Returning To My Rural Roots

The beautiful Harr family barn, my roots, stock full of fresh straw bales.
FYI: I painted the cupelos on top a shining coat of silver last summer, a great memory with Dad. 

Over the last several years I have had many opportunities to travel, experience cultures drastically different from my own, behold a plethora of diverse landscapes and meet scores of people.  Throughout my traveling and living abroad I have begun to identify more and more with my rural, farm bred roots. Regardless of where it is I travel to or live in, I find myself most comfortable when I am in wide open spaces, and a far cry from the hubbub of cities. It is in these settings that I have spent the majority of my life dwelling in, and recently I have had many experiences that have affirmed this; even more recently I have become actively became aware of this. Perhaps my recent awareness is due to me being far enough removed from my Dakota farm roots to be able to make this observation, or maybe it is just me becoming more comfortable with myself in general. This particular blog post is the first of a small series that will highlight some of the travel/living experiences I have had in recent times that show my natural draw to rural areas. I start with my current country of residence: Jordan…….

The gorgeous Jordan Valley.

From the very first week I arrived in Jordan nearly two years ago, I have consistently spent a great deal of my time outdoors, specifically in areas far from major thoroughfares and surrounded by farmland. One of these such areas is a wadi that is a mere twenty minutes hike from my apartment. This wadi has served as a quick escape for me from the hustle and bustle of the freeway that runs between it and my apartment. It is also in this wadi that I met my friend Ibrahim. At first glance Ibrahim looks like most of the sheep/goatherders one sees throughout Jordan, but after getting to know him I realized he has quite a story behind his keffiyeh, as do most all people. There have been numerous instances when hiking in this wadi that I have heard “Yousef! Yousef!”, and after scanning the surroundings have seen Ibrahim beckoning me over for a chat.

Ibrahim and I during one of our chats. Unfortunately it has
been quite a while since I have seen him.

Through visiting with Ibrahim, I have gotten to know quite a bit about him, including that he was an officer in the Jordanian Air Force and worked for several years at the Jordanian Embassy in Madrid, Spain. Because of his time spent in Spain, Ibrahim initially tried communicating with me in Spanish. I obviously told him I do not speak much Spanish; therefore, we communicate in Arabic, which is great practice for me. Ibrahim has told me about his brother who lives in Ohio and works as an engineer. I have also learned that he owns a small supermarket near the beginning of this wadi that I had frequented several times. Just as Ibrahim has shared personal information with me, I too have shared things about myself, including my rural roots and that my father also has sheep on his farm. 

My wonderful parents and I at the Farm.

An interesting side note about when I have spent time with Ibrahim is that I often find myself being reminded of my own dad. Not only does Ibrahim look somewhat like my father, albeit an Arab version, he is nearly the same age and has similar work. Making this connection with Ibrahim, like so many other personal connections I have made in Jordan and elsewhere in the world, has allowed me to more honestly relate to and feel connected to people in general. As soon as there is a story behind what was previously another random face, it becomes harder to simply pass by someone, anyone, and not wonder who the person is behind that face and what hopes, dreams and experiences have been lived or thought. Additionally, these kinds of experiences help me realize how myself and my own family members might be perceived by total strangers looking in from the outside. As I have met and interacted with rural folk in various parts of the world, I am now better able to understand how city dwellers can think it strange that people choose to live in such remote and small places. Ultimately these experiences have helped me feel more proud of my rural roots and take pride in where I sprouted from.

Shabab or some young boys I met while hiking in the
countryside in Jordan. Real friendly kids. 

It is not just when I am in areas completely removed from civilization that I find myself drawn. I also feel more innately comfortable in villages and other small towns. Again to use Jordan as an example, I spend a considerable amount of time walking through villages on the outskirts of Amman and find people in these areas, as I find of rural folk in general, often more amiable, open and unassuming than are people in larger urban areas. I am not proposing the axiom that ‘people in rural areas are more friendly and kind than people in urban areas,’  but from my own experience I have found the former group to be more likely to speak truthfully and without hidden motives than the latter. There are, of course, exceptions to this rule, but I have had far more experiences that support my belief than refute it. (I will add more to this in my upcoming post(s) about my travels in Morocco and Egypt.

I would like to close this particular post by commenting on how smells can easily take me back to my family’s farm on the Dakota prairie. Quite often when I spend time hiking or exploring countryside, whether it is in Jordan, Sri Lanka or the States, I find smells to be very personal, as they have the ability to evoke strong memories associated with different scents. One example of this happened today, not even four hours ago from the time that I write this, while I was making my way up a wadi at the end of an afternoon hike. As I was trudging up this last stretch on my way home, I was greeted with the familiar smell of rotting flesh. Although I do not necessarily enjoy this smell a lot, I cannot help but be taken back to my farm and the countless experiences I have had catching a whiff of some dear departed creature(s). Each time I happen to take in this smell, I am specifically reminded of the ‘dead lamb’ pile that we have each winter/early spring while my dad is lambing, which invariably involves the early exit of life by at least a small portion of the new crop of sheep. In the instance today it happened to be a dead goat and two dead dogs that greeted me with their aroma, but experience teaches one quickly that all animals (humans included) end up smelling about the same after lying dead al fresco, especially under a hot sun.

The beautiful landscape to behold just on the periphery of Amman. 

Other smells that I find myself transported by include: the smell of manure, which takes me back to fall and spring days, specifically spring days right after the thaw has begun and the smell of once frozen manure emanates off the ground like a gratuitous layer of perfume trailing a tony woman; the scent of wet grain, which reminds me of summertime rains on the prairie; the aroma of flowers in bloom, which, regardless of their kind or type, always make me think of my mom’s lilac bushes on the farm in the early part of spring; and lastly the smell of sweat, which despite commonly being considered undesirable, reminds me of long days spent working outdoors and being around farmers such as my dad and my uncles after a day’s work (this is a compliment, believe it or not!).

There is much more I could write about why I enjoy rural areas, but this much will suffice for now. In my next post I plan to describe some of my wanderings in the world’s countryside from my last year of travel. I will especially focus on Egypt, Sri Lanka and Morocoo.

Contentment in Jordan or Hiking, Foraging and Tea with Locals

One of my favorite things to do as of late is spend as much time outdoors as possible, exploring the world around me and taking in as many of the sights, sounds, smells, and fellow human beings around me. Today after work I had another great adventure trekking around a favorite area of mine between Amman and Wadi Al Seer. I would like to share some of the highlights to help spread some positive cheer in the world from the somewhat tumultuous Middle East.

 As soon as I had finished up at work, I headed off for the countryside and within twenty minutes of walking was descending into a wadi with the noise of traffic quickly fading behind me. I should note that on my way down into the wadi I took a few sidestreets to avoid a group of neighborhood boys I always run into and who I knew were going to ask me, yet again, if I had bought them switchblade knives like the one I own and have shown them several times. They are sweet kids, but I just didn't feel like repeating that conversation again for the tenth time (literally!).

 After I had descended into the wadi I found myself alone and surrounded only by rocks, shrub brush, and fig trees teeming with ripe, juicy figs. I took the opportunity to replenish my fig supply by filling my empty tupperware container and a Ziploc bag, while at the same time getting in a tasty, fresh snack. I then soldiered on, and when I reached the end of this section of the wadi I scrambled up the side, using whatever I could find for grips to get myself to a beautiful vantage point. After taking in the view for a bit and enjoying the moment, I kept on as I had big plans at this point for where I planned to hike to.

Not long after I had been walking through this area of the village, however, I walked by a friendly man surrounded by his children who, after exchanging greetings with, insisted I come sit with him for a moment. At first I tried politely declining several times, as I had planned to hike a route that was going to require a couple more hours of sunlight, but after I realized he was not going to take no for an answer, I accepted his invite and had a seat. Very quickly I learned my new friend's name, Akef Sandooka, and began a very fruitful and mutual exchange of ideas about life, beliefs, and the world around us. Akef spoke very clear and mostly modern standard Arabic to me, which made it very easy for me to understand him. Akef was also very excited to talk to me about Islam, which I respectfully listened to, and share with me the beautiful experience of life that this religious framework provides for him. Despite my own reluctance toward religion, I find inidividuals with religious convictions like Akef to be very beautiful spirits, as he just wants to share what is beautiful to himself with other people. I also found his analogy to describe why women should cover up to be very interesting. The analogy is the following (paraphrased): imagine two bananas, one unpeeled and the other kept in its peel. Now leave both bananas laying out and tell me which is better after some time has passed. The point he was trying to make is that the banana that is kept in its peel (a woman covered up) is better because it is cleaner and stays more pure than the one left out of its peel. I don't quite agree with this, but it was interesting nonetheless.

After drinking two cups of tea with Akef and meeting two of his ten children, I explained that it was necessary to go. When Akef apologized to me for keeping me so long, I made a point to tell him that I was the one who was actually sorry for not accepting his invite more readily and sitting down immediately. I then explained that it is through experiences like the one I had just shared with him that a person is truly able to understand and know a place, such as me getting to know Jordan better. I further told him that if I always was rushing through life and never took the time to stop and have tea with someone like himself that I would never get to know the real Jordan or understand the people of this country. He fully understood my point and thanked me for my words. I then thanked him for this opportunity and we parted in the hope that we will see one another soon.

 In the next bit of walking I again found myself talking with groups of people, mostly older women who were curious about what I thought of their country and about what I happened to be doing in their neighborhood. One of these groups I met while I stood by a grove of pomegranate trees, scanning the trees for pomegranates that looked ripe enough to eat. They, of course, also wanted to know what I was doing, and when I explained they ushered me into their gated area to give me some pomegranates that they could guarantee would be sweet. I then told them that it was necessary for me to get walking as I had some distance to cover yet with no daylight remaining at that point. I found it quite humorous how these women kept insisting that I walk straight home and not talk to anyone because there may be 'bad' people out. It was very sweet of them to think of my well-being, but I walk in this area all the time and know for a fact it is very safe. Nonetheless, I appreciated their kindness and thanked them for their wonderful gifts of fruit.

As I then made my way through the last stretch of wadi in the darkness, I found myself feeling very content, not only at this particular part of my day, but also about where exactly I am at in life in general. Over the last two years Jordan has slowly become home to me and it is largely because of experiences like these. The more that I find myself interacting with the world around me, whether it is with people, exploring new and old terrain, or just being out in the outdoors, the more I feel at home and comfortable here. If the outdoors naturally call to you, answer that call and give this part of yourself the time it deserves. I know it does wonders for my well-being and makes me feel complete. In any case, I hope this story of contentment and peace from the Middle East can help people realize this area is a much different world than what is typically portrayed in the media.