Broken Flowers

I saw a lot of these rose (?) trees in Mississippi during my week there.

Unlike previous blogs I've had, I've steered away from focusing on any overly personal, political, or philosophical pontificating with this one. Perhaps I'm not quite as angst-filled as I once was, but I feel some soul plumbing coming on some time in the near future. I've found myself in an odd place in recent months. I feel that I've not focused on taking stock of myself to the extent that I'm normally accustomed. It's kind of snuck up on me - the realization that I've become less consciously mindful of myself. While not necessarily positive or negative, it deserves some attention.

Mighty Mississippi (Alternative Spring Break)

A couple of weeks ago, a classmate mentioned that the Alternative Spring Break program at BU still needed chaperones for a number of their trips. Without any other significant plans for my break and on somewhat of a whim I volunteered. So, this morning I returned with sunburns, mud-encrusted Nikes, and a stiff neck (from two 36-hour van rides) from a week in Natchez, Mississippi.



Excluding myself, our group consisted of 10 undergraduates averaging around 20 years old, 9 of which were girls. Not a social dynamic I'm normally accustomed to (I've never heard so much Beyonce and Rihanna in my life), but it wasn't unbearable. We spent the week volunteering at the Natchez Children's Home, but only some of our time was spent working with the kids. The majority of the week was spent helping prepare a garden for planting, general landscaping, and some interior work. Much of this work was in the company of the home's resident handy-man, Calvin, a former-mechanic turned Baptist preacher, and Buddy Miller, an aged, eccentric, independently wealthy southern farmer.



I don't think I had any clearly formed expectations of what kind of work I'd be doing when I elected to come on the trip, but getting to work with my hands was a nice reprieve from school. As I'm cresting the middle of graduate school, it's been easy to get stuck in high-minded ideas of approaching development and poverty from the mindset that theory and math are the major tools for change, but this week has been a helpful reminder that there is a lot work to be done that is not intellectually glamorous.

On another note, the culture in small-town Mississippi is archetypal of what one might expect the south to be like. People are welcoming and involved, waistlines are larger (I saw a KFC BUFFET), and there is a confounding mix of intransigent conservatism and a disarming lack of political hostility. A reporter from a local paper, the unexpectedly named Natchez Democrat, came to the home one day to write a piece on our trip (the story can be found here). I'm quoted saying something pretty inane and the writing is comparatively pedestrian (it's no NYT or Economist), but the amazing part was that the following day almost everyone we encountered had read about us. The story had run on the front page and we were the big news of the day (next to the unprecedented changes to the historical tableaux/pageant). It was a little surreal.

I can't say that I don't miss having a week to relax and do nothing, but it was a rewarding experience. Now I need to go listen to something that will drown out Rihanna's "S & M" from my brain.



Incidentally, I also turned 25 a little over a week ago. What up, quarter life.