Being At Peace

Funny things happen when you are in Africa, you see and experiences a lot of unexpected things and you find lots of time to think. I have been thinking a lot lately and I have noticed I have thought more often about Kellen and what his life and spirit mean to me while being in Africa. Also, you’ll never believe it but I have also been having more adventures with intention. I am not sure which came first, this isn’t a chicken and egg matter, because I think that both of these things were born from a desire to see and experience the world at large.

The overall experience of living in Uganda has been great. I have learned a lot about the world, myself and about the people of Uganda. I could go on for days about the adventures I am having here, but I already wrote about some of them in a different blog. I am also looking forward to sharing them with you in person; it will be more meaningful that way. One thing that I have learned since I have been here is that I am less attached to outcomes than I used to be. One reason why Mike came here is because he was craving new and uncomfortable situations, me not so much, but you can’t escape those situations when traveling in a foreign country. When you are in them there is a little voice in your head that’s super cranky saying “what the hell is going on? when is this going to be over?” Well, I haven’t shut that voice up but I have learned to either ignore it or better yet embrace it. Embracing it is an important tool here because THIS IS AFRICA and things NEVER happen how or when you expect them to. Someone who is living in the moment is not wasting time and energy thinking about outcomes, they are just trying to live and hopefully learn from their experience. Kellen was a master of this; living in the moment and embracing life even more when it was uncomfortable, challenging or when the outcome was unknown. I, on the other hand, need to continually remind myself that the only way to have joy and peace is when you are living in the moment and embracing whatever life throws at you.

Another thing that I have come to know here is peace, more specifically peace with having Kellen’s spirit with us. I didn’t want to write “just” Kellen’s spirit because it has always been with me and as a matter of fact, that has been true for every spirit of every person, dead or alive, who I have ever loved. We are all connected, but ironically I feel more connected to Kellen now then ever before. Since his death I have felt lots of emotions and not all of them have been positive and I don’t think I let myself grieve all the way for a long time because I felt a need to be strong for my friends. But in the last couple of months I have been at peace, and now a calm, reflective and adventurous mood flows into me when I think about Kellen. When I am in that peaceful space I feel immense gratitude for everything that I have and it gives me energy to continue embracing life.

How I spent my summer vaction

Hello community,

Well, for some of us summer is already over and for others the end is drawing near. With us scattered all over the globe and doing very different things I thought it would be fun to invite you to share a story about your summer. With one stipulation, it must start with the phrase "So there I was...".

If you would like, email me your story (any length is encouraged) I will post it to this blog.

Thanks for sharing,
Craig

Beautiful Words About Kellen

Some of you may know Philip Ackerman-Leist. He is a good friend of mine from Green Mountain College. Today I finished his incredible book entitled Up Tunket Road: the education of a modern homesteader. The book is wonderfully written. It made me laugh, rethink many things, remember old times and it made me cry, twice.

The chapter aptly called The End of Petrol is a real tearjerker. But I'll let you find that out for yourself.

The reason I am writing this post is because of the last three sentences in the book. Many people helped Philip and his wife Erin build their house on Tunket Road. Kellen and I were two of those people. We helped with a variety of tasks from chopping wood to dawning our harnesses and dangling from ropes while putting the siding on. They were wonderful times and they are some of my fondest memories of my time with Kellen. Kellen and I, and others, are mentioned in the book and this made me feel wonderful that his name and spirit is in print, but Philip went further.

Up Tunket Road was published soon after Kellen died and Philip, being the thoughtful and amazing person he is ended his book with the below words and they touched me so deeply that I wanted everyone a chance to read them. The book ends with an acknowledgments section. I almost didn't read it, but I  thought, "I probably know a lot of the people he is going to mention, I should read this" I was right, and I found this as it's last paragraph:

"Finally, numerous students and alumni helped us construct our dreams.  Unfortunately, we recently lost one to a tragic avalanche.  Kellen, the vestiges of your craftsmanship here remind us why it's so important to lead a spirited life among friends and amid nature's wonders, with a lurking chance of mischief  hiding in the shadowed edges on any given moment." 


Up Tunket Road illustrates Philip's ability to write poetically about many aspects of live. He has a beautiful ability to capture the spirit of any given moment or person. As in this case, he has done so with Kellen.

Below is a photo I took of Kellen and Philip's son Asa. Ever since taking it, I have felt it captured what Philip wanted his land to be. A place for friends, family and nature to come together and be happy.

Kellen, everyone loved and followed you.

“Can you define ‘adventuring’ for me?”

A blog written by Alex Ziko, after I asked him to define adventure for me when I saw he was going to have adventures in Acadia, Maine. 

-Craig

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Park Ranger: Welcome to Acadia, how can I help you?

Me: Hi, I need a campsite

Park Ranger: Sure, Our sites are $20 a night. Will you be needing a park pass for you visit?

Me: Yes, please

Park Ranger: There is a list of pass options at the bottom of your registration sheet

Me: Is one week really the shortest option? I’m only staying for three days

Park Ranger: Yes

Me: (pause) Uh, really? Ok, I guess I’ll take one of those then.

Park Ranger: That will be $20 please

I never had plans to share my ‘adventure’ in Acadia with the Internet until Craig asked me. Adventures with Intentions: a blog about sharing memories of your expeditions seems like something of a paradox to me. My most memorable adventures were unquestionably unintentional. However, here you are reading with transfixed eyes eagerly awaiting to hear about my ‘adventure’ and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you be disappointed. So before you read further - turn off the cell phone in your pocket, switch your Gmail chat icon to ‘busy’ and pour yourself another cup of coffee. This is a long tale and should be savored like a fine wine in front of a woodfire. Are you sitting comfortably? Then let us begin.

I woke up early Tuesday morning in the Blackwoods campground, after a very restful night. I made myself a cup of coffee and a quick breakfast of sausage and eggs. Zak Robinson was kind enough to lone me his Whisperlite for my trip. However he neglected to tell me it only had two settings, “off” and “inside the sun.” Once my miraculously unburnt breakfast was finished I cleaned up my site and set off to the Ocean Path. This is a trail that spans the shoreline from Sand Beach to Otter Point and is quite picturesque when the morning sun is shinning and warming the rocks still retaining their chill from the night before. I was enjoying both the warmth of the sun on my face and of the coffee making its way from my travel mug into my innards. Thinking to myself “I wonder if I still have my sunglasses in my car glove-box back at camp?” when I heard a scream from the rocks to my right. At first I thought it was the cry of a seagull until I realized that there was a women in hysterics down on the rocks. Her husband had turned his back to the ocean to take a picture of his wife when a wave had crashed over him pulling him out to sea. I dropped my coffee, kicked off my shoes and dove into the freezing water. Swimming out to the drowning man I grasped him by his shirt collar and pulled him to me. As wave after wave crashed over our heads, I wrapped my arm around his chest and with all my strength bicycle-kicked my way to shore in a form that would have made my lifeguard instructor Candice Raines proud. Ok, so that didn’t really happen. The walk was really pretty though, and unbeknownst to me it’s a rather popular path in the park. Lucky for me I happened on it by accident, I was just looking for a nice short morning walk to start my day.

When I got back to my campsite after my walk I ate a brief early lunch and consulted my map. The Cadillac Mt. South Ridge trail travels from the campground to the summit. The mountain is arguable the most popular spot in the park for many reasons. It holds a panoramic view of Bar Harbor, the surrounding islands and other mountain peaks. It is also the first place in the country to see sunlight, depending on the time of year. Wanting to see the woods and noticing that I could access other trails from this one. I decided to pack my daypack and see where the afternoon took me. I hiked almost to the summit before I detoured down the Bubble Pond trail in an effort to hike a few of the Carriage roads. At this point I was in the center of the island. Off the path from all the major tourist attractions of the park and in the perfect position to really take in the kind of esoteric tranquility that only the Maine woods and it’s foliage can offer. I was reminded of a small art project that my friend Lauren Borst told me about years ago. She wanted to collect as many leaves as she could and mount them in a line showing a gradual progression from one shade of color to the next. I heard the trotting of horse hooves behind me, and my mind was snapped back to the present. I looked over my shoulder as a young, beautiful women, on horseback came riding up next to me and to my disbelief, she was completely nude! Her long flowing blond hair catching rays of sunshine contrasting the bright leaves behind her. She spoke perfect English however there was an accent that I couldn’t quite place. German? Swiss? “Do you know ze vay back to zee stables” she asked me “I’m lost and I’m afraid my grandpapa vill be vorried sick” “I have a map right here” I said “but without it how will I get back to my campsite?” I asked “There is no need, silly” she giggled “There is plenty of space for you at my Grandpapa’s mansion, and I get so frightened at night who else is there to keep me company?” Guess what? Yeah, that didn’t happen either. I took one of the Carriage roads to the park loop path and then promptly got lost almost ending up in Steal Harbor before I caught my mistake. I turned around walking the road in the right direction back the way I came. As I walked the side of the surprisingly busy park loop road dodging speeding Oldsmobiles of retired couples and mammoth busses of Asian tourists I thought to myself “god, how embarrassing this is going to be if a Park Ranger pulls up and asks me if I need a ride.” If that happens don’t half ass your part, Ziko. Just pull out your map and do your best to fake a British accent.” No, a tour bus didn’t crush me and the local law didn’t stop me on the side of the road. I did make it back to the campground and my planned 6 or 7-mile hike easily turned into an 11 or 12-mile ramble. Lesson learned, either pick one or two day hikes and drive to the trailhead…. or don’t plan anything and bring a Mt. Bike.

The next day was overcast a chilly. Since I was in no mood to do anymore walking I decided to drive the park loop stopping at all the popular spots to park and have a look around. I’m glad I got in all my hiking the day before since I think the less than perfect weather thinned the crowds. Sand Beach was pristine and Thunder Hole was impressive. Driving the park loop was beautiful and even though I wasn’t having a “backcountry experience” it didn’t prevent me from having a connection to the natural world outside my car. I stopped into the Jordan Pond house to have a look around and learn more about the historical background of the park. In the gift shop I admired the scented candles and oversized sweat shirts displaying large block lettering, ACADIA and MAINE THE WAY LIFE SHOULD BE. I was deeply immersed in a book on the attractions of the park when out of the corner of my eye I saw a dark figure approach the register. “Empty the drawer, the cash or your life bitch.” “He’s got a gun!” one of the elderly sales clerks shouted. The man turned his pistol at the old women. Acting on instinct I turned and my arm shot out snatching a glass jar of Made in Maine Maple Syrup off the shelf behind me. Taking aim and throwing it like a baseball at a carnival game stand it shattered on impact meeting the thugs face. “Arghh!” he shouted stumbling backward. “My eyes! You got Made in Maine Maple Syrup in my eyes!” I leapt the distance from the bookshelf to the gunmen; wrestling the gun out of his hand, it fell to the floor and I kicked it across the gift shop. Grabbing the thug’s collar I pinned him against the wall. “Paper or plastic scumbag!” I shouted as my right fist made contact to his left cheek.POW! Knocked out cold he slid to the ground as a trail of Made in Maine Maple Syrup streaked the wall from where he once stood to his limp body on the floor. Nope, that didn’t really happen either. But I did get some information on some really interesting day hikes that I didn’t get a chance to do and will definitely come back for next fall.

That evening the forecast called for rain all night and into the morning. So I decided that instead of breaking camp in the cold morning rain I’d pack up and leave early. On my way out the park there was one more thing I wanted to do, drive to the top of Cadillac Mt. It was my way of saying goodbye to Acadia and letting it know that I had fun and will be back again soon.

At the top overlooking the entire park my mind was left to wander as it always does. I looked down at the carabiner with its single strip of black electrical tape I’ve worn on my belt loop ever since February 11, 2010. I thought about where I was in my life, how lucky I was to be able to have experience like this and above all share them with friends who I have such a deep connection with. Relationships that are so special and wonderful that I can’t really explain them to other people. Relationships that, in a way I’m glad nobody else can understand. Because if someone else were to fully understand it, that would somehow make that bond less special and tarnish it. If I can easily explain how I feel about all of you to someone who doesn’t know you, and they in turn can easily understand, then how special can that really be? Maybe that’s why Kellen’s death is so hard to take. Not because of the loss of life, but because of the frustration felt not being able to truly explain your feelings to someone who didn’t share the same adventures you shared with such an amazing person. And the people who did share those same adventures aren’t near you during the time of day when you really need a hug from someone who knows.

I can’t define adventure any more than I can define exactly how important my friends are to me. Was my time spent in Acadia an ‘adventure’? You could look at it that way - although not as much as it could have been, clearly. I stepped outside my day to day, I went somewhere I had never really explored before and I had a great time. Anything more than that I’m afraid just didn’t happen.

However, if you don’t believe me I urge you to go up there and have an ‘adventure’ of your own. You can even use the park pass I bought. After all it’s still good for the next four days.

-Ziko

Unexplainable Events on Clinton Road.

Unexplainable events

One of the last trips I lead for Project USE this summer was a three day camping trip on their property off Clinton Road in northern New Jersey.  The reason this trip is making onto this blog is because of some events that happened the first night.

We set up camp in a standard manner.  The four boys had their tent, and across the campsite – about sixty feet away - were the four girls in their tent.  The two chaperones were each in their own tents.  “Sue” was spending her first night in the woods and set her tent up close to the girls’ tent. “John”, who has through hiked the Appalachian Trail, set his up a long distance away, nestled under a hemlock tree.  I had two new instructors working with me and they were sharing a tent near Sue’s.  I waited for everyone to go to bed, and then set out my sleeping pad next to the fire and covered myself under my little bug-net dome. 

As usual, voices were pouring out of the two students’ tents. They were a group of high school freshman and I gave them no specific bed time beside they need to not keep everyone else awake.  This request was obviously being ignored, but I always let it go for a time-being, until I get tired enough to care if I am being kept awake.  My spot was considerably closer to the girls’ tent and I could hear everything they were saying/singing.  Nothing bad was going on except for the volume but I let this go because I could see the boys’ tent was still awake as well.  They were much further away and I had a hard time hearing them – especially over the girls.  I noticed the lights would go out in their tent, things would get quite then all of a sudden the lights would be on and there would be a ruckus coming from the tent.  This didn’t seem too odd because I am very use to these urban youth reacting with great emotion over finding a bug in their tent. The routine was usually the same: there would be screaming, lights swirling all over the inside of the tent, a five minute argument on who is going to squish the thing, then another brief uproar followed by a gradual decrease in volume until silence was reached again.  I assumed this was the case in the boys’ tent that night.  What does assuming do again?

After an unclear amount of time, I decide enough was enough and it was time for my friendly reminder to be quite.  I simply yelled over to the girls’ tent to quite down and go to bed. This worked fine and it was quite.  However, the boys’ tent kept up the same routine of loud chaos, then dark silence for a long time.  I eventually got up to see what the heck was going on.  As I reach the tent, they were up and panicking.  The lights were on and in my most pleasant, middle of the night voice, I asked them to be quite and go to sleep.  They responded in a way I never expected. 

“Craig, there is something spitting on the walls in here!”

“What?” I replied

“Every time we turn the lights out and turn them back on there is more spit on the walls.”

Even though I could see the dime-sized drops of bubbly substance on the walls of the tent from the outside, I was in no mood to try and figure it out that night.

“And something keeps grabbing us through the tent. I think there is a raccoon or a bear out there.” This was the next amazing statement to come from within the glowing tent.

“Oh, and sticks keep flying in through the door and into the tent, and our shoes are hitting us in the head.”

Figuring they were messing with each other and keeping all of camp up, I stated matter-of-factly: “Since there is nothing I can do about it tonight, go to bed and we will figure it out in the morning.”

In hindsight, I am surprised how well this worked.  They quieted down and went to bed.  Not for long of course.  I am not sure how much time passed or what time it was but the next thing I remember was waking up to a flashlight in my eyes and Sue walking towards the four boys who were outside their tent and panicking. I jumped up and headed over to find them all nervously talking about strange events that have been happening to them all night long. Some of the comments were:

“A hand keeps grabbing us through the tent.”

“Our shoes are flying around and hitting us.”

“There is more and more spit on the walls.”

“Something grabbed my foot though the tent.”

“I hear things walking around outside.”

“Something grabbed my head from outside.”

“There must be a bear.”

“Oh yeah, we woke up once and the tent was smaller and we were all squished together in the middle with the walls closing in around us.”

Sue and I looked at each other with the same “what the heck is going on here?” look.  We calmed them down and tried to get an actual story from them.  What we could gather that night and the following day was that there was something messing with them all night and they kept thinking it was one of the other kids in the tent.  So they would turn the lights off, hold each other’s head’s down and wait. Then a shoe would hit on of them, or they would get grabbed. Then they would turn the lights back on and the spit would have increased while the lights were out.  They would check outside and there would be nothing.  As we all stood there in the dark, they were obviously terrified and wanted an explanation.  Sue and I looked at each other and literally had nothing to say besides our questioning their story.  But I have never seen kids this convinced.  I learned that they dealt with it as long as they could then they decided to call for help.  “Craig, Sue, help us!” “Help!” they yelled into the night.  I didn’t hear a thing but the screams woke Sue up and then her flashlight woke me up. 

These boys were shaken and were pacing back and forth.  I literally had no idea what to do.  This was not covered in “Intro to Rec” at Green Mountain College.  I was mentally preparing to hike everyone out to the cabin a half-hour away.  I figured there was no way they were going back to sleep.  Hell, I was getting scared.  But suddenly one boy asked me “Can we move the tent closer to you and go back to bed?”   I was so shocked I instantly said “yes” and grabbed the tent. We carried it over and set it down about fifteen feet from my little mesh dome.  They climbed in, and turned out the lights and went to sleep.  Sue and were left standing there in total disbelief in the story and the fact they just went back to bed.  Sue headed towards her tent and I laid down under the mesh and looked at the starts through the trees and tried not to let my mind wander to scary thoughts. 

As I laid there I tried to make sense of all this.  I know I didn't do anything, I know it was not Sue.  I am pretty sure the other chaperone, John, wouldn’t do it. Plus even if he could there is no way he could move fast enough in the open trees to not be seen by the kids or Sue and I.  The girls were sound asleep and terrified of the dark, so they never left their tent.  And my co-instructors, as discussed the next day, would not scare the bejesus out of kids on their first day as employees.  The obvious next explanation was it was the boys messing with each other.  The only way this could be possible is that one or two of them were doing it and were tremendous actors.  But I saw these kids faces that night and they were not acting.  Plus they all took action to prove it was no one in the tent.  They all stated that they were all in the tent when they were getting grabbed from outside.  And they repeatedly closed the corner of the door where the sticks were coming in, but would later find it open a little bit.  I could think of nothing, so eventually I fell asleep, wondering if I was to be woken up again by their screams.

I woke up to morning and silence.  As everyone else woke, the story started spreading to the rest of the campsite from the four boys, Sue and I.  No one heard anything last night.  And nothing bothered them after moving the tent. 

They whole group came to me for answers. I had none. I found it a tough thing to deal with.  On one hand, I didn’t want to tell them they were messed with by a ghost because they were there to “get more comfortable in the woods”, but on the other hand I did not want to dismiss their shared experience or discount the possibility of something outside of our normal realm of explanation happening.  I have heard enough ghost stories that I know they are not all fabricated.  I simply explained it as a series of unexplainable events. 

The rest of the school was also camping around the property with other instructors. Of course as my crew found the other groups the story had to be told.  And, of course, no one believed them so the other groups came to me for some rational explanation or an admittance that I did it.  I stuck to my story, I told them what I saw and told them it was a series of unexplainable events. 

The most impressive thing about this whole event was the four boys.  After being totally overwhelmed and messed with all night, they felt that moving close to me made enough difference to fall asleep.  Little did they know I was lying on the ground trying not to freak out.  Not only that, they went to bed the next night making jokes about the whole thing and only a little nervous about it happening again.  I guess moving the tent did the trick.  Did we move off a piece of space close to a spirit’s spirit?  Or was the “thing” actually nervous to mess with them close to me? Ha!  I’m going with option A.

The other interesting point I noticed was the progression the names of the thing went through the next day.  It started as a bear, then a thing, then it, then him, then the ghost.  It was as though as the story was told over and over again it sunk in that this might have been what everyone was thinking it was but too afraid to say.  The boys eventually confidently called it a ghost.  And everyone else was not sure what to think.

Then I remembered.  As we were walking out of the campsite the morning of the third day, it hit me.  As I mentioned above, the property is on Clinton Road. Clinton Road is famous in New Jersey for being the most haunted road in the sate.  Look it up in “Weird New Jersey”.  I told the kids this news and we walked out.  So many questions, so few answers.  This was several months ago now, and I still describe it as a series of unexplainable events.  And I like it that way because I think we spend too much time trying to explain everything that happens.