook again.

"Play"

Our next adventure was a two mile hike through the Joyce Kilmer Memorial Forest. The old growth forest felt so momentous as we hiked up and around it in the weakening rain. We saw giant, thick trees that were over six hundred years old, and we saw small delicate trillium plants that had taken six years just to produce a little bud. We even found a little piece of the Hub City. On a plaque dedicating the forest to Joyce Kilmer, we discovered he was born in New Brunswick, NJ! It was a very proud moment indeed.

Later, we returned to Once Upon A Time. We were back home! At every meal, one school is selected to sit in the house's dining room as opposed to the dining hall where most of the schools eat together. It was a very simple yet special experience. It was only the evening of our third day together and we were already becoming a family. Through the front windows, the blue and grey mountain ranges were blanketed with a light mist. Perhaps this was a fairy-tale after all.

Monday Sets the Bar High

Our first day of work was a series of rejuvenating actions. It became so busy, even in our journals we described the events in terms of an itinerary so that we could preserve each and every moment's memory in a concentrated way.

"Work" 

For the first and second day of work, we spent most of our time working with and getting to know the Cherokee people. After riding the Dragon, the infamous motorcycle road stretch that contains 318 turns in 11 miles, we arrived at our first project. Our group was responsible for digging the final irrigation trenches, laying the gravel and beams for an ADA handicap fishing trail. When asked who wouldn't mind getting "a little muddy", four girls jumped at the opportunity. By the end of the two hour stretch of work, everyone had become apart of the mud war and most wore it proudly. 

After wrapping every surface of the rental car in garbage bags, we moved on to the next site, where we met Linda, an elderly Cherokee woman in need of some assistance on her property. Linda's garden was on a grade that was higher than her house. As she got older, she wasn't able to make it up the hill. She tied a rope to a tree and was pulling herself up the hill every day. Our group put in steps and a handrail so that Linda could get back up to her garden with ease again. The rest of the group worked rigorously to rip the invasive privet weed out of her front yard. A beautiful brook runs through Linda's property. Before we got there, you couldn't even see there was a brook from some angles. By the time we finished, it was clearly visible! The third and final section of the group worked on Linda's sister-in-law's house scrubbing off mold and residue that builds up due to the humid atmosphere. It was amazing to see what a group of hard working students could do in a couple of short hours. It was more gratifying than anything most of us had accomplished in a long time. 

Our next project for the day was brief but sweet. We spent some time at the Recreation Center, some of us tip-toeing into the library in our muddy work boots to help students with their homework, others going into the bible study session in the gymnasium. Wherever we ended up, all agreed that the children were eager to see us. It was touching to see how positive and familiar Ed and Arleen's program is in the community. On several occasions we were asked, "Are you the college kids?!" Everyone young and old seemed to know about Ed and Arleen and "their college kids". 

And so we were off to the infamous Fish Game. 

"Play" 

Everyone had been discussing the game since we had been told we would need a change of clothes and Ian told us he was playing in a bathing suit. "Just expect to be muddier than you got playing in the mud when you were six", he advised. As our van approached, we saw a seemingly innocent field with a tall wooden beam decorated with a large carved wooden fish on top. It was only as we got closer that we saw the pooling layer of mud that surrounded it on all sides. 

There were only a few rules to this Cherokee courtship game:

Men:

-are shirtless and are allowed the use of a small wooden lacrosse stick

-are not allowed to hit women

-must use the stick to pass the ball and hit the fish with said ball for a point

Women:

-do whatever you need to do to hit the fish with that ball

First team to 12 wins. 

Women have won ten years in a row. After two hours of mud slinging, sliding, slopping, and tackling, the girls emerged victorious. By the end of the game, it seemed that an equally compelling competition was raised-- whoever is covered head to toe in mud will be an even bigger winner. I believe there were quite a few ties. 

After dipping into the river (some were scrubbing each other with flat bristled brushes) to get some of the mud off, we delicately made our way into the van to travel back to the church we would be staying in for the night. And that is when we realized: for 40 students (the majority of which were women) there were two showers per gender. 

The race for the shower was pleasantly delayed by the Welch family, a Cherokee couple that came to the church to sing some traditional music and christian music in the Cherokee language. They explained to us that after the Trail of Tears, much of the Cherokee language was lost because those who had experienced it wanted to save their children and grandchildren from the pain and suffering they had endured. The Welch family and others were working to re-cultivate the culture and the language through song. We all rose as they sang a song in Cherokee in honor of those who were lost on that terrible journey. It was a powerful ending to a powerful day. 

After a strategic race, we bonded further over the adventure that was the cold shower experience and went to sleep before another busy and moving day. 

And so the story begins...

It doesn't fit in a letter or a word or a sentence or a paragraph or an essay. It doesn't fit in a picture frame or a souvenir. It won't fit in this blog, either. But I suppose we will do our best. Our experience in Tennessee was an intangible flow of people and thier stories, places and their histories that will forever be ingrained in how each one of the ASB Tennesseee Alt Breakers identifies himself or herself. I have tried to break this down into "work" and "play" but these two were so often intertwined that these ideas may carry overlapping stories.

We arrived on day one at Once Upon a Time Breakaway in Maryville, Tennessee. We travelled up the windy gravel road to arrive at a place we would call our home for the next week. Ed, Arleen, and Ian the intern welcomed us with Little Blue, the chubby beagle mutt, and Queeny, the cuddly cat, close behind them. After short introductions we were led into the bunkhouse, "The Backpacker's Inn" Our bunkhouse was perfect. We had a wood burning stove to keep us warm at night, a kitchen (where countless pots of coffee were made) and a back deck that had a breathtaking view of the mountains. We were even close to the outhouse.

We later learned that the entire compound, including Ed and Arleen's house, the outhouse, shower house, bunkhouse, bunks, workshop, etc. had been built by Ed himself. A humble man, Ed left his honor up to Ian, who rattled off all of Ed's accomplishments-- including the commision by President Reagan and his wife to build furniture for the White House, and the record-setting three hundred pound boar he took down on his own (it hung triumphantly inside the house).

After a peaceful dinner and further introductions and greetings with Colorado State University, Winthrup University and Southern Methodist University, we piled back into our bunkhouse to prepare for Day 2 (or Day 1 of actual volunteer work). We were told to bring two extra changes of clothes to change into after the Fish Game. Ian warned us all, "You will definitely want to change after the Fish Game-- trust me." We giggled as we prepared for the next day, unaware of just how rocked our senses would be twenty-four hours later.

Once Upon A Time

Once upon a time- or, to be more exact- six weeks ago, we were some-ones going on a trip somewhere, preparing for it somehow. We didn't know names, places or faces. We were individuals sitting in swivel chairs in a meeting room with no idea what to do next. We weren't going to Florida, or Jamaica or Cancun for our spring break, and that was about all we knew.

So we spent the next six weeks changing that. Through some planned and some unplanned moments, we grew to realize how interconnected we all were. Each week a different thread of our personal stories was raised and each week it was woven into the story of the group. We had goals that were the same (whether they were embracing the outhouse or making a change outside the Rutgers community), childhood memories that were the same, even hometowns that were the same. We began to understand that in order to make this upcoming trip as meaningful as possible, we had to first develop relationships with one another. It was almost too easy. By the end of six weeks, we were screaming and hugging, conducting and playing silent orchestras, referring to ourselves in terms of our colors, and picking outhouse buddies. 

As we learned about each other, we simultaneously worked to find out more about our volunteer goals in Tennessee.  Each week we strove to learn about the Cherokee people, about Once Upon a Time Breakaway, and about our itineraries once we get there. This task posed a challenge that became more abstract than we realized. A piece of paper cannot laugh or tell inside jokes, it cannot tell you the story of it’s past beyond dates and concrete events. Though we will leave Rutgers this week with an idea of who the Cherokee are, our greatest understanding is yet to come. We leave this community with open minds, flexible schedules, and a longing for a greater connection to the story of the some-ones in Tennessee. We are eager to help, but mindful of the difference between leaving a positive impact and leaving undesired changes. We are going to work with the environment, not against it. 

This Sunday as we depart, We are Tiff, Chris, Karen, Eunji, Will, Joanna, Sam, Kelly, Moses, Eden, Keith, Trini, and Erin. We’re not going to Mexico or Jamaica to sun-bathe, we’re going to Tennessee with new found friends to assist the Cherokee people in their environmental pursuits to preserve, restore and protect. There are still some-ones we do not know, somehows we have yet to come across, and somewheres we have yet to see. We are ready to meet them and weave together the story of the Alternative Spring Break Group 2011 Trip to Tennessee.