My first mist--I remember it well, as I do my first bike ride, my first crush, my first kiss. It was the last morning of camp, and, as promised, we followed our counselor up the winding trail. I carefully studied her shadowy figure in the dim light trying to figure out what was so important to see so early in the morning. It had to be the sunrise, I gathered. As we trudged up the mountain we were silent. Our usual chatting hushed from the sleep still lingering in our heads. Finally she stopped and sat down. Then all of us sat down. Soft sounds of the dawn started to awaken slowly around us. And after what seemed as only a moment, she sighed. Turning, I looked toward the ridge were the sun's silent rays began to stretched over the trees and slip gently into the valley. As the rays kissed the lake, it sighed. A cloud of mist slowly billowed from the surface and quietly sifted through the trees. Silvery moist wisps began touching us, cleansing us, kissing us. Breathing deeply the cool crisp haze elevated my senses as I felt it reach into the deepest parts of my lungs, clearing my passages as effectively as a bite into a chili pepper. As I opened my mouth to let the mist escape, I found the crisp taste of autumn had already begun to become a part of me. I held out my hands and gently caressed the air letting the mist slip through my fingers. It found its way into my soul. As I sighed, my eyes misted. I came to realize, for the first time, that there is something greater that I am. I walked down the mountain in silence, humbled, transformed. Even now, the morning mist; even the word mist--after the passing of time, after untold summers, not quite forgotten--transforms me still.
Back to TopHeading toward the garden shed, I thought about the past year. How hard it had been watching Grandma fade away. At thirty-one, I was alone. I stiffened my step and, as was the usual norm, hastened away the thoughts of past. It was the only way to exist.
Grandma's only request, after inheriting the house, was that I maintain her flowerbeds. I inspected the walls of the shed. Shovels, rakes, and hoes hung on the door. Flowerpots, string, and a box of plant food lined the shelves.
As I looked up, I felt my pulse throb in my throat. Surveying the painted ceiling, tears spilled down my cheeks. Mom, as I remember her, was planting cabbage. Dad was also planting, in overalls, both facing each other with hands outstretched in a Michelangeloesque pose. Even though this wasn't in the Sistine Chapel, I was standing on holy ground. Continuing to look over the fresco, I saw my brother playing with a frog. And there was my sister, grandma, and grandpa. Memories of my family came rushing towards me like a tidal wave. I cried and laughed as I remembered memories I thought I'd lost. Sitting down exhausted, I closed my eyes.
When I opened them the sun had fallen below the trees, and its last warming rays were gone. Getting up to leave I noticed my Grandma's handwriting on the floor.
"Remember to Live. It's okay to Grow. Make sure you Fly!"
Feeling reborn, free to go on, I whispered, "Thanks, Grandma."
Back to TopOnce upon a time...
You remember, sitting next to your mom, resting your head against her as she told you a story about your grandpa, who had to walk ten miles to school everyday...barefoot; or your great, great grandma who accomplished all of her grocery shopping for only ten cents.
Even though you knew most of the stories were myths, they warmed your heart. They shaped you. They became a part of you. And you continue this oral tradition with your own family. Beginning your stories with "I remember when..." or "Did you know..." or even "This reminds me of...."
Like the stories, myths, and legends passed down through your family, the ni-Vanuatu have handed down their history in this fashion for thousands of years. Legendary stories include the woman who invented bungee jumping, the king who declared peace over several islands, and the father of the yam. And there are the more personal stories like the child who was helpful, the kind caretaker of fish, and the most beautiful sunset ever seen.
Where will your next great legend begin? Let us give you a hint...northeast of Australia, between Fiji and the Somoan Islands, lies a picturesque group of 83 islands called Vanuatu.
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