More Peace Corps

During the campaign, President-elect Barack Obama spoke about the importance and need for a renewed sense of volunteerism among Americans. To that end, he proposed doubling the size of Peace Corps by the organization’s 50th anniversary in 2011. Currently there are over 7,800 volunteers serving in 76 countries around the globe, and since Peace Corps’ inception in 1961 there have been over 195,000 volunteers present in 139 countries.

At the beginning of the year, the National Peace Corps Association (NPCA) launched the More Peace Corps campaign to raise support for a revamped and doubled Peace Corps. Given that the Saturday Night Live “More cowbell” sketch is the first thing that comes to mind when I hear More Peace Corps, I personally would have chosen a different campaign slogan. But I was not consulted.

And I also do not agree that simply doubling Peace Corps is the best way to make it more effective. But I do firmly believe in the ideals and goals of Peace Corps, and I support the efforts to raise awareness and interest in the organization. Through the More Peace Corps campaign, the NPCA has written a petition to President-elect Obama asking him to uphold his promises of strengthening Peace Corps. If you have been following my Peace Corps experience through my blog or those of any other volunteers, please take the time to sign the petition and show your support for Peace Corps.

Doing Lunch

Lisa, Michelle, and Mike

Pasmolón

Lisa invited Michelle, Mike, and I to her house in Pasmolón for lunch to celebrate her brother's graduation. These are some pictures from the hike up to her house nestled in the hills of this beautiful aldea.

Chupallo

Lisa and I were walking one day when we came upon a fowl gathering of turkeys, ducks, and chickens. It was a living Turducken.

I explained to Lisa that which is the Turduken—a chicken enveloped in a duck further wrapped in a turkey. I could see her mind working, imagining a heavenly world where simply having meat wasn’t enough of a treat that the people had to create bigger and better ways to consume more of it.

“So with every slice you get three kinds of meat?”

“Yep, three different meats with every slice.”

“How do they do it, Seño?”

“I have no idea.”

I too am unable to wrap my head around the physics of this Christmas dinner marvel of modern food science. But it is probably best that I don’t know exactly how they stuffed those birds inside each other. That might ruin Christmas.

But should this poultry orgy ever reach the Guatemalan market, Lisa and I have already devised a name for it: Chupallo—chunto (turkey), pato (duck), and gallo (chicken). We have been talking about making our own, but although I have successfully slaughtered a turkey, I think a chupallo is out of my league.

After a little research, though, I discovered there are instructions on the internet (of course there are) for making Turduckens. The problem is the instructions assume you are working with already dead birds of certain weights. Though not an impossible obstacle to overcome, the rural Guatemalan version of making a Chupallo would involve lining up some turkeys, ducks, and chickens of different sizes in the market, imagining them without feathers, limbs, innards, and bones, and trying to decide who would fit snuggly in whom. And of course after selecting the perfect sized birds, there is the whole bit of having to remove those feathers, limbs, innards, and bones.

Yes, constructing my own Chupallo is definitely outside the range of my culinary expertise (which basically consists of making turkey sandwiches). But with Thanksgiving right around the corner, and the help of my very ingenious training group of volunteers, we might just try to pull it off. And if the tri-bird ends up being a flop, then of course we will have the frozen Butterball there as a backup.

The Happy Couples

Matt & Nancy (cousin)

Daniel (cousin) & Austin

Going Green

View of the turbines from my parents' house.

Wind turbines at dusk.

The new Windy City

I visited my childhood home of Rock Port, Missouri for the first time since April of 2007 during a trip back to the states a couple of weeks ago. Like most small towns in America, much had remained the same during my over a year absence, but I did notice one very large change: wind turbines. Dozens of huge white wind turbines dotting the horizon.

Rock Port made history while I have been in Guatemala by becoming the first (and still only as far as I am aware) community in the United States to be 100% wind-powered and completely energy independent. My little hometown was all over the national news with a plethora (yes, I know what a plethora is) of articles written and broadcasts made about the achievement including these from ABC, CNN, and NPR. Rock Port even has its own barebones website touting its energy efficiency.

With all the national publicity, Eric Chamberlain, the Rock Port resident who hatched the wind farm idea, has become a “wind power rock star” according to the St. Joseph News-Press. But I knew the “Wind Czar” long before he became famous. Eric was my 8 & under softball coach, and one my most vivid childhood memories comes from a mishap during one of our games. At that age the coach pitches to his/her own team, and Eric was once the unfortunate recipient of my blistering line drive. Normally a pitcher would try to catch a hit heading straight for him, but since putting out one of his own players was not in his best interest, Eric attempted to dodge. He tried but failed, and the ball pegged him right in the inner left thigh. As he immediately doubled over, I stood fixed in the batter’s box concerned about the injury I had inflicted. But despite his obvious pain, Eric continued coaching by yelling at me to, “Run! Run!” A few inches to the right and the hit would have really done some serious damage, but fortunately Eric came away from the incident with just a grapefruit sized black bruise on his leg.

I was only in Rock Port for three days, and I spent more time just hanging out with my family than reacquainting myself with the town. But simply being there conjured up many memories like this one. I had a great childhood in a great community, and it makes me proud that going green is now Rock Port’s claim to fame. And although my mom abhors the wind turbines considering them eyesores, I couldn’t help but look out at them in the horizon from my parents’ house on the hill and be inspired. Rural America is often bashed as being backward and close-minded, but here is a little farming community making headlines (including a blurb on a website called More Hip Than Hippy…the word “hip” have never been associated with Rock Port) for leading the way in renewable wind energy. In the face of population loss and rural brain drain due to limited job opportunities, to use an antiquated agriculture idiom, Rock Port has a tough row to hoe. But despite the challenges, I’ll defer to the town’s slogan in saying that Rock Port has “a proud past and a bold future.”