Summer 2017

Hi everyone! Just felt I wanted to update you on my life these past few months.I know that in a few weeks I will be very busy and there are a lot of things going on in my life. This summer has been a wonderful time of spending time with family and catching up with friends while I have the time.

In April I visited my dear former housemate from university and her husband. It was so nice to see them again. It was also great to discover a part of Nova Scotia I don't know much about, through the eyes of someone who loves it.

Cara checking out Point Prim lighthouse

 In May I went to my brother's university graduation. What a day of celebration! Of course the ceremony was followed by a meal at the best restaurant ever, a place that just is saturated with love. I could drink that iced tea for days.

Candice also graduated this year! Unfortunately I didn't see that one in person but I am so proud of both of them!

Also in May my friend Mark who is the person I am most proud to call a friend put on this show of his Lenten Carols and it was beautiful. Emma also added her stirring voice at times. So wonderful.

And what a perfect venue too!

 May also marked the first camping trip of the season, in which four girls put a canoe on top of a Toyota Yaris hatchback and went to the woods for a night. This particular group of girls are notorious for overpacking.

I assure you, Mary is in there somewhere..

Happiness is...

In June I took part in the Syria Friendship Walk, an event in Truro to help raise money to bring a refugee family to Canada. We have now reached our fundraising goal, but are still waiting- always waiting- for them to come. PLEASE pray. The wait is becoming unbearable for the family.

At the end of June I went to Stan Rogers Folk Festival in Canso, Nova Scotia, where I got to stand out in the rain, get very cold, hang out with some pretty great people, and ultimately, decide the discomfort of the cool and wet weather was totally worth it because of the MUSIC.

Discovering the music of William Prince was a real highlight of the festival.

 On our way home from there we stopped for a beautiful hike. This has been a lovely summer for adventures. Here are some more:

Post-Stanfest hike, near Antigonish

 Church canoe trip- a beautiful day on the Stewiacke River

Halifax Jazz Festival- I was fortunate enough to snag a spot volunteering at the sold out Anderson .Paak and the Free Nationals show. Even though I was kind of standing at the back doing my volunteer duties, this show was unreal. So. Good.

OK. So I was really far away. But still- I cannot think of enough superlatives for this super tight show

Catching up with an old friend and adventuring in PEI. This has been a great summer for catching up on friendships! I like to think Davita and I were brought closer by the sudden lightning storm that cut off power and internet to her family's house and caused major leaks. I may or may not have huddled with her family in her parents' bedroom at 2am.

Iconic

Then there was that semi-spontaneous trip to Fundy National Park and Fredericton to pick up Miss Alli. I guess we did not get the best sleep in the tent, which I think shows on our faces in this photo... but I absolutely loved this little opportunity to hang out with a couple of awesome girls.

 Another highlight of the summer was a whirlwind camping trip, featuring caving! We had been planning this trip for months so it was so nice that about 12 of us could coordinate our schedules and enjoy each other's company in nature. We also got to enjoy the company of about 50 ATVers who happened to descend on the campsite while we were packing up... oops.

On her way to the pee tree

We are excited to be in a cave

Something I loved about this summer is how many young adults have been around our church. I am very thankful for that. One of the things we did together was a hike at Taylor Head, a rugged spot on the Eastern Shore of Nova Scotia. Props to Ross and Anna who did the 8km with their toddlers. Parenting win!

Another adventure was traveling to Saskatchewan to see my former housemate Sarah get married! I had not seen her in two years so it was so special to be with her and Austin on their wedding day. Look at them both glow!

After my time in Regina I got to road trip with my aunt Liz and uncle Lui to their home in Calgary. But of course we had to stop in Dog River first! The show Corner Gas has been a family favourite since about 2005 and it was really cool to go to the place where it was filmed.

Of course, Onyx was on the trip too. Here's one way he found to relax in the car.

Liz and Lui were wonderful hosts and I got to see a lot of the sights of Alberta. One highlight was hiking in Banff, and even better, the hot springs that followed.

After many switchbacks, we made it to the top of Sulphur Mountain

I would also like to give a shout-out to ice cream for getting me through this summer. Whether it was from Village Ice Cream in Calgary (below), Masstown Market, or Molly's, I loved every bit of it.

This photo below is from a time a couple weeks ago when I got to hang out with these two. I just really really love them so here's a photo of us. We are all starting something new in our lives this fall: Tessa a new teaching job in Newfoundland, Candice a new position at Kingswood, and me the PhD. I am very thankful to have these ladies in my life and I just know that we are going to rock it, wherever we are. 

It was a wonderful summer, and I am so thankful for it. I think a good word for it would be 'carefree.' It is such a luxury to be carefree- I can't emphasize that enough. There are many in the world who will never have the opportunity to feel like that because of just the systematic oppression they face. Anyway, I think the carefree times are over for now, and I do mourn that.

Next week, I will be living in a new place, trying to create/be part of a new community, be adjusting to grad school and all the challenges that bring, working within the tight grad school budget, and dealing with my Mom's sickness. We recently found out that my mom's cancer, which was in remission, has returned just like overt white supremacy has returned to Canada. Which is to say: Nobody asked it to, and we don't want it here.

To be honest, I was having a bit of a pity party the other night, because I was really scared about my life. I thought about my transition to a new city and adjusting to a new community, and starting doctoral studies, and dealing with my Mom's health. I thought about the toll all these things would probably take on my mental health. Then I realized: I have done this before. When I moved to Waterloo, I was dealing with many of the same issues, and I was even at more of a disadvantage: I did not know anyone in the city, and I was a 15-hour drive away from my family. I am thankful to God because he was with me through that time. He provided me with friendships and a supportive church community. And I do believe that he healed my mom. So as I was feeling sorry for myself, I felt like God was showing me that everything in my life thus far has prepared me for this moment. He has equipped me to be able to deal with these challenges; he has given me faith so that I can be assured that He will provide everything I need, when I need it. And that faith is strong because I have the memories of how God has helped me in the past. He was with us then and he is with us now. And his love is just... incredible.

OK, So I am listening to this song right now as I am writing. And guys, this is God. This is the heart of God. When we were deep in Hayes Cave that day, in the eerie silence, the complete darkness, I was thinking of that very Bible verse "I could lay my head in sheol..." But God is there. Wherever we go- HE IS THERE. That is hella assuring. Especially cause I know God gets it. Jesus' friend Lazarus died, and he wept, because he understands grief. Jesus' family had to flee to Egypt. He knows what it is to be a refugee. And as I saw someone point out recently, Jesus is the only person in history who can relate to those who are dying. He can relate to even the worst troubles we have, and he comes out triumphant. I trust him.

Best places to study and work in Truro

This summer I was doing some research work, with my home base in Truro. I thought I would share some of the information I have accumulated over this time. Where do you like to go? Also please share your suggestions for places in Halifax.


MacRae Library- Dal Agricultural Campus

Located in Bible Hill on Dal's Agricultural Campus, the MacRae Library is open 8:30-4:30 each weekday during the summer, and during the university's fall and winter semesters has even better hours, which you can find here.
During the summer, which is the time I am hanging out in Truro, this place is as quiet as Doug Wheeler's Guggenheim exhibit. OK, maybe not that quiet. But pretty close. I have not really been to the library during midterm or exam season, so I can't say how quiet it is then. But on Monday afternoons in the summer semester it is a tranquil place. It is not exactly the most ambient space-- it lacks the decor of some of the other spots mentioned in this post-- but if you you just want to minimize distractions and get some work done, this is absolutely the place.
Depending on where you are in the library, food and drinks are permitted. There are three floors to choose from. You can go in the basement among the stacks, but your cell probably won't get any service. Also, basements tend to be depressing. The main floor, where you can find the information desk, has a lot going on even in the quietest times of year, and is not generally the most silent locale. The top floor has a lot of options for quiet or group study and it tends to be the place I go.
Note: If you want to get on the wifi here you have to have a Dal i.d. OR be enrolled at any other institution that has eduroam.
Another note: Last I checked, they are doing renovations on the top floor. 
Bonus of MacRae library: I have seen a deer outside on multiple occasions. I have such mixed feelings about deer. On one hand, they are CUTE, and we humans have systematically destroyed their habitat. On the other hand, they have this habit of jumping in front of cars and also eating the vegetables from our garden. Stupid deer.

NovelTea Bookstore Cafe

Opening in 2014, NovelTea has quickly become the best hangout spot in downtown Truro. When it opened, honestly, I was not sure it was going to last. As a longtime resident of Truro, I remembered the particular piece of real estate it occupied as one of those spots where new businesses are always trying to open and never succeeding. But it's three years in and NovelTea is still going! And it's expanded! And it's always getting better. Truro is a pretty small town and I have lived here for much of my life, so I am not exaggerating when I say that I see someone I know every time I go there. The community feel of NovelTea is one of the things I wish we could expand to the entire town of Truro.
Without a doubt, this is the most instagrammable of all the study spots. 
If you like studying with music, NovelTea is the place to go. Their background playlist is really chill and is part of the great atmosphere there. Of course, any time you study with music there is this paradox, because if you want to have the music in the background you are also hearing all the background noises: espresso machines, conversations that you are REALLY trying NOT to eavesdrop on but it just ends up happening. 
So although I love NovelTea so much, it is not the best place to get some quiet work done. There are hardly any outlets though and it can be a bit noisy so it is best for meetings.
But often, despite the fact that it is really not the best place for quiet work, I am lured there for that very thing by their delicious drink selection and mouthwatering brioche from Red Knot Bakery. I am ashamed to say how many stamp cards I have filled up at that place.

Aroma Maya

If you can manage the transportation to get a bit father out of town, Aroma Maya is a pleasant place to do a little work.
When I first drove in, I felt a bit uncomfortable. Aroma Maya is on the grounds of RiverRun Golf Course.  I can't think of a time I have been to a golf course before. To me, golf courses are for rich old men. I am not a rich old man. But it turns out golf courses are beautiful! I kind of want to take up golf now just for an excuse to be outdoors and enjoy the views. Which maybe is why so many people like golf. Who knows.
The views... oh, the views. Aroma definitely wins for ambience. Green rolling hills-- is there anything better? A butterfly flew by the window while I was writing- a butterfly! This is the perfect place to study on a beautiful day. Of course, the paradox is that all the people will be out golfing on a beautiful day and the cafe may be busier. Oh well, it is still worth the drive out of town.
Also, I tend to like Aroma Maya because it is run by people who went to Acadia with me. In case you needed any reminders of how small a town Truro is-- you will always find people you know, wherever you go.
Another thing I like about Aroma Maya: so many outlets! I love NovelTea but it is sorely lacking in the outlet department, which is tough when you doing the majority of your work from a laptop.
The cons of Aroma Maya is it has a bit more limited hours than some places: normally just 10-5pm. It's new, though, so maybe once it gets going more their hours can expand.

Public Library

Back when this library was a brutalist, concrete building, it became a second home to me. It was a place of discovery, a place where I am pretty sure I read every book in the children's and youth section, opening up new worlds to me. It was also where I had my first job in high school, and I spent the afternoons putting books back on their shelves. I learned how to use the microfilm machine while working on school projects; I recognized the 'regulars' by name. And despite the fact that the building itself was unwelcoming, cramped, and ugly, to me it was warm, familiar, and a place that was a gateway to knowledge and learning. I loved that old library.
The new library, which opened last fall in the old Normal College building, has all the features that I loved about the old library, but it smells much nicer and has added loads of new and beautiful elements. It is a much more pleasant place to study than the old place, with free wifi (spotty at time I find though- would like to hear other's experiences), and bright, open spaces. There are plenty of outlets, and even USB outlets.
The hours are also fairly good: in the summer" 10-4 on Monday, 10-8 on Tuesday through Thursday, 10-5 on Friday and Saturdays, but unfortunately closed on Sunday.
The aesthetics of this place are just stunning.
Cons: The climate inside can be a bit cool and dry during the summer, which can sometimes be a bit TOO cold for me! Also, the wifi has not always worked for me, which can be frustrating as a lot of work may require the internet.

Home
And sometimes, home is a good place to work, too. You can play music as loud as you please (if music while working is your thing), and make as many cups of tea as you like. The computer automatically connects to the wifi, and you can work in your pajamas.

The rural in fiction: The Channel Shore

As many of you know, my studies concentrate on rural areas, especially in Nova Scotia. I am interested in how rural areas can be ecologically, socially, and economically resilient. Currently, I am working on a project on rural youth outmigration. These are all topics I am passionate about.

As a side project, this summer I am reading some books that have similar themes as my research. I am interested in seeing how these same issues that I read about in academic journals are presented in fiction. Plus, I love to read, and I love Canadian literature! Two of my favourite books with these sorts of themes are The Mountain and the Valley by Ernest Buckler and No Great Mischief by Alistair MacLeod. I would like to write a blog post on those books but I have not read them in a while.

Recently, though, I finished Charles Bruce's novel The Channel Shore. It was the only novel he wrote, as he was a poet and journalist primarily. Charles Tory Bruce was born in Port Shoreham, Nova Scotia. Yes, I had to look it up too! It is near Guysborough. I thought it was appropriate to read this book because I ended up going to that area of the province last weekend for the Stan Rogers Folk Festival. Both Stan Rogers and Charles Bruce created art about that shore. My first time there was a couple of years ago when I had a job interview in Guysborough. Obviously, I did not get the job. This time when I went to that shore, it rained for three days straight, and was windy and foggy. On the fourth day the sun appeared. Then we left.

The road to Canso

I do not want to give away the main plot points in novel, in case you wish to read it, but I can say it is about three families: The Gordons, the McKees, and the Marshalls. It is the story of generations of these families, from the early 20th century to just after the Second World War. They are fishing families or farming families, Catholic or Protestant, but they all make their home on the Channel Shore. Bruce describe's his Channel Shore as anywhere on that channel between Cape Breton and Mainland Nova Scotia. The place names in the book are fictional.

Guysborough waterfront

I am not a book critic or literary theorist or anyone remotely qualified to analyse novels at all. I was an English major for all of two months in university before switching to what I thought at the time was a more objective major, economics. But, this is the information age, guys! Anyone can publish anything they like on the internet. Woo hoo! So, here goes, my observations on this book.

• Gender-wise, this novel was about men, centred on men, and women for the most part were secondary characters, mainly victims of men's choices, or, in the case of Grant and Hazel, maidens whose rescuing was less about them and more about the atonement or whatever of the man rescuing. I loved the book, but it can be exhausting as a woman to never be able to see oneself in literature, and to always be 'the other.' You know women are always imagining ourselves as men because we have to. We read Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings and all those other books but it is far rarer to see a man reading Pride and Prejudice or Twilight and for him to be putting himself in a woman's shoes.
• The main theme of this book, I think, was the character's realization of being a part of their community. Each main character (except, importantly, Anse) had a moment of clarity when they saw their life as being part of the life of the shore. This interconnectedness and interdependence with people geographically and through time was a focus of the book. It was this feeling of being part of something bigger than oneself that motivated the characters, that allowed them to stay. Below is Margaret's experience of this:

 "Margaret had a picture of young men cutting white pine for two-masters, gathering chips for their cresset fires, shaving staves, bending hoops, shingling roofs, replacing sills, fashioning window-frames, cutting sails, caulking seams, cleaning and salting fish, knitting and mending nets... they had known it all, all the skills. They were dead, and the skills gone on a turning tide. 

And yet, people remembered. And people still lived on the Channel Shore, people with others skills, newer crafts, that somehow were related to and grew from the old. The story of the Shore was the story of a strange fertility. A fertility of flesh and blood that sent its seed blowing across continents of space on the winds of time, and yet was rooted here in home soil, renewed and re-renewed.

The thought turned. All these people had faced circumstance, had known love, anger, compassion. Some of them had faced frustration as hard to bear as that which faced herself and Alan. The sense of time and home and people could do nothing to ease the sharpness of that private hunger. But there was something, a feeling strange to Margaret, a feeling almost of companionship..."

•  In the book, we also read about the precarious social relations in the rural community, and how the people in the community carefully keep up the equilibrium. Catholics and Protestants do not mix more than necessary; when a secret threatens one of their own, they keep the secret for decades. 
• I am not sure what to make of the staying/leaving and the representation of the urban in this book. When Anna goes to the city, she violently dies in a random act when a streetcar runs over her. That seems like a thoroughly unambiguous representation of urban as evil and dangerous. But others go away with no real consequences: Bill Graham, for example, lives primarily in Toronto, with only brief visits to the Channel Shore. Others go to Europe to fight in the wars. At the end of the book, the narrator writes about Bill Graham, who has spent the least time on the Shore of any of the characters:"He had also the knowledge that in blood and spirit this was the country he belonged to. He would never live on the Channel Shore. But it was home." 
• So I do think this novel is mainly about belonging. Anse chooses not to belong. Alan and Grant choose to belong. Even Bill Graham, who, like Anse, spends most of his time away from The Channel Shore, chooses to belong. In Bruce's created world, belonging does not depend on family, on religion, or even on whether you leave the shore or stay. It depends on the mutual respect and love you have for your neighbours.

As I was finishing this book, I came across a video on the internet about a documentary that BBC Scotland just released. It is a documentary about The Hector, a ship that carried nearly 200 Scots to Nova Scotia in 1773. I only watched a brief clip of the documentary, as the whole thing is not available in Canada, but I was struck by the description of the ship, which was meant to be a cargo ship but housed these people in their long voyage across the Atlantic, to their new life. I had been to the replica of the ship. but looking back on it now, it shocks me how many people fit down there. It was such a small place.

My great-great-great-great grandfather Andrew Main made that crossing. He brought his wife, Jane Gibson, and his young son Andrew. Jane died sometime during the crossing. After he arrived in Nova Scotia, Andrew Main came to Noel Shore. There he married again (she died), then married again and had children. He built a homestead. He was buried in the cemetery in Noel Shore, and I believe it is the same cemetery where my grandparents are buried, a cemetery just on the edge of the Main land. I lived in Noel Shore until I was about five years old.

Sometimes, when I go to visit my uncle who still lives in Noel Shore, on that same land where Andrew Main settled all those years ago, my dad and my uncle and whoever else is there sit around the big kitchen table and share stories. They have these shared stories, this shared knowledge that I will never know. They talk about places using references only people from the Shore would know. They talk about people in such an intimate way, and have this shared remembrance of the people of the Shore. They know all the same people, they know all the same places. And I know if they ran into anyone who lived in the Shore during their generation they could share that same private knowing, that same bond.

The Noel Shore, as depicted by Kenneth Spearing

I really mourn having lost this. I still have such a deep connection to that Noel Shore that I can barely put into words. I spent only a few years there as a young child, but my ancestors spent over two hundred years there before then. My ancestors made incredibly sacrifices just to come and stay in Noel Shore, Nova Scotia. And yes, it would be remiss of me not to mention that this land was home to the Mi'kmaq people long before my ancestors landed there, and even the Acadian people before them. They were not the first.

This connection to Noel Shore is an enormous part of why I am studying rural places. I know that the people there have made immense sacrifices to be there. They have worked hard. There is a deep connection to place and I do believe that something essential is lost when people are uprooted from this place. I wonder if Charles Bruce wrote The Channel Shore as a way to articulate that feeling: To articulate that though he was cosmpolitan, living in Toronto, working as a poet and a journalist and not a fisher and a farmer, that he was still part of that community. That the Shore never leaves you.

The fiddleheads

Mary and I picked fiddleheads yesterday.

We forage fiddleheads yearly, in May, when the ferns are beginning to sprout from the ground, but before they unfurl. I enjoy this annual ritual, in the same way I enjoy cooking stew in the woods with my church community. It is a simple act, but a unique one. It is one that I know not everyone has the privilege to partake in, and so I feel a certain responsibility to enjoy it, and to continue to do it.

Fiddlehead foraging is a contemplative practice. We park the car at the end of the road, and walk in on the path, along the riverbank and the old railway. The day we pick fiddleheads is one of those magical days at the cusp of spring, when we aren't quite used to sunny, warm days and so the weather catalyses in us a kind of glad hysteria. We walk, buckets in hand, along the red dirt way. We cross the marsh and the squishy, wet ground reveals each flaw and crack in our rubber boots. My feet get wet. Then, near the apple tree not quite in bloom, we look down. We crouch. And there around us are fiddleheads: dark green shoots not yet ready to pick, long lighter green plants that have almost reached full maturity, and in between, the ones we like. In groups of three or four are young ferns, big enough to emerge from the ground, but still short enough to not really have leaves yet and still, in many cases, covered in a brown film. It is not hard for us to find an abundance of fiddleheads. We separate, Mary by the river and me among the brush, and here is the contemplation. I hope I can communicate well the beauty of picking fiddleheads. It is like a prayer. I am on my knees, or squatting close to the ground. I hear the swell of the river and the song of birds. I am saved, then, from the noise of every day life: none of the usual humming of a refrigerator or car engine and no impulse to check twitter again.

In this space of contemplation, I think of the lesson of the fiddleheads. They are not cultivated by humans. They simply grow as part of a complex, resilient ecosystem. But at the same time, I get to take them. Though I have had no part in creating them, I have a part in consuming them. There is a way to pick fiddleheads that is akin to clearcutting a forest. You can pick every single fiddlehead in a bunch. If you do this, though, you will come back next year around the same time and you will not find any fiddleheads. The fern will have died. You may get more this year but at the expense of next year's crops. When you pick fiddleheads, you must be careful to leave at least one or two ferns standing out of every patch. As I carefully picked fiddleheads, sometimes tempted to take more, I thought about the world in a larger context. For isn't this the challenge of sustainable living? We have been so greedy for more that we have killed what we have taken. I wonder if the people who proclaim "drill, baby, drill," have ever spent a spring afternoon picking fiddleheads. I wonder of the CEOs of the pulp and paper mills have ever sat on a riverbank with a loved one and a pail of fiddleheads. Money is god but money can't make fiddleheads grow and it costs zero dollars to pick them. This is a different economy, the kind God intended, I think. This is an economy where God provides and we take only what we need and no more. This is the economy of the manna in the desert-- bread falling from the sky. If the people hoarded it, maggots ate the bread. I think that was God's example. This is where greed gets us: only destruction.

I remember when I first learned the basics of capitalism in my undergraduate economics courses. I was intrigued and excited with the premise that that everyone, working in their own self-interest, actually brought about the most economic good. In other words, at the very basis of capitalism is the idea that individual greed produces common good. It was all there in the graphs and the equations. And at the time I completely agreed that this was the best and only system that could succeed in the world. I have always believed in the lostness and depravity of humanity-- I absorbed a lot of Calvinist thinking in my formative years, I suppose. In any case, any economic system that essentially requires the selfishness of people, I thought, would be the only one that would work. And it was true. We are inherently selfish.

But of course, the problem with this general basis of capitalism is that it leaves out one very important dimension-- the fact that our economy is not an independent system. Our economy is based on both our social system and our ecological system. The basic tenets of capitalism forget about the earth. And when I picked fiddleheads, I thought about how dependent we are on the earth. Everything we have has been put here for us. We have bodies and these bodies need nourishment: they need food and water. And we keep on destroying the very things that give us life. But they are not completely destroyed yet, so still we ignore this problem. There is a lot we have killed with our own greed. There are plants and animals that we will never see again. There are places where people need to wear masks because the air is too dirty to breathe; there are places where people need to get truckfuls of water because their own rivers are dry. But for the most part, we are still gorging on the fiddlehead feast of this year, without thinking that next year, when we go back, there will be no fiddleheads.

I now believe that our current economic system cannot be the one we keep in the future. The future needs an economic system that is based not on individual greed, but one that is based on fiddleheads, and manna, and the idea that everything is a gift from God, and we can take only as much as we need, and no more.


Between us, we found eight ticks trying to make their home on us yesterday.

My next steps

I have now been back from Kenya for a month. It does not feel that long. The time has gone very quickly and I feel like I have criss-crossed Nova Scotia, or at least Halifax, Truro, and Wolfville. While I have had a chance to catch up with many people, I still do not really feel like I have settled in.
But nonetheless, I feel hopeful. Unlike this time last year, when I was finishing my Master's project with absolutely no idea what I was doing next, this year, I have something coming up, and it's terrifying.

I was accepted to a PhD program at Dalhousie University, and I can't wait to study how rural areas in Atlantic Canada can stay resilient. The concept of getting a PhD is pretty daunting to me, and every time I say it to someone I feel as if maybe they are secretly thinking "Her? She got into a PhD program? If she can, anyone can." Yes, that's right-- I am feeling imposter syndrome already!
But right now, I feel like this is the next step that God is calling me to. I am excited about the way that this can combine my love of research, writing, teaching, and student ministry. I am excited about doing research in an area I am passionate about. I am optimistic that my research is important and will make a difference!

Next month, I am going to start as a research assistant on my supervisor's project about rural youth outmigration. If you know me even a teensy bit, I hope you know that this perfect for me. I know I am so so fortunate to be able to get paid to do something I am passionate about. God is good! Just another one of His gifts that I did nothing to deserve, but get anyway.

Despite being thankful for all the gifts in my life, I have to admit, sometimes I wonder if I could have done things differently. Friends are marrying and settling down, buying houses and having children. At this time, I don't have what could be called a stable life. It's unstable and dangerous and I don't have that much money in my bank account at all. I am 25 years old and I have never been in a serious romantic relationship. And honestly, sometimes that makes me look at my life and ask "Where I have I gone wrong?" But I know that in so many ways, my singleness has been a blessing and a gift from God. There are so many women in so many cultures around the world, in the past and today, who do not even have the option of remaining single into their 20s. And there are so many opportunities I have been afforded that I never would have had if I had been married: going to Kenya, for example, or even saying yes to this PhD program. Being responsible for only myself is a luxury, and I treasure that. I think we single people have a bad habit, sometimes, of wallowing, as if this state was anything less than a gift from God. But instead of wallowing, I wish to celebrate. I celebrate the freedom I have. I do want to get married someday; this is something I am happy to admit and also happy to wait for. For now, though, I am thoroughly enjoying, with gratitude, the extraordinary gift of the single life.

Week 17: Saying goodbye to Nanyuki

This is the worst part.

Weeks 15/16: The moment

In every love story there is a moment, that moment you can look back on and say: "That's it. That's the moment I fell in love."

I am now at that point where I am smitten, completely head-over-heals in love with this mysterious and beautiful and breathless and thirsty place: Kenya.

And I am looking back in my memories of the past few months and wondering, what was the moment? What was the moment I fell in love with Kenya?

Was it that day when I was in the car on the way to Nanyuki for the very first time, when a rainbow appeared over the yellow plains?

Was it the first time I sipped that hot milky chai, poured from a thermos and combined with a diabetes-inducing amount of sugar?

Was it when I planted a tree in the rich dark soil and the women from the village surrounded me with singing?

Was it the day we found a chameleon at an old woman's house, and she would have given it to me to take home, because of how fascinating I found it?

Was it that moment as we sat underneath the shade of a tree, eating bananas and laughing at our poor attempts to speak Kikuyu?

Was it that walk on the way back from Muthaiga with the young girls, singing as we crossed the river: "Way-maker, miracle-worker, promise-keeper, light in the darkness..."?

Was it the Saturday at the hotel, watching football and drinking sodas?

Was it the day at Ol Pejeta, standing up in the car to watch the regal elephants cross the road?

Was it the moment we met Susan for the first time, that woman who has the joy and strength of a hundred women, as she takes care of street children and orphans?

Was it the time a woman said I was the first white person who had ever visited her home?

Was it Sunday morning, waking up with time to spare, and hearing, faintly, the singing from the nearby church?

Was it the day lingering in the classroom with my new friend from the village?

Was it the moment the street youths started singing "Hakuna Mungu Kama Wewe"?

Was it the time we surprised Monicah, our Kenyan mother, on her birthday?

Was it the day Florence taught us how to make chapati, together belting out "All of Me" as we became covered in flour from rolling the dough?

Was it the day riding to Nairobi, seeing the fog rise over the tea fields on the hills?

Was it the day at Wasini Island, swimming with those big flippers and that ridiculous-looking snorkel, and discovering a whole new undersea world in the reef?

Was it Christmas dinner at the hostel, people from all over the world at the table sharing fresh fish, and a Tusker to fight off the heat?

Was it each morning, walking to the gate, the little dog dutifully following us, and jumping on us, under the shade of the guava tree?

Was it that Saturday visiting the disabled children's home, when little Austin grabbed my wrist?

Was it the morning on Mount Kenya, exhausted in every part of the body but watching as the sun rose, illuminating every corner of that majestic mountain?

Was it that day, walking along the market stalls filled with fresh mangoes, cabbages, tomatoes, onions, spinach, avocados, potatoes, and more in all colours, that day when a thought just entered my head: 'I don't want to leave here. I want this to be my life.'?

Soon, my time here will only be a memory. Can I bear that? I don't know. I feel like there is still so much more to learn about this diverse land. There are so many languages I still don't know. There are so many dishes I still can't cook. I miss my Nova Scotia home, of course. Nowhere feels like home like those rugged shores. But here I am. I don't want to leave. I have visited a few places on this vast planet, but have rarely felt like this. I am preparing myself to leave a place I love, and I don't know when I can return. I know this whole post just reeks of sentimentality. But guys, our stay on Earth is short. Let's appreciate every moment. Today in church, as I listened to the wise teaching of the guest speaker, a thought occurred to me, a truth that Jesus speaks throughout the Scriptures, I think, but that I never put into words, until now. The thought is this: On my deathbed, I don't think I will be wishing that I had loved less. God has been showing me lately that though love is usually the difficult way, it is always the best way. So, though it is painful to say goodbye to this country and its residents, many of whom I can now call friends, I know that the time here and this love was worth the pain.