Road Trip

Dad, I get it now.  It took a road trip.  Atlanta, Chattanooga, Nashville, Iowa City, St. Paul, round trip to Chicago, and all the country in between.  4022 miles since I picked up your car in Fort Myers April 15th, and drove it home.  The miles 'twixt then and now changed my perspective.

I have never really been a car guy.  Yes, I used to watch you, and help you wash your many cars as a kid.  And yes, my first car was a Fiat Vetture Special 1200cc red convertible, bought from the neighbors for Steve and me to share while in high school.

A 1951 Studebaker pick-up truck with a six cylinder flathead, overdrive and a column shift moved Becky and me around Atlanta while in school. And with your generous gift of the Jeep for our wedding present, we explored Oregon top to bottom, peak to shore, before giving up on it by our second Minnesota winter.

 From then on, with kids, dogs, coaching and family trips, it  was minivans and lesser sedans before settling on two PT Cruisers as company cars, which I loved for their romanticized retro-style and functionality.  After all, it was function I needed.  As gas prices inevitably spiked - two Prius's still move us around well at a low cost - solidly functional cars.  Perfect for Becky, me and the dog.

Something happened though.  I could not bring myself to sell your 2007 Saturn Sky two-seater convertible.  It was calling to me in some silent chant - and it looked like fun.  Oh yes, I remember when you drove it "up north" to visit us in North Oaks in September 2008 - the little black book I found buried in the glove box tells of the entire history of the car, with little narratives here and there about the gas mileage, wax jobs, all in meticulous detail. I might have rolled my eyes and probably whispered to myself "oh Daaaad!" at your apparent wheeled indulgence, but your beaming countenance bespoke your love of cars, and this one especially, as you had many cars.  And I know you longed for it in the past year when it sat in the garage, and you had too much trouble dropping into the very low seat.  I know you loved it, and now I know how much.

Oh yes, it does "go"!  I found that out quickly on I-75 north, where Florida and Georgia drivers challenge my own limits of speed and proximity to a bumper in consistently heavy traffic. And managing the 6+ lanes through Atlanta, driving into the sunset in the north Georgia mountains, finally finding peace on the road, nestled in this close, tightly fitted cockpit, the deep hum of the engine whisking me deep into the emerging verdant spring in Tennessee, then north through the midwest heartland a day later.

You called it your "chick magnet", seemed like a stretch for a 90+ year old fella, but you delighted in taking your equally geriatric girlfriends out to tossle their hair a bit and perhaps witness their giddy girlish delight.  But driving on a sunny day to and from work - top down because I could and it was a perfect day - I witnessed this "magnetism" as two blondes in a VW Beetle with its top down slid onto the highway next to me - each of us catching a knowing glance and a thumbs up!  People have even emerged quickly from their cars at stoplights to ask what kind of car this is.  It catches the eye - I see that!

I have been showing it off, speaking of it, looking at it, and washing it, twice now, wiping it dry to a gleam with a chamois as you had taught me.  I drove it to Chicago last week for a conference - with the top down the whole way - 7.5 hours - marveling the big sky view through the beautiful central Wisconsin countryside, taking note of eagles and a sandhill crane flying above that would never be so visible in my other vehicles. Oh so cautious and aware in that last 22 miles into Chicago, white knuckles in the narrow lanes under construction and crazy fast Illinois drivers, but confident in the solid grip and handling.  And oh, what an experience to drive down LaSalle Avenue in the Loop, through a canyon of stone and gleaming glass, in bright mid-day sunshine looking up at the marvelous skyline while I sat crawling along the jammed city street.  Seven hours to get there, a half hour to go the last mile!  But it was fun.  And when I finally  landed in my Parker Hotel room, the horrific sunburn on my face said it all.

I came home yesterday day, top up, casually gliding back.  Cleaned it right up and admired the gleam. Yes, I get it now.  I was channeling you all the way back home from Sanibel, Iowa City and Chicago - you were glad to have taken the same trip - as I know you were there in spirit!

Dear Henry Peter Caspar

Welcome to the world, Henry Peter Caspar!

And oh, you made my day.  I am here in Chicago, attending an international conference for construction historians, a somewhat dry and tedious third day yesterday listening to arcane and mildly interesting reports on medieval vaulting, when my brain said "enough" - and as I wandered a few blocks from the Palmer Hotel to the Chicago Art Institute, playing hooky from my convention to instead feast my senses on the visual arts, I received the message from Becky!  You had arrived - I fairly floated through the Art Institute, and indeed the rest of the afternoon and evening, thinking about you.

And of history, my dear grandson, you carry much forward in these tender first hours of life, lovingly cradled by your father Ryan Peter Caspar Hilger and Heather Sherman Hilger, in spite, I am certain of their mounting fatigue, and also by Becky Hilger, beaming in delight at your shock of hair and open eyes. And what of this history?  There are notes indicating the name goes back to 1594, but I have not found all the documentation.  But among brothers, I shall list your lineage as we know it, for this you can be proud:

Andreas Hilliger (1599 - 1684) Luttringhausen
Peter Hilliger (1638-1700) Luttringhausen
Andreas Isaac Hilliger (1678 - 1757) Kronenfeld
Johannes Peter Caspar Hilliger (1720-1788) Remscheid
Peter Caspar Hilliger/Hilger (1747-1803) Remscheid/Danzig
Johann Peter Caspar Hilger (1775-1842) Remscheid
Gustav Hilger (1814-1897) Remscheid (may have had a brother Peter Caspar - still researching)
Peter Caspar Hilger (1849-1930) Remscheid
Arnold Wilhelm Hilger (1882-1971) had a brother Peter Caspar Hilger who never married) Dusseldorf
Gerhard Peter Caspar Hilger (1933-2015) Sanibel,  my father who would be juming for joy at this news were he still with us, and
Axel Peter Caspar Hilger (1956 - ) North Oaks
Ryan Peter Caspar Hilger (1984 - ) all over, but Groton Connecticut for this happy moment.

and now you, Henry Peter Caspar Hilger (June 6, 2015 - ).

Welcome to our world and our history, and thanks to your father and mother for continuing this astounding legacy.  I cannot wait to hold you in August!

Love,
Opa

It's Finally Sinking In . . .

Took daughter Laura to the airport today, my wife's father Wayne yesterday, and my sister Astrid left Thursday; all were here to bear witness to my induction last Wednesday, April 8th, into the University of Minnesota Academy of  Distinguished Teachers, and to receive my Morse Alumni Distinguished Teacher Award.

It's finally sinking in . . .  what a huge honor this is, and what wonderful support I received from family and staff.   Laura came from England (as part of a business trip) and Astrid showed up at the ceremony, both as a complete surprise!  And it can be said  that I had the largest cheering section in the crowd; many staff, alumni and students witnessed my induction by President Kaler, who identified this as the highest teaching award at the University.

So how does one thank all these people?

Now of course I knew about the award and the ceremony, but predicted that the thank you message, that was directed to be short (30 seconds!) had all the potential for thankful redundancy, so naturally I decided a different tack was in order, and kept this as my thank you surprise, delivered to unexpectedly rapt attention and wide appreciation:

Oh my!  To thank you in a minutes' time,

I find it appropriate, to do so with rhyme!

So what do you think, as a teacher at heart

This builder will thank you with rhythm,  to start:

Dr. Kaler, Regent Brod , Ms. Wick and Tschirner

Today less a teacher, and more a learner!

I've learned it is, for Michelle, Geoff and Lynn

Upon whose support, I count this Morse win.

Or my valuable partnership: Megan, Ann and Liz

For without them less focus, on just the right quiz.

Pamela, Christiane, Kim, inspire my course design

For writing and Moodle, oodles of time

To my industry partners, a foundation deep and wide,

I have learned the many benefits, of you at my side

To all CCE: Kathleen, Bob, and Mary, my Dean,

I wouldn't be standing here, or so it seems,

For 18 years you have let out the leash

And enabled me, empowered me! just to teach!

But the real mentors here are my wonderful students

Who inspire and teach me, discipline and prudence

You long suffer'd my humor and relentless passion

To learn of my industry - architecture, construction.

To Ben, to Lauren, Ann, Mark and Tim, 

As students and faculty, you support'd my whims

But thanks most of all to my family, far 'n near

To Becky, Ryan, Laura: for your support these many years!

To Laura especially, as she hatched this ploy,

From England she came, to witness my joy!

My Mission I've learned:  to think and inspire!

Now by my effort, this Morse I acquire.

So thank you, THANK YOU,  ALL for this Morse

For now it is time . . . . I return to my course!

New Point of View

How is it that I have left so much space between my last post and now?  As I write this, at 4:45 AM in Rancho Santa Fe, Honduras (Nuestro Pequenos Hermanos - the orphanage upon which I volunteer my professional services and time), the security guard has just wandered past Casa Romano, his flashlight flickering like lightning through the open window as he passes by the porch, and slightly rattles the gate to check its security - part of his nightly rounds to keep this ranch safe. Sleep is no longer possible, I can hear the rooster starting its morning call across the fields.

The space has been filled with the return to school, as this Spring semester is tradionaally my busiest time teaching, with multiple courses to invest my time.  And on February 14th, I had travelled to Sanibel to remember my father at his memorial service, a well attended affair that has served its purpose to bring closure on his life well lived, and his "live" connection to me now fading into memory, albiet very strong memories.  And this week past, the time all faculty look forward to, Spring break arrived, and I find myself again in Honduras, to host a series of pre-construction meetings with the local team to kick off the new Conference Center and Volunteer Residence, I arrived Wednesday March 18th around noon, after Becky valiantly arose with me at 3:30 AM to get me to the airport for my 5:20 AM flight - travel days are always long days.  Spent the afternoon meeting with Osman, reacquainting myself to life on the ranch, checking the now (finally) completed Surgery Center that I worked on, and retiring late in the afternoon to a short power nap, and then a quick dinner of rice and beans in the ranch kitchen.  Axel David Quintero Padilla, my godchild whom I sponsor, is now in high school in Tegucigalpa, and this was not his weekend to be back on the ranch. Bummer. Was hoping to see him.

Much of the rest of  the next three days involved several meetings with the local team, our engineer Rigo, our on-site project manager Osman, his labor foreman Chuta, and on occassion Reinhart and Ross, the administrative team. We dove deep into the details of the project, its engineering design, working up a detailed construction sequencing plan, schedule, various lists of equipment needed - essentially thinking through every detail and process, working late into the evening to develop the ideas and plans. We spent an entire afternoon staking the project corners at the site with three laborers to make sure we had the right spot.  And in that process, while standing next to a short, stubby plantain tree, I had disturbed the bliss some tiny black ants enjoyed, and found 30 or 40 of them on my calf unnoticed until suddenly the stinging pain of their bite caused me to dance and swat them fiercely off my skin. The pain these tiniest of creatures can inflict is amazing, and I have had a pimply, itchy swollen rash not unlike poison ivy ever since.  I can only be thankful I was wearing shorts so I could see them, rather than long pants where my dance of agony likely would have meant an instant disrobing of my trousers to make sure they wandered no higher - likely to chuckles of the laborers seeing this gringo hopping.

Hopefully, this deep dive will result in a smoother project delivery than we saw at the Surgery Center, for what I discovered is that the plans I have drawn do not tell the whole story.  I put a heavy reliance on the drawings and the local construction workers interpreting them appropriately, which is not always the case when I am thousands of miles north.  But the mere discussion - nearly a whole day - talking about the schedule with Osman and Chuta, with Osman translating between Chuta and me, I realized this conversation about sequence and plan was suddenly bringing clarity to Chuta about what he was about to build, and how.  I felt a higher level of confidence that in working through the details and sequence as we had, seeing the "light" and hearing their point of view, we might pull this off.  Time well spent, and my Spanish is oh-so-slowly getting better in the process.

El Tigre at dawn

Most days heretofore were dawn-to-dusk affairs, with my down time consisting of an early morning sunrise walk around the ranch, and quiet work time late into the evening - except yesterday - Saturday. I awoke a bit early and decided to take a morning sunrise hike up the mountain that is the backdrop to thee ranch.  I know the way well, the peace and serenity off the landscape, the birds, and some brilliantly blooming yellow flowered trees is a draw to get the higher vantage.   On my way up, I spotted a rock outcropping I had not previously noticed, and wandered atop it to catch a new point of view - the distant El Tigre bathed in a cap of clouds, and foggy bottom lands just getting kissed by the sun, with the ranch spread below me.  A serene moment, and a place I to which shall return.

Saturday Mass - open air!

Moments before I spilled it

The day was long, 8 - 4, spent in constant discussion of more detail is with Osman, broken up only by a quick lunch at the kitchen with his good friend and comic Moran, who proceeded to show me how to drink iced tea (clumsily I might add) from a plastic bag- a common technique using much less material/waste than plastic bottles.  Spent a few minutes after walking back to Casa Romano catching up on email, and then wandered over to Mass in the open air church - an experience in itself even though 1 in 1000 words are understood by me.  And who should show up but Axel, to my earnest delight, as Mass was starting.  He had heard I was here, hopped a bus from Tegus to spend some time.  After mass, while all were still assembled, Reinhart made some announcements, and introduced me to the crowd as el Arquitecto.  As we were leaving, Gabby Driessen, the daughter of one of my clients, came up to say hello (as we only seem to meet here, not in the States).  Maggie then escorted Axel and me to pay a quick visit to a very shy Zuany, the godchild of my colleague Megan Seltz and her family back at the U.  Shy as she was, surrounded by giddy little girls and boys awaiting their dinner outside, who eagerly demonstrated a curiosity for my beard, wanting to touch it.

Axel, Moran, me and Osman

Axel and I were then were invited to dinner at Reinhart's with a wide group of young volunteers and students on the occasion of Momo's birthday, celebrating with barbeque and karoke (yes I sang and danced a bit o' the Beetles !).  I can say that the rhythmic beat of Latin music is quite infectious, even if from a karoke machine, outside under the stars where the feet can't stop the movement.

Axel and I will head back to Tegucigalpa today - back home.  I love this place - the peace of the people, even in their hardship, the beauty of the landscape, and my small part to help this community find its way forward.  But now, time to catch the sunrise on my morning walk, and explore a previously unexplored peak.

Smokey haze atop the mountain at dawn.

Subtle Reflections

I have just written of the contrasts of San Ramon, glaring as they are.  But that would be normal for any place - contrast is always brighter than subtlety.  So what are the subtleties of this place - San Ramon?

Breakfast pickers

The people would be first in my mind.  Having traveled in many places, I am one to automatically look at people I encounter in my many walks, to momentarily capture their subtle intentions.  Tico's are generally a very friendly lot, quick with a Buena' dia, usually truncated from its proper form, and once heard merely as "Ben D".  I like the fleeting capture of a glimpse, it says so much - the eyes speak so readily, often greater than words in that split second.  Some wave, and smile, some gesticulate with more animation.  Clearly I am an easily identifiable gringo, and so perhaps a target one way or another, but almost always, it has been pleasant.

The other day, I escaped from my students and their work and traveled with Dustin to Piedades Norte, meeting with Rafa and Alejo, the two "clients" from last year's project.  I have an interest in the Rio Pax National Conservation Area in northern Piedades district for another potential study abroad project, the site of the former President Francisco Orlich ranch (founder of the National Liberation Party) and the headwaters of the Pax river.  A beautiful place, we drive as far as we could up into the high reaches of the watershed, then walked another couple kilometers up into the cloud canopy, following a rutted "public street" to its apparent apex.  This puzzled me - this "public street" seemed more a fire road, yet no one can build a house here.  This land used to be owned by the government, then parceled out to about 22 landowners who "farm" this land.  Due to its elevation and high, cloud induced moisture, crops such as coffee do not grow here (but will easily grow 500 meters lower in elevation).  Rather than keep the land in public stewardship, the government sold it and then pays a subsidy to these landowners to farm with a conservation motive.  There may be a subtlety of purpose at work here that mystifies me.  I am only too pleased that it is being conserved, though this road , suitable only for foot, mule, motorbike or four wheel drive, certainly could be cause for significant erosion and washouts, evidence we had seen.

Alejo

Rio Pax Watershed

Alejo, my walking partner scrambling nimbly up these hills, is a coffee farmer and a character,  ruddy face under a broad brimmed hat, tough knarly hands,  dirty pants and a penchant for my gift of beef jerky ("carne!!").  Though he cannot speak English, and I too little Spanish, we can nevertheless communicate - somehow.  It's those eyes with the subtle twinkle, the grin, the easy laugh, and the apparent tall tales - the one about getting lost in the woods as he grabbed a handful of soggy moss and demonstrated how he had squeezed it for water to survive.  I tried it, and squeezed only muddy water - but really, a shortage of water in this cloud canopy?  Or the presence of a lagoon "over there" with huge fish, a whale perhaps. Or the fact that we walked all the way up here so he could show us a rocky peak (rare for these parts), only to have it shrouded in the dense cloud cover.  I believed him then, for he would not lead three of us so far up without a purpose, but it was an enjoyable encounter nevertheless with but a small amount of jerky remaining for Donja Alejo!.  We finished our excursion with refreshments and conversation at the Cafeteria Flory, the same country soda we visited last year.

Though San Ramon has a very hard exterior face - of concrete and steel -there is beauty there; vegetables and murals.  I walked back to the hostel  yesterday from our presentation venue and passed the farmers market, and could not resist a wander through this bustling place, full of color, exotic vegetables and fruit - a feast for the senses, surrounded by concrete walls.  Were it not so late in the afternoon, or our departure so imminent, I would have filled my knapsack full of fruit to share, settling instead for three bouquet of fresh cut flowers for the equivalent of $6, to grace Miriam's house.

 

San Ramon is blessed with some highly talented and productive muralists who grace these ugly concrete walls (castle walls? So it seems another subtlety) with fantastic allegorical works of art using guerrilla graffiti techniques - spray paint mostly.  While not so subtle when seen up close, they are a subtle bloom in an otherwise harsh landscape. Whole streets are bordered by these images, including the farmers market, as are more isolated "surprise" concrete canvases of a single building.  There really seems to be very little graffiti, even though the rough and tumble appearance seems  to invite this potential.  Perhaps these creatures of an artist's imagination repel those that would dare something less imaginative.   I appreciate this concrete canvas, and I suspect the San Ramonans do as well.

I leave you and this adventure with a few of my favorite unpublished photos from this trip, of subtle and not so subtle beauty and imagery, so you might glimpse the fleeting capture of my shutter. 

Grey on Grey

Dona's Dryer

Could deck over San Ramon

Fiber Optic Flower

Walking club

 

Going Home

And Just As Quickly . . .

It ends.

What seems an eternity, ends.  What seems impossible, ends.  And what a finish!

Over these past two weeks, my students  have labored hard, but also played hard when the opportunity arose.  The sense of mission is always there, but never quite manifests itself until the heat is on and the pressure builds.  Over the past few days, when our presentation deadline loomed, the glow of computer screens on concentrating faces late into the evening was a common sight.  The occasional raised temper was heard, as I observed this frenzied activity, requiring an 11th hour pep talk on the need for calm cooperation, and most importantly, communication as a team to see this to the end.  This frenzy reminded me of the quote from The Best Marigold Hotel, where "everything will be alright in the end, and if it is not alright, it is not the end!"

And in the end, it was alright! It all came together, at our classroom/office space at Universidad de Costa Rica.  Tayler, Paul, and Ann-Marie, with Aaron at the keyboard, after a nervous rehearsal period in the morning, delivered the first presentation (in English, for our clients were all native English speakers) on the Women's center, with passion, energy, confidence and efficiency. And the reaction from Barbara Nielsen Randall, the group leader and spokesperson with Pastor James Rush, was all the students needed to see and feel to know their hard work had paid off.  "Pleased" does not quite describe it, but passionately thankful is the best I can do.  A long conversation followed among all students on the value of this project to them, and Barbara extolled the value and importance of giving back to those in need.

Jack and Ann-Marie, with Jordan at the keyboard, delivered the second Orphanage proposal, fully in Spanish, with assistance from Sarah only during the question period.  Dear Reader, this is not an easy task for students who are merely marginally fluent.  We elected to do so knowing that our primary client, Jessenia Vasquez Quesada, was fluent in English, but her Board counterpart and her Administrator were not. Understandably, the presentation lacked the clarity and passionate delivery that only the native tongue can deliver, and required the normally taboo habit of reading from slides or notecards that I excuse as necessary to deliver the basic message in this case. Most importantly, I commend these students on the supreme effort to meet the client on their own language turf. Extraordinary, and well done! And if there was any uncertainty, the reaction of the client was similarly full of praise and thankfulness, wherein they indicated this was precisely what they needed as a Board, and had discussed for so long, that this initiative will be the catalyst for moving this project forward. And if an echo rounded this classroom, Jessenia also extolled the virtues of volunteering to serve others less advantaged.

I believe this process, projects and message had a profound impact on my students. The delivery complete, the common exhalation and sighs of relief were palpable, with abundant smiles at a mission accomplished, and accomplished well with professionalism and grace.  And the profound discovery among the students of the value and importance of teamwork in accomplishing the goals, a microcosm of their future professional careers with a real project, a real client, and a real need, could not have been a better teaching moment!

For me as a faculty member, I can but guide, suggest, but most importantly, stand out of the way and merely observe, with pleasure and occasional amusement as the cycle of discovery is repeated again, but always with enormous pride.  This result today is precisely why I teach.  When asked during the discussion about my perceptions of this group of students, I replied that my role is merely to open doors along the path, but that the students must decide to proceed through those doors of their own accord - together!.  And they did so, with excellence, passion, determination, hard (team) work, and fun!  I am extraordinarily proud of them.

I would be remiss at this moment in not recognizing the extraordinary effort made by Tayler and Carrie, our mother/daughter team, to pull the final written proposal together, with help from John and Amy who could not be present in the end.  And to the efforts of the "grind-it-out" team of estimators/planners Travis, Bobby and Peter.  And last but not least, the great work of our translation student Sarah, who came through with enormous pressure in the end, and frankly made all this work possible and meaningful for our clients.  You guys are great!  Thank you from the bottom of my heart!

Of course, every good effort requires a "celebrando"!  We celebrated loud and well at the Colombian soda (a small restaurant), with some speeches (including my awful attempt at Spanish, however valiant the intent), some very funny "bad karoke" and a few twirls on the dance floor. Indeed, all is well that ends well.  Let's go home . . . and back to class!  PuraVida!

Of Contrast, Color and Light

I am seeing this place, San Ramon specifically and Costa Rica generally,  with a new set of lenses. Gone is the immediacy and excitement  of  the first moments of exploration a year ago.  At that time I wrote of the hesitancy to press the lock release very early the first Sunday morning, wondering what lay ahead for my solo wander.  Today, the button is easily pressed, but I am continually struck by even having to press this lock release in the first place.  This is a city of contrasts.

Sunrise on mist over the San Ramon valley

At once beautiful and ugly, peaceful and noisy, clean yet dirty, fragrant yet sourly pungent, bland but colorful, secure yet insecure.  Friendly though, without its ugly opposite, and that, along with a sense of pride, is perhaps its greatest asset.

Peter, Ann-Marie, Paul, Amy

The "walking club" has seen all of this.  It has been my custom to take early morning walks, at first solo, and then a growing cadre of students accompanying me.  I must recognize my die-hard walk mates this trip: Amy, Paul, and Ann-Marie.  How many times we said "buenas dias" to the many out and about at 6:00 AM.  We follow the morning light and have seen these contrasts daily:

By contrast

Trash day at a rare alley

the contrast of a tiny manicured yard next to a vacant, trash filled lot.  Beautiful flowers running along a coil of razor wire atop a high security fence.  The fragrance of lush flowers along the roadside while smelling the pervasive creeping septic stench.  Or a heron standing daily in a ditch, its brilliant white plumage in striking contrast to the green foliage creeping along its banks, sentinels to a fetid, trash filled pool, The canyon of city streets, defined by their close proximity and rows of security gates, fences and shutters.  The deteriorating ramshackle nature of "home" to some, and the opulent nature of home to others, yet it is still home. The difference: location and affordability, and perhaps the tiniest of green space, if only in a large pot behind the gate.

The ditch.

Market colors

While apparently devoid of urban zoning controls, it is not unusual to have a grimy transmission shop next to a house, or a larger industrial building next to a house.  It seems that, driven to entrepreneurialism in their own houses, people set up businesses in their own houses, creating this diverse mix of service industry in the deep shadows of a residence.

The valley road

Textured hillsides of coffee, cows and banana

There are many gray mornings, a foggy valley in which we reside, giving rise to blue skies (we are blessed not to be in the rainy season).  Yet there is much color here - the diversity of flowers, birds, prolific muralists at work, clothing, and portions of buildings.  They catch the eye and hold it, if momentarily, in distinct contrast to the prevalence of brown or grey shades.  Or, as is perhaps our favorite morning walk, traversing up to the high ridge above our hostel, and descending into the rural Piedades valley beyond - a transition of hardscape to softscape, motor noise to birdsong, grey to green interspersed with rich texture and color, rewarded at the very bottom with a large grove of bamboo "singing" its hollow wind-borne clinking song accompanied by the gurgling creek running through it.


From flat to very steep, dark to light, bland to colorful, noisy to quiet, these walks challenge all of or senses, and uplift our souls for the day ahead.