So, I have a bucket list.  Don’t we all?  Even if it’s not written down, I think many of us can easily create a list of things we want to accomplish before we die.  I started writing some of mine down a few years ago, and have recently realized that even though they are now recorded, I’m not really doing much to try and cross them off the list. 

I’ve learned a lot about what it means to be proactive.  At the end of the day, if you want something accomplished, you have to just…do it.  Whether Fate or a Godly Plan actually exists is hardly relative, for if you sit on your butt all day and wait around for life to run its course, it’ll run on without you.

So then I thought, it is time to take something off my bucket list.

Become published? Doesn’t happen in day. Travel to all seven continents? I’m a little broke.  Skydive? I need some prescription anxiety medication first. Travel to Africa? I want to, but how? Get a tattoo? Okay.

 I’m not flying to Africa tomorrow.  But my goal– to travel back, to live minimally and full of content, and to breathe in the sights and smells and rhythms–is no longer just on a word document.  It’s tattooed, in my own handwriting, on my arm. 

The moment I stepped off the plane, returning home after a four-month stint in Ghana, the phrase “yEbEhyia bio” resonated in my mind.  It’s literal meaning in Twi is “we will meet again,” yet it is how Akan-Ghanaians say goodbye to one another.  How nice.

But its meaning goes beyond me wanting to go back.  It’s not just about the physical return; it’s about remembering every emotion as well.  It’s a reminder that how I felt in Ghana can be experienced wherever I am, no matter what situation I’m in.  The person I was in Africa will–and has–been met again.

yEbEhyia bio. Tattooed on my arm.  We can cross that one off the list.

We’re all routine oriented in some way. You may not even realize it, but we often always do one thing before another in a sequence of events, even if reversing the order would not realllly affect the action’s outcome.  Does that make sense?  

Today I woke up and thought about this.  And then I wrote this list:

-Put on the peanut butter before the jelly. (Do you know that like…97% of people put peanut butter on bread before the jelly? Yeah.  If they were called “jelly and peanut butter sandwiches,” maybe it’d be different. Now, I’m retraining myself to be a jelly-first kind of person.  To be in that 3%. Of course).  

-Soap up the body, then wash the hair. (Shampoo never comes first).

-Socks on before pants.  (It’s funny looking at yourself in the mirror in underwear and socks. Try it).

-Milk and sugar goes in the mug before the coffee.  (Apparently pouring hot coffee into milk makes the milk stay warm.  I don’t remember who told me this.  But whenever I “hear” these things, I assume they’re true).

-Find music to listen to on my ipod before turning on the car. (Can’t waste gas!)

-Drink coffee before brushing teeth. (Who wants mint-flavored coffee?)

Try on clothes before looking at the price tag.  (This is dangerous).

Jump in the ocean before feeling the temperature.  (This is vital).

Withdraw money from the ATM before checking my balance.  (Seriously, who does it the other way around?  Why do ATM’s even make this an option? To depress people more than they already are?  Sheesh). 

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In other news, read this comic from The Oatmeal. (It is super lol). 

There is a hidden gem about ten miles outside of Montpelier, Vermont.  Once you leave the state’s capital, you simply drive north on Rt.12; ten simple miles and you are no longer surrounded by coffee shops, bookstores, and bars. Instead, you are greeted with rolling hills and green fields in the forefront, and mountains softly standing in the distance.

 The beauty of this state, I believe, is the hundreds of hidden treasures that are tucked away in the woods.  It’s a convenient comfort that one can have access to the amenities that cites like Burlington and Montpelier offer, and within minutes escape to the serenity of solitude and seclusion.  

 This place is called Hancock Brook Falls, but has been nicknamed “The Pots” by the locals here in Worcester.  The Pots is a swimming hole that is created by the brook that cascades through a valley of the Winooski River; the water rushes downward and spills over slick, black rocks that have been worn down into small-sized holes.  What you now have is a natural swimming pool with chilly, fast-flowing water—a beautifully refreshing spot to escape to. We have just driven eight hours from New York City, and are relieved to find ourselves back in the woods.  We’ve been living in New York for a while now, and the city has tired us, worn us down.  Back in the woods we feel rejuvenated, the natural life around us resonating in our veins.

 The sun was shining high above us when we were in Montpelier.  It warmed our skin, forming beads of sweat on our backs, and we thought a trip to The Pots would be a perfect way to cool off.  However, as we left the city, the sun started to slowly disappear behind the clouds.  The temperature dropped, but we were still destined to enjoy the invigorating feeling of jumping into the chilly water. By the time we found ourselves deep in the woods, the tall trees were disguising the now ominous sky.  We stripped down to our bathing suits, shrugged that we didn’t have any towels or an extra change of clothes, and started climbing down the slick rocks into the pools of icy water. 

 I was timid at first, only getting ankle deep in the shallow pools.  Once my body became numb to the shocking temperature, I crouched down into the water and let the current flow over my thighs, ripples zigzagging around my wrists.  I started climbing down the brook; the water was splashing up at my waist now, and I was ready to make a plunge into a deeper pool, immersing myself completely into the water. 

 Just then—crack. Moments later, a roll of thunder that shook the trees surrounding the river.  I immediately looked up at the sky just as it opened up its dark belly to me. Hail.

 Have you ever been hit by hail before?  I hadn’t, and found this experience especially unique, considering I was in the middle of a flowing brook, waist deep in icy water, and in a bathing suit. It’s not particularly…comfortable.

 And yet, I couldn’t help but beam. Hail was getting caught in my hair as I tried to scramble up the rocks; water, both river and rain, splashed in my face, blinding my vision.  And at this moment my body was no longer cold; I had let the ice and the freezing waters and the slippery rocks and the wet moss consume me, and I simply became a part of the brook. I was giving myself into nature in its truest form. I was completely vulnerable, completely at peace.

 I managed to find some shelter under a tree on the opposite side of the riverbank, but soon enough the leaves could no longer hold in all the liquid.  I sacrificed myself back in the brook, and scrambled up the rocks as the hail jabbed at my exposed, rosy skin.  Within minutes I was climbing up out of the river and onto the road where our van was parked. I got in the van and laid down on the front bench, letting my shaking body slowly calm down, easing my breaths into a controlled rhythm.  The hail tapped on the roof and slid down the windows, reminding me that deep in the woods, nature is in charge.

afternoon naps > sleeping in

mountains > oceans

cats = dogs

winter > summer

brown rice > white rice

phone calls > texting

running > swimming

autumn > spring

hand-written letters > email

vanilla > chocolate

greater than lists > using the greater than symbol for advanced calculus

Happy Summer Solstice!  

Here is a really simple, user friendly diagram that shows the relationship between the earth and sun:

Get it?

Anways, the word solstice derives from a combination of Latin words:  “sol” (sun) & “stice” (to stand still). I guess these clever Latinites believed that the sun rose so high on June 21st that it seemed to stand still in the sky.  In reality, the sun eventually goes away; the summer solstice is simply the longest day and the shortest night of the year.

Anyways….why is the Summer Solstice–the longest day of the year–so great? Don’t we always complain about our days being too long? “UGH, I’ve had the longest day.” “This day is never going to end.” Moreover, don’t we wish our nights out could be extended?: “I wish this night would last forever!” “Sleep is for when you’re dead!” 

So even though it seems that most people would rather have shorter days and longer nights, everyone gets alllll excited for the Summer Solstice.  Perhaps we’re more excited about its second meaning–the first day of summer.

But again, conflict.  

Yes, it wasn’t summer until….today. So when you swam in the ocean and got all tan and ate lobster rolls and went to that outdoor music festival and passed all your final exams and sweat in the 90 degree heat and barbequed almost every night, that was…the spring. And once September 1st rolls around and you go back to school and you pull out all your sweaters and peaches are no longer sweet and you can’t go out galivanting in the city without said sweater awkwardly stuffed in your bag, it’s…still summer.

But please, by all means..enjoy this longest of days. And Happy Summer!

 Sorry for the recent absense…Big Tree has been on the road since Thursday, playing shows in New York City, Burlington and Montpelier VT, baack in NYC, and Boston (tonight!)

This mini-road trip has included playing Katy Perry covers, dancing to DJ Questlove, getting caught in a hail storm while swimming in freezing waterfalls, sleeping in an adirondack lean-to, and filling a room of Bedford Ave wandering hipsters out at Brooklyn’s Northside Festival.  We also enjoyed delicious egg sandwiches at the “best place for brunch in Burlington,” and found ..ourselves!…in a popular VT newspaper:

An overabundance of pringles, sour patch kids, tequila shots, and sitting in the van, along with a lack of sleep and water has made me feel…”a little out of shape,” to say the least.  

It’s a rough life, you know?

Driving up to Boston for a show at the Middle East tonight, then back to New York tomorrow. Until then!

Has anyone ever told you that when certain uncertainties come at you in life, you will “just know” what to do?  My favorite is the whole love/marriage thing: you’ll come to a point when you “just know” that he is the one, and that it’s time to put a ring on it–saying a forever farewell to your single status.  Moreover, I remember being oddly stressed as a seven year old about how a mother knew when she was ready to get to the hospital and give birth;  my mom told me “you just know.” (I totally did not trust my “just knowing” abilities and now wish she could’ve tried to explain the whole water-breaking thing).  

Maybe I’m not really great at the “just knowing.” I thought I “just knew” where I wanted to go to college, and I transferred.  I “just knew” that I wanted to go into the Peace Corps in Sub-Saharan Africa, and I recently turned down the offer.  I also “just knew” I wanted my bedroom to be painted a heinous bright blue in the seventh grade.

I’m still paying for that one.

There are, however, two things that I truly believe I “just know.”

Sometime in my life, I will live  in the mountains.  Seattle.  The Rockies.  The Adirondacks. East coast west coast, I don’t really care that much.  I can’t explain it, but I “just know” that I belong there–somewhere–amidst the woods, lakes, dirt, moss, fires, log cabins: the whole nine yards.

Secondly, and perhaps even sooner than my mountain lodge, I need to go back to Africa.  I have this odd connection to the whole continent.  Call it an extreme over-simplification, but for how incredibly diverse and complex Africa is, I feel a wholeness. I will go back soon and do something worthwhile. “I just know.”

What do you “just know”? (If you “just know” who I’m going to marry, where I’m going to end up living, what sort of career path I’ll take, so on and so forth…feel free to give me a heads up). 

What’s your favorite season? The fall? You’re right! (no, this isn’t an opinion question, autumn really is the correct answer).

At least if you live in the Northeast and love to go hiking.

Soon. Sort of.

So…. I’m still playing around with ideas for this blog (can I call this a “website”? “Blog” is still so WEIRD ahhh). At first I wanted a theme to my writing madness, but then I think I would be limiting myself as to what I want to write about.  Instead, I’m going to embrace the randomness.  Yesterday was a post about the oil crisis in Nigeria.  The day before, visiting Grandma.  A couple weeks ago? Cleaning out my room.  10 months ago?  Eatings grits in Nashville, TN.  And today?

What I ate for breakfast.  

I know, right? Sorta lame.  But you chose to read this, not me.  

Incase you were wondering, I usually start off my mornings with CNN and coffee.  And it’s always hot coffee. Always.  Even if it is 100 degrees outside, there is something to say about slowly sipping on my Adirondack Mtn Loon Mug (i know) while watching more exposed pictures of Weiner, rather than blazing through a glass of iced coffee that I can top off in about twelve seconds.  

In any case, hot coffee must equal cold breakfast, or else I’ll start sweating buckets before I even go out for a run.  And since I have an undying love for oatmeal, I found a way to still enjoy it in the summer months.  Alas: overnight oats.

 So kids, this is the deal.  This bowl of oats was soaked overnight with equal parts milk and yogurt, cinnamon, flax seeds, and strawberries & banana slices.  By the next morning, the rolled oats have soaked up all the liquids and flavor, and BAM…creamy, cold, oatmeal heaven. Seriously. Try it!  I even will give you a recipe!

 Overnight Oats:

1/3 cup rolled oats

1/3 cup milk

1/3 cup greek yogurt

1 tsp cinnamon

1 tbsp flax seeds

1/2 banana, sliced

Combine in bowl. Stir. Place saran wrap on top of bowl and stick in the fridge.  Go to bed. Wake up. Eat with hot coffee–your body temperature will be balanced. 

You can also play around with this recipe!  I use flavored greek yogurt for extra sweetness; use plain and add honey.  Throw in blueberries.  Coconut.  Peanut butter. Cocoa powder.  Almonds.  Almond milk.  Do whatever, I totally support you. 

Let’s just say that frustation with oil companies should go beyond high gas prices.  I just finished reading the novel Little Bee, which is what inspired me to write this post.  I could talk about this topic for days (I wrote a 15 pg paper on it), but I’ll keep this as compact as possible, hopefully just informing or engaging anyone who wants to learn more.  

Know more about what?  The oil crisis in Nigeria.

Little Bee is a story about a Nigerian girl running away from death– from  militia that came to destroy her oil-laden village. And while this is a novel, stories like Little Bee’s have and are continuing to happen.  US oil companies have given an enormous amount of money to Nigerian government officials to “evacuate” people from their villages in order to drill for oil: the Nigerian government has nothing to say for their acts of rape, murder, and expolusion in order to “quiet down” the peoples of the Niger Delta in order to drill into the ground; Shell has softly admitted that their blind eye has been a “less than perfect” attribute.

Who is to blame? Anyone? Everyone?  How can any Nigerian, let alone human rape or kill another, no matter what monetary value?  Isn’t there a better solution to drilling oil than to murder thousands? And how can US oil companies see what’s happening but play the ignorance card? When it has been reported that Chevron-marked helicopters are carrying Nigerian military that open fire upon protestors, how do you react when you’re filling up at your own Chevron? How can you?

This may be hard to wrap your head around, so think of it like this: imagine someone telling you they are burning down your whole neighborhood–houses, roads, everything–and you just have to leave, empty handed. Right then and there.  You of course want to protest, but would be raped or murdered for doing so. And if you see others being raped or murdered, you become a witness, so you are chased down until you are also killed so you cannot tell your story.

And there are these white gods on the sidelines, just watching. 

 I am no expert, and am only relaying what I’ve read and researched. The oil wars are extremely involved, dealing with federalism, colonization, ethnicity, poverty, international relations, money, and power.  The list can go on and on.

But for now, pick up Little Bee for an lighter-introduction to what’s been going on.  Or watch the award-winning documentary, Drilling and Killing by Amy Goodman, Jeremy Scahill and Dred Scott Keyes.  And while you’re at it, watch this video, which talks about the envionmental impact of the drilling: