Falling Forward

I’m always up to try new things, so when I saw a street vender selling this banana-flavored cola I though I’d give it a go. I like banana-flavored other things. Why not banana pop?

CoIa Larco, they call it. I was optimistic and I was thirsty and so I purchased a 12-pack. I had no idea what “larco” meant (still don’t), but there it was, strapped to the back of my 4-wheeler, along with some Coke and other essentials.

My first clue that banana cola just might not be the next great invention was later that afternoon when not even one of our Haitian staff took one when I offered it to them straight out of the icy fridge.

Their judgement was wise. The stuff was awful and I could not choke down even one bottle.

I came. I saw. But on that one particularly hot, disappointing day in Haiti, I did not conquer, I could not conquer banana cola.

Now, Banana Cola may be a failure, but I am not dissuaded. It’s one more thing I know won’t work and knowing that, I suppose, is its own success. I certainly won’t waste my time trying it again.

So far in its young history Starfysh has had some very good project successes. For these we are thankful. But we’ve have also had a few flops, and have come up on a few dead ends. 

We value them all. Every mistake. Every blind alley. Every success. Every flopped effort.  All serve to move us forward. Ever exploring. Ever experimenting. Taking notes at every turn we learn what works and what doesn’t. When a project succeeds, we move forward, humbly asking ourselves how we might do it better. When we fall, we fall in the same direction, forward. We move ahead, having learned how not to do it.

Banana Cola... definitely how not to do it.

Waypoints

Speaking of places, I picked up a Garmin GPS the other day, the kind you need to have if you’re planning to do wilderness hiking. The guy at Gander Mountain seemed to know a lot about them and helped me pick out a good one.

It's called an eTrex 20. The box says it’s “ready for any adventure.” I read down through the list of what it can do. This is amazing technology!  It is even submersible... I guess just in case I ever want to remember exactly where it was that I snorkeled past that sunken pirate ship.

I bought it because the maps we have of La Gonave are old and inexact. There are dozens of tiny villages on the island that don’t show up on the maps we have.  And, more often than not, the homes aren’t clustered tightly enough that their village stands out on Google Earth. The homes are so tiny, spread out, and so hidden under the trees that we just can’t locate them on a map.  But just because we can’t see them doesn’t mean they are not there. Hundreds... no, thousands of people living out lives of quiet desperation. Out of sight, out of mind. Sadly.

“Waypoints” they call them in the GPS lexicon, those latitude and longitude coordinates that precisely, within a few feet, pinpoint where you are on this Planet Earth. Within a few feet!  Which means that every home on the planet has its own unique latitude/longitude waypoint.  Amazing, isn't it, that we live in a day when we can help to create the maps. No longer dependent on the etchings of dead cartographers, we chart our own course, finding and marking the points-of-interest as we go. 

Seems to me everyone should be able to be found on a map, don't you think?  I mean, doesn’t dignity, for all that entails, start with being found? Doesn’t significance begin with someone at least knowing I'm here?

"O LORD, you have searched me and you know me. You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar. You discern my going out and my lying down; you are familiar with all my ways." Psalm 139:1-3

Loitering in High Places

My work takes me to Washington, D.C. every now and again and, whenever I can, I like to squeeze in a little sightseeing.  Over the years I have managed to visit most of the major monuments and museums. One of my favorite spots is Arlington Cemetery. I go there every time.  Haven’t been to the Ford Theatre yet. I definitely want to see that sometime.

I think the reason I love to visit Washington so much is that I love to not just see but to actually occupy historic places, to stand in the very spot where something significant has happened.  Standing at the lectern in Arlington’s empty amphitheater and looking out at the empty seats, I cannot help but think of the important people who have delivered speeches from this very spot. The Capitol building is another favorite place. I stop at the Rotunda’s center, as if on cue, thinking about the presidents who had laid in state in the same square footage as my body is now occupying. From the balcony I look over the chambers of the House of Representatives, thinking about the significance of this room: debates, votes, State of the Union addresses. On one occasion I remember the tour guide told me I was standing in the very spot where John Quincy Adams suffered a cerebral hemorrhage and died. Wow. On another occasion my family was given a private, unrushed tour of the West Wing of the White House. The Oval Office and the Cabinet Room, standing outside the Situation Room (OK, so I couldn’t convince them to let me in that room), even the West Wing lunch room... my brain buzzed that day, thinking about all the history that had taken place in this very place. Countless secret service agents have talked into their sleeves because of my love of loitering in high places.

I do it in Haiti too.  I cannot cross the sea from mainland to La Gonave without thinking about the swashbuckling buccaneers that also sailed across these very waters. I stand in a tiny missionary home wondering what missionary heroes have called this place home. I take it in: touching their walls, breathing their air.

One has to wonder what ordinary places of today will someday be considered extraordinary and historic. I pray one of them is an island called La Gonave.

How Things Might Be

The seed and plant catalogs are starting to show up in my snow-covered mailbox. Love it. They are a crucial part of pulling me through the last half of Winter which, right now, I’d just as soon be done with, thank you.  Seed and plant catalogs help me dream about the future of my garden. My wife laughs at me when they come because she knows how excited I get. OK, so I admit it. I’m an addict. I am Steve Edmondson and I am addicted to gardening.

Hi Steve.

Last Fall, I went around and inventoried all of the hostas we had in our garden and was surprised that we had 46.  Not 46 hostas. 46 hosta species. I would bet we have a thousand or more hostas.

Thank you. Thank you very much.

There’s nothing better than planting and cultivating and watching things grow. But I love the wintertime planning and brainstorming, too. Snowcover is no match for imagining how things might be.