Love. Accomplish. Overcome.

Follow me!

2011-09-21T20:36:00.000-07:00

If you've been with me for a while, and like what you're reading I want to invite you to follow me on Facebook and Twitter. Simply click on the links in the sidebar to receive updates including new posts, and information regarding my works in progress (like my children's book that's almost finished). Thanks for following and as always, please feel free to leave your comments. I love hearing from my readers!

The Hummingbird Approach

2011-09-21T20:01:00.001-07:00

My porch is like a sanctuary for me. During the day it serves as my office, motivating me to continue pushing on when I dread the very idea. Splashes from a large fountain shoot twenty feet into the air and gush back into the surface of the pond below my balcony. A hummingbird feeder hangs from the eaves, in my direct line of vision as I patrol the internet for content during my day shift. I observe dozens of hummingbirds fluttering in and out of my work space every day.

These birds are fodder for my imagination, incentive for my art. Upon their visits, I mentally note new and different features that I notice in these amazing little creatures. Once, when the fountain was turned off, I sat and listened to the buzz of their wings. Just feet away from me, a tiny bird made it’s presence known by the hurried flap of his feathers. It was loud and fascinating.

The birds have depleted the contents of the feeder which has been empty for a couple of weeks now. But the birds are persistent, paying regular visits to the hanging attractant. I love this about them. They return daily, confident in their search of a sugary treat.

They return, because if they don’t, they won’t get to partake in the sweetness they set out for. But their chance increases immensely if they at least come to check it out. Here’s my favorite part: when they approach their destination, they hover (rarely do they use the perch) over one of the four spigots. They test it by inserting their beak, only to find it dry as a bone. Instead of fluttering away, though, they rotate around each of the spigots in a clockwise manner, hovering briefly in front of each one to see if they find different results. They spend less time at each spigot, like they’re picking up on a pattern. After all that, they will dart off in search of another potential source.

I couldn’t help but make the distinction that I am all-too-often unlike the hummingbird. If I run into a closed opportunity, I’m not likely to check back into it. Rarely, do I look at seeming closed opportunities from every angle with the mindset, “maybe if I look at it this way.....” Nope. I like to give up and think to myself, “It’s a dead-end road.” I tend to view the situation as hopeless.

The problem with this outlook is that we will eventually lead ourselves down a dead-end road, by means of a self-fulfilling prophecy. If we assume that there’s no opportunity, thus relinquishing the search for one, we will never find it.

It’s fair to suggest that we shouldn’t waste our time on things we know aren’t going to create an outcome. It would be foolish to hover over the feeder, simply waiting on the possibility. But it doesn’t hurt to check in from time to time.

I plan on filling the feeder again. I don’t know when I’ll get around to it. But it will happen. And when it does, the frequent visits from my friends will have paid off. They have no idea what’s in store for them.

Have you given up on a particular area of your life? Are you like the hummingbird, are you quick to retreat, like me? What else can we learn from the hummingbird approach?

More to come

2011-09-21T12:37:00.001-07:00

Hello again! It's been a while since I've posted on here. Since I started my new blog, my original intent was to just maintain that one and leave it at that. But I'm noticing a steady readership developing and growing here on these pages. And I don't want to leave anyone out. So, expect an updated post from me here later today. I'll work my way back into a steady schedule here as I keep up with the one on my other site. Thanks for reading. I'm grateful for your continued visits and I hope that they're worth your while!

My blog has moved

2011-08-11T11:40:00.000-07:00

To better promote my writing, I've moved my blog, but I hope you will continue following! Please visit Lyrical Living for new articles. Hope to see your comments on the new site! Thanks to every last reader. You truly are my reason for writing....

Southern delight

2011-02-18T00:19:00.000-08:00

As an acceptance to an invitation from my dearest GG, my Friday evening was spent in the company of a much older crowd, listening to southern gospel tunes at a local church. Now, it's not out of the ordinary for me to willingly attend something like this. Southern gospel music is an innate love of mine. I can remember becoming entranced by the sounds of it reverberating from our TV as a child. Dad would have KVPT, our local public broadcasting station playing and I would join him. We commented back and forth on the songs, the instruments and the deep impressions they left on our souls.

Tonight, we experienced the final performance of Sons of the Shepherd, a group out of Tulare, Calif., as they sang of the goodness of a God who is with us in the valley as much as he is the mountain tops. Their voices prompted chills down my back and tears down my cheeks as they sang in harmonious glory. The trio consisted of a bass, a tenor and a soprano. At one point, I noticed how the soprano strained to reach his notes, while the tenor and bass stood effortlessly singing. He bent his knees, stooped his head, clutched his fist and turned red in the face to hit a certain pitch that perfectly enhanced those of the tenor and bass.

It made me think of how quick we are to try and “fit in.” I pondered what my impression of the group would have been had he been too afraid to stand out against the others. What if he talked himself out of his unique performance because it was different. What if the soprano strived for normalcy? My guess is that he would have fell flat. That the harmonies would have clashed and the audience would have felt uncomfortable. That is, if he went for it at all. He could have continued singing in a lower range, without even attempting the higher notes, in which case, we the audience would have been shortchanged.

But what a joy 1,300 people got to experience because one man chose not to be ordinary, but extraordinary. Despite the jeers he may possibly have received from underachievers, he chose to exit his comfort zone and coincidentally comfort the rest of us with his God-given ability to sing.

Tears streamed down the faces of spectators as they identified with the songs. GG, my 80-year old mentor, was particularly touched as they sang, “look for me, for I’ll be there too.” She has faced many tragedies in her lifetime and I could just feel the hope exuding from the lyric, that seeped into her soul. That one day she would see her sweet husband and daughter again.

Not only are we able to bless others when we choose not to be ordinary, we bless ourselves. I think about all that I would have missed out on, had I chose not to go last night because it’s not what ladies in their twenty-somethings do on a Friday night. As my eyes scoped the room, I noticed that the tops of the heads were overwhelmingly silver. Glasses rested on many of the faces of whose eyesight was diminished by age. Walkways accommodated walkers and the elderly occupied the seats. The ladies draped jackets over their shoulders as their weathered hands clapped to the rhythm of the music. I was, by far, one of the youngest people there.

But one thing I know--music is a powerful thing that speaks to young and old alike. I was moved to tears right along with the others. My toes were tapping and my hands were clapping just the same. The music touched my soul. And I was blessed by the company of GG, the southern delight, and my parents.

Understanding your ties

2011-01-30T22:34:00.000-08:00

Today is my Grandpa Wes' birthday. He was the grandfather I never knew--who died before I was born. Yet, I've always craved to know everything about him, his family, their history and the indirect impact of his life on my own. He and his identical twin, John (whose birthday was yesterday), began working at the early age of nine, after their mother died and father left them in Missouri. Their lives beyond that have been somewhat of a mystery to me that I have tried to resolve time and time again.

I spent last weekend in the Salinas area, where I spent the first five years of my life. After attending a conference for work in Pacific Grove, I thought I would take advantage of its proximity to my family who remained there. My aunt gave up her bed for the weekend so that I would have a place to stay. Together we spent much time over a glass of iced tea, engaged in discussions of life, family, love and anything else that came to mind.

I also had the privilege of spending time with my great-uncle John's son, Frank, and his family. Frank and Priscilla's son, Jason, played on my brother's basketball team when they were in High School. I remember going to those games, like it was yesterday. A young girl, then, I wanted nothing more than to be a cheerleader and chimed in with the squad to root for my big brother. "He's got great big feet and he's six-feet tall; He dribbles, shoots, dunks and that ain't all; He's got bas-ket-ball...He's got bas-ket-ball." I've never forgotten the rhyme.

I would climb up and down the bleachers, trying to occupy my four-year-old self when Frank and Priscilla impressed me deeply. They would comment on my "pretty red hair" and shower me with compliments. And I believed them. They helped me see the positive in myself at an early age.

Aunt Mae and I spent the evenings at Frank and Priscilla's where we talked over a meal and laughed at jokes that were cast from every end of the table (like most Bigham gatherings). We looked through photo albums, which naturally spurred our conversations in the direction I hoped for: the Bighams in the early days.

I knew many members of my family worked in produce. And I knew long hours at the cooler deprived them in a sense. But I never knew how deeply this less-than-prominant lifestyle penetrated my family history.

Their employment required them to follow the produce in season, earning a migrant reputation--and I'm sure many sneers from the "holier-than-thous." The women, were dubbed "fruit tramps" and "lettuce tramps" and the men were known as boozers and brawlers. Depending on their duties, they were dubbed "loaders," "set-offs" and "push-backs." But they took pride in earning a living and being good at the job they did.

I learned of my great-great-uncle's association with the Chicago mob, my great-aunt, outlawed for bank robbery and a great-uncle who sang with Buck Owens and Merle Haggard.

As I drove back home, making my way through the San Joaquin Valley, my eyes absorbed the productive land lining the highways and a few things began to make sense:

1. This land was settled by people form the South, like my ancestors, who did the only thing they knew to do when they arrived. They farmed. Lucky for them, this was some of the richest agricultural land and it remains such, today.

2. My deep love for and understanding of country music goes beyond a mere liking. It's imbedded in my blood. It's a part of where I come from. As I scanned the green fields, dropping down over the Pacheco Pass, I inserted a Merle Haggard cassette tape and sang along to, "Mama never had the luxuries she waned. But it wasn't cause my daddy didn't try." And I realized the depth of the truth those lyrics spoke to so many in their time.

3. After becoming more acquainted with Jason, this trip, and recognizing his striking similarities to my own brother, I realized the meaning behind my enduring respect for Frank and immediate bond with both men. Their tie to uncle John serves as a connection to Grandpa Wes for me. They are more than blood. They are the descendants of my grandfather's twin. And being with them has helped me understand my grandfather (and myself) a little more.

Sharing love for Mom and Dad

2011-01-30T21:35:00.000-08:00

To those of you who made this a very memorable Christmas for both my parents and I, I want to thank you. They were truly touched by your sentiments and I am grateful.

I typed your quotes up and placed them on an assortment of backgrounds, like you see above. They were placed inside a jar and I presented them to Mom and Dad Christmas afternoon. If you didn't have the chance to, please send me a memory of them and I will be sure they are added to their jars of love. Feel free to continue reading, to see some of the things that were shared by loved ones about my parents, whom I deeply love.

"I remember Uncle Wesley saying if we ate sugar we would get worms!! lol”

“One time we were at Shannon's house and the kids were all excited because one of the chickens had laid eggs. So this chicken was all nested up inside the shed in the backyard. You know, the one kinda by the pool? So anyway, the kids were all excited and Noah wanted to see too. So Deb (who was recuperating from hip surgery) and I take the kids in the shed.

Now, I'm not from a farm and I certainly have no business being around winged animals of any kind. So, needless to say,
I'm a bit timid. But, I'm trying to play it cool, because my son is there and I don't want the kids to laugh at me.

So we go in. The kids venture in and I make sure Deb goes in first. Then all hell broke loose. The chicken completely flips out and starts flapping her wings like CRAZY! Thump! Thump! Thump! Baagaaaaacck!!

Completely reacting in the moment, I push Deb toward the chicken and run out. I leave Noah screaming with the other kids
and completely save myself from the impending doom of a freaked-out chicken. I don't even think Deb realized I pushed her. She was super-sweet and didn't say anything.

It was good to know, that if we ever experienced a life-threatening incident, I could push her toward danger and she would be able to handle herself. She's one tough cookie and she knows how to handle chickens (not the bird....but people like me).”

“You must know my favorite memory!! I always loved sleepovers at your house, and that your mom thought I was the bad kid. I also enjoyed that when your mom wasn't home, your dad let us get away with pretty much anything!”

“One of my best memories was when my family came down to visit when I was little. your dad always took me out and let me ride the horses when I was there. I remember getting so excited to come down cause I knew I would get to ride horses and see the whole family. Your parents are such a blessing. I still get excited when we come visit. Your mom kind of reminds me of my mom in a way. So kind and warmhearted :) i love both if them very much and i hope all of you have a blessed Christmas!”

“I remember the long conversations about business and life with your Dad in front of the old feed shop. I remember his wisdom and kindness. I remember wondering exactly what I should take out of the conversations, since there was usually such an abundance of great information and substance, that I often wasn't sure exactly what was most important. In the end, I suppose I learned three things:

1. Business is important and character in business even more so.
2. Fulfillment in life is more important than any amount of business success.
3. Family is more important than 1 & 2.”

" I remembered back in 1968 when Deb was helping me clean house and the piano fell on me. My ankle was crushed and leg broken. The piano had tripped on a rug when we were moving it. Deb called the ambulance. Amy was just about 5-6 months old when this happened. It was so wonderful that Deb could help out with Amy, she was such a Blessing. Luddie lived across the street with the kids and Deb was there. Deb, I wish that I could be there with you. And I hope that you all have a wonderful Christmas. I love you.”

“To Aunt Deb and Uncle Wes, I remember the warm and tender times of the family. The times you were there to help, the times you were there to share, to love. These are the special time that I remember growing up you were a special part of my life I thank god to have you both. That he has given to me the both of you to pray for to love to call you family. The bible says in 1Corinthians ch.13 vs.7 love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, most of all it endures all all things. Gods love for the both of you never fails. You are two very special people and I love you. Have a very merry Christmas."

I am so thankful for the time I got to spend at your house growing up! I always felt just like I belonged there and knew that you cared about me like extended parents. Thank you for the love and hospitality you showed all of us girls.

"Your family has always been really special to me. I have one memory in particular that has always been with me through the years. When I was quite a bit younger I remember Charri and I coming down to Fresno for a visit on the train. We stayed at your house and Uncle Wesley and Aunt Debbie had plans to go the the Paso Robles fair. I dont think they had planned for Charri and I to be at your house then but I remember Aunt Rita and Uncle Chet were going to come and pick us up from your house and we did not want to go (not that we didn't want to see them, they did not have kids). Uncle Wesley and Aunt Debbie did not make us go and they woke us up the next morning telling us to get ready. They took us with them to the fair to see George Strait. Every time I hear a George Strait song it reminds me of this and how your parents unselfishly gave to us."

"To My bubby, I love you so very much. I have a great many memories of our childhood Christmas's with our family, I also remember peeling potatoes for you to eat with salt and scratching your back. Wish we could be closer and spend more time together, Think of you often."

“Deb, some of my first memories of you are as the lunch lady at T.K.”

Loving so called "life"

2010-08-01T12:05:00.000-07:00

So this is it, the real world. A degree, a job, an apartment, bills (all paid) and a small sum of money in the bank. This is what I have worked so hard for. And it was so worth the sacrifice, the dedication and the wait.

I spent two weeks after graduation wondering what it was I was going to do for the rest of my life. Though I was lacking the knowledge of what it was the future held for me, I had complete confidence that I would find out, whatever it was. And so, I began the search....

It didn’t take long. I hardly had the chance to let the reality of it all set in. I received a phone call one day, from a gentleman I met at my dad’s feed store a couple of years prior. We spoke then, of my aspirations, passion for writing and all that inspired me. He told me I was exactly the type of individual he wanted for his publishing company. I lacked one thing, only. A degree.

So, I set out to achieve the one thing that was standing between myself and my dream job, where I could produce substantial content for a publication that reflects my philosophies and values when it comes to agriculture, history, politics, religion, family and entertainment. I checked in with him a time or two, to reiterate my interest and skills and he agreed that I was right for the job. I have been working for him for a month and a half now.

This whole experience is surreal.

Tonight is my first night in my apartment. As for most intuitive thinkers, I have found repetitive sentiment in the occasion, keenly aware of the following:

I am entering a new phase of life, and letting go of another. Last night was my last night at home. As bad as I needed this, a place to call my own, I am saddened that I’ll never get that back. I am so grateful for the home my parents shared when I over-extended my stay and the many great memories they created for me there. I am blessed that I didn’t leave their home out of spite or resentfulness, though at times, I showed them an undeserved disrespect. Being home at 27 dissatisfied me to the point that I expressed my discontent where I should have showed gratitude. Being away, I am immediately filled with regret.

I appropriately came across this simple prayer, while unpacking today, in a book that provides illuminating selections from the bible: “Thank You for my parents, God. Even though I’m grown up now, may my relationship with them continue to grow. Heal the old hurts and resentments with Your Holy Spirit. Thank You for all You’ve given me through these two people—and help me never be too busy to show them how much I love them. Amen.

On the other hand, I am filled with joy at the understanding that this apartment is mine. Everything inside this apartment is mine. Walking in my front door, I step into a world of unfamiliarity, yet I am so aware of the fact that it belongs to me! And as I sort through my swirl of emotions tonight, I’m adjusting well. It feels like home in a lot of ways, already. It feels so right, sitting on my couch, writing. It’s like this was meant to be all along. Things have lined up along the way, leading me to this place. It has all happened so fast, the majority of my friends don’t even know I have left home, yet. But here I sit, nearly settled and I am content, in need of nothing.

When I was in high school, I got a hope chest for Christmas, something I had wanted since I was a little girl. I began filling it with things along the way, with the intent of using them one day. But I didn’t expect the day to be so rewarding. These household items became timely treasures as I unwrapped them and reverted back to the time each piece was placed in my chest. I was also pleasantly surprised to find that each would complement my apartment surprisingly well, simultaneously surrounding me with the memories I’ve made along the way.

My boss at my first job contributed a handful of miscellaneous housewares items from the department we represented when she found out I had a hope chest. They will serve as a constant reminder of the potential she was kindly trying to get me to recognize in myself. Looking back, I recognize that my stubborn, 18-year-old, know-it-all attitude created a lot of tension in my relationship with her. As I’ve matured, I have recognized the many attempts she made to push me to better myself, despite my negativity. She forced me to build displays when I told her I wasn’t creative enough. She encouraged me to implement a program for our hearing-impaired customers when she found out that I knew sign-language. She pushed me to apply for a buyers position, assuring me that I possessed the capability I thought I lacked. She assigned me as a Team Member Awareness Group representative and delegated cheese buying responsibilities to me. I complained nearly every time. The items I use on a daily basis, will serve as reminders of my smug attitude as a teenager and the choice I face daily to deny that person.

Right after high school, I had fleeting plans to move out. I bought a stainless steel towel rack for my bathroom that has remained in it’s box ever since. It hangs in my bathroom as if it were specifically chosen for that room.

At the World Pork Expo last year, JoAnn took one of the centerpieces for me to take home to my empty apartment in Panora. It’s a large, yes...pig. It sat on the three dollar coffee table I bought at an auction, the entire summer. Every time I looked at it, I laughed to myself. I never would have bought something like that to accessorize my home. But seeing as I had nothing else, I left it. When I was packing to come home, I looked forward to throwing it away. But something wouldn’t let me. I stuffed it in a box along with the rest of my things and here it sits on my new coffee table as a surprisingly fitting centerpiece for my living room. Now, all of the memories contained inside bring a smile to my face when I see it.

My sister-in-law, Shannon, made a ceramic dish for me the year my oldest nephew was born. On the outside, she painted it blue and green, the colors I have chosen for my kitchen. Inside, she placed my nephew’s footprint. He will be nine this year. I cherish this piece as it represents the immense love I have for the kids in my life. There is nothing that compares.

For years, my grandmother was married to an Italian man by the name of Reno. I thought of him as a grandfather when I was a kid. He was an amazing man, patient, kind and generous. When his mother died, She left a house full of antiques to him. I remember visiting as a child, exploring what I thought were ancient relics, and treasures. Mom gave me an entire set of silverware that came from that house. I plan to use it to be reminded of my childhood lust for the past and my fondness of Reno, and the example he set for what a man should be. He is the one man I witnessed taking his last breath.

Jaime, my other sister-in-law, gave me her old set of dishes when she last upgraded. I can remember heating up dozens of frozen burritos and leftover pizza on these dishes when I laid the girls down for bed and started a movie to unwind. I can’t wait to serve my company on them and not the plastic set I fell in love with in high school.

Together with my new furniture, these things complete my apartment as a signature on my home. Everything in here represents who I am. And best of all, I have saved tremendously, meeting my long time goal of having everything I own paid off.

The beauty in diversity

2010-07-04T10:05:00.000-07:00

In northern California, we’re tucked away in the mountains, beneath the amazingly beautiful Mt. Shasta. Glorious snow-capped peaks, trees, flowers, rivers and lakes encompass my soul stirring a renewed revelation of the shadows of our lives being cast by natural beauty. There are no fields of corn growing here and it’s unlike any terrain I encountered in Iowa. Yet oddly enough, I’m continually reminded of my experiences there and the tremendous growth I acquired from the people, places and things associated with it. And like the analogy I drew from sprouting corn (see Corn Fields and New Beginnings), mountainous splendor has ignited my creative imaginations, and inspired me with words:

Sometimes...
We live. We die. We try.
We learn to lean on others.

We shine. We hide.
We learn to overcome.
We learn that what we want isn’t always what we need.
People and things come and go like the ebb and flow of the raging waters and a settling breeze.

We get all tied up in knots, trying, as we become confused, forgetting what we set out to do in the first place.

We do whatever it takes, to break through to the other side as we strive to fulfill our purpose.

The inspiration? Brightly colored blossoms scattered amid vast greenery. They paint a picture of individual distinction, constituents called to harmonious community. I'm surrounded by foliage representing every stage of life, from bloom to doom and all of a sudden, I began to relate my experiences directly to these scenes I’ve captured on digital film. A sprouting pine tree versus the dead one: a direct correlation to the drastic contrast of the beginning and ending stages of life.

Then I looked around at the vivacious colors and various types of flowers and trees at their different stages of life--and how gorgeous they are as a compilation. Such is life when we apply our unique designs as individuals into our communities, fulfilling our intended roles. I noticed a bouquet of wilting flowers grasped in the weathered hand of my precious grandmother as they approach their final stage together, recognizing how quickly it comes and goes.

Just before I sat down to begin writing, a sweet little girl, about three years old offered me a little pink flower. She held a bucket full, that had been freshly picked. This gesture perfectly consummates my recognition of these things. She examined the selection carefully, and chose one to her liking. It was gorgeous when she handed it to me, yet it’s already beginning to wilt. Soon, it will begin to lose it’s color, dry out completely and never again face the one chance it was given to decorate this earth.

Similarly we are given one chance to decorate the earth with our many diverse talents and abilities. Like the flower, that’s laying on my computer, we are unaware of when we will be picked and our life will come to an end. I am determined to show my vibrant color while I still have the chance. To be a radiant adornment among a plethora of greenery. The mountains to the east are covered in lush greenery with gigantic pine trees that are beautiful in their own way. But the small, colorful flowers are ultimately what catch my eye and fill the viewfinder of my camera. Their size, insignificant to the majestic mountain full of trees. Yet a single pink flower, like the one Naomi gave me, creates charm superlative to its conventional surroundings.

We are here to celebrate one of my favorite holidays, the Fourth of July. How lucky we are to be natives of a nation whose declaration, proclaimed over 200 years ago, granted us liberty without restriction! Without it, I wouldn’t be able to reflect on these things and celebrate my freedom to express them as a woman writer. I never would have bloomed into the colorful, aromatic flower I was meant to be, fulfilling my purpose. I would never touch the lives of others who read the pages I’ve filled. There would be a missing link in my community. Without it, we would all be pine trees.

A year ago, I was sitting at my desk at JoAnn’s house in Iowa. At that desk, I scripted the first pages of this blog contemplating these very same thoughts. Though, this time around, I have another year’s worth of experiences, new friends and opportunities to add to my collection. It’s been an amazing, wild ride. I am proud to say that in that year, I have grown, tremendously as a woman, and as a writer. All too often, we fail to take advantage of the liberty we’ve been granted to seize our chance at becoming someone, binding ourselves into slavery.

Today we celebrate freedom, something that I feel has been jeopardized and no longer perceived as a God-given right. It has become a privilege deemed worthy by the government to their liking. Release self-inflicted shackles. Shine in your community and blossom into the person you were created to be because you can.

I, along with my family, am celebrating on Lake Siskiyou, a small lake with regulations that prevent boats from exceeding 10 miles an hour. It has a breathtaking view of Mt. Shasta and hundreds of people have come from surrounding counties to experience the display of fireworks that will be shot off from its southeast shore.

I was on a boat ride earlier today, when I observed people congregating along the shore setting up camp, passing festive foods, and searching out a spot to engage in their own mini celebration. I thought about all of the families, and groups of people across this sacred land, who are doing the exact same thing, at this very moment. On this day, we gather with friends and loved ones to pay tribute to the significance of this day. I am overwhelmed that I am given the chance to be part of such a huge celebration.

In every part of this nation, people of different personalities, backgrounds, races, religions and interests set this day apart from all of the rest to observe the one thing we all have in common, our home.

I was in Chicago on this day last year, watching fireworks from the pier with my best friend. We brushed shoulders with all sorts of people, as we heard inspirational words from Barack Obama in a prelude to the National Anthem and watched a display of fireworks. My emotions were stirred, as they are every year, but my expressions of gratitude are understated by the grand blessing it is to be one of a diverse group. Individually, we expose our diversities, yet collectively, we become a part of the bigger picture, representing our culture and ultimately the human race.

I feel like I am lightyears away from Chicago today, celebrating with a more humble crowd. Eccentric, you might say. The people in these parts have been dubbed, backwards, hillbillies, hippies and mountain people. No doubt, their lifestyles surprise even me, who have been repeatedly exposed to their customs.

As different as they are, I keep noticing the American flags and patriotic ribbons tied to the boats that line the dock, being caught up in the wind. That same symbol is displayed all over this nation today, as they were last year on the pier in Chicago, the skyscrapers of New York and L.A., barns across the Midwest, churches in the south, and homes from Detroit, Orlando, Seattle and San Diego. Willamantic, Dunsmuir, Panora and Enumclaw.

Our festivities are evidence of our connection to one another. As often as we point our fingers at our differences, laughing at them in support of our own way of doing things, our celebrations are a good reminder that our differences don’t have to divide us as they often do.

I can guarantee that in every state across America today, you will see street fairs, parades, BBQ’s, boats, fireworks and alcohol--all as a representation of our freedom. The freedom we all possess together. As one. Americans. This is our home, America. Find your place in it.

A Bulldog, an aggie, a Bigham

2010-05-26T13:44:00.000-07:00

Well aware of the significance of last week, I chose to heed to the advice of a recent Ladies' Home Journal Magazine article and Slow Down as I savored my final moments at Fresno State. I took my time strolling through the campus, opposite my usual pace. My leisurely walks allowed me “to look at the places and people with curiosity and wonder,” just as the article suggested.

It would have been a shame if I had left that school, without ever appreciating its beauty. I have managed to overlook the character of my campus, caught up in deadlines, exams and conversations along the way. But I first realized it when mom and I intentionally sought out picturesque scenery for photo backdrops the week school got out. We covered every square inch of that campus, admiring the lush greenery and wide open spaces.

As the end drew near I took figurative snapshots of my surroundings, drinking in what would hopefully be lasting memories, resistant to fade. I was distinctly aware of the last lecture, final presentation, last class session and final exam. Grief and joy went head-to-head in the battle to win my heart. Both held their own as I continuously dubbed the experience “bittersweet.”

I took a final on Monday, another on Tuesday completing the least stressful finals week for a graduating senior; Mom and I shopped, got a pedicure and ran errands Wednesday, precursors to the upcoming celebration; My parents attended the animal science/agriculture education banquet with me Thursday where the president of the FFA conference committee recognized my achievement as the Web Proceedings co-chair; and my family offered their support at the department of agriculture’s commencement ceremony Friday and the university commencement ceremony Saturday. The week seemed to creep by in slow motion, but in retrospect I’m not sure where the time went.

My graduation was everything I hoped it would be. I made up my mind to enjoy every second of it. Plenty of opportunities arose for me to be robbed of my joy. However, I am grateful to say that I held tightly to it, refusing to relinquish my grip.

At Friday’s ceremony, we were individually recognized and awarded on stage. Pride swelled as my name was called and I extended that recognition to my parents in the audience with a kiss from the stage. I cheered loudly for my friends, and their achievements, recognizing that our lives were about to change drastically. I am proud to have them as my friends, proud of their accomplishments and proud to have experienced college with them.

These moments seemed surreal—yet I was caught up in the reality of them. I cherished the moment my name was announced, the opportunity I was given to thank my amazing advisor, Dr. Rocca, with a hug on stage, and the moments of silence and deafening applause. Pride was so thick in the air it weighed on my shoulders and the bond between the students in the college of ag never seemed tighter.

But nothing compared to spotting my family in the audience, expressing their pride in my achievement; especially Saturday when family and friends filled the Save Mart Center. Adrenaline rushed through our bones as we waited backstage to enter the arena. We were the final college to enter, so we spent our time, joking, laughing, taking pictures, and releasing shouts of joy. Each minute and step we took closer to making our grand entrance, the anticipation magnified.

It took me a while to find my family, so I had the entire walk to our seats to soak up the experience and sear it into my memory. When we stepped out onto the floor, the crowd enveloped us with shouts of recognition and simultaneous waves. I seemed to make my way to my seat in slow motion, listening to individual shouts from the audience, knowing that some of them belonged to me. My eyes scanned rows and rows and rows of seats—half looking to see if the occupants were my kin, half amazed by the amount of people participating in this event—for us.

I was feeling on top of the world until my face flashed on the screen above. At that moment, I thought I owned it. The camera captured our shouts, extended arms and the biggest smiles we’ve ever known.

The moment I found my family, the world stopped turning as we shared in it together. An equal blend of joy, pride and gratitude overcame me, an overwhelming emotion I had never known before. My hands flew in the air so proud that my achievement was what brought them there that day. They rose to their feet so fast, extending hands toward mine, our shouts getting lost somewhere in between. The diploma I received on that day belongs in part to those individuals.

Being the first in the family to graduate was a struggle. Generational inclinations had to be broken. I did it. I stood my own, but only because of their support. They wanted it for me as bad as I did myself and at times, more. When I saw them standing there waving, I felt as if I was the guest there to recognize all of their hard work and devotion. I’m so blessed to share the accomplishment with them, knowing that our name, “BIGHAM,” now belongs to the one percent of graduates in the world.

My slower pace last week reminded me of all that I have to be proud of: I am extremely proud of my identity as a Bulldog, an aggie and a Bigham.

For more on the commencement, please see Fresno State commencement a new beginning

Check out my new website!

2010-05-10T00:54:00.000-07:00

Leah Bigham - Home

The legacy you leave

2010-04-25T22:01:00.000-07:00

A legacy endures the hardships of one generation and remains steadfast for the next. It undergoes the transition from the weathered hands of the wise to those of unscathed youth. It is a component of history, a record of intricate detail and monumental worth. It is evidence of the past, service to the present and a promise for the future. There is untold value in its passage.

Over 4,000 members of the Future Farmers of America (FFA) gathered in my hometown last weekend, for their 82nd annual state conference. Student leaders, guest speakers and advisors addressed them, delivering a bold message: “Your Legacy Awaits.”

The very foundation of FFA exemplifies all that this slogan entails. During the conference, I observed its members display a dedication to family, ethics, education and responsibility and a diligence to preserve it. They take pride in leadership, show respect for their elders and possess a unique patriotism.

I can say with absolute sincerity, that it was my pleasure to take part in the conference for my second consecutive year. As a co-chair for the Web proceedings committee at Fresno State, I served as a photographer for the event. As such, I was asked to conduct a workshop to 14 FFA members who were selected as part of a press corps team.

These students participated in a number of workshops aside from the general sessions and completed assignments related to their designated area of the press. It was a joy watching them on assignment. Several times backstage, I crossed paths with student reporters as they chased down officers, award winners and other recognized individuals for interviews. I brushed shoulders with student photographers as they sought out the best spot to capture the on-stage action.

I received the most satisfaction, however, from the interaction I received during my presentation to the press corps team. They were attentive, inquisitive and respectful. And they helped me come to an understanding about my own legacy.

At the beginning of my workshop, I quoted Mark Sharenbroich, from his keynote address during the opening session. He said, “Find out what your gifts are and share them with the world.” I told the students that that is why I chose to accept the invitation to conduct my workshop that day. I know what my gifts are and I am determined to share them with the world—through my camera and my keyboard

I have had some of the most amazing leaders and mentors who have helped direct me along the journey to discovering those gifts, and I am indebted to their devotion. But because of my late start on my education and involvement in the things that I love to do, I am continuously inspired by young people who make a point to follow their dreams. I often feel compelled to encourage them in their pursuit.

The fulfillment I received from my workshop led me to the realization that it is part of my responsibility to pass on my legacy. Even though I still have my entire career ahead of me, it is not too soon to share the treasure I have found in writing and photography. It doesn’t belong to me; I simply get to make use of it. And I am honored to be able to share it with newcomers like those I had the privilege of speaking to that day.

Mexican Tales and a Springtime Serenade

2010-03-20T02:45:00.000-07:00

I was strumming on my guitar as we sat around the bonfire when my youngest niece requested that I play “Mr. Lincoln.” Having never played the song before, I searched for the chords and began singing once I found them. The musical prose of the song accurately interprets its melancholy message and has significantly impacted my five-year-old niece. She informed me, “Aunt Leah, I might have tears in my eyes if you play that song. But it’s OK.”

Our Hispanic neighbors joined us for the weenie roast. They brought along homemade potato tacos to accompany our all-American hot dogs—a typical blend of cultural trends. Mario Sr. shared a few fables he learned as an impoverished child, growing up in Mexico. He spoke of the good and evil that his grandmother taught him about recounting the sacred lessons of how God works in “different” ways.

After everyone left, I listened to the sounds of spring and watched as the fire died out. Nearby coyotes howled against an orchestra of crickets and frogs that left an impression comparable to “Mr. Lincoln’s.” A wailing train blew its horn in the distance as if to publicize the array of concealed emotions I’ve experienced this week. I stared into the fire pit pondering the excruciating pain inflicted by burns and it reminded me of the old saying, “if you play with fire, you’re gonna get burned.” How quickly we learn that lesson as a child; as it applies to the physical realm. Yet even as adults, we continue to think we are exempt from the dangers of those less tangible.

After enjoying the company of family and friends, I sat alone at the fire. I became aware of my own solitude and the human necessity of its reciprocate: community. There is no greater remedy for one in need of mending. Community—communication—communion—each requires the sharing of something. To share, we rely on one another. We weren’t meant to face this journey alone.

One of Mario’s tales exemplified these lessons through the story of a young man who shared his food and water with others. Though he didn’t have any to spare, they needed it more than he did. Likewise, they saved his life when he was under attack by his own brothers. We are guaranteed trials in this life. We are not guaranteed a support system as we face them. Make yourself available to others by recognizing their needs. The day will come when the tables are turned. I visited a church last week whose pastor mentioned a quote worth passing along: “Adversity doesn’t build character; it only reveals it.”

Transparency: the real you

2010-03-14T12:52:00.000-07:00

Officers of the Public Relations Student Society of America (PRSSA) chapter on campus held a PR Unplugged event today. Four prominent PR specialists spoke to an audience of students, professors and professionals about personal branding, social media, crisis communication and media relations.

Though a number of beneficial topics were covered, I took particular interest in their reiteration of establishing trust and transparency through communication with clients and in our brands. These concepts aligned with much of the content I produced for my article, Technology, Identity, Community that appeared in Pork Business Journal last summer. In a world where global communication has become commonplace, it’s tempting to conclude that we, as a society, have lost touch with these values—particularly when headlines daily reveal breeches of trust and lax transparency.

Debra Nalchajian-Cohen, founder of Cohen Communications, encouraged effective communication up front, stating that “facts rise to the top quickly.” Even when you think they can’t, people can see right through you.

Fresno State professor of PR, Betsy Hays, expressed the importance of congruency. When your words don’t match your actions, you lose credibility and destroy your brand with a bad reputation.

These notions pertain directly to PR, but are just as applicable to our daily interactions with each other. Relationships are commonly severed by distrust and a lack of effective communication. Becoming an open book to your counter-part is positively less harmful than putting up a front. You are more likely to incur desired results by making yourself vulnerable.

The times I have decided to step out in faith, into a world of unfamiliarity and discomfort, have been the times that I have taken my largest strides toward personal growth. Transparency may ignite feelings of discomfort at first. But overcoming those fears is liberating. What is there to hide? Let's see the real you.

The Happiest Place on Earth

2010-02-24T23:59:00.001-08:00

I returned home late last night after spending an extended weekend vacation with my family at the “happiest place on earth.” At the entrance the kids stopped to gather around a street performance by Mickey Mouse, Mary Poppins, the Mad Hatter and a marching band when the writer in me stepped back to observe.

Singing children clapped their hands then paused, only to raise them in the air begging to participate in the dancing celebration. Parents looked on with proud smiles, capturing indefinite records of the precious moments on camera. Some reconnected with their inner child, shamelessly belting out sing-along lyrics. All were living in the moment.

As the performance dwindled, people dispersed down Main Street with swelling anticipation. Music blared overhead as children everywhere grabbed hold of a parent and lead the way with pointed fingers. Oversized lollipops, trinkets and souvenirs were displayed near storefronts. The buildings were embellished with countless lights and intricate detail and kids passed with wide-eyed looks of amazement.

When we made it to the rides, I noticed that some children found ways to occupy their time while others waited impatiently in lines. Moms were reaching in handbags for snacks to appease their hungry kids while dads sought out their next destination on the map. Young couples took every opportunity to engage with one another but were frequently disrupted by the moving line. The screams and cries of tired and rejected kids competed with automated voices offering warnings and explanations of the rides. Loud laughter, cheerful music and clanking rides echoed all around. The smells of popcorn, cotton candy and churros combined to form the scent we all know as “Disneyland”.

This was my first time to the park with my nieces and nephews. While I was excited to share in the experience with them, there were definitely some things I was looking more forward to than others. I was surprised, though, by the renewed appreciation I had for the concepts relayed to the kids at the less-than-desirable attractions:

Despite the redundant melody and anti-climactic boat ride, “It’s a Small World” is a prominent representation of ethnic customs that exposes the kids to diversification. Despite the reality of racism the ride served as a small reminder of the strides we have taken toward harmony in this country. Evidence of this fact was displayed just outside the ride, by the multi-cultured spectators waiting in line.

In an address to the audience, Abraham Lincoln taught about the God-given right to liberty for each of those cultures represented, and the expense for which it’s been fought in this country. His presentation ended with a rendition of “His Truth is Marching On.” I was moved by the powerful message to never cease fighting for the protection of our liberty and to maintain the extreme value we place in it. I fought tears as I read the words “America, keep on dreaming,” displayed on the curtains at the show’s end.

Finally, as I soared above California at California Adventure, I was surprised at my stirred emotions at the recognition of the place I call home. Having grown up in the Golden State, I have often taken for granted the amazing things it has to offer. I realized that the places featured on the ride are in my backyard and that people all over the world dream of one day seeing them with their own eyes. How blessed I am to have experienced this lovely state—and so many others in this divine country.

Love is Everlasting

2010-02-16T19:04:00.000-08:00

“Hatred paralyzes life; love releases it. Hatred confuses life; love harmonizes it. Hatred darkens life; love illumines it.”
Martin Luther King, Jr.
(1929-1968); Minister, Civil Rights Activist

I am not one of those people that despise Cupid’s holiday. I support any and every excuse to confess and express love. However, I do detest the impact its commercialization has on participants and inactive observers alike. As a member of the latter category—and as a woman—I cannot help but believe the newspaper ads, TV and radio commercials, billboards and internet when their messages convey that I should have an enormous bouquet of flowers and box of chocolates awaiting me at my desk. I hardly care for chocolate and flowers—destined to wither—have never appealed to me. Yet at this time of year, I coincidentally find myself craving the robust flavors of melting candies and the aroma of a dozen red roses as I click away at my keyboard.

Do heart shaped boxes and vases of long-stemmed flowers satisfy the universal need for love? Compared to my daily experiences with proven unconditional love, the gesture seems quite empty and senseless.

A valentine is “what you call the boy/girl you’re temporarily ‘dating’ for Valentine's Day,” according to the increasingly popular urbandictionary.com. The Web site, best known for its comical content, provides a sadly accurate depiction of the word. For some reason, society leads us to believe that our worth is displayed through inanimate objects while the commercial world capitalizes on this notion. I don’t aspire for temporary meaningless interactions with others and if Valentine’s Day gifts are representations of that, I am better off without them. I don’t want to be temporarily pacified. Like the rest of mankind, I desire lasting devotion.
Values.com | Your Billboard Unconditional Love

Music, Love, Life and Loss

2010-02-08T12:28:00.000-08:00

I took my place in mom's Buick, plugged my headset into my cell phone and began humming along to Norah Jones as we traveled south on Highway 99. My flickering eyes momentarily grasped a tree whizzing by, then briefly paused before fixing their gaze on another. Similarly, my unleashed thoughts darted between my music class, our trip south and the hundreds of memories I have created along that very highway.

Grandma was in the front seat practicing a “flipping the pancake” motion in the palm of her hands--a technique she couldn't master for her doctor who recently diagnosed her with mild-to-moderate dementia. With enthusiasm like a child and the memory loss of an elder, she quickly answered, “four,” when mom asked her how many quarters were in two dollars. She began to sing an old praise song, "I've got a river of life flowing out of me," struggling to recite the lyrics she once did with ease. The song resonated within me. Ironically, we were to attend her baby brother's memorial service the following day. As if to accompany her, the rain beat a shout chorus of death on the windshield. The wipers forced a retreat with a symphony of life, wiping away the raindrops, resembling tears. “Death—Life—Death—Life.”

Grandma helped raise Uncle Obie after her mother died, when she was six years old. She has recounted, many times, the story of when she took him into Oklahoma City while "Papa" was gone at work during the day. But when I went to visit her last Thanksgiving, she included some details about their “strolls through the city” that she never had before.

During my visit to the City, I was well aware of the renovations and destruction of the buildings in Grandma’s memory. They have been replaced by buildings with newer styles and architectural trends than those of her day. One dilapidated building, though, stood at the edge of the city and displayed the words “Farmer's Market” across the top. I shot a picture, confident that Grandma would likely have recollections of this building above any other. I forgot to take the picture to her, but at the mere mention of it, her eyes lit up, “Oh, yes!” she exclaimed with a grin. She began to tell the story I've learned by heart:

“Papa would leave for work and I would take Obie by the hand, 'C'mon Obie, w'ere gonna go to town,'" the story always began. She explained that she would cross over the North and South Canadian Rivers that ran through downtown; though this time she struggled to recall their names. They frequented this farmers market where trains would unload fresh produce onto the dock. Grandma and Uncle Obie would dig fruit, unfit for merchandise, out of the trash can for their midday meal. For the first time in my life, I became aware of the destitute conditions they faced as kids. “We were poor, poor people. Nobody should have to live that way,” Grandma said with tears filling her eyes at the memory. “But we made it through.” She recalled workers at the dock dropping fruit on purpose “’cause they knew we was orphans—almost.”

I sat directly behind Grandma at the funeral, amazed at all she has endured: an unfortunate childhood, infidelity, failed marriages, domestic abuse, single-motherhood, and the deaths of two husbands, three sisters, many friends and now her little brother. I pondered the amount of tears she must have cried, and how she has sustained. I yearn for the determination she learned as a girl.

My determination thus far has landed me my first interview. Tomorrow, I will meet with members of the USDA regarding an assistantship program. I want to tell myself that I am nervous, but I refuse. When I begin to feel anxious, I remember the opportunity therein—all that I will take from the experience, regardless of its outcome—and my anxiety turns to excitement.

JoAnn sent me a timely letter of recommendation attached to an email with all of her latest and yet another opportunity. A firm in the Midwest has a job opening that she thinks would suit me well. I recently told myself that I will walk through every door that opens as I pursue my dreams. I see this as an open door and am fervently waiting to see what is on the other side.

I have kept myself busy and that makes the wait easy. I have picked up a side job shooting photography for a local performance horse ranch, attend weekly meetings for the California State FFA Conference Committee, and make a point to go to the gym twice a week. The work load for class is minimal. But the requirements are nothing short of enjoyment for me. I spend my mornings getting ready to the sounds of Frank Sinatra, Billie Holiday, and Ella Fitzgerald. Louis Armstrong and Bessie Smith are my motivation while I clean. Their music serves as a dual purpose. I receive therapy as I prepare for my exams.

Before we left town last Friday, I attended my music class. The instructor covered, in great detail, each of the aforementioned artists, sharing several pieces that tugged at my emotions. He ended our session by playing a Sinatra hit, “My Way.” Inspired, I kept my head down to hide the tears that filled my eyes as I packed my things to leave.

Billie Holiday also impacted me with her song, “Good Morning Heartache.” She captures the universal emotions that are all too often related to the loss of love. I remember something mom told me about my paternal Grandmother, from Missouri, after she died. The last thing Grandma Julie said to my mom on her death bed was, "You'ns love one another." The most important lesson we can learn from any circumstance in this life, is Love.

This concept has been a hard one for me to grasp, but I believe it is one I am learning. I wholeheartedly believe to love is to make a choice. True love is unconditional. It requires forgiveness. While I have been great at loving from a distance, I am in search for love that has no bounds.

Values

2010-01-28T23:44:00.000-08:00

After being exposed to a continuous array of uplifting advertisements, I was lured to visit Values.com earlier this week. As I browsed the pages of The Foundation for a Better Life Web site, the evidence became overwhelming that my visit was predestined. The entire motive of the foundation is to encourage others to do good, through a select set of values. I’ve recently been considering ways in which I can serve my community. I felt compelled to implement their suggested values: persistence, opportunity, inspiration, peace, gratitude, live your dreams…etc. Each value, quote and billboard represents something I personally cherish and instantly became a supporter.

Shortly after visiting Values.com, my brother and I were discussing my financial situation. I informed him of a goal that I set for myself when I started college. I planned to put myself through school…and to do so without student loans. At the beginning of last semester, I had to begin relying on the support of my parents to help me finish. I failed to achieve my goal. As I shared with him how it was eating me up inside, he brought it to my attention that I was being prideful. “Think about how it makes mom and dad feel to be able to help you. Have you ever thought about that?” As a parent, he thought of the joy he will receive from providing an education for his children. He reminded me that I will graduate without any debt, and that I have much to be thankful for. The opportunity surfaced to seize the steadfast value of gratitude, but my pride crept in and smothered its invitation.

While I have it, I need to take the opportunity to publicly thank mom and dad for their unconditional support. Their monetary investment has been the least of their contributions. I have encountered extreme highs and lows throughout the years (“violent mood swings” as an old friend used to refer to them). Along the way, I have doubted many things; But never the loyalty of my parents who were there for me every step of the way. They have exemplified the values of devotion, sacrifice, dedication and encouragement.

During one of my breaks at school this week, I was thumbing through a magazine entitled The Writer, when 10 Habits of a Successful Writer caught my attention. I was immediately drawn to the article and after reading it, came to the realization that I possess many of the habits introduced therein. Like author Donald M. Murray, I “delight in anecdote and parable that reveals a larger story,” and I “treasure metaphor.” I can identify with him in that “I am always in the world and out of it.” I am constantly aware of my surroundings, scribbling notes containing “an essential tension that will release a text when it’s developed,” as he so eloquently wrote.

I examined the list and questioned my own routines with intent to implement those gone unpracticed. The only resounding negative response was to the habit of completion—the toughest one to master. Murray considers a piece to be complete once it’s been submitted—for without submission, you can’t be published. I have been published, but I have not made a habit of submission. Therefore, I will practice the values of determination and perseverance, until I develop a routine of submitting my work.

Questioning myself regarding two other habits, I found myself sitting on the fence. They require a sense of change within the individual; the writer must be able to contradict their own writing, admit past misinformation and be willing to revise their own precious material. Considering my new outlook on change, I imagine the “fence” is a hurdle I am soaring above, in mid-jump between a “no” response, and an unmistakable “yes!” I spent nearly the same amount of time editing and revising my last entry as I did writing it. But without those changes, it wasn’t nearly as effective to the reader. Change is good, and I am embracing it, along with the value of overcoming my fear of it.

Please take the time to visit Values.com to view a complete list of the values. As the foundation doesn’t receive monetary donations, it’s completely dependent on people sharing them. When incorporated into our communities, these values have the potential to transform our world.

Rainbows and New Beginnings

2010-01-22T17:51:00.000-08:00

This life promises a constant cycle of repetition. The title of today’s post reflects how that cycle has gone full circle since my first entitled, “Cornfields and New Beginnings.” Just as I did at the start of that journey, today I face a fork in the road.

Daily, we are summoned to continue along the beaten path spewed before us. The path is convincing, for it is safe, familiar and adequate. Or we can make the courageous decision to turn down one of the millions of branches of opportunity, along the way.

Such was the choice I made to spend last summer in Iowa. Choosing complete unfamiliarity, turned out to be one of the best decisions I have ever made. I have absolutely no regrets about that decision or the effects of it. However, risk-takers are not promised ease or safety along the way. They often face vicious storms much like what I faced upon my return. But there is always hope beyond the storm. We call this a rainbow.

While working on my portfolio yesterday, I looked outside my window to notice the most magnificent rainbow I have ever seen. It was so enormous its entirety couldn’t fit into the viewfinder of my camera. Each hue glowed as if the pot of gold were a lit match igniting it at the end. It felt like the rainbow was inviting me to come explore its colors—promising me a new beginning.

As I begin this, my final semester at CSUF, I feel anticipation similar to what I experienced prior to lunging into Iowa last June. Contentment, excitement and peace (finally) resonate within me. I am still uncertain of what awaits me after I graduate. But I am certain, completely confident, that something does await me. I am ecstatic about the final steps I will take before grasping my degree and finding out what that is.

Classes started yesterday. Not only do I have the best schedule for a senior in their final semester, I have a light load of extremely interesting classes. As an upper division requirement, I am taking a class on the history of rock and jazz. I have always held a huge appreciation for the arts. Today the professors blared Led Zeppelin, Duke Ellington and Chuck Berry through the speakers as they introduced the basics of the course. I swelled inside and lost myself to the music.

I sit here at my desk, inundated with “resumes-and-portfolios-for-dummies” material. I continuously slip red, white and pink M&M’s into my mouth, as I learn how to best expose my talents, abilities and skills to employers. Though I am secure in my talents, I have never been one to flaunt them, so I struggle with the process. I was told for the second time this week that I am too critical of myself. As I sort through this information, I am making necessary adjustments to my resume, portfolio and attitude. I’m enthusiastic about the opportunities these changes will invite. I’m thankful for my new beginning and the rainbow that has finally brought color back into my life.

Eyes on the finish-line

2010-01-16T15:41:00.000-08:00

With the help of constant motivation from a few special people in my life, I have spent the last week sitting in front of my computer, for hours on end, determined to accomplish a few key things before classes reconvene next Thursday. My priorities include polishing my resume and portfolio and filling out what seems to be endless applications for scholarships, internships and jobs. The whole process terrifies me! Prior to my internship, I had never assembled a resume for myself. Pair that with a portfolio, and interviews on the horizon (none of which I have any experience with), I'm a bit overwhelmed. Which is probably why I've delayed it for so long. The process is tedious, monotonous, and an extreme bore. It would be completely unattainable without my more-than-occasional break to snack, check Facebook, write on my blog, meet with a friend or play my guitar. The distractions are many, but I will achieve what I have set out to do. Even though I’m accomplishing something, I feel inactive and unpleasant, sitting at the computer—all—day—long.

Christmas vacation has felt extremely long, which I am grateful for. The time I have been able to spend alone has been nice. I feel like I’ve reunited with my old self—the one I've been seeking after since I've been home. But I am ready for classes to begin. I am anxious to attack my final semester with persistence and determination to receive straight A’s. Now that my “semester from hell,” as I like to call it, is over and I’m beginning to feel normal again, I am certain I will achieve this goal, and many others I have set for myself for 2010.

After writing such a specific goal, I feel compelled to share the following. I have been told in the past that I have a fear of commitment. I have come to realize that it’s true. The lack of commitment others have shown me has led me to refrain from dedicating myself to any one thing. My fear is that I will inflict pain on others (and myself) similar to what I have experienced, as a result of my own lack of follow-through. Sharing this blog is an enormous step for me. My heart races every time I hit “submit post.” I worry that one day a reader will come across something I have written and recognize that I have not followed through with my commitments, or find other discrepancies in my writings. Similarly, I struggle with opening myself up to others. I am reminded that, “To get something you never had, you have to do something you never did.” In attempt to defeat my biggest fear, I have decided to allow my innermost thoughts to be revealed through these entries. Aside from my confiding in Cara, this, I assure you, has never been done before.

World's Greatest Friends

2010-01-14T15:32:00.000-08:00

I just got back from having lunch with a friend. Despite our differences, we know, like and trust each other. I am encouraged by simply being with Angie. She knows my weaknesses and lends support for me in those areas at precisely the right moment. She can look beyond herself and into the lives of others, exemplifying selflessness. Our friendship is still young, and there is still so much to learn about one another. Yet even in its early stages, its authenticity is evident. After lunch today, I was again reminded of the beauty of having such people in my life.

Society values the number of friends one acquires in his lifetime. By modern practices, that number is determined by the amount of people stored in your cell phone, listed in your email account, or plastered next to your name on a social networking site as if to advertise your popularity.

But because of my experience with people who truly care about me, I cannot help but deem these feeble attempts at friendship as utterly shallow. Earning “Friend” status on Facebook or meeting someone at a bar and storing their number in your phone does not meet the criteria for a friendship. That is not to say that there is no place for acquaintances. I do believe they serve a purpose of their own. But their worth doesn’t compare to that of a real friend.

I hold some rather high standards for myself. While I don’t hold my friends to those standards, I do expect that they would try to hold me to them. I’ve had “friends” and dated guys in the past who have absolutely no respect for the decisions I’ve made for myself. Rather their motives are entirely selfish, often encouraging me down the path I least desire to tread. It’s no wonder I have faced bitter times of loneliness, as I have depended on relationships that were void of real worth. I want to grow as a person, and I also want that for my loved ones. But these types of relationships will never help me achieve that.

Honesty is a virtue, the number one quality I value in a person or in a relationship. Sometimes it’s hard to see ourselves for what we really are. We need another view from the outside—an honest view—to help us understand ourselves. Angie, in all honesty today, shared with me that I am too critical of myself. She explained that, while I withhold placing judgment on others, I am entirely judgmental of myself. It’s a breath of fresh air for somebody to engage with you instead of offering a smile and nod in conversation prior to turning the subject to something more superficial and comfortable.

It’s been almost a week since I have decided not to drink alcohol and I feel really good about that decision. Last night, Cara and I went to Toledo’s for our semi-regular Margaritas and Botana Toledo’s Nachos. When I got there, I explained my no-alcohol-commitment to her, secretly hoping she would talk me into ordering one. I guess I thought if she did, my “breaking the rules” would have been justified. However, being the good friend that she is, she refrained, leaving me to decide without her input. I ended up having water. And today, at lunch, as I drooled over Angie’s beer, she didn’t say, “Just one,” or “start again next week,” like so many friends would have done in the past. These friends have showed their support of me and my decision. It is clear that they want the best for me. I am blessed to have these friends, and more, in my life. I don’t know what I would do without them!

Past, Present, Future

2010-01-10T12:59:00.000-08:00

It feels like yesterday we were bringing in the new millennium and here we are again, well into a new decade. While New Year’s Day is supposed to be a time of joy and excitement, I usually find myself feeling a little nostalgic as the countdown begins. And so it was this year, except I came to a realization about my nostalgic sentiments. The recent television series, Mad Men precisely relayed how we attach values to things by this notion: “Nostalgia—it’s delicate but potent. In Greek, nostalgia literally means the pain from an old wound. A twinge in your heart far more powerful than memory alone….it takes us to a place where we ache to go again.” After years of approaching the New Year in this manner, I have come to the realization in 2010 that through these sentiments, I stifle my future—by longing for the past.

I am grateful for my past and all of the memories therein, however bright things are in store for me in 2010. I will be the first in my family to receive a Bachelor’s degree come May. I am thrilled to be able to say that and extremely proud of my accomplishments. God-willing, I will begin my long-awaited career soon after.

I have a list for everything. Some are written, some verbalized and still others are floating around inside my head waiting to be released. I am in the midst of fine-tuning the lists that I have compiled. A list of goals that I plan to achieve in the year ahead; a list of places I want to apply to; a list of people I want to thank; a list of things I want to do before I die; a list of qualities I seek in a man. And the list goes on. How many of these things will I get to check off in 2010? How many things will I accomplish that I never even thought to put on a list in the first place? To think that all these years I have yearned for the past when so much awaits me in the future is such a shame. I am eager to see how this new outlook will aid in my growth in the upcoming year.

Since Cara and I were very young, we have expressed our gratitude to one another for the three stages of our lives: past, present and future. Many of the stories we tell each other begin, “I love my past, I love my present and I love my future…” followed by a momentary silence where we both revel in the moment. I don’t think Cara would disagree that this could serve as a motto for our friendship, “Past. Present. Future.”

So, I approach this year with a new outlook on things. I cannot express how grateful I am for everything in my past. I have some of the greatest memories and there are some that I would like to forget—all of which have got me to where I am today. This is my present. It is who I am. I wouldn’t change it for anything, nor do I want to revert back to who I once was. I will soak up this moment, and eagerly await the next.

If it weren’t for my temporary refrain from drinking alcoholic beverages, I would pour myself a glass of Champaign to drink to the year ahead as I offer up this toast:

To the past, to the present and to the future.

Transition

2009-12-29T16:32:00.000-08:00

While the desire to write is pervasive, the time allotted to do so is often restricted. As my mom often says, “What you don’t use, you lose.” I am determined not to let that happen to the one thing I love most—my ability, desire and need to write. This blog once served as a way to update my readers of my happenings in the beloved state of Iowa. As the year 2009 comes to a close, wrapping up all of the memories held within it, this blog will undergo a transition whereby it will begin to demonstrate life through the eyes of a writer; one who is inspired by the little things and hopes to pass that inspiration along to those who graze its pages. It is the manifestation of my commitment to write, so as not to lose sight of my purpose.

In Pursuit of my Dreams

2009-12-29T16:30:00.000-08:00

The journey continues.

Struggles upon my return

2009-10-15T00:52:00.000-07:00

It’s been about two months since I have been home. If I am being completely honest, it’s been an emotional roller coaster ride ever since. I thought that returning to the place I call home I would naturally fall back into the swing of things as they were before I left. Such was not the case.

I had enrolled in 18 units at the University, and classes began just two days after I got back to Fresno. My truck, in much need of new tires and breaks from the road trip, was still loaded with half of my summer luggage and the rest was spewed out across my bedroom. I had pressing decisions to make about my small recycling business that I opened shortly before I found out about my internship. I wanted to spend time with all of my loved ones that I missed so dearly during the time I was gone, but had limited spare time. I was missing Iowa more than I had ever anticipated. In the back of my head, I would remind myself that after this semester I will only have one left until I earn my long-awaited degree. But that only meant that the skills that I have learned throughout my college career and internship experiences would have to be good enough to share with employers who seek the best of the best. Like always, I began to question myself. And I fell into the trap, like many others, of being my own worst critic.

I was overwhelmed by everything, combating immense internal struggles. The pressure I was feeling from it all led me to make the decision to close down my business permanently. I second-guessed this and every move I made, feeling looked down upon by others. It’s as though the entire world is at my fingertips and though I crave it, I am terrified of it. I’ve been in a constant state of loving my life but feeling like a complete failure, a stranger in my own home.

And I have dealt with it in all of the wrong ways. Fearful to make a move, of being a failure, I stopped dead in my tracks. I’ve routinely procrastinated, resulting in less-than-quality efforts and outcomes. My grades took a nosedive in the first couple of weeks and I became the underachieving student that I have always resented. Naturally disgusted and discouraged, I became an emotional wreck, fighting numerous nights of uncontrollable tears.

The people in my life are amazing. For this I am so grateful. They have been there for me to talk to when I have needed it most. I made numerous unsuccessful attempts to convey how I was feeling, stifled in every way imaginable by the pressure. They say if you have one good friend to talk to in times like these, you are lucky; I have many and know without a doubt that I am extremely blessed.

With much support and encouragement I have brought all of my grades back to above average, where I have always kept them. That is with the exception of one that is on a steady incline. Aside from the satisfaction of maintaining these grades, I am pleased with the quality and content of my work. Self-talk is extremely influential and it is vital that we are aware of what we say to ourselves. Instead of believing the lies about myself, I try to continuously remind myself of my talents and abilities. When I feel discouraged or in a state of disarray, I try to remember to count my blessings because there are many.

To deal with the stress and the need to release some of the pressure, I run. It provides me the chance to clear my head and engage in intrapersonal conversation. I have learned a lot about where my weaknesses lie. I am determined to strengthen those. That is why I write. It is a necessity for me—therapy. I have the ability to graze open fields through my written work, where I am often bound by fences and walls through oral communication. I am a better person when I write and others are given the chance to understand me more when I do.

I realized just today, that this is the first entry I have written since I have been home. I refrained from writing creatively, when I became distracted by my pursuit of the journalistic style. It is no wonder I’ve encountered back-to-back hardships since I’ve been home. I haven’t practiced what, in many ways, keeps me stable—that is, my love for writing, as it better helps me reveal who I am as a person. It is my hope that as I explore my world through written work, I will become more certain of myself and inspire others. As I question outside perceptions of me I hope that I will be reminded that what others think is irrelevant. Because I know who I am and despite my fears, dare to share that with others through the honesty that exudes from the words I write on the pages to come.

The fall after my summer

2009-08-22T13:39:00.000-07:00

Summer inevitably fades and changing colors of leaves announce the promise of their fall. My summer has ended. Distracted by vibrant colors I forgot about the promise they represent. I have taken a fall. I feel like a single leaf caught in a drift of wind, making its way to the ground. All I want is to be hanging from the tip of a tree again.

The Road Trip Home

2009-08-18T16:10:00.000-07:00

I am not good at goodbyes. Leaving Iowa was much harder than I had
anticipated. Both JoAnn and I refused to face my quickly approaching
departure, in the last days we spent together. But the events that
took place those last few days perfectly wrapped up my summer: namely
the homemade sugar cookies that JoAnn made for our viewing of the old
State Fair we watched for “research” the day before we attended the
actual state fair. Then after our visit to the fair (which was much
different than the movie) we took a pizza over to Rose’s house.

Rose is a good friend of JoAnn’s and a complete blast to be around.
The three of us completed a difficult 1000-piece puzzle that Rose had
been working on since last December. We quickly found out why it was
taking her so long to finish, as she repeatedly shoved pieces into
places they did not fit, and left them for me and JoAnn to correct.
When it was finally complete, we sat out on the porch where, for the
last time, I listened to the sounds of Iowa, as I looked out over a
cornfield that was covered with the glow of lightening bugs. We
briefly expressed our fortuitous friendship, then called it a night—my
last night.

As I packed my truck up the next morning, JoAnn set a pile of things
on the console of my truck to send home with me: The leftover
cookies, a cookbook from the Iowa Master Farm Homemakers, and a
scrapbook that she had put together for me, recapping our many
experiences together. To avoid tears, I waited till later that night
to go through the book. I said goodbye to the kitty that JoAnn
started calling Cali, in hopes it would make the trip back to
California with me. The tears that were in JoAnn’s eyes as I hugged
her nearly sent tears streaming down my own cheeks. But I refrained.
That is, until I turned out of their dirt driveway onto the road where
I had to face the reality that I was leaving this place for good.

I quickly reminded myself of what lies ahead, turned up the radio,
rolled down the windows and headed for Oklahoma City with a smile and
growing excitement. Frequent text messages from Luke along the way,
eased the pain of the growing distance between me and Iowa, as I felt
part of it was coming along with me.

I spent two nights in Oklahoma City with one of the world’s strongest
women and a distant cousin of mine, Miss Melba Jane. She has endured
some of the toughest struggles in her life, yet she holds herself
together, and pursues each day with a smile and a heart full of
kindness to share with everyone she encounters. She took me to the
Oklahoma City bombing memorial, Toby Keith’s I Love This Bar, the
National Cowboy Museum, and my great-grandmother’s gravesite. She
drove me down the streets of Oklahoma City where my grandmother grew
up, pointing out locations of special interest to our family history.

As we drove the crowded streets, I saw them through the eyes of
Grandma Luddie, as a young child. From the stories she’s told, she
was six years old when Great-Grandma Drussy died during childbirth
with Grandma’s youngest sister. After a struggle with the government
to maintain custody of his children, Papa raised his children alone.
After leaving specific instructions with grandma, he would head off to
work during the day. Grandma would grip the hand of her younger
brother and would walk him into the city where they would go
window-shopping, against Papa’s will. She would tell Uncle Obie to
pick out a pair of shoes and she would point to the one’s she was
going to buy, then, empty-handed, they would cross back over the river
and make it home before Papa.

It was good to be able to see the place that Grandma speaks so fondly
of, though I know the Oklahoma City I experienced was completely
different than the one in her memories. I gained a deeper
understanding of my heritage that night, as Melba and I looked through
hundreds of photos and she shared many untold stories with me. The
next day, I started down Route 66, with yet another batch of Miss
Melba’s homemade cookies, banana nut bread, an empty journal and a
stack of family photographs she had sent with me. My next stop, aside
from the occasional photograph opportunities I took: Albuquerque.

My stay here has been extended, on account of bad planning. But it
has turned out to be a very enjoyable stay. My friend Angie has been
here on a communications internship for the summer and it has been so
nice getting to catch up with her. As we pursue the same ambition, it
is very interesting to be able to track each of our paths to
achievement and our different experiences along the way. Angie has
done such a great job and I am so proud of her. It is encouraging to
be surrounded by such strong friends. I am so glad it has worked out
for us to spend this time together before we each head home!

My days have been spent leisurely reading by the pool, writing,
eating, and listening to music…all of my favorite things. It’s been
nice having the down time before I head back to the rat race I will
have to face in Fresno. At night, Angie and I enjoy each other’s
company eating, drinking, talking and watching movies. But I will be
leaving in the morning…

…Viva Las Vegas!

Easy Come, Easy Go

2009-08-12T18:21:00.001-07:00

LAKE PANORAMA

I am paying my final visits to those I have come to know and love out here, this week. I moved out of my apartment the day before my week-long stay in Texas and into JoAnn’s home, where she has kindly invited me to stay my last few days in the great state of Iowa. There is no better word to describe what I am facing now, than “bittersweet.” As I leave the place I have grown to love, and reminisce about all of the fun times and great memories I’ve had and wonderful people I’ve met, I am reminded that I will be returning home to beloved friends and family that I will get to share all of these experiences with. I am so looking forward to holding my newborn nephew, Wyatt, for the first time; my dog, Posse, knocking me down when he sees me; Toledos, Jimbo’s, Luna’s, Woody’s, Cattleman’s, Logan’s Fat Jacks and Dog House; Mom and Dad’s cooking; sitting at the kitchen table with my parents and sharing with them over a cup of coffee the details about my summer; hugs and kisses from nieces and nephew(s); the smell of the feed store; my bed; simply driving down familiar streets; annoying Mom; hanging out with friends; customers at the recycling center and feed store; Fresno State.

Today, I bought the most fitting souvenir, to remember my amazing experiences by. It is a painting of a couple on a beach looking out into the water. And in large letters it says: “Lake Panorama. Memories you’ll treasure for the rest of your life.”

After making this purchase, and driving down main street for what I know will be one of the last times, memories of my summer filled my mind, noting the first time I looked down on the lake from the balcony of my hotel room my first day in Panora; the time I accidentally had too much of Bob’s “rocketfuel”; getting to pet the baby fawn; seeing fireflies for the first time; sitting on the front porch listening to the music of Bob Cook; finding a dandelion the size of a softball; a silent stroll through the cemetery; sleepless nights at the expense of summer storms; the solitude of my own apartment; humid air coming through the screen door; meeting JoAnn for the first time; the sound of the race cars circling the track; swinging from a rope into Louise’s pond; John’s steaks, Bob’s pork chops; The margarita’s I made when Cara came to visit; the smell of the fertilized fields; rising dust trailing vehicles down dirt roads; golden sun glistening off the tops of the corn stalks and bean fields; the way they dance in the wind; the friendly wave of every passerby in their vehicle; little baby, the black kitten, at JoAnn’s back door; walking Living History Farms with Janelle; Becky asking Doc, the bartender, about his moustache; uncontrollably laughing with Brooke during an endless game of uno; playing charades with complete strangers, who instantly made me feel like I belonged; the boat ride; the mechanical bull at Uncle Buck’s; John playing his 12-string guitar; meeting Nate at the tiki bar; my last night at the Port with Luke. The memories are endless, this journey is winding to an end, but I am certain, there’s another around the bend, waiting to begin.

Toga Parties and Texas BBQ

2009-08-12T18:02:00.000-07:00

As crazy as my first week was, as an intern, my last week tops it! Shortly after we got back from Kansas City, we returned to catch our flight out to Texas for the annual Ag Media Summit. This year, the American Agricultural Editors’ Association and International Federation of Agricultural Journalists meetings were combined in Fort Worth, Texas. Without hesitation, I can say that this was one of the best experiences of my life.

Our first day was pretty low key, but I was introduced to (what seemed like) hundreds more people. After getting settled at the hotel, we caught a bus to the nearby stockyards for a fun night at Billy Bob’s, the world’s largest honkey-tonk. There have been many times that I have wanted friends and family to share in my experiences here, and this was no doubt one of them. After the best chicken-fried steak and mashed potatoes I’ve ever had, we went to a rodeo at the stockyards. It was a blast watching the sport, meeting new people and becoming familiar with accents from all over the world. We made it back to Billy Bob’s where I (who love to dance) unsuccessfully attempted the two-step.

During the day, much of my time was spent labeling DVD’s and preparing packets for one of the tours, helping out at the registration desk or Farms.com booth, making headpieces for a toga party (yes you read that right—a toga party), eating amazing meals and listening to some pretty inspirational speakers. I also was racing items from one place to another, handing out programs, and just being available to whomever, whenever, for help. When I wasn’t busy with those things, I had the chance to attend a few extremely beneficial sessions. Not only was I able to meet a lot of people, who kindly offered their advice and contact information to a rookie, I was able to offer up my own advice and encouragement to other students who are hoping to be in my position in the near future. This was very rewarding for me, after having been encouraged by so many people this summer. In our remaining nights in Fort Worth, we stayed at the hotel one night and played spoons (which included a few knives—plastic knives—but knives nonetheless); went back to the stockyards for another tasty Texas meal, live western music and dancing; held the toga party at the hotel; and on the final night, attended a classy gala. Everyone dressed up, enjoyed a great meal prior to the annual awards ceremony and yet another live band and dancing. I, along with many other students representing the Agricultural Communicators of Tomorrow, carried in a flag to represent the many different countries that were present. It was great to be a part of a gathering, where so many different cultures were united by one common denominator - their profession - then becoming aware of their many other similarities. During and after the flag ceremony, a video presentation, depicted the many great times that we had shared throughout the week.

Early the next morning, 15 of us (from 7 different countries) caught a flight to San Antonio, where we helped lead a post-tour of South Texas. We visited King Ranch, a cotton farm and cotton gin, two feedlots, the 74 Ranch, Shiner Brewery, King Saddle Shop, took a boat ride around the famous river walk, and ate dinner on the Gulf of Mexico just to name a few of our stops. Between destinations, everyone on the bus took turns sharing with the rest of the group a little bit about their background. I am kicking myself for falling asleep until the end when I was awakened to my turn at the microphone. Spending that much time with complete strangers, you quickly develop bonds, close to those in a family. I am sad that we have departed, but blessed to have been able to spend the time with them that I did.

Last week was one of the longest weeks of my life—and I mean that in the best possible way. So much was packed into one short week. Since my return, I have had to face the fact that I am actually leaving this place, with no scheduled return. Today, I completed my final article knowing that this officially wraps up the requirements of my internship. Tomorrow, I will get to attend the largely-anticipated Iowa State fair, where I am looking forward to eating something fried, on a stick. JoAnn and I watched the original State Fair movie, and are officially prepared.

Sadly, I will leave the next day. My truck is packed and ready to go. It’s hard to believe the time has come. But I am put at ease, knowing that I will be seeing very special people on the stops I have planned to make on the way back to Cali! As sad as I am to be leaving, I’m ecstatic to say that I’m coming home!

Transforming Times

2009-08-12T17:52:00.000-07:00

I recently told you about our trip to Kansas City, but something happened there that deserves a blog of its own:

JoAnn and I had a full schedule of meetings but, by pure chance, we added another. During our meeting at the historic Livestock Exchange Building, we happened upon the right place at the right time. It was like finding a long sought-after treasure—at least for two writers who relish these types of spontaneous encounters.

During our scheduled meeting on the 7th floor, we were informed about the history of the building and the Western sculptures that were displayed on the top floor. Like two inquisitive children, we made our way through the hallways, admiring the memorabilia. It was a step back in time: our footsteps echoed down the long halls as our shoes made contact with the wooden floors and tiles. I imagined the deafening shouts of men and bellowing cattle that used to fill the hallways, as they (and the stench) entered through the open office windows. The windows, old and sturdy, are framed in oak and still open to the streets below (one of the many distinct differences from the manufactured office buildings of today). The offices used to have screen doors to keep out the flies that would wander in from the stockyards.

Antique typewriters and solid oak roll-top desks, bearing the scars of well-worn use, furnish the offices. Again, my imagination got the best of me. I thought about a receptionist, clad in period clothing at the desk, packing it full of daily records and receipts, noisily typing away. I wonder how she got anything done with all of the competing noises! Nervous livestock, busy workers, people talking in offices and walking in the halls, trains coming and going, screen doors opening and closing. These things are no comparison to modern-day offices void of all noise except for the steady purr of an air conditioning unit and a computer monitor.

As we meandered to the end of the hallway, one particular, nearly life-sized sculpture of a cowboy on his horse caught our attention. We were drawn to it like magnets, unaware of our other surroundings until JoAnn caught a glimpse of someone in her peripheral vision. She apologized for our intrusion, after becoming aware that we were standing in the middle of his office! The elderly gentleman removed his glasses and excused our apologies, inviting us to stay.

He was wearing a blue, button-up Ralph Lauren shirt and Wrangler jeans. His hair was gray, his voice had a slight rasp, and his eyes hid his very essence behind them. “William Haw” was etched into the golden plate that sat on the front edge of his desk. Our paths had crossed with the owner of the building!

He asked what brought us to the building, and when JoAnn explained that we were with a company called Farms.com, he said that if we weren’t too busy, he would like to sit and talk with us awhile. Not about to decline this golden opportunity, we took our seats by his desk, and my eyes scanned the contents of his office. Three pieces of paper hung from the windowsill, covered with children’s notes and drawings. In large letters, one read, “Papa Haw I love you.” Two sets of binoculars had been placed in the sill of the large windows that opened up wide to what had previously been the sprawling yards of the Kansas City Stockyards. Mounted herdsman sorting stock into pens, have been replaced by bustling highways packed with noisy cars, spewing exhaust. The old train depot still stands behind the building, though it is dilapidated and desolate. Looking out, I was amazed by the transformation that has taken place before the very windows that I stood behind.

Books and stacks of paper fill the room. Maps, photographs and framed newspaper clippings adorn its walls. A set of longhorns, displayed above the desk, support a pair of silver spurs hanging from their leather straps. Worn saddles stacked on top of saddle stands, serve as mere decoration despite the individual stories that lie within their seats.

Mr. Haw told about the history of the building as he pointed to an old photograph of when the yard out back was filled with cattle.

According to the Kansas City Kansan, "In the heyday year of 1923, 2,631,808 cattle were received at the Kansas City yards. Of these, 1,194,527 were purchased for use in Kansas City by the packing houses and local markets; the remainder or about 55 percent was shipped out. Of 2,736,174 hogs received, 879,031 were shipped out; of 377,038 calves, 199,084 were shipped out; of 1,165,606 sheep, 445,539 were shipped and of 42,987 horses and mules, all but 1,664 were shipped out.

On one record-breaking day, Mr. Haw explained to us that over 60,000 head were received and unloaded at the stockyard. The yard had employed 2,000 men and served as the world’s largest livestock exchange building as well as one of the largest buildings in Kansas City at the time. The man that we coincidentally met that day became the owner of this building in 1991.

Mr. Haw shared with us a bit of his background and about his earlier involvement in the pork industry, when he became one of the first to practice commercialized hog production, raising nearly 20,000 hogs. Before the industry took a turn for the worse, he got out. Currently, he runs one of the largest feedlots in the country, and operates thousands of acres of land.

Mr. Haw has lived through seventy years of life, business, experience and wealth and he asked us to sit and talk with him. After all of his experiences, he was interested in what it was we did. When he asked if I came from an ag background, I informed him that unfortunately, I did not. And he said to me, “Let me give you a bit of encouragement: I didn’t either.” He explained that coming into the industry with fresh eyes, you are able to see more objectively and practice accordingly and often times more successfully. He is living proof of that assertion. JoAnn has told me this very thing many times. Though it can be overbearing at times, feeling like the underdog, entering into something with no previous experience; they are right. When it may seem like you’re in last place, the truth is, you may be positioning yourself as the first to finish the race.

The Plaza's Enticing Aura

2009-07-27T17:06:00.000-07:00

Kansas City has the appeal of most American cities but lacks the hustle and bustle of city life. It’s laid back, the people are friendly and you feel like you can enjoy yourself, whether you’re shopping, sipping a cup of coffee or eating a nice dinner. Unlike the “I’ll take your money and you can go” attitude served in many major California cities, you don’t feel rushed in and out of your every stop.

The sun was out, but temperatures were unusually comfortable for this time of year. When we first arrived, it was the time of day, just before the sun goes down, when everything quiets down and becomes still. That is, all except for the slight breeze blowing, warm on the skin. As the night went on, the breeze grew with intensity and then died back down again. The first person that walked by on the street, greeted me with a genuine “How are you doing?” and made me feel as though I had a personal welcome to the city; this welcome was sincere, not superficial or self-consumed.

We made our ascent up the outdoor staircase that led to the entrance of McCormick and Schmick’s Seafood Restaurant. We were seated on the patio, under an umbrella that provided shade earlier in the day, before the sun hid behind the tall buildings, carved with detail, exuding character absent in modern architecture.

The waiter, well informed of the items on the menu, brought a platter of delicately prepared Bruchetta to our table as tech tests were being performed on a sound system on the street below. Before our entrees were served, a man and a younger woman, I’m guessing father and daughter, began performing hit blues, jazz and other easy listening songs. Their soothing voices echoed up to where we were seated, enhancing the evening's delight.

Temperatures cooled to a slight chill as we finished our delicious meals. We made our way back down to the walkways where the volume of the music increased with every stride. The streets were lined with old lampposts that lit our way and served as a hanger where bright clusters of flowers hung like drying laundry on a clothesline.

The rest of the evening was spent window-shopping, as many of the shops were already closed. Artificial lighting displayed the merchandise of the stores that set current trends in clothes and furnishings as if they were belongings of royalty. Childlike anticipation swelled inside as we imagined ourselves dressed in the latest fashions and made note of stores worth revisiting the following day. Dresses, purses, jewelry and shoes lured me inside upon my return, where I justified my unnecessary purchases as “something to remember Kansas City by.” Souvenirs, if you will.

Clouds began to form and rain started to fall just as we were leaving the city. It was as if the weather was holding out for our stay there, and led me to further justify my impulse buys, as a “gift from God that was meant to be.”

My bare arms were chilled in the Kansas City air,
As the summer winds tousled my long blonde hair.
Music echoed down the dark street below
Lit by dim lights; their faint orange glow.
Bright colored flowers hung from lampposts.
And shops were filled with fashionable clothes.
Window-shoppers, pointed out their favorite styles
On the square called the Plaza, filled with friendly smiles.
The sidewalks were made of brick cobblestone
Where I ended my visit with a leisurely roam
Down the streets of the city modeled after 1920s Spain
And we started back home, as it began to rain.

Some Things Come to an End

2009-07-24T11:22:00.000-07:00

I moved to Iowa for the summer, knowing that this would be a fun, educational experience. But there was simply no way for me to predict the extent of either the fun or the education that I truly have received. The corn stalks are up over my head now, and the ears of corn are developing, harvest is approaching, and I find myself reflecting on my summer, and what lies around the next bends in life's path:

In my application, I remember noting the specific things that I wanted to learn, over the summer. I have been educated in all of those areas as well as many more. I have learned so much from my supervisor, my mentor and my friend, JoAnn. She is, as anyone who knows her can affirm, a wonderful, intelligent, informative and well respected woman, whom I am grateful to be mentored by. She is well-informed of the pork industry, communications, marketing, writing, interviewing and planning. You name it—she can do it. She’s even taught me a thing or two about…ducks.

On our trip to Canada, she taught me how to play a game called Thinky-Pinky and another guessing game she and her sister used to play at bedtime. Before drifting off to sleep, they would hum a few notes from a song and let the other guess what it was. On a visit to her father’s house, we stayed in the very room that she and her sister shared growing up. Shortly after the lights went out, JoAnn belted out what she thought was a perfect clue, to the song she was thinking of. “Duuuuuuuunnnn—dun!” Brooke (JoAnn’s daughter) and I broke into hysterical laughter. When we gave up, JoAnn simply translated: “Looooooooooove Shack”—which of course only made us laugh harder.

I am so pleased with how well the two of us get along. We have spent a lot of time together this summer, and we are both astonished at how quickly it has gone by. We are finding ourselves talking about final plans for my internship, as the end of it approaches. Aside from spending each day a room apart from each other clicking away at our computers, we have shared many meals together, gone to the Farmer’s Market in Des Moines, looked through scrapbooks, stood at Lake Michigan, attended church, drove to Canada, gone shopping together and shared with one another in conversation about life, religion, relationships, songs, friends and our many experiences this summer. We have laughed to the point that we nearly cried, and have seen the many sides of each other.

I’ve also been blessed with neighbors, and other locals who have been nothing but friendly during my stay here. At night, after I get off, I think about all of the things that I love about this place and that I will so dearly miss. I am well aware that the end of my stay here is quickly approaching, as I prepare to head back home. But unlike the old saying “all things must come to an end,” I know that the memories and friendships that I have created here have no end to them.

County Roads and City Lights

2009-07-16T14:23:00.000-07:00

Halfway through my stay here in Iowa, I am beginning to miss home. As much as I am enjoying my experiences here, images of home linger. Cara, my friend since the fifth grade, came to spend a week with me, and the timing couldn’t have been any better. Having her here was like having a little piece of home to remind me of what I will be returning to.

Sometimes you have to have something taken away before you realize its worth or its value. I have been in Fresno most all of my life, yet never realized the privilege that it is. In fact, I have always had a plan to leave when the opportunity presented itself. My extended stay away from home has illuminated what I overlooked when I was pre-occupied with the idea that “the grass is greener on the other side.” Though it is literally greener here in Iowa, the figurative “green” from the old saying exists anywhere you are. You only have to open your eyes to see it.

Both Cara and I have been amused by the small town that I am staying in. Not unlike the movies, Panora is a place where the town sheriff walks into a restaurant and calls the people by name. Secrets are rare, weather is a topic of conversation and the people are friendly and real. The setting is gorgeous, spaces are wide open and the air is so clean. Dirt roads and cornfields seem to be all there is for miles on end.

We spent the fourth of July in Chicago, the utter extreme of Panora, where lights, traffic, people and buildings temporarily fill the voids of people seeking all forms of entertainment. We rode busses, crossed bridges, stood at the 103rd floor of the Sears Tower and saw the sun set from the pier, behind the silhouette of the skyline. We watched fireworks burst above the lake before making our way back to our downtown hotel, amid a crowd of people.

Since she’s been here, we’ve done everything from visit a livestock auction yard in Guthrie Center, Iowa, to eating deep dish pizza In Chicago Illinois; some of which I can do at home, in California. But others are unique to this part of the country. There are things about the Midwest I will miss deeply: the fireflies, the weather, the vast openness and fresh air, the people and their traditions. But there are things about my home that are unique too. The landscape, the variety, the location that offers both county roads and city lights, and a different kind of people. But most of all, family and friends; no part of the world, regardless of its grandeur, could ever replace these.

Land That I Love

2009-07-16T14:22:00.001-07:00

“We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America.”

These words ignite emotions of pride as we approach the holiday weekend ahead. I am reminded of the various experiences that I have locked in my memory, all in the name of free will. I have traveled to the four corners of America and have worked several jobs. I attend the church of my choice, count as one vote during elections and am a year away from earning my degree. Thanks to the liberties declared during the foundation of our nation, that so many have honorably served to enforce and protect, I am able to enjoy such an experience as an internship, and all that it entails. I so deeply appreciate all that is available to me because of the many sacrifices others have made throughout the generations.

I had the opportunity to attend a community-supported patriotic concert last weekend. The event was organized to pay tribute to the fallen soldiers of Iowa. I was touched, as always, by the support of the community. Rows of people dressed in summer dresses, shorts, hats and patriotic attire spread blankets and lawn chairs on the grass before a stage as an all-male quartet began to sing “The Star-Spangled Banner.” Flags lining the side of the audience, each representing a fallen soldier, stood erect in the wind.

In front of me, two children drew sticks in the dirt to keep occupied during the performance. The young girl tip-toed barefoot in the dirt, while her older brother gathered dirt into a pile he formed with his bare hands. Beside me, an elderly gentleman stood to be recognized as a World War II veteran while the band played the anthem for his branch of the military. He stood beside me clapping his hands to the beat of the music. I thought about the war he fought, the long life he has lived, the many experiences he has faced and the people he has been in contact with throughout the course of his life. And somehow that day, he shared something in common with the two children who played there in front of us. Their lives have barely begun and they have yet to leave a mark on this world. Yet I recognized a single similarity in three dissimilar individuals: Their heritage, their freedom, their privilege of living in America.

Triumph in a Deadline

2009-06-26T12:42:00.000-07:00

When I was a kid, our tradition on New Year’s Eve was to write down our new year’s resolutions and store them in a “time capsule” that we wouldn’t open until the following year. Each year, I would anxiously return to the capsule to find out what goals I had set the year before, and how many of them I had achieved. Year after year, I was let down. I began to experience feelings of defeat, derived from a combination of things: Looking through past resolutions, I came to the realization that I had been setting precise goals too high for myself. Because they were set so high, I often felt that they were unattainable. Overwhelmed by the attempted feat, I lacked the determination to turn my failures into success. Finally, tucking that sheet of paper away throughout the year didn’t lend me any reminders that I was not achieving what I had put my mind to early in the year.

Though, we don’t get together as a family on New Year’s Eve anymore, I have individually continued this tradition on my own, and plan to pass it on to a family of my own, someday. This year, I intentionally left my list of goals out on my dresser where I would see them every day, and where they would serve as a reminder to me, to improve in those areas of my life. I also set goals for myself that I was likely to achieve with a little determination. As a result, I have already accomplished over half of my goals, and we are just approaching the second half of the year.

JoAnn and I have been intently working on gathering material to include in Pork Business Journal, the magazine. I completed the article I will be contributing for today’s deadline, just hours ago. After being immersed in research, brainstorming, writing, and editing all week, I am about to enter into the weekend with a sigh of relief, and satisfaction.

One of the goals I had set for myself at the start of the year was to have either some of my writings or my photographs published. Today, I will submit my article to JoAnn that will be sent off and put into print in the days to come.

Before I begin celebrating the much anticipated weekend ahead, I am going to go home, and check off the most recent goal that I have accomplished!

Summer Nights, Summer Days

2009-06-25T07:23:00.000-07:00

There is an abundance of fireflies out in the yard tonight. They are a beautiful sight, and are something I will extremely miss when I return home. I am sitting on the porch, listening to soft music, and enjoying a cold drink. It’s 9:30, the air is still, humid, and warm. Crickets are singing their tunes of serenity. There really is nothing like enjoying a mid-summer night on the porch in a small Midwestern town. It is everything I expected it to be and I have adjusted well to my new Iowa home.

I am very fortunate to have been paired with JoAnn for the summer. I don’t think it would have worked out any better if I had hand-picked her myself. We get along extremely well, and share a lot in common with each other. When I returned from the race, I sat and told her all about it. Then, together, we went to her back yard and picked a bowl full of blackberries. I sat at my computer, working on some research for a magazine deadline we are quickly approaching. As I clicked away at the keyboard, the smell of blackberry cobbler filled the air. We shared a midday dessert, cobbler topped with vanilla ice cream. JoAnn frequently teases that it is her goal to corrupt me this summer. I suspect she will succeed in corrupting my strictly non-dessert diet.

I have been politely informed that my vocabulary won’t fly around here. Evidently I am sitting on the “veranda” watching “lightning bugs.” Other words I have added to my Midwestern dictionary: “supper,” “pop,” “brat” (pronounced “brought” as in the sandwich, not the rug rat) and “yup.” During conversation, I am used to people commonly using “yeah” as a filler word. Here, they’ve got a handle on “yup,” which really is pronounced, "yip." It cracks me up! And apparently I have broken an Iowa state law a few times. You aren’t allowed to make u-turns out here. Granted, there isn’t much use for them on the two-lane highways that run north, south, east and west.

My first encounter with the “noon whistle” nearly made a town fool out of me. I was sitting on the “veranda” with my neighbor, Shannon, when the whistle went off to inform the town of the noon hour. I however, was under the impression that it was informing the town to take cover, and would have done so had Shannon not been there to let me know otherwise. I am extremely fearful of tornadoes, and the weather we’ve been experiencing during my stay here has not calmed my fears. The storms are frequent and many.

There have been a few things that took me a while to get used to, but the food is not one of them. Staying in one of the top pork producing states, I have encountered some of the most amazing pork since I’ve been here. I am afraid I will leave just short of corn harvest, though.

Racing Around

2009-06-24T21:27:00.000-07:00

Sweat soaked through my t-shirt as I stood in the humid, 86 degree weather at the Iowa Speedway, photographing the 2009 Iowa Corn Indy 250 winner. It was my first time representing the media at an event. I was trying to take it all in and simultaneously capture time-sensitive photographs. The crowd grew wild when Dario Franchitti entered the winner’s circle, stood up in his car and removed his helmet throwing both hands in the air to celebrate his victory. Shutters went off all around me as fans yelled out, requesting autographs.

Prior to lap 250, I spent a good portion of the day running between the media center, hospitality tent, and the Pioneer suite, where I met Chet Culver, the Governor of Iowa. We briefly discussed the detriment of California’s economy and the production of ethanol in the Midwest. I went on a pit tour with the directors of Iowa Corn, attended a press conference with Helio Castroneves, and stood inside the announcer’s box, listening to the latest stats on the competitors.

Before the race began, the Corn Growers gave away a brand new Chevy truck. I was assigned to sit in the back seat of the truck during the giveaway and push balloons out of the door when the winner, who possessed the key to the truck, unlocked it. I sat in the passenger seat as an Indy employee drove the truck onto the track and positioned it in front of the stage. Driving on the track the day of the race was a thrill, even if it was just a Chevy, and not an Indy car. Once we parked, I sat and watched Shawn Johnson, sitting in a cart, waiting for her big introduction to the stage. She flashed a rehearsed smile each time somebody stepped in front of her with a camera, constantly disrupting her privacy.

With all of the rain we have seen, water was bubbling to the surface of the track, threatening a cancellation, the day before the race. But the weather permitted the race to go on, and I walked away with memories that will last a lifetime.

Speedway Thrills and Regrets

2009-06-22T13:15:00.000-07:00

Driving up to the Iowa Speedway stirs feelings in me similar to those of a young boy attending his first professional sports event. Visiting Candlestick Park, and Safeco Field, provoke a similar surge of energy, but arriving at the Speedway is a unique experience.

People gathering outside the track smile from ear to ear, chatty and eager, as those inside busily prepare for the main event. My assumption is that those smiles reflect their inner child. As we make our way down a dark tunnel, we approach the large opening at the other end that opens wide to the center of the track where Indy cars steadily circle around us. The roar of the engine is exhilarating, growing with intensity as they approach, and then return to a subtle buzz at the opposite end of the track. We are surrounded by lighting and sound systems that don’t compare to any I’ve seen before. Large screens are set up alongside the stage and meticulous trailers are lined up on the tracks core. The grandstands sit empty as I ponder the energy that will fill them on Sunday. Amongst all of this, I am offered the chance of a lifetime:

I was assigned to take pictures of certain folks affiliated with the Iowa Corn Growers Association, who got to take a ride in one of the Indy cars. Mindy, who I have the privilege of working alongside this weekend, offered her spot to me…and I didn’t accept. My own brother has disowned me for this reason, and it’s a decision I deeply regret. However, grown men were stepping out of the cars, their entire bodies trembling. I am only more convinced that I would not have been able to handle the 3.5 g’s the cars reach around the turns. Still, you are right, concluding that I am crazy for passing that chance by.

The Iowa Corn Growers staff was welcoming and friendly on this first day. Before my arrival, they were confused by the addition of my name on their schedule and questioned, “Who’s Leah?” I quickly became known as “Leah the Intern,” and was referred to as such on many introductions.

After the two-seater rides ended for our guys, I accompanied Edith and Craig to a nearby gas station where staff members were holding a “Pump Promotion.” They handed out t-shirts to customers, educating them on the efficiency of ethanol gas, as they filled their tanks with it at a discounted price. CEO, Craig Floss, awarded one random customer with a $250.00 voucher for ethanol fuel. Pioneer staff members helped out, adding a fun energy at the station. The guys quickly dubbed me “Fresno,” and I took to them like older brothers.

Before we left, Mindy and I made an appearance at the Pioneer Suite. When we opened the door, the guys hollered almost unanimously “Fresno!” We shared a drink before preparing to leave, when an announcer came on the loudspeaker. “Please exit the grandstands.” Weather had taken a turn for the worst, leaving us all wondering if the race would be postponed.

Weather Permitting

2009-06-18T15:11:00.000-07:00

We have had a significant amount of rainfall since the first of the month. Brewing storms overhead keep me awake, I will admit, out of fear that a tornado will develop. Mighty winds, crashing thunder, and pounding rains don’t exactly make for a peaceful night’s sleep for someone who has just been exposed to their first “TORNADO WATCH” on their television screen.

Though the majority of the days have been cloudy and gloomy, the sun does make an appearance, usually in the afternoon. It did so last night, inviting me to go for a jog. However, running through humid “air you can wear,” as my neighbor puts it, is nothing like running in the extreme dry heat that I am used to. I found myself gasping for air much sooner than usual, and ended the jog in a similar fashion. After the sun went down, I watched from the neighbor’s deck as the clouds began to gather, and lightning started flashing. I am hopeful the weathermen are right about their clear predictions for the next few days, as a big weekend lies ahead.

I met with Mindy, Ann Marie, and Edith from the Iowa Corn Growers Association again this morning, to tie up a few loose ends and review our detailed schedule for the next three days. Tomorrow kicks off Sunday’s Iowa Corn Indy 250 race. Two hundred journalists from around the world are expected to cover the event, and I have my very own set of media credentials! Though my main objective is to obtain photographs for the event, I am there to assist the members of the Association in making sure the event runs smoothly, and as planned. I am looking forward to another eventful weekend which you can be sure will be updated here in the days to come, so long as the weather permits.

Cinnamon Rolls, Race Cars and Rural Iowa

2009-06-15T13:26:00.000-07:00

After catching up on some well-needed sleep, I was thrust right back into a jam-packed schedule. Last Monday, JoAnn and I met some ladies from the Iowa Corn Growers Association to discuss the Iowa Corn 250 race that I will be helping with next weekend. We ate at The Iowa Machine Shed, which is, from what I understand, a regular stop for native Iowans. Five of us shared a cinnamon roll that words truly cannot describe. My portion alone spoiled a perfectly fine order of biscuits and gravy. I honestly didn't think they could get any better than the famous cinnamon rolls at the Big Fresno Fair. But I was disproved.

We then made our way to the next meeting with Rita Ann Venner and Marilyn Poppen, a couple members of the Iowa Master Farm Homemakers Guild, to finalize plans for a meeting and tour they will be hosting this September for the Country Women's Council. I rode along to the different stops planned for the tour.

Howell's Dried Florals & Greenhouses was the first stop. The upper floor of the barn has been converted into an area designated for drying decorative plants and flowers. The sweet aroma that permeates the air as you ascend the stairs is unparalleled, and the sight breathtaking. The gift shop below is packed tightly with beautiful arrangements and gifts for sale.

We strolled through the greenhouses at both Howell's and Groth's. Having just completed an ornamental horticulture class last semester, words like "parallel venation," "pinnacle" and "succulent" raced through my mind as I observed the different species of plants. I am sure Dr. Bushoven would be proud having that kind of influence on a student with a greater animal science background!

Our next stop was at one of the famous Madison County Bridges. Cedar Bridge is the only one you can drive over. It is surrounded by lush greenery lining both sides of the river. You access it by a gravel road that when disrupted, sends gusts of dirt trailing vehicles. A cattle pasture lies at one end where the cattle roam freely and graze quietly. The sight was incredible.

The town sqaure in Winterset completed the tour. We talked to the women running the Fons and Porter quilt shop, one of which was quilting when we paid our visit. It was the first time I had seen a modern piece of machinery that is used to incorporate such detail into a multi-purpose, story-telling piece of material we call a quilt.

2009 World Pork Expo

2009-06-11T08:18:00.000-07:00

My first day on the job, I was submerged in media madness. The World Pork Expo was being held at the Iowa State Fairgrounds in Des Moines, where I shadowed JoAnn, attending press conferences and seminars about the latest and not-so-greatest in the pork industry. My first day at the office, I got to upload my first press release on the updates to the U.S. Pork Center of Excellence website, developed from notes I took at one of the conferences. We obtained videos for the website, spoke to many industry folks and I spent some time at the Farms.com booth, handing out copies of the Benchmark magazine, which contains an annual report of pig production and performance numbers. Lunchtime was no doubt the highlight of each day. I could easily get used to having ribs, tenderloin and pulled pork on a daily basis. And so it went for three days, then I finally got a weekend to catch some sleep and get settled into my apartment.

Though I wasn't surprised at the somber mood of producers and industry leaders, it was disheartening to see first-hand the effects of the downward plunge in the market. Though great advances are being made in production practices, economic strain has dented morale. Times are tough, but positive prospects for the future are not surrendered. Leaders are fighting to emerge out of the darkness into a day where production will not only be efficient, but profitable again.

Corn Fields and New Beginnings

2009-06-10T12:59:00.000-07:00

I have been in Iowa for a little over a week now. Driving down the rural roads, I am captivated by the rows and rows of corn that sprouted just before my arrival here. With all of the rain we have received, I am daily perplexed by the amount of growth that takes place right before my eyes. As I embark on this journey in the Midwest, I can't help but make the connection between my new beginning and the sprouting corn fields. It is as if I am being exposed, for the first time, to an abundant sunlight that contains the essential components that will shape me into a productive young woman, who will be ready for harvest at the end of my voyage. I am eager for this opportunity ahead of me. I am confident I will face numerous experiences that will make lasting impressions on me, develop lifelong memories, as well as endless open doors. I am extremely grateful, and eager to see what lies ahead.

Leah's Midwestern Summer

2009-05-26T13:23:00.000-07:00

The journey begins.