October 25th--Fall break report

Harvesting vegetables encapsulates some of the same wonder associated with birth. It is like magic (Zauberei)--a seed in the ground, a perfect mixture of chemicals, nutrients and genetic information which in the end lead to a magical, complicated life-form.

This morning I was on my haunches in a muddied field. A patched gray sky, strings of sun breaking through here and there, lighting up a single apple on a single tree, or making the metal on a passing train glisten for a couple seconds. It had rained before I arrived, and it was threatening to again. Diligently, I worked to wrestle the orange root vegetables free of their placenta of earth. First with a pitch-fork, loosening the gripping umbilical cords. Fork sliding in the ground, foot pressuring down, hands levering the handle, the heads emerged slowly. Crouched down, knees pressing against the earth, I could feel the damp coolness through my jeans.

The carrots were covered with layers of mud. I slid the soft, clay off of the fest, ringed flesh—searching for imperfections—a knick, a crack, a bite. Like a battled-field, the fields lay full with rejected fruits of the earth. The best, of all shapes and sizes, were broken from their roots and green leaves, placed in a large, green, plastic carton. Ultimately too heavy for my back and arms, I dragged the carton through the battlefield with a thousand hops and pulls, then loaded it onto the trailer of a bike, and headed back to the barn where Ina and I laid them out on a long metal table and sprayed them, brightening the color from rich brown clay, to bright orange.
Herleshausen is the closest thing I have to home in Germany. Instead of feeling as a guest, I feel completely integrated into the family structure, welcome and appreciated. I know where I belong and where I am needed--instead of feeling like a drain or a sponge, I feel like a gear in a machine. I do as much work as a farm worker and family member when visiting, and I am expected to do so much. I like this expectation.

Last summer I could not stand Ina and Manfred`s children, but they are now growing on me. They get older and become a little more respectful and understanding, and I grow older and become more tolerant and nostalgic. Further and further distance from childhood allows appreciation and understanding of the processes that children have to go through. Even last summer I always had the urge to “tell on” the children. “Malte did this, Melena did that!” my annoyance and anger was supposed to be pushed onto those with the responsibility.
Today I noticed that I was able to regulate behavior myself. For the most part, the kids do not really annoy me anymore. As Malte insisted on stealing a freshly-baked cookie out of the oven, not listening to my pleas for him to wait, I realized that all he wanted was attention. He took the cookie and said “ich bin ein böser Junge, oder?” (I am just a misbehaving boy, right?”) and then proceeded attempting to taunt me with his misbehavior: “Lee Ellen loooooook loook looooooook I am going to eat the cookie looooook.” Instead of looking at Malte, I just let him take the cookie, and then praised his brother, Linus, for helping me put the rest of the cookies on the cooling rack without taking one to eat for himself. Malte stopped his misbehavior.

The vacation is over, school starts again tomorrow. This vacation was amazing. It left me not only relaxed, but in glee and with unbelievable, lingering feelings of satisfaction with my life and the people in my life. I was met with so much hospitality, good conversation, wonderful views, increased understanding of people and Germany in general. More than one German has let me know with astonishment that I have seen more of Germany than they have, and most-likely most Germans. The more I travel, the more I see, the more I am interested in this country. Every mountain, every village, every corner whispers another story, another piece of a puzzle that I am attempting to arrange on big wooden tablet in my brain.
In Albaching, near Munich, my friend Barbara (a 48 year-old, psychology-major, and former Munich taxi-driver) said something like, “Lee Ellen, you live in East Germany. You are going to live there for an entire year. I have never done that and I will never do that. I am interested in the other side of the country, and in the people there, but I have already established a life here. You have experienced something of my own country which I will never experience, and which most west Germans will never experience.”

Onto other matters, I continue to wrap my emotions up the potential for “real” romance and love, while at the same time being overly rational and logical and not believing that it exists. This is a very strange push and pull. A friend recently commented on this behavior or state of thought—he thinks it is related to the fact that I am simply an adventurous person? I can philosophize further that I am seeking adventure and magic and attempting to create stories and live out things that I imagine or that I have been carrying with me from childhood (e.g. going to Europe). My post high-school life has already lead me down this path. So many opportunities have opened up, and continue to present themselves. Is it that I am overly lucky, or simply that I am willing to take risks and work hard for the non-standard things that I find important, and perhaps others are too afraid to take? At the moment, I could not imagine doing anything different. In terms of potential love in the future, my doubts stem from the very drive that keeps me on my life path—I am (as of yet) always thinking about how I can make my life better and longer and (almost) always willing to take risks and change and move if it means having a better life. Will this carry over into a relationship? Will I ever be satisfied with a single partner when I could dream about finding a better one? Do these perfect love stories only work for people who have concrete, non-flexible identities? Or people who change slowly, and change always with their partner? At the moment, the pull is between living in the present, and living for the future. It is always a delicate balance.

On November 1st, I will be moving into an apartment in Dresden-Neustadt. I will have two roommates, a German guy (25) and a non-German (I forget what nationality) girl (22?). The apartment is cozy, the roommates are nice, the location is great. The only issue are the hearing problems of my roommate (the guy)--certain small noises really hurt his ears. I am sure, however, that I will get used to this, and work around it over the next eight months. The other girl will be moving in at the same time as me. I find this good—I do not have to try to fit into an already existing system. Instead, we can work together to figure something out.