Trees Tall as Mountains (The Journey Mama Writings: Book 1)

by Rachel Devenish Ford

  I feel like I'm rambling, and I don't exactly know what to say, except that I'm thankful, so, so thankful that my Kenya girl is alright, that we are all alright. That I am only bruised. That there are no broken bones. That we are all alive.

  November 5, 2007

  I forgot to mention that the cause of the accident was unsafe tires. My mom had recently taken the van to the tire shop, where she requested winter tires. The man assured her that putting snow tires with studs on the back, while keeping regular tires on the front, was perfectly safe. However, everywhere that I've been researching this today insists that for safety, the same type of tire should be installed on both axles. As far as the guy advising my mom that what he was installing would be fine, I think it is a case of preferring what is legal, over what is safe. Since my mom was putting studded tires on her car, any employee at a large tire store such as this one should be aware of the dangers of uneven handling.

  And there is my tire rant.

  We are sore, sore, sore. I think everyone is recovering.

  November 7, 2007

  I am still writing my way through this. People have expressed surprise that I can write so soon after the accident, but writing is my way of making sure that I am still here.

  I woke up this morning at my grandmother's house, to the call of "Breakfast is ready!" from my grandfather. It is like stepping back in time, being in this house. I've been longing to come back here for years, and haven't, simply because Edmonton is a long, long way from California. But here I am now. My sister and I flew out yesterday morning. Driving didn't work, but we still needed to come out to see my grandma.

  The kids are with my Mom and Dad, and there is probably no other reason under heaven that I'd leave them at this point in time, but I'm always amazed by how secure they feel around their grandpa and grandma.

  I have so much to say, but it will have to wait. I'm going to squeeze as much time with my own grandma and grandpa as I can out of this short visit.

  November 11, 2007

  Oh, I'm sore. My sternum feels like pigeons have found a home in my ribcage and are fighting amongst themselves in there. I trust that this isn't the case.

  I found this quote in the book, Walking on Water, by Madeleine L'Engle, which I'm reading and loving right now.

  "Unamuno might be describing the artist as well as the Christian as he writes, 'Those who believe they believe in God, but without passion in the heart, without anguish of mind, without uncertainty, without doubt, and even at times without despair, believe only in the idea of God, and not in God himself.'"

  These are good words to take to heart when living in a confusing and war torn world. Or after free falling in your vehicle. Or when you're five, and trying to figure out why we were allowed to be in the accident in the first place.

  All I know is this: My driving may be a little bit white-knuckled, lately, and my baby may cry whenever he gets in the car, but I feel more than ever that my life is gently cupped in my Father's hands. We are like small smooth stones, warm and cradled and sure. No matter what happens He will not let go.

  November 12, 2007

  Has it really been only eleven days since the beginning of November? They have been eventful, to say the least.

  Tomorrow we begin our journey back down to California, to our new home in Sacramento. I can't wait to see our house, meet it and move into the corners of it, and fill the fridge with baby carrots.

  I kind of want to see my Superstar Husband, too.

  It has been delightful, though, spending time with my mum and dad. They put up with me well, their daughter who just happens to come home and wreck their vehicle. It's so funny, really, I feel responsible and they feel responsible (because it was their car) but really, as my dad puts it, "You just can't even go there." They are so incredible to me, though, so giving and warm and I have been feeling really safe recuperating here. Now it is time to go home and behave like a grownup.

  At the end of the month I have the incredible opportunity to be a part of writing about an amazing project with some wonderful people. This project is the reason for an urgent passport mission that I accomplished this past week. Which was successful, if by successful we mean having a passport that makes me look like a sunburned donkey. On the bright side, a sunburned donkey who can get on an airplane and fly overseas is happier than a sunburned donkey who cannot.

  November 12, 2007

  Today I found myself wondering whether I should do things in a different way before our big drive to California, in case the way I did things last time caused the accident. (!)

  I am not at all superstitious, and I think that there is an underlying anxiousness in me that I cannot even reach with my awake mind. The kind of anxiousness that would have me doing things in a different order so as to not repeat the accident. Leafy has been crying a lot when we try to put him in his car seat. I bought him a new one yesterday (since the other one was involved in an accident, and can't be used anymore) and hopefully that will help.

  Prayers of love and safety and oceans of grace will surround us as we drive south.

  November 16, 2007

  I'm going to Burkina Faso to do some writing, filming, and photography for the company that Chinua is working with here in Sacramento. I haven't traveled out of the continent since before Chinua and I were married, back in the sleeping-in-hammocks-on-the-beach-on-an-Indian-island-days. I remember how for years I would grow covetous when I was driving friends to the International airport, how I longed just to get on a plane. I NEED AN INTERNATIONAL FLIGHT, I would think. And in recent times I have become much more content. I have learned the beauty of being constrained. As my friend put it once, "Lean into the restraint."

  And of course, now that this new contentment is here, opportunities for travel are popping out of the cracks in the couch. (There is a lesson here, somewhere.)

  And, the house. The house! I love the house. We're staying here for five months while Chinua works for some friends. When five months are up, we'll make the move to India. It makes me a little afraid, how much I love the house, considering how temporary this arrangement is, but I realize that everything is temporary, right? So you love things while they are there, without that compulsion to grasp.

  I love the bead-board wainscoting in the kitchen, the quirky little doorways. I love the pantry that has the sink in it, so that I have to walk back and forth between the kitchen and the pantry to do dishes and put water in the pots. I love the water pressure. I love the world's biggest oak tree in the back yard. I love the funky falling down neighborhood, and the train that runs nearby, and the molding around the doorways.

  Now if I can only refrain from injuring myself further, trying to get things in order.

  November 18, 2007

  Today I was sitting on my porch with my cup of coffee, attempting to knit a baby hat (the second cup of coffee, after Kai knocked over the first one) and the yard guy was cutting the grass (he's employed by the company that owns the house).

  It was late afternoon and the sun was at that sweet angle where the whole world is suddenly cast in its best light, and the oak leaves that are scattered across our porch steps looked like Martha Stewart put them there on purpose. This neighborhood for some reason reminds us of the South, and it also reminds me a little of Detroit, and never more so than when the ice cream man comes around in his rusty black van. Like he did this afternoon. I know, you're ready to kill me, right? Because the ice cream man is coming around in the middle of November. We'll just have our Thanksgiving dinner and then run out and get some Ice Cream sandwiches.

  So I'm sitting there ignoring the ice cream truck, which seems to be hovering, and I'm not sure why, because I'm very deliberately ignoring him, thinking that my kids don't need treats right now, they are going to a party tonight where there will surely be treats (I was right, there were cupcakes). But then the yard guy calls up to me, and he wants to buy my kids popsicles.

  So I change my mind, because have you ever heard of anything sw
eeter than the guy who is mowing your yard, who is only at your house because he is part of some landscaping company, running out to the ice cream truck to get your kids popsicles?

  And then there we are, sitting on the porch. The kids tell me again and again how good popsicles are, and the juice runs down their chins, and it feels like this bit of extra summer ease that I did not have this past summer.

  This world can be so beautiful sometimes.

  November 24, 2007

  It's too bad that we have to hang out in our own heads so much. My own experience of life would be a lot better if I didn't have this brain of mine to deal with. But here I am with these old eyes, and this spastic motherboard that processes all that they see, and this is what I get. These are the tools I've been given, fidgety and twitchy as they are. Can God do anything with poor old me?

  Life is good. My children are my deepest blessing, and my husband is adorable. He's funny, he's smart, and he sings silly songs almost as often as he breathes. Our house is incredible, funny and Victorian and hilly and I love the friends who are around us and we had a wonderful Thanksgiving.

  But my self is unsettled, and I haven't found the ground underneath my feet yet. I feel like I'm tripping, I'm not sure of where the boundaries lie. I'm not sure of what I am and am not allowed to do. That sounds stupid, doesn't it?

  But for real, this is a big change. For instance, we have this fridge. It's really nice, I think someone wasn't using it anymore and kindly passed it along to us. (I'm not sure about all that happened before I got here.) It's big. It's nice. And everyday I walk over to it and open it and I think, "Is that really my food?" I mean, I have a fridge full of my own food. I'm twenty-seven years old and have never eaten in a non-communal way. In our last house, at the Land, we had a little half-size fridge. Up at the Big House was the kitchen, with the real food, not the juice and salsa that our fridge held. And the real stove was up there, too, while I had the single burner Coleman camping stove that I cooked the morning oatmeal on.

  This is really different for me. I am not sure if I am allowed to be happy here, yet. I am a little nervous.

  Maybe today is just a strange day. I've been having them, on and off. The victim services people from B.C. wrote to me the other day, sending me information about Critical Incident Response. The pamphlet shared all of the things that I may or may not be feeling or experiencing after having an accident like mine. I have to say, I'm feeling a lot of them, but what comes from the accident, and what comes from moving, and what comes from a major life change? And what comes from just being crazy ol' me?

  It is a good time for a little journeying to West Africa, I think. The kids will be staying here with Chinua, and I will traveling with some wonderful women. We leave very, very early on Monday morning, which doesn't even really count as Monday. It's like the day in between Sunday and Monday.

  Maybe somewhere along the way I will regain my rhythm.

  November 25, 2007

  Sometimes having dreadlocks is interesting. When Becca and I were at the airport, an older couple were obviously fascinated with our hair and couldn't quite believe that it wasn't "artificial". Even my grandmother barely believes that this is all my own hair.

  Today I was at the big library downtown. (I think I'll be okay in the city as long as I stick to the libraries. I went into Bed Bath and Beyond tonight to buy a travel pillow and pretty much gave myself a hernia. I am afraid of things, especially so much silicone cookware and so many digital scales.) While I was in the library, a boy took a picture of my hair.

  I was wandering by, minding my own business, and I semi-noticed him lifting his phone up and aiming it at me. Then, I heard that unmistakably loud fake shutter sound that cameras on phones have, trying to make up for the fact that they don't have shutters. And then the boy (he was about fifteen or sixteen) kinda went *cough, cough* to make up for the fact that he had stolen my soul with his camera phone and his fake shutter sound had given him away.

  It was all I could do not to bust out laughing, but I had some respect for the dignity of a teenage boy and acted like I hadn't noticed. Besides, there were books calling my name. All I can think is that he wanted a photo of some girl's crazy hair. I certainly wasn't wearing anything spectacular. Except, you know, it could have been that spandex glitter suit I had on.

  November 26, 2007

  I feel a little scared that the Leafy Boy might grow up in the ten days that I am gone. I really, really don't want that to happen. What if I come back and he's like, four? He's already learning about sixty-five words per day, I don't want any extra growth happening as well.

  I'm probably worried over nothing. They'll all be fine. The dads will be fine.

  In the meantime, Jessie and Cyndy and I will be boarding our flight early tomorrow morning, on our way to Paris, then Burkina Faso. The Paris part is crazy, I quite honestly never thought that I would ever go to Paris in my lifetime. It just goes to show you that maybe the darkest part of the storm really is right before the light. Or however that saying goes. I just totally messed that up, didn't I?

  November 28, 2007

  We're getting close to Paris and I've realized something for not quite the first time. I CANNOT sleep sitting up. I try and try, and no matter how exhausted I am, I can't get to that sweet drooling sleepy time place. I remember once, desperate on a Thai bus, when I simply gave up and laid on the floor among all the feet. The floor was hot and incredibly dirty and I slept like a baby. Now, knowing a little bit more about Southeast Asian cultures and their ideas about feet, I'm sure they were horrified. But they didn't show it, smiling and frowning sweetly at me.

  I don't think that would go over as well here on Delta Airlines. Bummer. Anyways, it looks like my first day in Paris may be a little blurred by sleep deprivation. Which may be just what I need to get the courage to use my elementary school Francais. Voulez-vous repetez, s'il vous plait?

  Do you ever have that incredible urge to leap up when the call for a doctor on board comes over the PA system on a flight? I've heard that call a couple of times, and tonight I'm really hoping that the person who needed the doctor is okay, but I also feel like dancing to my feet and yelling, "I'm a doctor!" Which would be a complete lie, since I'm totally not a doctor. Wanting to be a doctor is not the same as being a doctor.

  Also, wanting to be a breakdancer is not at all the same as actually knowing how to breakdance.

  November 28, 2007

  Paris.

  We have been meeting with the director of the non-profit we are working on, and all I have in my head is his accent. It is making it difficult to write in English, because I am composing my words with the understanding of someone who writes little English in mind.

  We have mastered the Paris Metro. Yesterday it was not so good, but today, Voila! We glide from stop to stop with the greatest of ease. The subway is interesting. Let's just say that the way the French use arrows is very different from the way we use arrows in North America. But yesterday we were also suffering from lack of sleep. We went for 32 hours without sleep and then fell in our beds and slept for twelve hours. It's a good way to get on the right time schedule.

  Now I need to get some sleep. Tomorrow we get up very early to fly to Burkina Faso.

  December

  December 6, 2007

  When you go to West Africa…

  You may find yourself in a small village market far away from any evidence of the twenty-first century. You might take photographs of women more beautiful than any you have ever seen, women who have never before seen a photograph of themselves. You will bless your digital camera again and again, because you will witness the disbelief and hilarity of women who find an image of themselves for the first time. They may grab you, grab their friends, laugh uproariously, direct you to the next person to photograph.

  You may find yourself feeling completely, purely happy.

  You will be invited into every village with hospitality that exceeds all limits. Your hosts will look for somethin
g for all your traveling companions to sit on- in the shade you will simply sit, and, not understanding the language, you will listen to the customary blessings with a smile on your face, because everyone understands the rhythm of speech, and everyone understands kindness.

  You will see many, many, many children. You will exclaim over tiny babies on the backs of women, you will make toddlers cry with your strangeness, you will make the older kids laugh and shriek when you show them photos of themselves. They will yell out names as you flip through photos, and find other children for you to photograph. They will lift up the small ones so that you can reach them.

  You may find yourself drinking moonshine gin in the morning, the tiniest sips of something you would never in your life drink at home, because you can't drink the water and your hosts must offer you something. You wouldn't dream of saying no. It tastes horrible and wonderful, because you are being honored. You will, however, draw the line at more than a few sips.

  You may meet the kindest people you have ever met. You may realize all over again that possessions mean nothing, and that true joy is found in love and brotherhood. You may feel honored beyond what you deserve, again and again. You may share food with people who bring you their best, who bring you the rabbit because rabbit is the best meat they could find. You may close your eyes more than once, rather than looking at what you are eating. You may wonder more than once, what exactly you are eating.