yesterday’s biology lab

Our professor walked us out to the forest trails on the edge of our campus and hands us each this:

IMG_2303This lab was all about appreciating and respecting that which surrounded us as much as it was about learning the names and technical terms of everything. This poem is rather long, but I would ask you to have patience with it and take a few minutes to meditate upon this ancient, beautiful work which so aptly characterizes my personal feelings about the woods.

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The groves were God’s first temples. Ere man learned
To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave,
And spread the roof above them,—ere he framed
The lofty vault, to gather and roll back
The sound of anthems; in the darkling wood,

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Amidst the cool and silence, he knelt down,
And offered to the Mightiest solemn thanks
And supplication. For his simple heart
Might not resist the sacred influences,

IMG_2379Which, from the stilly twilight of the place,
And from the gray old trunks that high in heaven
Mingled their mossy boughs, and from the sound
Of the invisible breath that swayed at once

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All their green tops, stole over him, and bowed
His spirit with the thought of boundless power
And inaccessible majesty. Ah, why
Should we, in the world’s riper years, neglect
God’s ancient sanctuaries, and adore
Only among the crowd, and under roofs,

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That our frail hands have raised? Let me, at least,
Here, in the shadow of this aged wood,
Offer one hymn—thrice happy, if it find
Acceptance in His ear.
Father, thy hand
Hath reared these venerable columns, thou
Didst weave this verdant roof. Thou didst look down

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Upon the naked earth, and, forthwith, rose
All these fair ranks of trees. They, in thy sun,
Budded, and shook their green leaves in the breeze,
And shot towards heaven. The century-living crow,
Whose birth was in their tops, grew old and died
Among their branches, till, at last, they stood,
As now they stand, massy, and tall, and dark,
Fit shrine for humble worshipper to hold
Communion with his Maker. These dim vaults,

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These winding aisles, of human pomp and pride
Report not. No fantastic carvings show
The boast of our vain race to change the form
Of thy fair works. But thou art here—thou fill’st
The solitude. Thou art in the soft winds
That run along the summit of these trees
In music; thou art in the cooler breath

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That from the inmost darkness of the place
Comes, scarcely felt; the barky trunks, the ground,
The fresh moist ground, are all instinct with thee.
Here is continual worship;—Nature, here,
In the tranquility that thou dost love,
Enjoys thy presence. Noiselessly, around,

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From perch to perch, the solitary bird
Passes; and yon clear spring, that, midst its herbs,
Wells softly forth and wandering steeps the roots
Of half the mighty forest, tells no tale
Of all the good it does. Thou hast not left
Thyself without a witness, in these shades,

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Of thy perfections. Grandeur, strength, and grace
Are here to speak of thee. This mighty oak—
By whose immovable stem I stand and seem
Almost annihilated—not a prince,
In all that proud old world beyond the deep,

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E’er wore his crown as lofty as he
Wears the green coronal of leaves with which
Thy hand has graced him. Nestled at his root
Is beauty, such as blooms not in the glare
Of the broad sun. That delicate forest flower
With scented breath, and look so like a smile,
Seems, as it issues from the shapeless mould,
An emanation of the indwelling Life,
A visible token of the upholding Love,
That are the soul of this wide universe.

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My heart is awed within me when I think
Of the great miracle that still goes on,
In silence, round me—the perpetual work
Of thy creation, finished, yet renewed
Forever. Written on thy works I read
The lesson of thy own eternity.

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Lo! all grow old and die—but see again,
How on the faltering footsteps of decay
Youth presses—-ever gay and beautiful youth
In all its beautiful forms. These lofty trees
Wave not less proudly that their ancestors
Moulder beneath them. Oh, there is not lost
One of earth’s charms: upon her bosom yet,

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After the flight of untold centuries,
The freshness of her far beginning lies
And yet shall lie. Life mocks the idle hate
Of his arch enemy Death—yea, seats himself
Upon the tyrant’s throne—the sepulchre,
And of the triumphs of his ghastly foe
Makes his own nourishment. For he came forth
From thine own bosom, and shall have no end.

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There have been holy men who hid themselves
Deep in the woody wilderness, and gave
Their lives to thought and prayer, till they outlived
The generation born with them, nor seemed
Less aged than the hoary trees and rocks
Around them;—and there have been holy men
Who deemed it were not well to pass life thus.

IMG_2359But let me often to these solitudes
Retire, and in thy presence reassure
My feeble virtue. Here its enemies,
The passions, at thy plainer footsteps shrink
And tremble and are still. Oh, God! when thou
Dost scare the world with falling thunderbolts, or fill,
With all the waters of the firmament,

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The swift dark whirlwind that uproots the woods
And drowns the village; when, at thy call,
Uprises the great deep and throws himself
Upon the continent, and overwhelms
Its cities—who forgets not, at the sight
Of these tremendous tokens of thy power,
His pride, and lays his strifes and follies by?

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Oh, from these sterner aspects of thy face
Spare me and mine, nor let us need the wrath
Of the mad unchained elements to teach
Who rules them. Be it ours to meditate,
In these calm shades, thy milder majesty,
And to the beautiful order of the works
Learn to conform the order of our lives.

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– William Cullen Bryant, 1824

mbale (ten days)

My family has spent the past few days in Mbale, the first town we lived in when we moved to Uganda.

The market is wonderful:

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it started to rain and a few drops hit my lens:

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As I was leaving, an old man asked me to take his photo:

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and we rounded off the day by a drive up Wanale to see the sunset (which we missed, unfortunately)

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I love being home.

in the face of all this dreary snow.

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About a year ago, I was on vacation with family – out in the plains of Kidepo, the best place for going safari that I have ever been. On the first morning of our trip, we rose early to go out on an early game drive, since dawn is the best time to see wildlife.

Being two metres from a  pack of full-grown lions is a wonderful way to start any morning.

moving forwards

A new family has moved to the town in which my family first lived when we moved to Uganda, the beautiful town of Mbale.

The mother of this family has some lovely photographs that make me completely nostalgic every time I look at them.

They are coming to grips with the enormity of the culture gap:

different clothing

crazy workshops, in which you must sit for hours waiting for the car to be fixed

learning to exist in a place where being white is being a racial minority

learning to appreciate the ragged beauty that is everywhere

traveling, seeing all the fantastically beautiful natural landscapes

adjusting the schedule when the power goes out

experiencing the unpredictable road conditions

and learning to understand the often times crazy culture of the beautiful people.

(they’re even taking care of the old cat)

(all photo credits go to D. Tuininga)

my last day in my village

The last time I was able to go out to the village near my home to visit many old friends, I made sure to document it.

One of my friends had just recovered from a very difficult premature birth.

the new baby

the children climbed all over us as we tried to talk

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telling us cute and bizarre thingsIMG_0734

the boys next door, their cousins, played with tires, rolling them around the yard.IMG_0754

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while the older brother did the dishes, waiting for their mother to come home.IMG_0761

Photos

I wrote a fairly long post about how I’m trying to figure out why I don’t particularly like getting my photo taken while hypothetically tying that to my childhood abroad, where I was constantly being pointed out and my time in India, where passersby would take my photo all the time. Then I realised it was probably one of the most self-indulgent, over-emphasized pieces I have ever written and deleted all of it.

 

I’m still working on being comfortable around cameras. Yes, maybe it’s because I really don’t like being singled out. But I’m working on getting over it, and hopefully sometime soon I will have honed my modelling skills to perfection. (Like that will ever happen.)

 

This post is a bit out of the norm, but since we’re covering everything under the sun, let’s end on a paradox:

This was taken by my favorite person in the whole world, in a hotel room, while I was texting someone I love, on an amazing weekend which happened to be one of the last times we were able to spend quality time together in Uganda. 

This documents love right here.