Here I go--tomorrow I get started on the epic string of flights which will eventually deposit me in Auckland for orientation. About a week after that, I'll (hopefully) be settling in in Dunedin, my home for the next five months. See you on the flipside (of the planet).

from Song of the Open Road

Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road,

Healthy, free, the world before me,

The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose.

Henceforth I ask not good-fortune, I myself am good-fortune,

Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing,

Done with indoor complaints, libraries, querulous criticisms,

Strong and content I travel the open road.

The earth, that is sufficient,

I do not want the constellations any nearer,

I know they are very well for where they are,

I know they suffice for those who belong to them.

(Still here I carry my old delicious burdens,

I carry them, men and women, I carry them with me wherever I go,

I swear it is impossible for me to get rid of them,

I am fill'd with them, and I will fill them in return.)

-Walt Whitman, 1860

You can download the song "Dreaming of the Plum Trees" for free on White Hinterland's website. I think you should do this.

Four days (four days?!) 'til take-off, and I'm already learning things about New Zealand--or maybe I'm still learning things I should have learned already. Things like: in New Zealand houses don't usually have central heating. And: at my university, classes don't start until March 2nd. 

And that I should be packing, but the idea of packing a life down to the size limits for Air New Zealand baggage is intimidating at best. I know I shouldn't need all this stuff, but there's a fine line between bringing too much and too little. I draw up lists: things to bring (clothes), things to leave (my iPod speakers), things to buy when I get there (an alarm clock). But I don't pack--I'll do that tomorrow. Or maybe the next day.

It's astounding how much junk a human being can accumulate in a life, and how much of it seems vital. I liked "Walden" as much as the next girl (assuming the next girl liked it quite a bit) but living out Thoreau's words seems nigh impossible. "Cultivate poverty like a garden herb, like sage. Do not trouble yourself much to get new things, whether clothes or friends. Turn the old; return to them. Things do not change; we change. Sell your clothes and keep your thoughts," he writes (echoing Christ, but Thoreau seems closer to me right now). I sit here sorting through piles of clothes, waiting to get a new swimsuit in the mail, hoping to make a good impression on new people (I hope friends) in a new place. And then there are the other accoutrements of my life,  things I need to either pack up or leave behind, but things that take up space in the world nonetheless. I wish I could at least say that everything I own fits in my car--I'm young enough, it seems like I should be able to pack up everything I own in a sedan or a station wagon and drive off into the sunset. But it doesn't, and I can't. Here I am, leaving a trail of unwanted, excessive possessions behind.  

Parents out of town, so I walk the dogs at least twice a day--long walks on the frozen creek that runs through our backyard in the morning or early afternoon, short walks down the driveway and up the road at night, in the cold dark. Tonight when I was running down the drive in my slippers and sweatshirt (I don't recommend this attire for nights in winter in Wisconsin) I was able to see the stars for the first time in a long time. It reminded me how stars are always brighter in the winter, when no one wants to go out and see them. And it also reminded me that in about a week, I'm going to under a whole new set of stars--in the southern hemisphere. 

This blog's real intention is to keep in touch with friends and family and record my experiences after I fly away to study in New Zealand (I started early because I wanted to get the hang of things. Also, I'm bored.). It's a little exciting and a little overwhelming: I'm going to a place that I really only know exists by hearsay, in books and on maps. I trust them alright, but soon I'm going to know this with my hands and my feet and my eyes. It's pretty amazing. 

Anyway, that's all: what this blog is, where I'm going with it. It'll probably look pretty similar when I get to the other side of the planet, except it won't be winter there, and maybe I'll be busier and have less time to write, but I'll probably have more to share. 

p.s. This morning, on the creek, we (the dogs and I) saw a flock of bluebirds. That's something else I recommend--wild bluebirds. To quote a Buffalo Springfield song: they got soul.

walking the dogs at night-time

they hold themselves on padded paws
and do not speak of what they want;
we walk, three abreast, or four,
transition slowly out the door.

I bring nothing in my hands
no leash, no lead, and no demands
as through the snow they move like mist
(and carry with their mouths like fists).

so there are here two or three
animals besides just me
we do not speak, nor do we need
to call so that the others heed;

it's dark tonight, with solstice near
the trees are traced and cloaked with fear
and we three (or is it more?)
trip gently, softly, in the door.

-ka, 2007

The sun is bright, the air is crisp and clear; we have a new president. Who knows what will happen? 

Watching the inauguration is inspiring--it's such a hopeful ceremony. We are looking to the future, and we are saying it will be better than the past. But we can't do much alone. The level of change needed requires the support of so many people, and it's selfish to think that any work worth doing can be successful unilaterally. Obama could very well have used that quote from JFK's inaugural address: "Ask not what your country can do for you..." There are so many jobs to be done, and none of them are small, even if they seem so. And there are so many places we can do this work: the economy, politics, the ENVIRONMENT--whatever. The whole world, and not just America. President Barack Obama is just the face of a changing tide--or at least that's my hope.  There's nothing wrong with a little youthful idealism every now and again--so long as nationalism it is tempered. 

"We have grown in numbers, wealth and power, as no other nation has ever grown. But we have forgotten God...we have vainly imagined, in the deceitfulness of our hearts, that all these blessings were produced by some superior wisdom and virtue of our own." - Abraham Lincoln

Just got the New Skete winter newsletter. New Skete is an Eastern Orthodox monastic community in my dad's hometown--the nuns make cheesecake and the monks breed German shepherds, and together they produce this pretty excellent newsletter. The most recent one had a section on vocation that I liked--I spend a lot of time thinking about the vast expanse of life before me, doing the "right" thing with it, what exactly that would look like. The piece opened with this quote:

"A brother asked a hermit to tell him the proper thing to do with his life. The hermit replied that only God knows what is good, but that the great Nesteros, a friend of Antony, made a strong point when he said, 'God is equally pleased by all good works.' Scripture says that Abraham was hospitable and God was with him. Elijah sought quiet and God was with him. David had humility and God was with him. Therefore, whatever attracts you in the service of God is good. Do it, and let your heart be at peace." - Sayings of the Desert Fathers

You can access the (admittedly, very minimal) newsletter archives here, and the article on vocation is on pages 6 and 7 here. 

Things I like right now. Because everyone needs to know. (And you might like them, too.) In the tradition of McSweeney's Recommends.

Cape Canaveral by Conor Oberst: I'm not really sure if it's cool to like Conor Oberst anymore, but I've been listening to this song almost continuously for the last couple days. And I'm okay with that.

Lewis Hyde: is probably one of the more genius people writing today. His book "The Gift" packs a lot of ideas into one well-written package, and every essay of his I've read is similarly astounding. For a free sample, Created Commons is pretty excellent.

Mac'n'cheese pancakes: sound terrible, but I think that's a survival mechanism. Because they're secretly delicious: little pasta tubies encased in pancake batter and crispity cheddar cheese. Add maple syrup, and you have the perfect storm of comfort foods. Especially if you're from Vermont (on this point, extra credit for drinking Vermont Liberty Tea with your 'cakes).

Snow-blowing: if you have to snow-blow, that means it snowed, which is one point in its favor. Also, it's noisy, uses fossil fuels, and is a lot easier than shoveling. And the engine is like a boat's, except you can plug it into the wall to start it instead of pulling a cord.

Music videos and movie trailers: I'm probably either way behind the curve or demonstrating how ADD my generation is by saying this (depending on how old you are), but I like these. A lot. They're fun-size movies (assuming you like fun-size candy bars--though maybe if you don't, you won't like these either). For music videos, try Lily Allen or Feist.

Finishing the NYT crossword puzzle: even if it's just Monday or Tuesday, seeing all the little boxes filled in is like sweet, sweet nectar for the mind.

Mad River Rocket sleds: only the most excellent sleds ever. Strap one to your back, walk into the woods, and find the sledding hill you always dreamed of. Don't be afraid of trees. Don't be afraid to wipe out. Fly.

The words welter, snaggletoothed, and gyre: look 'em up.

Bird feeders: birds like them. 'nough said.

This Christmas, my family spent a lot of time and money trying to make our dog, Necco, not die. Suffice to say, it was not a good time.

Necco is four years old, which made his sickness easier for his body to fight and harder on us. He is also epileptic, so any major imbalance in his body results in seizures. And he swallowed something bad--a piece of cellophane--as dogs are apt to do. There was a day of vomiting, and then one of seizures, a day where he would not eat, then a day where he would not drink, and then a couple days where he would do neither. Our vet could find no explanation, so we took him to animal emergency room, where he had an endoscopy, an x-ray, ultimately surgery. It was a long and arduous process And yet we went through with it, we paid for it, we kept going when we were really unsure if all of this would be for naught.

Should we have been this deeply concerned for an animal? After a particularly rough morning at the ER, my mom came home and asked me, “Is this ethical?” I've taken classes in ethics but spending gobs of money on animals, when it could be spent on people, had never come up. Where was the line?

In the simplest sense, dogs are a canid that have evolved to live symbiotically with humans, providing some service in exchange for food. When the dog became more of a companion than a worker, physical health—and youth—became less vital to his function. And when a dog is a companion he is very often anthropomorphized, and valued as a human being. But a pet will be euthanized or shipped off to the humane society--no such fate threatens our human siblings (you can debate this on your own word count). For all the affection we have for our animals, we still see ourselves in dominion over them.

Biblically, this is sound. God gave us dominion over the earth and everything in it--and the first thing this requires is sound judgement. Allocating limited resources often means prioritizing. But the lines are hard to draw. Is it right, for example, to spend more money keeping my dog fat and happy than helping feed starving human populations worldwide? Is it better to induce a dog's death than to sink significant amounts of money into restoring him to health? The global society we live in has created the sort of anomie where, overwhelmed with the struggles faced worldwide, it's easier to throw our crumbs to the dogs in our house than the beggars outside.

All of this assumes we were only given dominion over animals. That is not entirely true: we are also stewards. Like other domestic animals, I would argue that the dog has a right and God-given place in our lives. Thus, we should treat him with the care we treat the other things we steward here on earth: our land, our bodies, our resources. And while stewardship still means managing and making those hard value judgements to cull populations or allocate resources, these decisions also require a genuine concern. When we see our stewardship of a pet bleeding into what I can only term love, perhaps we should not reject that, but instead use it as a model of Christian care for the earth—and other humans, known and unknown."You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed." - "The Little Prince," Antoine de Saint Exupery

A mourning dove, at our window--taken on a night when it was too cold for the birds to do anything but hunker down at hope for the best. The doves took a slightly different tactic, beating at our (apparently badly insulated) windows and settling on the sills.