End of Earth Day

What I'm Doing:
Listening to "Some Postman" by The Presidents of the United States of America and watching the NFL draft

212:

Today is the day after Earth Day.

That means it's time for you to watch what you throw in the recycle bin. It's time to plant that tree you've wanted to buy from Home Depot. It's time to see if you can last an entire day without flicking a lights switch. It's time to ride your bike to work (Earth Day is in the April for a reason!).

Earth Day doesn't just stick to its specific date- it spreads and grows. It's a continuation process, the first episode in a TV series, a habit-builder that encourages the citizens of this planet to treat it like it is their home.

Personally, I didn't do anything too Earth-conscious on Thursday. I powered through work at my school, and then rushed home to grab a quick dinner and try to write. But I have been plagued with a subconscious writer's block since Wednesday- and my measly attempt turned into a wash. Once my teammate Josh got me hooked on a couple games of Desktop Dungeons, well, my ability to write crumbled into a pile of compost. Currently, I am proud to say that my never-ending vigor has prevailed. The dark evils of writer's block have been banished to the wild plains of Siberia, and once again all is well in the world.

As a member of City Year, I work in my school Monday-Thursday, then join up with the rest of the 200 or so Corps Members for usually a random assortment of service on Friday (sometimes Saturdays too). 60 hour weeks are not uncommon, and during the winter I was used to never seeing sunlight (leaving before the sun rises, home after to sets). Today, Friday April 23^rd, was filled with work. After beginning the day at Manna, I travelled across the distance of Philadelphia to the high Northwest reaches (near LaSalle College). It was to be my first time visiting and working at Awbury Arboretum, and when I hopped off the 18 bus, I stared in amazement.

Green. The leaves of trees, the grass stretching over rolling hills- my eyes devoured the sight I saw from the driveway into Awbury's acreage. Beautiful, stunning colors of spring met together in harmony to build tree lines and soft petals of buttercup flowers. I followed a small pathway, my head rolling around at the nature around me like I'd never been outdoors.

It was incredible to me to think that something so stellar and perfect lay hidden in the inner-city area of Olney in Philadelphia.

Since I was early for my assigned task, I pulled out a sandwich I packed that morning and sat in the gentle soil and shade beneath a large tree. With big eyes and a hungry stomach, I quickly finished my lunch, and then filled my lungs with the fresh air. I could feel the pores on my skin calm down and even my clothes seemed to release a sigh of relief. A book in my hands, I soaked up my remaining leisure in absolute tranquility.

Roughly six other people and I trekked through the arboretum for about seven minutes, arriving on the other side of the park where the workers had established a couple of small farms. The sky was pure aqua; a breeze was in the air, the temperature pristine. We were surrounded by nature- and if we had clothes from the pre-civil war era, I would've believed we were just casual farmers. It was a nice pace-breaker to the industrial mechanics of the city.

The two guys leading us, Clay (a mid-sized man with glasses and a flannel shirt) and Pete (slightly over six foot, heavy side burns, a fierce goatee, black reflective shades), showed us the location we would be working in and handed us gloves and tools from their pick-up truck. My job was to help clear a wide area of grass, weeds and roots, then pat and create a solid foundation of soil. Using a random assortment of tools (my favorite being a fantastic pitchfork) we cleared the area in just less than two hours. With sore backs and slightly satisfied smiles, we all knew what was next.

What're foundations for? Building stuff on. In this case, the dudes at Awbury needed help constructing a donated historical shed.

Complete with mossy shingles, rusty nails, and chipped white paint, the historical shed had been sliced into many heavy pieces. Luckily, we received help from an awesome elderly man in a Dodge truck, and after a couple of loads we were able to move all the pieces of the shack near the dirt foundation. We gave a fat thank-you to our savior, and stroked our beards as we imagined how the jigsaw of a tool shed was supposed to be nailed together.

Clay pulled out his phone, and called the guy that donated the shack. As we hacked the system of directions (well, there weren't any directions- this shack was old!) and hoisted up one side of the shack (with the help of five people), Clay waved a confused hand in the air as he pictured what the guy on the other end of the phone was saying. I grabbed a hammer and a handful of nails, and began smiting them into a wooden platform that we had also brought over. It took a while, but we eventually got the first wall up. Things were coming together, but the day was nearing its end.

With the proper way to construct the shack figured out, we quickly put up the opposite side wall. After we finished, we collapsed into a pile of woodchips, exhaled, then stood back up again and put away the tools. I walked over to the garden hose, and filled up my water bottle.

One thing I've learned for sure living in Philadelphia: I'm not a city boy. I love nature, and I could live in a log home in the middle of a forest. There's something about it, the connectivity with the plants and animals, the separation from the world, the peace that is in the palm of your hand and always in eyesight. It's so nice.

There's only a few days left before it turns to June (yes, June). I know its common phrasing to say "April showers bring May flowers", but face the facts- May doesn't really exist. Of all twelve months, May is the ghost month. If the twelve months decided to throw a wild disco party, April would be the guy stressing out in the corner of the room on his Blackberry, trying to organize everything going on in his life. May would be the dude that declined the invitation.

Reasons why May isn't really here and that next month is really June:

1. May is like April's shadow. And April is like a ravenous Bigfoot in the forest. When Bigfoot makes an appearance, do you really care about his shadow?
   
2. Springs old news now. What does "May" carry with it besides supposed rain? AP tests, graduation ceremonies, and the end of the school year. Correct me if I'm wrong, but graduation ceremonies and the end of the school year are their own entities.
   
3. The word "May" is only three letters long. June and July are even longer, and everyone knows that they are both four letters long because of the summer heat. You can't write a word like September when it's 120 degrees outside.
   

But I won't totally give May the cold shoulder. Give that semi-invisible month a little credit as April turns to June- because if you're anything like me, you'll hardly notice it was there.

A little while ago I read Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter. When I finished it, I just couldn't be quite about how awesome it was. I ended convincing my teammate, Siobhan, that she needed to read the truth about Honest Abe. After she completed it (and of course, she loved it), she decided to bring a book in for me to read: Childhood's End. In a couple weeks, I breezed through it. The plot was stiff and intellectual, providing a vibrant read about a plausible encounter with seemingly all-knowing aliens, one that posed questions about reality and life across the universe. It was great.

The topic I would like to discuss recently is segregation. More than 50 years ago, Brown vs. Board of Education stated that district and states had to stop separating blacks and whites into different schools. Thought of at first as a remainder or last ditch effort of slavery, segregation has always been in the shadows of the education system. On April 13^th, the Walthall County school district in Mississippi was accused and investigated by the Justice Department for purposefully transferring hundreds of white students to other districts, creating classrooms that were predominantly black.

See links: Miss. One | Miss. Two

I'm not at all surprised by this article, and in many ways I feel that districts, as well as neighborhood schools, create the effect of segregation. The school I work at in Philadelphia is 99% Black, 1% Hispanic. There is one white kid that goes to my school. Many days I wonder, is this segregation? Partially, I think it is. But I realize the distribution of race throughout the neighborhoods of Philadelphia. In turn, this creates a defined picture distribution within neighborhood-based public schools with high percentage of specific races in certain locations. For now I'll call it pseudo-segregation.

The bigger question is, in what way (if any) does this subtract from the value of education in Philadelphia?

The obvious answer is cultural learning and development of natural attitude toward social scenarios. When around people from different cultures, people adjust and learn significantly from the actions of their fellows. In my opinion, growing up with people who are very similar hinders the evolution of a personality. It all goes back to the nature vs. nurture theme. Nurture is huge, and without room to adapt or even a will to adapt, one's nurture must be limited.

It's just another problem with certain areas in the country- but definitely a subject to ponder.

"I knew that when the great guiding spirit cleaves humanity into two antagonistic halves, I will be with the people." – Che Guevara

The world seems to already have split into two halves. Or maybe more than just halves, but quarters, fifths, ninths. There are so many different positions, yet all of them are barely more than undefined. In one area of Philadelphia there could be neighborhoods of ghettos and terrors. But right around the block there could be a wonder such as Awbury Arboretum. Can we not mend the underprivileged spaces of the city, the country, the world- and establish a balance? I guess that's the goal, and at the moment all we can do is work for it.

Have a great post-Earth Day year.

-TWO-12