Green Hillsides and "bright wings"

In my home state of Montana, and more specifically the mountains of western Montana, two things have been the primary cause of deforestation over the decades: forest fires, and logging. While the practice of clear-cutting as been alleviated, leaving only the remembrance of such damaging practices, the annual forest fires remind us of one thing, in two parts: the immense power nature has to destroy and the immense power nature has to rejuvenate. From morel mushrooms, mountain maples, and huckleberry bushes, to large stands of new pines, many large burn areas begin the recovery process within a year or two of the original holocaust. I will not kid myself; these fires leave quiet a scar on the land. However, they also cleanse the land and replenish the soil for new growth. Even our foresters take part by going out and planting seedlings, in an effort to maintain a strong renewable resource. This cycle constantly finds itself under fire (pun intended) from both sides of the "green" debate, but for generations, it has worked, for better or for worse.

When I traveled to HeKou to meet Suli's other family members, I did not realize I would be facing a similar sort of circle. A few generations ago, China stripped the mountains surrounding HeKou of all trees and plants; the goal was to create a new renewable resource for the area. Suli told me of growing up in an area where she wondered sometimes why certain hills had nothing on them. However, as an adult, she sees how the plan has come full circle, and how China's neighbors to the south, Vietnam, are just now starting their own cycle.
When we drove into HeKou on 26 December, the sun had already set some time before our arrival. So all we saw were shadows of China, and Vietnam lurking on the other side of the HongHe (Red River). Therefore, it was not until two days later, when Suli, her family, Candy (another teacher from KIA) and I ventured into the surrounding hills that I saw the two sides of the cycle--as well as the border. As we traveled in our Conestoga-style, three-wheeled motorcycle to Suli's mother's home, I caught my first glimpses of the Vietnamese hills on the other side of the river: bare, except for some grass and a few stands of green trees, with terraces built into the hillsides. On our side of the border, our vehicle moved in and out of the shade of a variety of different trees growing on similar terraces. The above photo shows rubber trees (the upper portion of the photo) and banana trees (in the middle with the blue bags protecting the bunches of fruit from the "cold" temperatures). While the bananas (xiangjiao and bajiao--a smaller, denser version of what we get in our supermarkets) have been in China for some time, the rubber trees originally found their way to China from Brazil. Both provide the country with a renewable resource from which to support her population. So while the ground in Vietnam prays for the day it will once again find shade beneath the branches of trees (Vietnam has begun planting rubber trees), China's terraces have once again created an environment in which other life flourishes.

One of my favorite pieces of flora, just up the hill from Suli's mother's house is this giant poinsettia. Suli actually has one growing outside her apartment in Kunming, but this one, growing in the shade of the rubber trees and butted up against this wood shack looked like red bursts of fireworks against a green background, not unlike the night sky during the celebrations of ChunJie (Chinese New Year). Before I came to China, I had assumed that the poinsettia was just a potted plant. This one stands nearly ten feet tall and supports nearly twenty red blossoms.

This closeup of a rubber tree shows a little bit how the tree is used as a resource. Each "harvest" season, a strip of bark (bark only; one must not mar the "bone" of the tree) is cut away from the trunk, causing the rubber sap to run down the spiraling cut. A cup at the end of the cut catches the sap and is collected. During the winter, the black plastic piece is placed above the cut to protect it from moisture and cold weather. Because the cuts are only made on one side of the tree, when the harvesting finally reaches the base of the tree trunk, the collection can begin on the opposite side, while the first side renews itself. I am sure Suli could give your more information, but that is my understanding of the rubber "farming" business in one slice. You may also notice in the photo, down in the ravine directly behind the rubber tree, a patch of small shrub-like plants with some power-lines going through them. These are actually pineapple plants. Suli's mother manages a stand of these in the hills behind her home. When Suli asked her mother how many she though she would harvest this year, she replied, about a thousand. For those of you who have never witnessed a pineapple garden, these are nasty plants with serrated leaves that will rip you or your clothes to shreds.
Another tree that grows rather abundantly in the hills surrounding HeKou is that which provides cinnamon. Above, Suli snaps off a small branch from this cinnamon tree. She peeled back the bark and separated it from the "bone" and gave me the bark to eat. It reminded me of the cinnamon spiced toothpicks the boys in my junior high sold to chew on, because we were not allowed to chew gum. The tree actually bears cinnamon "fruit", but we settled for the bark on this day.
Our actual reason for venturing into the hills this day was to gather a wild vegetable that grows on the terraces supporting the rubber trees. I fail to remember the Chinese name for the vegetable, and Suli did not know the English name, however, like many of the vegetables I have eaten here in China, it is probably not something that would ever find its way to a dinner table in the States, simply because we would view it as a weed. However, when we boiled it up in our evening "hot pot" (a chicken based soup in which one cooks any variety of other meats, vegetables, fungi, and potatoes and other tubers), I could not get enough of these delicious morsels. Based on what I could see, a person could spend all day, every day, on the hillsides gathering this vegetable and never run out. In fact, Suli said, while there was never a time in her childhood when her family lacked for rice, there were times when this vegetable is what they subsisted on for weeks at a time. It makes my complaint of eggs, eggs, eggs, from my own childhood seem rather hollow (by the way, I love eggs). In the above photo, a seventh-grade girl who lives down the street from Suli's sister helped us pick the plant. She spent a fair amount of time with us, which gave her an opportunity to practice her English, while the entirety of Suli's family gave Candy and I a great opportunity to try out our Putonghua.

As we returned from the terraced hills, on our way to cook up all we had found that day, I looked back across the HongHe at the bare hills on the Vietnam side. They looked so lonely. However, like the Chinese hills and the burned mountains of western Montana, nature will work rapidly to replenish growth on those hills. Hopefully, the people of Vietnam, like the people of China and the people of the United States, will do their part to help nature restore itself. In a way it reminds me of Gerard Manley Hopkins poem "God's Grandeur". Writing during the height of the Industrial Revolution in England, Hopkins describes a land destroyed by man, but renewed by the Holy Spirit. In his poem, he argues lyrically for better stewardship of the land, so that, when that when day breaks, the earth, renewed from its night's slumber, rises on "Ah, bright wings!"

How To Be A Bigshot On Your Old Campus

Let's face it, except for a handful of people who live in the town or city of their childhood, most of us when we return to our high school or college/university alma mater receive rather disinterested stares from the current student body and staff. The look on their faces asks, "Whose that old dude (or woman, as the case may be)?" Some passersby may be wondering, "Is that the new teacher/professor (or maybe janitor)?" Sure, one or two teachers/professors may remember who you are and be like, "Wow! How are things going? What are you up to these days? What brings you back here?" However, rarely does one receive a celebrity welcome where everyone crowds around and starts asking questions. Unless of course you attended a rural school in southern China on the border with Vietnam, and you bring two foreigners (instant celebrities) with you as show and tell.

During my recent trip to HeKou, Miss Suli's hometown at the southern tip of Yunnan Province, she escorted Candy (another teacher from KIA) and me around her former school--HeKou Xian BaSa Xuexiao. Her school sits in the forested BaSa area of the surrounding district known as HeKou, named after the most important town of the area (about the size of Kalispell, MT). Eleven years after Suli graduated from her school, some changes have naturally taken place; most importantly, the high schoolers must now go all the way to HeKou, another half-hour vehicle ride past the BaSa school. However, Suli sited very few physical differences to the campus.
While she never said what the above building was during her tenure at the BaSa school, Suli did remark that the building in the above photo was not originally dormitory housing. Evidently the school is growing. The school houses first through ninth grade (it is a bordering school for all except the students who live within walking distance--half an hour or so--of the campus). Suli and her sisters Xiang Yun and Xiang Lan all boarded at the school at various times during their academic careers. The walk to Suli's childhood home is at least a brisk one-hour walk. However, they usually rode the family bike. Now, most people in the area get around on some type of motorcycle. You may notice, in the upper right-hand corner of the photo, a tree like plant with red flowers. This is, in fact, a large poinsetta plant, which grow in this relatively warm and humid region.

The most obvious physical change on campus is the presence of a nearly complete five-story building that will be used as new dormitory housing when finished. Suli raised her eyebrows in surprise that the new building would be used for housing rather than for new classrooms, but based on the state of some of the older dorms--the shed-roofed walkway of one can be seen on the righthand side of this picture--this new building will be quite welcome. The metal tanks on either end of the building's roof are connected to solar panels, which heat the water, providing the only source of hot water for the buildings. This is probably sufficient for most days, considering the rather mild temperatures and general abundance of sun.

The above photo is a former dormitory that has been converted into the junior high school classrooms. Stretched in front of it is the former futebal pitch. Evidently the playing field was a bit better used during Suli's day, because now it is a very rugged patch of dirt with the ocassional tuft of weeds and pile of rocks. When I visited the school, the basketball court seemed to be receiving quite a bit more activity, which is no surprise. The younger generations in China love basketball. With Yao Ming and Yi JianLian playing in the NBA, one can almost always find either the Houston Rockets or New Jersey Nets jerseys or jackets wandering around the streets of China. So this tired patch of playing field has simply turned into a hangout point on campus.
Now, as stated above, the best way to return to campus and be instantly surrounded with current students and questions is to bring a couple celebrities with you. In the photo above, play "Where's the Waiguoren (foreigner)?" What started as a trickle of interested female students when we entered campus became a flood of noisy boys and girls, many screaming the most obvious English each of them knew, "Hello?" Some of the children asked interesting, probing questions, like "Where are you from?" and "Do you like China?" A couple boys even asked me if I play basketball, to which I replied, "Bu da. Wo ti zuqiu" (No. I play soccer). No one seemed too interested in that, but when the camera came out for pictures, everyone needed to figure out a way to to get in sight of the lens.BaSa is a region in which most of the children will live their entire lives. Suli ran into some former schoolmates and even picked out the children of some of her former classroom peers. While many different Chinese adults entered and exited the campus during our visit, Miss Suli received the most overwhelming interest from the students. According to Suli, she is one of the reasons HeKou is so famous, and while I look at her beautiful face and cannot help but agree with her estimation of her importance in the region, I also cannot help but think that having two foreigners tagging along might have helped her stature on that day. Her she is, the returning graduate who made it in the big city of Kunming, surrounded by the current generation of students. Who knows which of the smiling faces will become the next important graduate from BaSa? While most of us will never enter the campus of our former alma mater(s), it was nice to provide this rural school's students with a few thrills to remember, especially Suli's little nephew Xie Xing Yi, who became an instant celebrity two nights in a row when we picked him up on the motorcycle to give him a ride home after school let out for the evening.